#only for joy to seep out of him despite his best efforts

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Top 5 Oscar Piastri expressions please! (He has so many and whoever says he doesn't, I will personally fight them)

1. mouth scrunch (sardonic, mild)

2. the weird woobified-despite-himself heart eyes but specifically at lando because lando is his teenage crush and i’m not fighting ppl about it cus it’s factually true

3. the challenging face when he’s being asked whether he’s truly the best driver on the grid and he’s like. is that even a question

4. the one in the winter break picture with lily at the restaurant like good lord, that’s the face of a romance protagonist who got the happy ending

5. whatever is going on here

[qyllenhaal]

Good Wives Club [11]

Lee Bodecker/Reader. Word Count: 10k || Spin-off to American Pie

Chapter Ten ✾ Chapter Twelve

Summary: It’s been more than a year since she’s escaped the ghost of her past but life is never fair to a girl like her. Lee doesn’t care that she has a husband, a nice house, and sugary fake friends, he wants what’s rightfully his.

Content (this chapter): Infidelity, marital issues, neglect, emotional abuse, oral sex.

MINORS, AGELESS BLOGS, AND BLANK BLOGS DNI, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

The jovial spirit of snowy December had passed over Y/n until it had become too palpable to ignore. Tacky garland, strung up lights, and flyers for a fake Santa were on every street corner of Brewer Heights. Mothers, who would usually leave their kids behind for their day trips, held their hands tightly, and fathers scoured the makeshift Christmas tree lots for the trees that were healthy and full.

Y/n isn't annoyed by others' joy, nor did she dislike the holidays, but she could not be happy.

Christmas has not always been the happiest time for her, but at least in her past she can say that there were some decent times. The year she had entered middle school, her grandmother gave her a homemade dress. It was outdated and pretty ugly, but had looked like something her grandmother would wear and that's all Y/n cared about at that age. She had admired her grandmother so much and no amount of teasing from the boys in her class could deter her from wearing that dress.

Last year was fine too. Lou's sisters and their husbands came back home for the week. They were surprisingly so kind to her, trying their best to make her feel it included in their family traditions. Lou's sisters especially did their very best to make Y/n feel like one of them, one of the daughters of this beautiful family. She had received popsicle stick figurines and colored pages from kids who called her "auntie", to show how much they loved their uncle Lou and auntie Y/n (and to show thanks for Lou letting them climb on him and Y/n being lenient about them eating candy). However, despite their courteous attempts, Y/n felt like an outsider, a voyeur watching a close family enjoy their Christmas. She's much younger than his sisters so it was hard to relate to them and their struggles of managing a house and motherhood.

Still, she'd take that awkwardness ten times over and over again if it meant leaving behind the bitterness that has seeped in her life.

Lou's oldest sister had called and said her family wasn't coming for Christmas this year. It wasn't hard to guess that his younger sister would follow suit in calling with the same statement just a few hours later. Y/n wondered how the sister's could be fine with not visiting their father right after his wife, their beloved mother, died. Lou's father had always been strict, but she's never heard something that would make his two girls not come visit him right after losing the most important woman in their lives. Y/n found it unsettling how they were just so quick to move on; the whole family is just strange. She thought Lee and Sandy were an odd pair, but nothing beats the odd bunch of siblings she's married into. They were more secretive than she had expected, putting on the front that left her fooled and stuck in a marriage with a man she thought was excited to be with her.

With no reason to celebrate, their house is the plainest on the street. If Y/n had kids, or maybe one on the way, maybe she'd feel a spark of joy that would make her dig out those red lights in the basement, but any joy she had is a dull flame. Their house stuck out like a sore thumb being the only house that didn't look like Santa threw up all over it. Their plain house represented the fabric of their current lives; everyone goes on while they're so shut in.

Just a handful of weeks ago Y/n was putting so much effort into this "life" with her husband. She looks back and feels stupid for those mornings she spent extra time and effort putting on make-up or picking out her outfit just to walk around the house all day. None of that shielded her from her husband's ugliness over something beyond her control. She had reverted back to who she was before she tried dressing herself up like a gift. She doesn't tell Lou when dinner is finished, she just eats alone and pops the leftovers into the refrigerator. Lou was forced to take care of himself once again, and he was not happy about it. He stopped ignoring Y/n and instead began to lose his patience with her. He yelled at her and he was fond of breaking things to make her jump. Rage filled him every time he saw her face. Y/n won't blame grief for this, this is something that has been stirring inside of him for a long time. Was he regretting his choice? What did he even see in her when he first laid eyes on her? Was he just desperate because he was getting to the age we're all The men in his life, past and present, settled down?

All of her mother-in-law's children had turned into unrecognizable versions of themselves; the daughters' turning their cheeks the other way and the only son unleashing his anger on his poor wife. His mother would be ashamed of them. But, most importantly, Y/n's grandmother would be ashamed of her for staying. Her nona, a hellion during her youth, would tell her to run off with another man and never look back.

"Is there any way you could come get me tonight? It's been long enough, and I need to see you."

What she wanted to hear from her lover was a comment of agreement, not a laugh. It was not an attempt to make a mockery of her desperation, but his inability to contain his enjoyment in being able to get her so worked up. Two days must have felt like forever for her.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Lee coos, "what would your husband think if he finds you hiding out at another man's house? A married one at that."

"He won't care," Y/n responds flatly.

It's not like Lee believes Y/n is capable of lying to him, but as a man he finds it hard to believe that her husband just 'doesn't care.' He can believe that she is being neglected (it shows in the way she touches him), but to act like Lou wouldn't give a damn if he knew what was happening sounds naive; men are possessive even of things they've discarded. Lee was not necessarily cautious like he once was, but he isn't ready to parade Y/n around in broad daylight. Trying to disappear and stay with him for more than a night was out of the question.

"Lee," she mewls his name in a similar fashion she does when he's on top of her. The call of his name, the tone of her voice, trips the memory of their last time together. He shakes his head in disbelief at her attempt to try to persuade him. He won't budge.

"Y/n," he says her name in a firm manner. She becomes so silent on the other end of the phone that he thought she had hung up until he heard her stirring.

"Please?" She asks once again, but she knows her efforts are futile. And while her voice sounds so sweet to him, he doesn't fall for it, telling her once again that they can't meet tonight.

"Besides," he begins, "don't you want to patch things up with your husband before Christmas? If you two don't get it together then his family is going to know what's up right away."

Y/n frowns on the other side of the phone. She clutches it harder and sits up straight. For some reason it felt embarrassing to explain her situation. Never once did Lee feel hung up about complaining about his sister to her, so why was she so nervous to tell him that she's going to be alone for Christmas.

"We're not having dinner," she says plainly. There is no emotion in her voice. She wants to gloss over the subject as much as she can, Lee can feel it.

"Okay...but it's still cold out and they're saying the weather is about to get bad. A true white Christmas," his attempt at a joke was his way of trying to make both her and himself feel better. It didn't feel good to keep shooting her down knowing that she's probably struggling to stay in that house. It wasn't easy for Lee either considering that he's going to be alone for Christmas too. Not a single call from his wife in the last week, nor anything from her mother.

"What's the point of calling me when you're at work just to reject me? Do you even want to be with me?"

Lee had not expected such a heavy question, it stumped him and left him silent. It shouldn't have been as unexpected as it was considering that he's been distant. But, two days, three at most, shouldn't be enough for her to start feeling some doubt.

"Don't ask dumb questions like that."

"Well why don't you want me around?" She whines, now sounding like a petulant child.

Lee pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. His patience begins to slip away and he's very close to just ending the call altogether.

"Stop asking me dumb questions. If I didn't want you I wouldn't put up with you whining like a baby all the damn time."

His words were loud and clear; harsh, but Y/n clung on to Lee's insinuation that he does in fact want to be with her.

That had shut Y/n up and she didn't even think to complain again. " Okay," was all she said to him. Lee felt a sense of relief wash over him as he felt himself gaining control over her again.

"I'll come get you in the morning, but you better have an excuse to cover your ass if that husband of yours starts asking questions."

Y/n nods as if Lee could see her through the phone. He had finally budged.

-

After her phone call with Lee, Y/n had laid on the couch until she fell asleep. What she intended to be an hour, or two long nap, she woke up many hours later to the sound of her husband coming in the door. Not a single word was spoken to her, a now common occurrence. Y/n watched as he trudged from the front door and into the kitchen. She watched him like a hawk, but the truth is that his behavior is unpredictable.

Y/n pushes herself up and it feels like she hasn't moved her limbs for a thousand years. She's exhausted yet pushes through the ache she feels in her body. Her movements aren't any more smoother as she follows the trail her husband just took. She rests against the frame of the entryway and watches him once again. It takes a lot for her to muster up the courage to say something to him.

"Hi."

Her voice is weak and scratchy, an indication that she had just woken up. Lou doesn't respond so she assumes he hadn't heard her. It's embarrassing, despite not having an audience to witness this.

She clears her throat and speaks louder and clearer, "hi, Lou."

This time he had heard her without a problem but he didn't say anything. He doesn't turn around or does anything to acknowledge her presence. It makes her feel small. And she can't help but wonder, was Lee like this with his wife when he was cheating on her? Florence isn't the type to let her husband walk all over her even though she is still docile.

Y/n walks closer to him and stupidly decides to place a hand on his back. Both of them flinch at the physical touch they hadn't experienced with each other in a few months. Lou slightly turns his head and all she can see is his eyes. They're so hard to read at times, but one thing she always notices is the resentment he has for her, something he feels deep inside.

He mutters the first words he has said to her today, "what?"

"How was work?"

Neither of them feel comfortable talking to each other. Lou doesn't care to hear what Y/n has to say or, ironically, doesn't care about what she can do for him.

"It was work."

Lou shrugs her hand off of his back and turns away from her; he was icing her out.

"Oh...okay," Y/n replies lamely, "I-"

Y/n stops herself before she can finish. Her trying is pointless, especially when she doesn't even want to try with this man anymore. She doesn't see a clear out for this marriage, at least one that would end with a good outcome for her. Some day Lou is going to come home with a woman and she will be the one to replace Y/n and he will probably not be as mean to her as he is to Y/n. It wouldn't be much different than Lee replacing Florence with her, but she tells herself their situation is different. Still, things were complicated and it made her think that sometimes Sandy had the right idea by fucking off to a different state.

"Clean up this house," Lou interrupts the silence that had seeped in for a few minutes.

Y/n frowns. That's all he has to say to her?

Their house feels barely lived in with Lou being elsewhere and Y/n being on and off with Lee. Y/n gives Lou the decency not to question where he goes at night (even though she suspects that he's no longer going to his parent's home to "check-in" on his father). She would be lying if she said she cared about what, or who, he's doing. The only thing she wanted was for him not to come home and treat her like this.

'The house wouldn't be messy if you didn't toss your stuff on the furniture just so I can clean it up'

If Y/n would mouth off to him, she would feel vindicated, but she feels muzzled in his presence. He would lash out at her in a heartbeat, possibly taking out all of his anger on her.

Visions of his possible violence is what scares her the most. She notices the clenching of his fist and furrowing of his brow whether he wants her to notice it or not. He's angry and it may boil over some day and spill onto her. The hardest lesson in her life is that there is no rhyme or reason to a man's destruction.

"I-I cleaned up earlier," she keeps her voice clear of any disdain so it doesn't sound like she's talking back.

Lou doesn't turn around, so Y/n is unsure of what he thinks. He stays still until he moves his hand to swipe the glass he left there onto the ground. The sound of glass hitting the ground and eventual shatter made Y/n flinch while her husband was unmoved. She watched the drinking glass that was a part of a set given to them by his older sister break off into a million pieces.

"I told you to clean up the house."

Tears well in her eyes, not in sadness, but frustration. She wanted him to get the hard part over with already, just discard her instead of leaving her in a situation where she was unsure of what the day would be like. He was doing this on purpose.

He walks out of the kitchen, stepping over what he had done, without saying another word. Y/n feels stupid for crying but she can't help herself. She feels helpless knowing she has no choice but to be subjected to this for what may be a long time. Every man in her life was being cruel to her today -- Lou with his anger and Lee acting like he didn't want to be around her. This is the lowest she had felt in months, and holding on to the idea of seeing Lee tomorrow was only a little helpful. To be on the ground and cleaning up the large shards of glass was utterly humiliating. Absent-mindedly, she moves her foot and it comes down a chunk of glass. A sharp pain shoots through her foot which causes her to yelp. Half-a-minute goes by before she registers the piece of glass sticking out of her foot. Her wails of pain didn't draw the attention of her husband. Y/n began to panic as the pain worsened. Seeing the glass sticking out of her foot was jarring, and almost made her sick to her stomach. She clumsily pulled the glass out of her and watched as blood began to seep out and drop onto the linoleum floor.

The sight of her own blood makes her lightheaded, but if she just continues to sit there then she might pass out. She musters up the strength to stand up using the counter as leverage. Her wound is only her second concern as she desperately tries to avoid making the same grave mistake she made just a few seconds ago. She hops onto the counter and grabs one of their nicer dish towels to press against the wound. The white, embroidered fabric begins to turn red as she bleeds into it. She presses hard on her wound to stop the bleeding. Her eyes sting from the burning sensation spreading throughout her body.

She whimpers pathetically before her whole body begins to shake from crying. Worse than the pain from the physical wound was the deep cut of betrayal. Lou hates her, she's sure of it. So, why waste his time being with her? Divorce is not easy nor cheap, and his parents would've told them to keep trying. However, his mother has passed and his father seems likely to go soon too to be with his beloved wife, which means Lou should just get it over with already. She's ready for the hard part because it won't be as painful as this.

-

If Lee could be honest for a second, he was kind of embarrassed to have Y/n come over to his home. He didn't mean to avoid her or make her feel unwanted. He hasn't had the time to really clean up after himself, nor is he used to doing so. Everything that was Florence's job was a struggle. He's not incompetent, but when you come home everyday to the house picked up and dinner ready to be eaten, losing that makes a hard adjustment.

Lee turned off the radio as soon as he got into his cruiser. He isn't in for another three hours, but he's got to go get Y/n before she snaps on him. He doesn't know how she feels about being alone for hours in a home that has the traces of another woman. She said it was fine, that she didn't mind being alone while he works during the day, but without seeing her face he can't tell for sure.

His routine of turning off his headlights when turning down her street makes his cock stir a little bit. It's been a week since he's been inside of her and this morning he was feeling a little bit anxious about getting off of work tonight to do just that.

As he pulls up, a figure on the porch becomes prominent, illuminated by the yellow-ish Christmas lights of the house next door. For a moment there Lee thought it was the last person he wanted to see. If he ever had to confront her husband, which he is not willing to admit he is paranoid about but does think about often, he won't hesitate to make sure he comes out on the other side clean.

But, it's not her husband. It's Y/n herself, waiting patiently for him, a small bag in her lap. The paranoia he felt turned into irritation that wasn't fueled with rage, but with worry. He watched her get up and rush down the steps, the wood creaking with every step yet she walked down them without a care in the world. The door opens and the cold air enters his war car and smacks Lee in the face. He can't believe her sometimes.

"Hi," she says enthusiastically. She doesn't realize Lee is bothered until she gets settled and looks to him only to see a look of disdain on his face instead of his version of happiness. She frowns at him and asks, "what's wrong?"

"Are you stupid?"

"W-What? What did I do," Y/n panicked thinking that she had fucked up some how. She glanced over to the house to make sure Lou wasn't standing in the doorway or something. Seeing that no one was there, she was confused as to why Lee was pissed with her.

"How long have you been sitting out there?"

"Just ten minutes..."

"It's damn near below zero and you're sitting in the cold at 5 am in a shitty jacket. Unless you want to get sick and end up in the hospital, don't do that shit again."

Lee almost sounded like her grandmother. That nagging annoyed her as a child, but her grandma always followed up with, 'I'm always getting on you because I love you!'

"I'm sorry, Lee," she backs down rather quickly, something that shuts him up. Y/n was just too happy to be in his presence. Even if he called her dumb, she feels warm inside with the belief that it was because he loves and cares for her.

The sound of his tires crunching the snow in her driveway was soothing. It hasn't even been five minutes alone with him, yet she's in la la land. She can imagine hearing that crunch every winter morning when he leaves her for the day, and the same when he comes back home to her. She would never say these thoughts out loud in fear of being called delusional by her lover, but all she could do for the last week was imagine a life with him. For years, and much more recently, they have only found solace in his car, but she wants to be home with him.

"I-I got you something," she interrupts the silence once they're two blocks away from her house and his headlights have come back on. Lee doesn't live that far, but there are times where Y/n wished she didn't live in Brewer Heights again just so she could enjoy the longer car ride with Lee.

"Oh yea?"

His annoyance with her had dissipated as soon as she said that. He was curious as to why she got him, and he also had that warm feeling inside.

She rummages through her little tattered bag, One he thought was filled with items for herself but was for him. He glances over to see her pull out an envelope and he catches a peak of what can only be a bag of candy.

"I got you a Christmas card and some Hershey's Kisses. It's not much, and I wasn't sure what to get you," 'but I hope you like it' Y/n continues in her head. She feels slightly embarrassed that she feels like a lovestruck little girl inside. There was once a time where Lee was the scariest man she knew. That time feels like it was decades ago, a time before she was even thought of.

She pushed the card back into its bag, careful not to bend it in anyway. Lee is not a sap, but he's also not hard inside. His affection is shown through physicality. This time it wasn't shown through a harsh grip on the waist or his hand around a pretty neck, but his hand resting on Y/n's thigh. The sun threatens to peak over the houses in his neighborhood. His thumb strokes the fabric of her dress. The heat she feels isn't coming from the vents of his car, but from between her legs.

The cruiser comes to a stop in his driveway. It feels like forever since Y/n has been here. His house was just as plain as hers, save for a reef on the door. It was a surreal reminder that Florence is really gone. She hasn't heard anything from Susie, and Lee doesn't tell her much, so she assumes that Florence is gone and just not coming back. As much as Y/n disliked the woman, she can't help but admire her for being able to leave without thinking twice. Y/n doesn't have the privilege to escape to a loving embrace -- unless you count Lee. The irony of her running into the arms of a man who just had his wife run from them.

"I won't be gone all day," Lee explains as he leads her into the house. He had picked her up in his plainclothes so she assumed he had the day off, but he promised her that it's just a short shift; just tying up some loose ends before he gets to enjoy some time off for Christmas.

Y/n did her best to hide her disappointment. Waiting for him here is better than being at home though. Lou will probably wake up and wonder where she is, but she struggles to see him making an attempt to find her. A part of her is sad that that's her reality, however she knows there isn't much she can do to change it for the time being.

As Lee walks comfortably inside of his home, he expects her to follow along right after him. Y/n stops and stands a few feet within the house though. He turns around to see just how much space is between them now. She looks so stiff, like she had seen a ghost that he hadn't seen.

"What's wrong?" He asks playfully. She knows that tone of voice, the one he uses to get her to lighten up.

She smiles weakly at him. It should be a bit obvious what's "wrong" with her. She feels awkward and uncomfortable being in a house that is so Florence. He had feared that she would react like this, but pointing it out may make her feel worse.

"C'mon Cherry don't just stand there," he motions for her to come to him which she obeys. "You're going to be here by yourself for a while, so you better get comfortable."

'Do you really have to go?'

She kept her mouth shut and sat on the couch instead of begging him to stay. She has a growing fear of coming off as too desperate for him. Deep down she is, but she doesn't want to annoy Lee. If he were to shrug her off because she kept clinging to him she wouldn't be able to process.

Y/n felt herself sink into the couch. She could tell that it was expensive, just another reminder that Florence liked the finer things of life. There was a baby blue knitted blanket thrown on the back for decoration. Every single accent of the room was perfect and seemingly untouched; although it was hard to ignore some loose garments that Lee had discarded once he stepped foot into the house. But that didn't stop their home from being so warm and beautiful. Y/n wonders how could Florence just up and leave a place that has her written all over it.

Lee had left her to go upstairs to get ready for work. She wanted to follow him, but something about it made her feel like an intruder -- a voyeur for even just hearing his footsteps above her head. She compared his footsteps to her husband's. They were heavier than Lou's but not as menacing. She waited for him to come back downstairs with patience, and when Lee had noticed that she hadn't moved an inch since she sat down, he frowned.

"What's gotten into you?"

He asks, now standing in front of her with the uniform she had gotten so used to seeing him in.

"Nothing," she answers quickly.

Lee hums at her answer. She's a terrible liar.

Lee, for some reason, didn't feel like it was appropriate to pry and poke fun at her at the moment. He felt a tinge of guilt for getting mad at her this morning. He had never seen her act like this before, yet he can't quite put his finger on exactly how she is acting. She is not telling him the entire truth, knowing that it would probably set him off in some way.

"Fine," he says with a light tone. She's almost as stubborn as him.

He bends over and kisses her forehead. It was the most affection Y/n had received in a while she felt like she could melt into a puddle. She wanted to grab his collar and pull him on top of her. If she were to initiate sex right now, Lee would definitely stay home. But she doesn't feel brave enough to do so.

"Be good and be safe," his words are almost like a warning, one to which she adheres to.

And just like that, he's gone.

Once he closes the front door she loosens up a little. It is still awkward being in Florence's home, but without Lee being there she feels free to roam around without being caught. She's always had a burning curiosity about how Lee lived. Ever since the days he would come to the bar for her, she wondered what his home life was like.

Knowing what state Lee would leave his cruiser in from time to time, she expected him to be a bit messier. Perhaps he still acted like Florence was around even though he's in this nice house alone. There were some clothes in the living room along with candy wrappers and a McDonalds' cup left on the coffee table. Y/n feels obligated to pick up after him. It doesn't feel like a burden like when she does it for her husband at home. Lee works a lot, and very hard, harder than her husband. She can imagine the praise she'll receive from him when he comes home. The house is perfect. Even if it makes her feel like a little lap dog, she'll graciously assume the role for him.

She begins to move about freely, as if this is her house and she won't be judged for anything she does. She can remember the few times she had been here and all of them were because of Florence. Her entire being is threaded within this place, which makes it harder for Y/n to pretend she doesn't exist. After she picks up some of her lover's mess, her feet carry her around to wander about. It's like touring through a museum of someone's life.

Florence was keen on saving something from every milestone in her and Lee's life, both together and separate. The photos on their wall stare back at Y/n. Their eyes beaming at her as if she's some intruder unwelcomed to be here. Photos of the Bodeckers' wedding and photos of Lee at various stages in his career. Yes, these photos spanned over more than a decade, but Y/n was taken back by how young Lee looked in some of them. By the time she had gotten to him the lines in his face were visibly there. Florence got to have him while he still looked youthful with a babyface; she gotta have him for the majority of his adulthood.

A sense of jealousy rises in Y/n as every photo reminds her of what her place had been in Lee's life for years. She glances at the photos of him with his real family, a family that didn't include her. She could stare at these pictures until they drove her insane. She only stops when she notices him wearing a green flannel and a 'God Loves America' pin. He had come to see her in that very same outfit one night at the bar. She remembers poking fun at the pin and asking him where he got it. He had brushed her teasing off and made her lay down in the back of his cruiser for him. The pin stares back at her just like it did that night. She wonders how many of these photos have a hidden back story of cheating and betrayal. Then she begins to wonder how she would look in these with Lee. She can see herself beaming standing next to him, and Lee smiling wider than he is in these photos with his wife.

Soon it becomes more bearable to be in this house. Y/n feels a sense of relief hit her for no particular reason. She feels a weird sense of appreciation, gratefulness even, for Florence instead of the usual contempt. It's unfortunate that she had to leave her husband in this way, but Y/n is happy that this house is waiting for her to make it a home with Lee.

After walking around for a little more, Y/n decides to go upstairs. She doesn't care for any other room besides the bedroom. It's surprisingly nice and neat -- the only explanation is that Lee hasn't slept in here much. Slippers, women's slippers, rest on the left side of the bed. The room seems to have gone untouched since the day Florence left, almost as if it was a crime scene.

There was a beautiful dresser pressed against the wall. It was covered in mostly Florence's things: jewelry boxes, a few tubes over her favorite shade of lipstick, and perfume bottles. There were virtually no traces of Lee in their bedroom save for a corner in their room signified by his work hats and a jacket. Y/n thinks about how suffocating it must've been for him and believes that lead to him making their relationship all about him. She's curious on how Florence was able to be dominant over her husband in the most subtle ways that were still acceptable to others. Lee was always someone who seemed to be impossible to pushover, but what's glaring at her now is the truth that Lee was just not as steadfast with his wife as he was with her.

She picks up a tube of lipstick, opening it up to find that it had not been used yet. Y/n almost decides against putting it on, trying to take into consideration that Florence may come back home one day and see it’s been used, but she tells herself that that won't happen. As the more fashionable women of society wore nude lipsticks with a little gloss, Florence was a classy woman and stuck to her cherry red lipstick. Y/n wasn't familiar with the brand, but the color was undeniably Florence. She runs the color against her lips carefully yet still she manages to put too much on. Y/n looks like a clown in the shade but she powers through, wiping the excess lipstick off of her teeth and the corners of her mouth before continuing to rummage through the rest of Florence's makeup. She was something akin to a little girl playing in her mother's make-up; fitting because she always did feel like a little girl compared to Florence. She wasn't coordinated enough for eyeliner so she settled for Florence's fancy mascara she often bragged about and globed it on her lashes. She looked worse and worse as she continued, but she looked closer to Florence than ever before. Y/n's identity had always been hazy for her to decipher, but this winter had caused it to slip away completely.

Y/n wants to make Lee happy. She's not sure if Florence ever made him happy, so parroting her may not work out in her favor. But, Y/n wants to do things the right way. There must've been somewhere where Florence made a misstep -- she couldn't have been perfect all the time. She'll learn to make herself look prettier in Florence's make-up, and she can wear her dresses better than her. She can be better.

-

The work day was short but felt too long for Lee. The sun was almost down by the time he left the station, and the snow was beginning to fall. There's no chance of Y/n going back home tonight (even if she wanted that). Lee is a little nervous of what the consequences may be if her husband decided that tonight was the night he gave a fuck about what his wife was doing. He's mulled over it a lot for the past two weeks. He does not like to admit when he doesn't have a plan, but he can't ignore reality. It's not an easy path like Y/n thinks it is. Trying to file for a divorce will be hard for both Y/n and Florence due to them being women. While it is embarrassing, Lee is not completely against divorcing Florence, but he also isn't sure about jumping into a marriage with Y/n soon after it happens. However there is no doubt in his mind that after whatever happens, it will be Y/n in his house and not any other woman.

For the first time in a long time he comes home to lights being on in his house. It makes his chest feel warm. To come home to his house feeling like a home makes a man feel good -- Lee likes being taken care of.

The house is warmed to combat the bitter chill of outside, and Lee can smell something cooking on the stove top. Y/n had really made herself comfortable compared to how he left her. One would think that it was their anniversary the way Y/n had set up the house for him. Cherry vanilla candles were lit, the first time Lee had smelled them in about a year. Florence kept them in the storage part of the house. It gave away that Y/n had snooped around in his stuff. He wasn't upset at the slight invasion of privacy, he probably would've done the same if he was in her shoes.

"Y/n?" He calls her name to make his presence known.

"I'm in the kitchen!" She calls out to him.

There is a stark difference in her tone of voice from earlier to now. She seems cheery and much happier. Lee liked that she had gotten comfortable here alone, but Lee didn’t know to what extent until he saw her. The liveliness of his kitchen is shocking and something he hadn't seen in a few weeks now. Y/n had a pot on the stove going and something in the oven. His pork chops sizzled in the skillet. The smell had made his stomach growl even though he had his lunch three hours ago. This is not what he had expected to come home to, and especially something he didn't expect from Y/n.

"Hi honey," Y/n greets him, taking long strides with heels clicking against the tiles, and places her hands on his face. She pulls his face closer within reach and kisses his cheek.

Lee had quickly noticed the particular shade of red that stains her lips and now his cheek, but it took him a few seconds to recognize the dress she was wearing. It was a dress that Florence had worn two summers ago when they went to Myrtle Beach with her parents. It was ill-fitting on Y/n due to Florence being slightly taller than her.

There was a look of confusion on Lee's face when Y/n pulled away. She furrows her brow, repeating the same confused stare.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

There was something sweetly artificial about Y/n's concern. While they did not look alike, the similarities to Florence in style and demeanor are hard to ignore. She wore heels that must be too painful because she kept wincing every time she walked on her left foot.

"Why are you all dressed up?" He tries to laugh to play off the obvious that Y/n isn't just dressed up but that she's dressed up like his now estranged wife. She's trying to act like her too. It's surreal, scary even.

"Do you like it?" She smiles almost naively.

If Lee were to say no, tears would well in those bright eyes of hers. Her desperation is palpable and almost smothering. She grips his arm tightly as if he's going to shake her off and tell her to get out for being an imposter. She waits for his answers, but she's done the impossible and left the sheriff speechless.

It's not a matter of whether he likes it or not. It's more so about why she felt like this was a necessary thing to do. She doesn't have to audition for him when she already has one foot in the door. Calling Y/n a "replacement" would be crass, and Lee doesn't see her as such. Maybe in her own head she sees herself as someone who is secondary and has to do this. To him it's silly.

"You look really pretty," he answers after the bout of silence, "but you don't have to get dressed up for me."

Y/n nods her head, but Lee isn't sure if she really understands. He is attracted to the floral dresses and bright make-up, but he doesn't like seeing Y/n in Florence's clothes. He'd rather burn all of her stuff and buy Y/n new stuff to wear.

"But I want to do it for you. You work so hard, and things haven't been easy for you lately. I want to make you happy, Lee."

Her arms slip around his neck, prompting Lee to rest his hands on her waist. He buries his face into her neck to take in more of her scent. Of all the things of Florence she put on, she didn't use any of her perfumes. Y/n smelled like herself instead of that tart, floral smell. He could skip dinner, make her take that dress off, and have her make-up smudged within ten minutes. His lips press against her neck just once before he decides against taking anything further. He pulls his face out of her neck and leans in to kiss her forehead. Y/n can't help but feel like a puppy being praised for doing a trick.

"What did you make me?"

The dining room table had been set up for them and Y/n urged him to go take a seat while she finished up their dinner. His favorite beer was already opened and sitting next to his plate. It had been a while since Lee had seen his dining room set up like this. Still on his mind was the burning question of what has gotten into Y/n. Had Lou said something to her that set her off? She was a completely different person from this morning, which Lee felt was a more honest depiction of herself. He'll take the pampering, but wants to leave behind anything that could remind him of Florence and her phony ways; Y/n isn't like that.

Y/n comes into the dining room no less than 10 minutes later, with the main dish in her hands.

"I hope you don't mind that I cooked the pork chops you had sitting in the freezer. I didn’t want them to go bad."

Of course he wouldn't mind when he laid his eyes upon the glazed meat. He wasn't eating home cooked meal these days. He often settled for McDonalds and some diner food. His lack of cooking over the years had made it easy for him to burn noodles in a pot. It was embarrassing to not be able to take care of himself — the prospect of Y/n swooping in to do so was promising.

"It's okay, don't worry about it."

Eventually she had his dinner laid out in front of him; glazed pork chops paired with mashed potatoes and roasted green beans. If he's being honest, there isn't anything particularly spectacular by the meal Y/n laid out in front of him beside the high quality meat he bought yet hadn't had time to cook. The mashed potatoes were made from old potatoes that probably should have been thrown out, and the green beans looked like they were more on the crispy side.

"Sorry if it's not perfect," she notes when she catches him staring at the side dishes for longer than usual, "I haven't been cooking much lately so I'm a little rusty."

"No, no, it's okay baby. Just sit down and eat with me," his words placate her and she gladly takes the seat across from him.

Y/n feels giddy sitting across from her lover. This is what she had wanted all those years ago but was afraid to admit. They didn't have to hide — he could come home to her and enjoy an evening talking to her. She had asked him questions about work, even prying a little bit about what he was working on. That level of curiosity about his work was foreign to him coming from a lover. Y/n probably doesn't care, but she just wants to hear him talk. The night was about him and making him happy. But, Lee gets tired of talking about himself for so long. He's a selfish person, but his insecurities come out when he's with someone he's intimate with and talking about himself for an extended period of time isn't his favorite thing in the world.

"What did you do today, Cherry? Did you have fun when you were alone?"

Lee didn't think the question was malicious in any way although the two of them both knew what she had been doing all day. But, Y/n's reaction made him think he fucked up somehow. She grew real quiet and put her fork down. Her eyes darted away from him and down to the edge of the table.

"What?"

"I think you should stop calling me that, Lee."

For a second he thought she was just joking, which is why he let out a laugh, but then she looked up at him. She was serious.

"I can't call you Cherry? Even when you're so sweet to me?" He reaches his hand across the table and takes her chin between his fingers. As much as he tries to play it off, he is dumbfounded, and slightly offended. The pet name was cute and special to him. However, to Y/n it was too attached to her past for her liking.

"It doesn't seem appropriate to call me that anymore, Lee. You used to call me that when...when I was a different girl," she responds sheepishly.

Her explanation sounds ridiculous to him. Did she think that he only called her because he thought she was a whore? He only used to call her that because it would leave her flustered the first few times he called her that, and then the name stuck. Nothing about it had been salacious to him, only when he would moan it as he fucked her.

"But it's a pretty name for a very pretty girl."

Lee's thumb swipes against her bottom lip, stickied with the sweet glaze she had made special just for him. He tries but it's so hard to pull his eyes away from her pretty lips. He was starting to ache for her again and he's not sure how long he'll be able to last without doing something about it.

"I don't want you to see me as unworthy," she whispers, "I want to be good for you. I don't have anyone else Lee, and neither do you."

It was a hard reality to accept. The last time he had spoken to Florence she was talking like she didn't want to come back. Thinking about going through a divorce complicates and muddies things, but it won't be the end of the world. Of course there is the problem of getting Y/n out of her marriage too, which will be more difficult for her than him to do.

"You need to be patient Y/n," Lee reminds her in reference to the urgency in her voice and actions of the last week. "You know me, you know I always have a plan to get you out of trouble."

"Yeah, cus' you always cause my trouble," she jokes but there is truth to it.

Y/n wants nothing more than to trust Lee, but she has the sinking feeling that she won't come out of this unscathed. It's easy to polish herself up to look pretty and new again, but deep down she's scared. She begins to feel uneasy in Florence's clothes, as if she's wearing someone else’s skin. It's not her and Lee was right to question her earlier. Yet it feels so good to pretend that everything is alright, even if it's just for a night. She doesn't let her smile falter even though it's hard not to frown at the more than likely upheaval of her life. She wants all this shit to be worth it.

"I'm not hungry anymore, Lee."

"I still am. Dessert always follows dinner, right?"

"I didn't make anything else," she says shyly, understanding what he's getting at, but becoming bashful. He takes a piece of her hair between his finger and coils it.

"Now you want to act like you don't know what I'm talking about. As if you weren't begging me to fuck the shit out of you yesterday."

"Lee! Don't talk like that," her eyes darted away from him.

"Like what? How am I talkin', Cherry?"

No matter how much she protests, Lee's not gonna change how he talks to her. It's fun and that is how he decided to talk to her.

She repeats his words back to him shyly, acting as if she hasn’t said things more lascivious to him before. Lee is the only man she has ever talked with like this; not any other man from the bar and certainly not her husband. She felt like she was giving him the privilege to have her and all of her completely, but in reality it is something he decided was his from the moment he laid eyes on her. This is the closest thing to love Y/n has felt and experienced, no matter how fucked up it may seem to those who aren’t her. She isn’t a woman like Florence, Susie, or their friends in the town and she may never be.

"You’ve taken good care of me tonight," Lee coos as he plays with her. "There's something else that I really want from you."

-

Lee reclines in the chair, spreading his legs for her to place herself perfectly between them. She unzips his pants and tugs at them to get them down. His bulge is staring back at her, straining to become free.

"See how hard you got me? Getting all dolled up for me like that..."

Lee places a hand on her cheek and runs his thumb over her warm skin. Y/n is avoiding all eye contact with him as she becomes a little sheepish under his gaze. She shouldn’t be so shy, she has done this countless times before, but today she can't help but feel a little more demure than normal. This isn't like one of their trips they have to take in the dark to hide themselves from consequences. No, Y/n is in his house, lights turned on, and so intimate that anyone without context would think they are indeed husband and wife.

She doesn't want to seem eager, because it isn't particularly ladylike, but she wants his big cock in her mouth so bad. When his cock finally springs free, the tip knocks against her jaw making her gasp. The tip leaks precum from their unofficial form of foreplay earlier at the dinner table. He's throbbing and red, cock angry from the few days of neglect it has received. Y/n's mouth salivates for him more than it did for the dinner she cooked earlier. Lee's comments from earlier implied that he would be the one to have "dessert", yet here she is receiving such a sweet treat.

Taking him in her hand, she earns a sturdy groan from her lover. His size was always so intimidating, but she was able to take him. She gives him a light squeeze just to see what reaction she can get out of him. Lee does not like to be teased so she doesn’t do it for long. Instead she immediately placed the tip of his cock against her tongue. Lee sighs in content, enjoying her warm mouth treating him to something special.

"Look at me while you suck me off baby...yea, good girl...let me see those pretty eyes."

There was something so hypnotic about the look in her eyes; something between innocent and coquettish. Lee is too prideful to admit that he's whipped. It's not really a noble story of him and his second wife -- meeting at a tawdry bar, cheating on his wife, and then crossing paths with Y/n later down the line only to end up doing the same things they used to do together.

Y/n keeps her eyes glued to him, watching to catch the moment the corners of his mouth might curl up. His furrowed brow and the sweat on his forehead makes her feel proud of herself. He tries so hard to contain himself when he's being pleasured, but it's easy for him to fall apart at the seams when Y/n's warm tongue is pressing against the underside of his length. She engulfs him almost completely with a small gag as he hits the back of her throat. A part of him still wishes he could be inside of her, but her mouth is almost as good.

"Just like that," his hand comes to rest on the back of her head, forcing his length further down her throat. The amount of pre-cum that leaked from him paired with her saliva made things sloppy. Lee had to stop himself from cumming prematurely a handful of times, but it was just so hard to hear those noises and remain in one piece. The wetness fell into globs on his exposed thighs. Her fingernails, whether purposefully or not, rake against his skin. "God baby," he whines pathetically. A tear threatens to slip from his eyes and Lee can't believe himself. He feels submissive to her tongue lathing him over and over. She barely comes up for air, determined to make him cum all over her tongue.

His hips stutter, thrusting sporadically into her mouth, and for the first time in days the tears that rain from her eyes are from something other than sadness. He fucks up into her mouth as if she's a cheap whore, but his hold on her is loving in Y/n's eyes.

Y/n swiftly pulls herself off of his cock. He swears and his eyes shoot open with anger. She wraps her hand around him and begins to pump him furiously before he can get mad at her. He missed the warmth of her mouth, but the rapid pace of her hand renders him useless -- delirious even.

"Shit-"

"Are you gonna cum, Lee?" Her voice is so soft yet haunting. He looks down at her through half-lidded eyes as she stares at him with nothing but lustful intent in them.

His last words before he erupts is a whisper of her name. Y/n gasps right when the first shot of his release hits her cheek, involuntarily letting go of his cock. Lee grabs onto himself and jerks the rest of his cum out of his cock. Another rope of cum lands on her nose before Y/n opens her mouth to take in whatever he has left for her. A few drops on her tongue and lips, and Lee has nothing else to give her.

"Shit," he says in disbelief at how good that felt. "Shit," he says this time, completely content. He feels drained, in more ways than one, and what he knows for sure is that he's not leaving the house again tonight.

"Here," he hands her a tissue from the box on the table next to them. She takes it and starts cleaning off her face. He watches the makeup on her face smear into the cum on her face as she attempts to wipe it away. She had made a big fuss about being addressed properly and not by her "whore" name, but he thinks 'Cherry' is the most fitting name for a sweet girl like Y/n.

Y/n felt like she needed to shower. Her skin was sweaty as if they had messed around and done more than what they actually did. She was exhausted and wanted to feel like herself again. It was like she was having a post-orgasm come down with Lee; acquiring some sense of the blues now that he isn't in her mouth anymore. She began to realize that the dress on her body was foreign to her, so was the hair and now ruined makeup. She was stupid to think that looking like this would make her seem more alluring to Lee when he didn't treat her any different.

She was unsure what was going on in Lee's head though. He didn't have much of a readable expression on his face, but he did look utterly worn out. Her throat was burning to speak, but she didn't want to seem hasty or overstep. However, she's not ready to go.

"Lee?"

He doesn't say anything, just looks up at her with knowing eyes. He meant it when he told himself he's not leaving the house for the rest of the day. Whatever consequences anyone dares to try to instill on him want to stand up to a man who has institutional power backing him. He has nothing to worry about.

"I have a shirt you can wear to bed. You probably don't mind going to sleep without your ass being covered."

Y/n was stunned that he offered this without her having to ask. She didn't want to have to humiliate herself again and beg him to let her stay. She knows that this is what Lee wants too.

She went to bed without showering, but told herself she'll take one in the morning and try to convince Lee to join her. She was so happy she could cry. The everyday things that Florence, Susie, and their friends called monotonous -- cooking for their husbands and giving them a "treat" after dinner -- almost moved her to tears. She can hear their voices swirling in her head mixed in with the voice of her grandmother. Y/n isn't going to be like one of those women who get tired of their husband, she believes it. Lee is not perfect, but he's the person she deserves.

Y/n wonders what's going through his head. He's been quiet since he told her she could stay. Matter of fact, he was as vocal as usual when she was pleasing him. She knows that he has something going on in that head of his, but she doesn't want to pry. It's not like Lee would tell her anyway seeing that he's never been the person to be fully honest with her. She won't worry about that for tonight though; she has what she wants. He ascends up the stairs before she could, but she is quickly behind him. She changes out of Florence's clothes and into the white shirt Lee gave her which is much more fitting despite it hanging off of her body like a white sheet.

She's the first one in bed, making herself feel like she's at home. He joins her, stretching his arms and yawning before relaxing into the bed. Nothing has felt as comfortable in life than being in this bed together. Lee presses his front to Y/n's back and his arm engulfs her completely. She is grateful he can't see her face because the smile on her face probably makes her look goofy.

Staring back at her on the nightstand is a photo of Lee and Florence on their wedding day. She hadn't noticed it earlier, but she saw it the moment she laid her head on the pillow. Florence must've stared at that photo every single night until she fell asleep. Seeds of apathy for this woman were beginning to set inside of her. She waited until she heard Lee's soft snores in her ears before she carefully reached over and flipped the photo so it was facing down and no longer at her. She'll never see that face again.

[alex-dontknow]

"The safe sort of warmth."

OCs: Connor Achton and Jasmine (taterswithranch)

Story type: Fluff + hinted Hurt / Comfort

Relationship: Friendship or Heteroplatonic

@taterswithranch

"How do you feel now?"

Connor could only shrug his shoulders tiredly and bring his knees closer to his chest, sighing quietly as he felt his heartbeat steady in his chest. His limbs still tingled with phantom sensations, those of burns and extreme heat that made him curl inward and stare at any surface in the room that looked cold (for now it was the plain white corner of the ceiling). Despite Jasmine's kind and incredibly helpful efforts to aid him earlier, the wake of his episode still left a draining toll that flared up the moment he let his guard down.

Pyrophobia was torment.

The officer tried his very best to ignore the hot chills creeping up his back, spreading across his limbs and crawling beneath his skin to make his hairs stand on end. Connor couldn't hide the shiver that was provoked, but then froze up awkwardly when he heard Jasmine's voice again from above, her arm wrapped around his shoulders and holding him to her side.

"Are you feeling cold?"

Connor realized that the tingles were, in fact, not phantom feelings, but a simple matter that he felt cold. He felt foolish for a brief moment before nodding shyly. In response the owl flexed her wings and encased them around the man, swiftly scooping him up into her arms and holding him close. Connor almost immediately sank into her touch, yet to his dismay the shivers remained.

"... My apologies, Jasmine," he mumbled softly, subtly trembling against her chest, "but nothing really changed..."

While he wanted to shake off the chills and seep into a more tolerable state, Connor was also wary and afraid that perhaps he would become... too warm. Too hot. Then it would happen again, and Jasmine's efforts would be swept through the window. Above, Jasmine weighed different options in her head; she could wrap him in a blanket, although out of the many she owned none were really thin enough for this circumstance. She could possibly make him something warm to drink, perhaps some tea, yet that would take a while and she was hesitant to leave Connor alone in his present state.

Then an idea clicked in her head. Jasmine unfolded her wings and reached for the hem of her hoodie, pulling it up over her head and handing it to the man situated on her lap.

"How about you put this on?" she suggested with a smile, watching Connor cautiously slide the eight-sizes-too-large hoodie over his head and maneuver his limbs to fit into the sleeves. Wearing the hoodie, he had a similar appearance to Dexter whenever he wore it; it was like a blanket on him.

Connor let the sleeves hang loose over his arms and pulled the hood up over his head, which covered a large portion of his face to which Jasmine let a quiet chuckle and tugged it back to show his eyes. She was even more gleeful to see Connor manage a small smile too, leaning back against her chest and weakly wrapping his arms around her torso. The owl did the same in return, folding both arms and wings around the man and holding him even closer, brown and beige feathers encasing them both.

Warmth immediately flooded Connor's body, but instead of the prickly, uncomfortable heat that would spike terrible memories as it flared higher and stronger, this warmth was tender, more light and mild, as if he was blanketed by the spring sun. An affectionate whine breached the surface as he melted into the embrace, joy swelling in his chest as, under the guise of snugness for the first time, he felt safe.

"You like it?" he heard the librarian above him ask fondly, brushing a hand across his cheek and trailing the burn scar that adorned it. Once again he could only manage a near-silent hum of adoration, closing his eyes as he felt his body weigh down like lead. Jasmine chuckled as she ran one hand up and down his back, scritching with her nail as she combed the other hand through his muted blue hair. She flared her aura once more, eyes glowing a vibrant pink as she watched Connor drift into a pleasant sleep.

"'Kay, I guess you can keep it a little longer."

——

Based on this drawing by Tater some time ago:

[adversitybloomed]

🌸  ┊ letter received from @battleguqin        Lan Sizhui : ❛ My love, I will fight this war for you and if I fall I’ll see you again. ❜ / ❀  𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒    𝐏𝐞𝐲𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡'𝐬    ❀ / alt to this.

          a tired unease was felt throughout her very being. her body was weighed down by more then just the armor and fur that helped her to stay both protected and warm, but instead too the weight of her duty. it had been two months since the heavy snow and frost began to cover the Phoenix Kingdom, a place well known for its Southern warmth. two months since her father had nearly died not in battle, but within his own throne room. his wound was so great, that even the most skilled of the imperial physicians seemed to be struggling to keep his golden core steady. since his fall, the Kingdom itself seemed broken and half of her country was now torn by a civil war as no heir had been named to take his place.

          her elder sister, Daiyu had made such a mess of things and allowed dark figures to take office, helping her to succeed in bringing chaos. yet, though her supporters were greater than she had anticipated, many had chosen Mulan to lead, including the Empress Consort who had turned to her to lead their nation back to peace as her father recovered in solitude.

          what had made matters worse, was that a dark aura had surrounded their boarders of her nation since the attack on the palace, keeping her people in and leaving her unable to send request for aid to the other Kingdoms. it had left her people feeling helpless and trapped ━━ a hopelessness that had even started to affect her though she could not show it. she knew that she had to lead with grace, especially as her father had entered into seclusion to recover his health. throughout it all though, she never stopped trying to reach out to her allies, especially trying various means to try and reach the second prince of the Eastern Kingdom of the Azure Dragon. but each attempt was unsuccessful for no matter the use of ancient spells, butterflies made from Qi or even a raven sent over the sea, none seemed able to cross past the barrier.

          because of this, worry had seeped into her soul and despite her best efforts to push away such thoughts, she could not seem to get the man she loved off her mind. she worried for his safety and health ━━ for she feared that he too faced the trails that she was enduring. between her worry for him, her family and her people, she had barely touched meals presented to her. sleep evaded her, even when she was tired enough to pass out. only small sessions of meditation kept her going and the thought of her people once more feeling the warmth in the air and joy within their hearts.

          she knew that they were unhappy, for the crops were slowly dying and what made matters worse, was that this sudden chill was only referenced once within the history books, eons ago when demon realm had invaded. with a heavy heart, she knew that history was repeating itself, for it had not taken long for her to see that demons were rising in full power, most so strong that it took her hells flames to bring them down. her people suffered from wars on two fronts, one civil and one from the rise of creatures so unknown that even the Cultivation Sects were unable to answer.

          it had left her feeling overwhelmed, especially since mostly all eyes now turned to her for answer and guidance. yet, she knew that no matter the urge to run, she had no choice but to persevere. even now, as she left the war room provided by the village inn at the lotus lake, she could not help but feel the dread for the night to come. with each step, she felt weighed down, as if the Earth meant to swallow her whole. with each step taken towards her personal chambers, she felt as if her mind was spinning. when she got into the hall of her personal chambers, she stripped herself of her armor, letting it rest against the wall as a simple battle hanfu rested underneath. taking only her sword, she called out for Lin, her personal lady-in-waiting to draw her a bath so that she could ready herself for the nights raids that were bound to come. yet, no answer came and it caused her mind to snap back in focus. readying her blade for an attack, she stepped into the archway, her eyes glancing at the dark corners of the room.

          stopping in her tracks, it was his scent that had reached her first, causing her to pause in hope. shifting her gaze, she saw him there, standing near the window that overlooked the lakeside. her heart skipped several beats, her sword dropping from her hand as it clanked to the floor. when his eyes turned to see if she was well, her vision blurred as soon she forgot herself as she crossed the space of the room and threw herself into his arms. tightly she held onto him, her face burying within the crook of his neck as she shook.

          she did not care if it was not proper, nor did she care if she smelled of sweat, ashes and blood ━━ for instead all she could focus on was that Sizhui was here and he was alive. for a while she stayed within his arms, holding tightly as she finally felt a sense of relief and safety. tightly she held him, nails most likely digging into his silks, but she did not care. slowly, after a bit, she pulled from him before reaching to touch his face and examine just how well he was. when she was satisfied, she lowered her hand and took his own before bringing him to a place to sit so they can talk and catch up.

          she explained everything to him, from the start and the issues she was facing. she explained the failure to be able to communicate outside her Countries boarders and how between the rise of demons, her sisters war and this unprecedent cold had brought suffering to all. when she had finished, silence befell her as her fingers traced the skin of his hand. her voice felt hoarse and yet, she felt more alive with his presence then she had in weeks. her eyes held his own as he began to speak, the words of affirmation sending her heart into a fluttering race, ❛ My love, I will fight this war for you and if I fall I’ll see you again. ❜

        ❝  your words relieve me... but i cannot loose you. i do not think i am strong enough for you to fall...  ❞    Mulan confessed,      ❝  i know your aid will turn the tides for the better... with you by my side, i am sure of victory... but, these past two months, the only thing that kept hope alive in my heart was the thought that you were out there and hopefully safe from harm... there has not been a single moment where you have not crossed my mind, my soul praying to see you again.  ❞

          shifting herself closer to him, she shifted to rest upon her knees to help give her height as her forehead moved to lean against his own. tenderly she freed one of her hands to run her fingers against his cheek and trace along his jawline,      ❝  you are my heart and the reason why my soul burns. you are the moon and stars that brighten my dark skies...  ❞    the confession paused upon her lips as she breathed, using his scent to help bring her some form of comfort,      ❝  fight with me... fight to end this war, but... do not fall... for i will have no choice but to bring you back to me.  ❞

[sequinsmile-x]

Assurance

Just some pointless fluff, because I'm hungover and frankly we all deserve the happiness.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: none

Read over on Ao3 in my collection of mini fics, or below the cut

Let me know what you think <3

Emily was tired, the exhaustion seeping into her bones in a way she had never experienced. She thought she knew how it felt before. She’d never had a 9-5 job, didn’t have a solid routine that ever allowed for a normal sleeping pattern. She slept more in Paris than she thought she would, her physical recovery from what Ian had done to her long and stretched out, and the loneliness not letting her do anything else. She still remembers feeling tired though, as if she could sleep forever and it would still never be enough.

None of that had prepared her for how it felt to have a baby that didn’t seem to like sleep.

Mia Rose Hotchner was 8 weeks old and a mini Emily through and through. Aaron often joked that he wondered if she had somehow cloned herself, claiming that their little girl had none of his features.

Emily can’t help but suppress a yawn as she paces the living room in the early afternoon, Mia curled up against her chest, the infant only ever really calm if she was close to her mother. Aaron was away on a case, his first one since he returned to work after his paternity leave. The first 6 weeks of Mia’s life were spent at home, just the three of them and Jack adjusting to being a new family together.

She missed him, even though he’d only been gone four days.

Emily yawns again and sits down on the couch, leaning her head back as she holds Mia against her, little fists tangled in her hair. She leans down and kisses the top of the baby’s head, deeply breathing in the scent she’s not sure how she ever lived without.

She’s half asleep, her eyes drifting shut despite her best efforts to keep them open, when her phone rings. It shocks her back to being awake, the movement making the baby curled up on her chest whine slightly.

“You’re ok, Mia.” Emily soothes, her lips pressed to the top of her daughter's head, her hand rubbing circles on her back. The baby fusses some more before settling back down on Emily’s chest, her favourite place to be. “You’re ok.”

Emily reaches for her phone on the side table and smiles when she sees her husband's name on the screen. His contact picture is one of him and Mia the day she was born, impossibly tiny in her father’s arms.

“Hey.” She rasps out as she answers the phone.

“Hi sweetheart.” Aaron replies. He sounds ragged, sad in a way he’d only let her hear, and she can picture him taking a moment away from the team to call her, just to hear her voice. “You sound tired.”

Emily laughs. “That’s because your daughter seems to have made it an aim of hers to never let me sleep again.”

“I’m sorry, Em.” He says, his sympathy like a balm down the phone, soothing her in a way she hadn’t realised she needed. “I’ll be home tonight, try and give you a night off.”

“You caught him?” She asks, joy spreading through her chest at the thought of seeing him.

“Yes.” He says, something close to defeat in his voice that stops the joy immediately, concern for her husband replacing it. “We caught him.”

They lapse into silence and she can sense his tension over the phone. In the four days he’d been away he’d called her every day, taking five minutes wherever he could to have a taste of home. To close his eyes and picture his wife and children. A small reprieve from a horrible case that she knows he hasn’t told her the worst of.

“Are you ok, honey?” She asks, already knowing the answer he’d give her over the phone wouldn’t be the truth.

“Yeah, I’m ok.” He clears his throat and she hears Dave in the background, catching Aaron’s attention for a moment. “Sorry sweetheart, I’ve got to go. I’ll be back tonight, we’re leaving soon but have to head to the office first.”

“Ok.” She says, knowing she’d have to wait to get him to admit how he was. Wait until he was home with her, safe in the house they had bought together. Their safe space. “Text when you’re on the way.”

“Will do.” He replies. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Emily sighs as she hangs up, her phone placed back on the table. She looks down at Mia, wide dark eyes looking up at her, somehow still awake. She strokes the baby’s cheek, love spreading through her entire body when she smiles up at her. She’d only started doing it a few days ago, managing to smile at Aaron before he left for work, something Emily was grateful that he hadn’t missed.

An idea forms in her head and she smiles back.

“What do you think, sweet girl?” Emily says, reaching for her phone to call Penelope. “Shall we go cheer up Daddy?”

Mia squeals in response, loud and happy, and Emily takes that as an answer.

______

She is barely out of the elevator, Mia’s car seat in hand, when Penelope appears, her excitement rolling off of her.

“There she is.” Penelope exclaims, entirely bypassing Emily and leaning down to greet Mia. “Hi princess, you just keep getting cuter.”

“Nice to see you too, Pen.” Emily says sardonically, her eyebrow raised in jest when her friend looks at her, straightening back up.

“Sorry, Em. She’s just so cute I can’t resist.” Penelope replies, pulling Emily into a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.” She laughs as they pull apart, readjusting her hold on Mia’s car seat. “Are they on their way?”

“They should be landing as we speak.” Penelope says, linking her arm through Emily’s spare one and leading her towards the bullpen. “They’ll be glad to see you.”

“Are they ok?” She asks delicately, not wanting to give away how wretched Aaron had sounded on the phone, knowing that was a part of himself that he kept just for her. “From the bits and pieces Aaron told me it sounds like a rough one.

Penelope opens the door to the conference room and lets Emily walk through first. “Cases with children are always tougher,” she says almost absentmindedly, “and poor Hotch found the last victim.”

Emily falters slightly as she lifts a now slightly fussy Mia into her arms, holding the baby before she could start to cry.

“He did what?” She asks, her eyebrows creased in concern. It’s Penelope’s turn to falter, staring at Emily as she tries to figure out what to say next.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No.” Emily confirms, shaking her head slightly at the thought of her loving, stupid, husband trying to protect her from this. “Tell me everything.”

_____

She hears him before she sees him. His voice carries throughout the office as Penelope leads the team to the conference room, his irritation obvious. She wonders what he thinks is happening, if he’s worried that they’ve somehow picked up another case already.

“Garcia, can’t this wait. I...”

He trails off when he sees her, the look of relief on his face clear as he takes in the sight of them, Emily sitting on the edge of the table, Mia in her arms.

“Hi.” She says, standing up and walking over towards him.

“Hi,” he replies, “what are you doing here?”

“We thought we’d come see you.” She says, smiling as she transfers Mia into his arms. “She was insistent she didn’t want to wait until tonight.”

He kisses the side of Mia’s head, holding her securely to him. “Oh she was, was she?” He asks, smiling at his wife.

“She demanded it.”

The rest of the team are in the room before they can say anything else, or greet each other properly. Emily smiles and laughs as they all greet her, pulling her into hugs and asking her how she is, telling her they miss her like they weren’t at the house as often as they could be. Eventually Penelope manages to wrangle Mia out of Aaron’s arms, claiming that he’d get more time with her at home, and they all gather around, talking in high pitched voices they’d all deny as they looked at the youngest member of their unusual family.

She smiles as she watches the team argue about who gets to hold Mia. Derek finally manages to get the baby out of Penelope’s arms, smiling as he looks down at the little girl.

Emily feels arms wrap around her waist and she places her hand over Aaron’s as it settles on her stomach. She leans back into him, sighing contentedly as she breathed him in, glad to have him back after only a few days apart.

“I missed you.” He says, his lips against her temple. The public display of his affection for her was unusual, especially when they were in the office, but he clearly needs this. Needs her.

Emily turns her head enough that she’s looking up at him and she smiles, leaning up to kiss him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek.

“I missed you too.” She says as she pulls away, looking back over to the team all fawning over her daughter. She wasn’t able to have Mia out of her sight yet for too long, fear clutching at her throat if she didn’t know where the little girl was, even here. Surrounded by people she knew would put their lives on the line for them. “So did she.”

“She looks different.”

Emily chuckles and squeezes his hand. “It’s been 4 days, love.”

“She’s bigger.”

“Because she never stops eating.” Emily replies, her words punctuated by a yawn. He squeezes her a little tighter.

“You’re tired.” He says, smiling as he lets her lean further back into him. “Straight to bed when we get home.”

“Agent Hotchner,” she says, faking scandal as she turns to look at him again, “what’s got into you? Propositioning me like that in front of everyone.”

Aaron frowns at her like he always did when she teases him, but any response is cut off by Derek.

“Come on, Em. There are children in the room.” Derek says, indicating the baby in his arms and nodding towards Spencer.

“Hey.” Spencer says looking up from where he’d been talking to Mia, regaling her with how well she was doing for an 8 week old, keeping up with all of the milestones that she should be.

“Derek, it can’t surprise you we have sex.” Emily says, a smirk on her face. “You’re holding the evidence.”

She can’t help but laugh at the look on his face, Aaron’s soft admonishment in her ear as Derek quickly hands Mia back.

_____

Emily waits until they are in bed. Jack settled in his room after he regaled them with his stories from school and the fun he had with Jess before she dropped him home, Mia gently settled into her bassinet. Freshly fed and sleeping for once, allowing her some time alone with her husband, something that felt rare these days, somehow even more precious than she’d found it before.

He settles in next to her and she curls into him, her head on his chest as his hand trails under her pyjama shirt. His palm warm against her spine.

She considers waiting him out. Letting him tell her what she already knew, the details Penelope had given her earlier were still floating around her head.

But she knows him. Better than she’s ever known anyone, and he won’t do it. Won’t do what he still sees as burdening her, despite all that they share.

“Pen told me.” She says, her words muffled by his t-shirt.

“She told you what, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice quiet, aware that the baby would wake at anything.

“That you found the last victim.” She says softly, feeling her heart clench when his hand stills on her back. “That they all looked like Jack.”

“Em, I’m fine. I promise.”

She pulls back from him, her hand against his chest as she props herself up.

“You aren’t.” She replies, smiling softly at him. “And you don’t have to pretend you are.” She moves her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb gentle against his skin as she rubs soft circles. “I wouldn’t be.”

He stares at her for a moment before he sighs, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, his fingers trailing through her hair. He nods, relenting, and she feels relief spread through her.

“We got there only slightly too late to save the last boy.” He says, shaking his head at himself. “His name was Andrew. His mother…” he drifts off for a second, gathering himself before he continues, his eyes meeting hers again, “she said it was my fault. That I could have saved him.”

“Baby,” she says, moving so she could press her forehead against his, “you know that’s not true. And so does she.” She pulls back to palm his cheek and presses a kiss against his lips. “People say all sorts of things they don’t mean when they are grieving.”

He nods at her, a sad smile on his face. “It just seems unfair that I get to come home to you, to our family, and her life won’t ever be the same.”

“Yes.” she says softly, a wry smile on her face as she scrapes his hair off of his forehead, slightly longer than usual. The business of parenting a newborn meaning he’d had no time to go and get it done. “Because our lives have been a walk in the park up until this point.” It makes him smile, a real smile that she knows belongs to her, and she can’t help but return it before she becomes serious again. “Because of you, of the team, that woman will have justice for her son. It’s important. Even if she doesn’t know that yet.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

He shakes his head at her before kissing her, his thanks whispered against her lips, and she settles back down against him.

She sighs as his hand starts up and down her back again, lulling her to sleep, her exhaustion almost overwhelming.

“Em?” He says quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head when she hums in response. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies, pressing her face into his chest, “but please shut up. I’m trying to sleep and the baby will be awake again soon,” her hand comes up to his face, blindly patting his face, “and sadly you lack the equipment to feed her.”

“Ok, sweetheart.”

He lays there, sleep not finding him as his wife drifts off pressed up against him, her soft snores filling the room.

She’s woken up just less than an hour later by Mia’s cries, and as he watches them together he knows he’s the luckiest man alive.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Making Amends

Summary: Five years, you thought he was gone for good. After the War, he disappeared. Now, after months of zero contact, he shows up at your bridal salon. A somewhat bitter Reader and a post-FATWS Bucky

Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader

Word count: 2381

Warnings: Mentions of past violence and killings, adult language

I sigh, securing the train of the dress so it doesn’t drag against the floor. The dress is stunning, as they all are. This one—pouffy, ivory, grand—has a bateau neckline and falls to the floor in a long, glittering train.

The glitter gets everywhere.

I bend down, trying to wipe some of it off my pants leg, then work on my blazer. Every day, only black clothes. It’s tradition, but a stupid one — the glitter stands out on my clothes more than it does on the white dresses.

“Miss, someone’s here to see you.”

I grit my teeth, digging my hands into the fabric of the dress. The receptionist is young — barely out of her teens, really — and still quite new at her job. She, like others, disappeared on that awful day five and a half years ago.

The day I lost everything.

And she’s here today because of my friends’ sacrifices.

I try to remind myself to be patient. “We’re appointment only, Lydia. Tell her to call, make an appointment, and come back then.”

“R-right,” she stammers, and I can hear the bottoms of her heels scraping against the floor as she shifts her weight. “It’s just—well, he said it’s really important, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

That gives me pause. He?

As a product manager at a bridal salon, my day is mostly spent in the company of women. Brides, their mothers, bridal parties, wedding planners, etc. There’s the occasional fiancé, father, brother, friend come to support, or a groom shopping for a dress, but overall, men tend to stand out.

“Fine, send him in,” I allow. It’s obvious he’s not listening to Lydia, but I know I’m more intimidating than she is. I’ll tell him to schedule an appointment. “And then do me a favor — there’s a list of designers on my desk upstairs. Can you give their offices a call and update the contact info for each brand representative?”

She sounds relieved. “Sure, no problem.”

As the sound of her heels meeting the ground fade away, I breathe in the sweet, floral-scented air. We’re under-booked today. There are only a few brides occupying our east fitting rooms, so I’ve decided to spend my afternoon in the west, making everything look perfect for the weekend ahead. Having this section alone — just me, the soft piano music playing over the speakers, and the dresses — is almost peaceful.

It would be peaceful if I were anyone else.

I continue to straighten the dresses. Everything needs to be perfectly spaced, meticulously tucked and folded to make each dress impressive in its own way. There’s no room for imperfection, here.

The sound of heavy boots clicking on the floor rings through the empty room. “Hey, Doll.”

My body runs cold.

That voice. I know it well.

My mind flashes to late nights, stealing smiles and kisses, tight hugs, adoring eyes.

And then falling to the ground in grief. Changing outfits to attend my second funeral of the day. His. And, after years of grieving, healing, and suffering through, one chance to fix it all. The joy of having him back. Locking eyes on the battlefield.

And then nothing.

Nothing.

All my air leaves me in one, quick, sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I turn, both dreading the sight and longing for it.

And just like that, standing between two rows of eggshell and pearl and ivory, he’s here.

Dark denim jeans, a deep blue shirt—long sleeve, knowing him—a grey button-up open on his chest, and two thick gloves, despite the summer heat.

I cross my arms.

He purses his lips together and raises his eyebrows, crossing one foot over the other casually. “So, bridal, huh?”

I feel my jaw clench. “I’ve got to make a living, don’t I? Evidently you do, too.” I can’t stop the bitterness from seeping into my voice.

He sighs that long-suffering sigh, one that tells me he’s more resigned than upset. “I wanted to come back.”

I turn my attention back to the dresses, walking down the row of gleaming white. “No one was stopping you.”

He turns to face me as I continue my inspection of each and every gown. “It’s not that simple. I—I was working hard. I had to get freed from him.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to feel something. But of course, I do. Ever since I’ve known Bucky, he’s been wrecked by the things he’s done and terrified he’ll be called to do them again.

Terrified that he’ll lose his mind once again to the assassin.

When I saw him on TV, in a random news report from months ago, I’d broken down into sobs. I’d fallen to my knees and said prayer after prayer of thanks. Because the clouds had faded from his eyes. The fear, the ever-present dread, was gone. He stood taller, more assured —

Happier.

I knew then, that somehow, he’d gotten the Winter Soldier out.

I bend down, fluffing layers of crinoline in a ballgown. “You’ve been in the news.”

He hears the accusation in my voice. You’ve been back for months.

He approaches me slowly, coming to stand in front of me as I straighten. “I had a job to do.”

“What, the new Captain America doesn’t allow cell phones?”

He ignores the jab. “Doll, I had to wait to make sure, to be sure, but I’m safe, now. I’m not him anymore.”

“Bucky, I always felt safe with you,” I whisper, the emotion nearly winning. “I loved you more than anything. And despite what you said — that you loved me, too — you just left. Five years I waited for you. I didn’t think there was any way I would ever see you again, and then by some miracle, after so much loss, you came back! We fought in a war together. We killed. And we won. And then you disappeared. It’s been six months! I-I mean, I hate to think the worst, Bucky, but I really thought—” I cut off my words then, unable to continue without dissolving into tears.

His jaw tightens in that heartbreaking way it does when he’s sad, and he reaches forward. When I don’t protest to his gloved hand on mine, he pulls me into a hug. I want to melt into him. I want to collapse under nearly six years of unresolved grief, stress, worry, and let him hold me up, let him bear this burden for just a few minutes.

But that’s not the way I’m made.

I’ve entrusted my heart to him too many times.

And every time, I’m left alone and broken.

I push myself out of his arms, wiping my tears away quickly. Once again, the dresses act as my anchor, my distraction. I gather one in my arms, crossing the aisle to re-hang it in its proper place.

Bucky watches from a distance.

His hands are tucked into his pockets, and he looks at me sadly for a while before his eyes turn to the ground.

Silence falls between us. The only noises are the coos of elated brides and their adoring guests coming from the east side of the building.

After a while, Bucky raises his head towards me. “Does working here make you want it?”

I sigh. He can’t do that. Can’t come in here after so much time away with zero contact and then casually ask me stupid questions. “Want what?”

“You know,” he shrugs, leaning against the receptionist’s desk. “It. A wedding, a marriage, a…life.”

I purse my lips, shaking my head. I reach to adjust a hanger slightly out of my arm span, trying my hardest not to sound sad. “I’m not the kind of girl you marry, Buck. Not anymore.”

He scoffs, making a face. “What does that even mean?”

I turn on him, more than done with this conversation. “Exactly that! I see it every day — brides come in here, all starry-eyed, happy, innocent. They’ve got love, or at least the excitement of planning their ‘big day,’ and they just glow with all the life in them. I don’t have that, not anymore. I—” I lower my voice, gritting my teeth against the emotion that attempts to fight through. “I’ve killed people, Bucky. For a long period of time, that’s all I did. And, look, I’m really, really happy for you being able to heal and move on and be freed, but I can’t do that. I can’t come back from who I turned out to be.”

“That’s bullshit. You did what you had to do.” He pushes himself off the receptionist’s desk, adamant. “Every life you took was to stop the slaughter of others. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I can.”

We stare each other down.

He’s always had a good stare.

Steady, intimidating, unwavering. It’s like he can see into the depths of your soul and know he can outlast you.

But I work with furious mothers of the brides.

I raise an eyebrow, showing him I will not back down from this challenge.

He blinks and moves his gaze past my right shoulder. Something shifts in his eyes. “You’ve got a client.”

I force my expression to soften, maneuvering around Bucky to grab the clipboard from the receptionist’s desk. I give him a look that clearly says do not move, and hurry to the front door to welcome the bride and her guests in. Amidst the flurry of excited chatters, gushing about wedding plans, and a clear description of what she does not want, I check them in on the clipboard and take them to the east wing to meet a consultant. When I return, Bucky is exactly where I left him.

He smirks at me. “What the hell was that? Your voice rose like three octaves.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s called customer service.”

He shrugs, leaning against the desk in a way I should not find ridiculously attractive. “Well, why don’t I get any of that?”

I grit my teeth. “Because they are going to buy a dress, which will pay my salary, which will make me happy. You on the other hand, have caused me nothing but anger, sadness, and worry.” I blink, absently shocked that all that truth escaped despite my best efforts.

Something flashes in Bucky’s eyes—regret, maybe—but he covers it well, tilting his head to the side and keeping his playful tone. “Really? Nothing but that? Gosh, I must have been a terrible boyfriend.”

I dig my teeth into my lower lip, staring down at my clipboard. It’s been six months. You may as well continue with the honesty. You don’t know the next time you’ll have a change to talk to him like this. “Buck…” I approach him slowly, buying myself time. Too soon, I come to stand in front of him. “You were a great boyfriend. I…” I sigh, shaking my head. “I thought you were it. I didn’t want anyone else. And we were happy, overall. You know—up until you disappeared without so much as a text and ignored me for six months.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek. He leans forward, locking his eyes with mine. “We were good together. I loved you, more than anything, I—well Doll, I still love you. And look, I know I’ve messed up. In more ways than seems is humanly possible, but I,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I’m as clean as I’m ever gonna get. I shouldn’t have disappeared without warning. I should’ve called when I left Wakanda. I should’ve let you hear from me rather than seeing me on the news. I should’ve come back and done the work to rebuild what I broke. I’m sorry. I really am.”

I feel the clipboard digging into my stomach. I don’t move. I stare at him, terrified of the way his words, the honesty in his eyes, makes me react. Too easily, my walls are coming down. “What did you come here for?”

“I—just,” he digs his hands into his pockets, sighing lowly. “I’m back in town. And I’m here to stay for a while. If you’d allow it, I’d like to try to make amends.”

Don’t do it, I beg myself. Don’t set yourself up for more pain.

In the face of my silence, he nods slowly, taking on a look of sad understanding.

“I work till seven.” The words rush from my mouth before I can stop them, before I can think of the consequences. I grip the clipboard even tighter.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, the start of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nod, my heart racing at the prospect of being with him again, of maybe fixing things. “I live in the same apartment.”

He grins fully now, but at my stern look, attempts to wipe it off his face. I’m still mad at him, he shouldn’t get too comfortable yet.

But the light doesn’t leave his eyes and, despite my fear that this will all turn out terribly for me, I feel my own lips threatening to turn up.

He pushes himself off the desk, standing closer to me than I think either of us intended. “Can I take you out?”

I release a long breath, not moving from my spot despite our proximity. “Yes.”

He nods slowly, not pulling his gaze from mine. “It’s a date.”

“It’s a trial period,” I correct, unable to keep myself from teasing him a little.

He tilts his head to the side, laughing indulgently. “Alright, I deserve that. Then, sure, I’ll pick you up at eight for our trial period.”

He smirks cockily at me, winking in that way he knows makes my knees weak, before turning and swaggering to the door.

Despite our play, he’s not getting off this easy. There’s a lot we have to work through, and we might not even be compatible anymore — he knows that, too.

But for just this moment, I allow myself to enjoy feeling comfortable with him, joking like we used to. When his gloved hand reaches for the doorknob, I call after him, keeping my tone light. “You’re on thin fucking ice, Barnes.”

He turns his head to mine, nodding solemnly in a way I didn’t expect. “I know, Doll.”

A/n Whoops, couldn’t get this one out of my head after seeing Bucky in FATWS, so here’s some angst, bitterness, and hopefully a little hope! 

|masterlist|

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 61

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 2,591

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Taking Care of Business

You were in shock and at a loss for words, while Amber’s impatient expression as she stared you down meant that she obviously expected you to say something. When it became apparent that you weren’t going to kickstart this lovely conversation, she gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes before breaking the silence with a haughty voice that instantly grated on your nerves.

“Well, are you going to let me in, or what?”

Your subconscious gave a resounding scream of ‘fuck off!’ and hissed at Amber, while your brain warned to proceed with caution. The last thing you wanted right now was a fight, but it wasn’t clear which path led to a worse confrontation: letting her in or telling her to leave. Deciding to attempt civility, you clamped down the words ‘I’d really rather not’ that were on the tip of your tongue, and instead gave a small nod and stood back from the doorway to let her in. The sickly sweet smell of flowers hit when she passed by, and you had the incredibly random thought of where the fuck does she get perfume in an apocalypse? 

Ignoring the unimportant question, you watched as she glanced around your room, eyes flickering over the small bed, the wooden chair piled with clothes, and then the stack of old rickety crates holding your belongings. Her face scrunched up in utter disdain of the meager surroundings, solidifying what Ben had once said about her coming from a privileged background before the apocalypse. Her room upstairs probably had all kinds of fancy furniture and clothes. You wanted to feel annoyed, even a bit ashamed, but then remembered whose bed you were now spending the night in and immediately lost all sense of self-consciousness. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what material possessions she might own, because you had Negan and she didn’t. No matter how this conversation went, that fact wasn’t going to change, and nothing she said was going to ruin your newfound happiness. You were still nervous and feeling a bit cagey being in the same room as the woman who was far from your biggest fan, but the security of knowing where you and Negan stood with one another helped you to keep calm and project an air of indifference. 

However, you still didn’t want to play this too arrogantly, and decided not to close the door the entire way, pushing it so that there was still a centimeter of space keeping it unlatched. The crack was small enough for her to not have noticed, and gave you that extra padding of reassurance. You didn’t trust her one bit, and wanted an easier exit, if necessary, or a way to hopefully be heard if you yelled for help. Not that you were too worried about a physical confrontation; you looked up and down her petite, small frame and thought, you can take her if you have to. The subconscious gave an aggressive yell of agreement and stared Amber down with laser-like focus. 

Not wanting to make any assumptions, you decided to stand there silently and wait her out. It didn’t take long, as she abruptly turned to you with a sneer and said, “I bet you’re feeling mighty proud of yourself right about now.”

Well then, guess we’re going with no pretense or attempt at subtlety. Raising your brows in surprise, you honestly replied, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You were certain this had to do with Negan, but weren’t sure if it was in regards to the last few weeks, if she had heard about the scene in the cafeteria, or, perhaps, it was something else entirely.

She narrowed her eyes at you and practically hissed, “Don’t play stupid with me. I know that you’re the one who convinced him to throw us all out.” 

You couldn’t hide the look of utter surprise at her words. Had Negan said something to the wives today? But when?! You had seen him off on the run to the outpost this morning, and there had only been perhaps a 20 minute space of time from when his men had sat down for dinner and he himself had entered the cafeteria. Had he spent that small chunk of time talking to his wives?

Apparently so, as Amber confirmed a few seconds later. 

“I can’t believe he would just march in there and tell us, tell me, that we’re not needed anymore.” She scoffed, as if the idea was laughable. “And I bet it was your idea that we lose our rooms too, right? You couldn’t even let us stay where we were, let us be on the same floor as him. No, you somehow convinced him to kick us out, and tell us we’re to ‘reintegrate into the community’. What the fuck!” 

She had used her fingers in air quotes around the reintegrate part, which would’ve been a bit humorous if not for her screeched curse at the end. Your emotions were all jumbled, since part of you wanted to fist pump with joy that Negan had decided to officially move out his wives and make them a part of the community, while another part of you knew that to let your happiness show would only cause Amber to escalate. And while you didn’t feel too bad for her, especially considering the way she’d treated other women like Maria and Trixie, you could still relate on a human level to the shitty feeling of being unwanted. It was that little crumb of empathy that you tried to lead with, despite the subconscious begging you to just bypass all that and use a fist instead. 

“I honestly wasn't aware that he did that,” you said, hoping she could hear the sincerity in your voice. “I understand that it’s gotta be frustrating to-”

“Don’t try to feed me bullshit by saying you understand!” she interrupted, eyes blazing with anger. “You think that just because you waltzed in there with your little food trays and spread your legs for him whenever he wants that it makes you better than us. You could’ve played by the rules and become a wife like the rest of us, but nooo. You must think you’re really fucking special, to screw us all over and wreck the entire system! News flash bitch, you’ll never be enough to satisfy him, and he’ll get bored with you soon enough. Then we’ll see how much you ‘understand’ when the tables turn and he asks us to come back while you’re the one tossed to the side! Because that’s what will happen in time, and it’ll make him look weak and indecisive to the entire community. I hope you’re prepared for that, for his potential downfall to be all. Your. Fault!”   

Well so much for going the empathetic route, you thought as a spark of anger burned in your gut. She stood there, breathing heavily from her outburst and wearing a cruel smirk as she waited to see what effect her words would have on you. Said effect was that both your subconscious and brain were now wielding swords, ready to go to battle and take her out. 

Any desire to try and make peace flew out the window, as you saw through her act and straight to exactly what she was trying to accomplish by confronting you. How dare she take her own hurt and insecurities and try to throw them back on you. And what made you extra mad was how calculated they were to cause injury. She had spit the words with pure venom, designed to seep into your veins and poison all confidence that what you had with Negan was real. 

If she had said this to you even two days ago, it might’ve actually worked, might’ve combined with that padlocked box of questions and been the tipping point to send you over the edge into fully believing every word. There had also been the ball of self-doubt, which until the other night had been constantly following you around and whispering that Negan would never give up a group of women who were always at his beck and call for someone as independent and outspoken as you. That he couldn’t possibly change his rules so completely for you. That he couldn’t possibly love you. 

But this wasn’t two days ago, and you knew better now. 

Spine stiffening, you stared Amber down and said in a cool yet stern voice, “It’s obvious that nothing I say will make you happy, unless it’s that I leave Negan alone and let you have him.” You saw her eyes spark in anticipation at the words, as if she expected you to do just that. “But that’s not going to happen.” 

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she opened her mouth, probably to spout more vitriol. But you weren’t having it. In fact, she wasn’t even worth the effort of fighting, and refusing to spend another second entertaining her bullshit would be a more satisfying win than arguing back and forth. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” 

“Why you-”

“Leave, Amber. Before this escalates and ends in a public and unattractive way. Unless you want others to see you escorted out of the Sanctuary.”

You were possibly talking out your ass with that last bit, since you didn’t have the authority to ban anyone from the compound. However, she didn’t need to know that, and you could tell that the threat worked when her mouth clamped shut, eyes blazing with hatred as she marched towards you. For a moment, you had the fear that she was going to start a physical altercation. Instead, she angrily stomped past, a hair’s breadth away from knocking into you as the pungent smell of fake flowers trailed after her. 

“This isn’t over, bitch.” 

The words were said as she grabbed the knob and threw back the door dramatically. It flew open and slammed into the wall, swinging mere inches from your face. It would’ve been an impressive exit, except that she had barely set foot out into the hall when every muscle in her body went taut as a bowstring, and her face drained of all color as she looked at something up and to the left. 

Taking a step forward to glance out the doorway, your eyes widened in shock at the sight of Negan standing right outside. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, but seeing as how the door had been unlatched and opened a crack the entire time, he had to have at least heard the end of your conversation. 

Her mouth opened but no words came out, and you knew that she was frantically trying to come up with a way to twist the situation. If given enough time, she’d make herself look squeaky clean and try to manipulate things so that it would appear as if the confrontation was somehow your fault. Rather than give her time to come up with a bullshit excuse, Negan spoke first, his tone low and deadly serious. 

“Don’t say a fucking word. Nothing’s changed from what I told you earlier, and I don’t want any more fucking feedback about it. You and I are fucking done, and if you can’t handle that, then you’ll be escorted the fuck out first thing tomorrow morning, just like she fucking said.”

You felt a spark of satisfaction at his agreement with your threat to make her leave, at the way he stood in solidarity with you. Amber deflated slightly at his words, but she still glanced back at you over her shoulder, eyes shooting daggers. Unable to help one moment of pure pettiness, you looked her square in the eye and got the last word.

 “I’d say this is fucking over.” 

She knew she’d been beaten, you could see it written all over her face. But Amber was prideful, and she’d not crumple in front of an audience. Instead, she held her head high and walked quickly past Negan without a second glance. The two of you watched her march down the hall and disappear into the stairwell, and you had a feeling that, despite her brave face, she was going to find somewhere private to hide and lick her emotional wounds. 

Negan turned to you, the anger slipping from his expression as he scanned up and down your body, as if to make sure that there was no physical injury. Thankfully, all wounds had been emotionally inflicted and they were nothing more than shallow cuts, rather than the deep stabs Amber had been hoping for. 

“How long have you been standing there?”

His lips curled up into a pleased smirk, as he replied, “Long enough to know that you had the situation fucking handled, and didn’t need my help.”

You huffed out a tiny laugh at that, pleased to know that while he had been listening, he hadn’t just charged in and taken over. He’d been willing to stay back and let you deal with the conflict on your own...had trusted your ability to take care of it. 

You started to exit the room and close the door, but halted when he said, “Why don’t you pack a bag first.”

“What?” you blinked rapidly at him in confusion.

He shrugged casually, as if to try and offset the seriousness of his words. “Since you’re spending nights with me, it only makes fucking sense to move some of your stuff up to my room. Maybe then you won’t keep stealing my fuckin’ toothbrushes and clothes. Maybe if you ask nicely enough, I’ll even clear out a drawer or two.”

It took a few seconds to process that Negan had just done the apocalypse version of asking you to start moving in with him. Your subconscious and brain had linked arms and were twirling in a circle while tossing confetti into the air, but you tried to act as cool and casual as Negan had about it, nodding and turning back into your room. It wasn’t until you were sure he couldn’t see your face that you allowed a huge grin and silent scream of excitement.

Grabbing the brown sack, you threw in half your t-shirts (aka the ones that were currently clean) and the navy blue gym shorts. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as you tried to quickly and discreetly throw in a few pairs of underwear and socks, though you knew he was standing in the doorway and watching your every move. You also grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste, but left the shower items. Negan had plenty of those to share, and you weren't willingly giving up the luxury of his fluffy towels and fancy soaps. You topped off the bag with some extra hair ties, a comb, and the copy of Harry Potter. It wasn’t everything, but it put enough of a dent in your belongings that you wouldn’t need to stop back here every evening after dinner, and could instead go straight to his rooms. 

Walking towards him, you went to sling the bag strap up over your arm, but he held out his hand, palm up in offering. You gave a joking eye roll, but passed over the bag so that he could sling it up over his own broad shoulder. Instinctively reaching for his hand, you laced your fingers with his and gave a squeeze of thanks, as the two of you started off down the hall and upstairs to his room.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[mianavs]

disclosing the truth

part 4 of Cathexis

a/n: a big reveal and another dangerous encounter with our favorite magician. plenty of Illumi to come in the next part

tw: smut

wc: 3k+

Cathexis

A night of fitful sleep awaited you after stripping off your dress, shoes, and makeup. Illumi visited your dreams that night, the way he usually did, except the dream was different. Your dreams of Illumi usually consisted of him walking beside you but, other times, he imprisoned you in the basement of his family’s estate on Kukuroo Mountain. This time was different in that you were in your current bed, immobile, and staring at him as he approached you. Illumi stoically reached out and brushed a lock of hair from your face while you stared utterly petrified. His hand traveled south until you felt a sharp pain behind your neck that blurred your vision and all you could make out was a cruel smile on Illumi’s beautiful face.

It was your last day at Heaven’s Arena. A call from your mother had come in that morning and you were summoned for a reunion back home. Immediately following her call, Hisoka called and asked to meet with you claiming it was important. While the little stunt he’d pulled the day before with his bloodlust had shaken you up, your impulsiveness overpowered your judgement and you agreed to meet him over lunch.

On the way to the café, your senses heightened and an overwhelming desire to not meet Hisoka overcame you. You pushed past your discomfort and approached the table where the magician sat. His smile was unusually genuine when you sat down but you matched it to the best of your ability despite the warning sirens going off in your head. Hisoka began making small talk but you were quick to cut him off; something that seemed to amuse him.

“I don’t have time, Hisoka, so if you could please cut to the chase and tell me what’s so important.” His brow quirked as he studied you until a text message flashed on your phone that captured his attention as well as yours. It was from your mother.

[Casual dinner at home. No need to wear the dress]

“Ah…you’re meeting with your family.” It wasn’t a question but you replied anyway hoping it would get him talking.

“Do you know who your family acquired the debt from?” His question caught you off guard but you didn’t like his insinuating tone and you grew irritated in a matter of seconds.

“No…I don’t.” Your body tensed uncomfortably at the grin that spread on his face. You didn’t like where the conversation was going but you couldn’t afford to lose Hisoka as a contact.

“…and wouldn’t you like to know?”

You sprang from your chair and a single word repeated in your mind as Hisoka’s grin turned sinister the longer you remained on your feet.

Leave

You disobeyed the voice in your head and sat back down. Hisoka could just be pulling a fast one on you but you still wanted to know—needed to know—what he said regardless if it was true or not. “Tell me what you know, Hisoka.”

“Have you ever felt as if you were being watched, Y/N?”

“Yes,” You answered wanting nothing more than to know what Hisoka knew and if it meant tearing down your act then so be it. “I know I’m being watched and I know who’s watching me.”

Surprise and something darker flashed on his face but it went as fast at it came and his face contorted to its usual smug expression. “But you don’t know why, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be here wasting my time with you if I did,” you answered bluntly. “But what do Illumi’s stalking tendencies have to do with my family’s debt?”

“Well Illumi told me the most interesting story yesterday. It was about a transaction that took place eighteen years ago between a family of assassins and a family of hunters. A betrothal between the hunter’s infant daughter and the assassin family’s eldest son instead of money for the debt owed to the assassins.”

The air thickened around you. You wanted to call him a liar and storm out of the establishment but you remained glued to your seat and processed everything he’d said. You opened your mouth to protest but the words died on your tongue. Denial and anger settled into your core and, in momentary weakness, your nen seeped out and enveloped you in wind gusts. It whipped your hair across your face and caused the table and its contents to shake. A scream from one of the patrons broke your fit of fury and your air settled then dissipated.

Hisoka frowned while you took a deep breath to relax and thought over the situation. It made no sense for Hisoka to lie about something like this. You thought about your parents and the parting advice they’d give you every time you parted ways:

“Always avoid assassins. They’re dangerous people.”

Did they want to avoid getting into more debt? If they debt was settled with a future engagement between you and Illumi, why work as hard as they did and make you follow in their footsteps as well? You got lost in your thoughts mulling over every interaction with your parents to recall some sort of hint of a betrothal with the Zoldycks. Nothing came to mind and you were more confused than ever until a possibility came to mind. Were your parents accumulating money to pay off the debt and liberate you?

“Looks like you’ve put two and two together,” Hisoka pointed out. You were about to leave but a startling thought crossed your mind that made you stop in your tracks.

“Does he know...we’re gathering the money to—”

“No, he doesn’t know.” Hisoka interrupted and the words left unsaid both startled and reassured you.

I didn’t tell him

You didn’t ponder too much on Hisoka’s motivations for not revealing your family’s possible scheme to Illumi simply because you didn’t have the head space for it at that moment. Uncovering Hisoka’s motivations would be a project for another time because you were certain that your paths would cross once again. While you were still shocked and upset by his revelation, you thanked Hisoka before leaving the café and heading home. You hoped your intuition was right and your parents were gathering money for that reason. If that wasn’t the case, however, you would need to prepare yourself for a life on the run because you doubted the Zoldycks would cross their arms and do nothing. They would do surely do what they did best; track you down and kill you.

Where the boisterous winds of your hometown had once filled you with joy, you headed straight to your ancestral home anxious about the conversation to come. There was nothing more important than uncovering the truth and with that in mind you bolted past the servants and grounds people stopping only when you were outside of your father’s study. With your heart thumping wildly in your chest, you knocked on the door twice and waited until your mother’s calm voice rang through the door.

“Come in, Y/N.”

Seeing your parents again after almost two years made your heart swell but the turmoil you were currently in stopped you from running into your mother’s arms. Instead you stood at the door with tears welling up in your eyes that cascaded down your face when a strangled cry voiced your distress.

“Is it true? Did you agree to marry me off to the Zoldycks?!”

They were too composed for your liking as if they’d expected you to find out about it on your own—like everything else in your life. However, this time you didn’t want to be on your own and wanted a normal life without an assassin betrothed and hunter parents you rarely saw.

“We promise you it will never come to that. We’ll pay off that debt even if we have to risk our lives.” Your father’s normally modulated voice was thick with emotion and it managed to expel your worst fears.

Your mother’s arms enveloped you and your father immediately joined her until they both held you in their arms each taking turns explaining everything to you. The debt your grandfather had accumulated from Zeno Zoldyck. The time the three of you were summoned to the Zoldyck mansion one day after your first birthday and your father was first made aware of said debt. With the three of your lives on the line, Zeno and Silva gave your father an ultimatum that he took while secretly vowing to dedicate the rest of his life to paying off the debt and saving you from a life as a Zoldyck wife.

Over the next three days, you and your parents counted the money you’d made since your last reunion and found out you were only a couple billion Jenny short of the original debt. You’d been relieved at first until your parents disclosed another aspect of your betrothal you hadn’t been aware of—the deadline of your engagement was your twentieth birthday. With your future at stake, you left home determined to take on as many jobs as you could and make enough money to cover the debt and any interest the Zoldycks would surely demand.

Your untarnished reputation among the jackpot community aided you in your efforts for employment and you were booked for three months straight. There was nothing more important than making money so you ended up ignoring Hisoka’s calls and texts. Illumi only checked up on you once, much less than before, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was due to your encounter in Heaven’s Arena. Whatever the case, he hadn’t confronted you which meant Hisoka was still keeping your family’s secret—that was until you received a text message from him after you’d finished a job.

[Getting tired of chasing you. Meet me in Swardani or I might have something to tell Illumi ♥]

Not knowing how Illumi felt about the betrothal made you anxious. He could either be your ally in ending the betrothal or your enemy and tell his family about your plan. In the end, you couldn’t risk it and set off to Hisoka’s hotel in Swardani.

You got to the lavish hotel late that evening and wondered if your parents still owned their condo in the city to avoid spending money on a motel room. On the way up to Hisoka’s room, a plethora of scenarios played out in your head about what Hisoka would want but the one that stood out the most was him seeking a payment of some sort for helping you. It was the most logical but his mercurial character made it difficult to predict what he would demand.

The door swung open before you could even knock with his honeyed voice inviting you in. You steeled yourself before stepping inside his suite and letting the door close behind you. Hisoka greeted you with damp hair and a towel wrapped around his waist. He led you to the sitting room where he took a seat and motioned you to so the same. As you followed him, you tried to look anywhere but his chiseled torso but your inexperience with men had you curiously staring at his chest, abdomen, and broad shoulders. The smugness on his face broke your trance and you focused on the matter at hand.

“What do you want, Hisoka?”

“I wanted to see my new favorite toy. I missed you, Y/N.” His spoke plain calling you what you were to him and you might have slapped him for it had you not been working against time. “I don’t have time for this. If there’s nothing else, I’m leaving.”

You stood up and walked away but Hisoka’s hand gripped your wrist and pulled you back. Ready to lash out at him, you stopped when you noticed his playful grin was gone and his mouth was set in a hard line. The voice in your head that warned you of danger begged you to leave but Hisoka’s bruising grip wouldn’t let up no matter how hard you tugged.

“Not so fast. You owe me, Y/N. You didn’t think I told you about Illumi expecting nothing in return, did you?” The singsong-y voice that contrasted his threatening words alarmed you and multiple scenarios played out in your mind on how to leave Hisoka’s presence without suffering too much damage.

“I have no money.” You bit back and he chuckled, pulling you forward until you crashed against his hard form. Assaulted by the sweetness of his smell and the smoothness of his skin, you were defenseless against Hisoka’s mouth laying claim to your neck.

“There are other forms of payment, Y/N, and I just so happen to be a flexible creditor.” He purred against your ear. A wave of heat spurged from your core and spread to your torso and limbs.

“N-no!” Ripping yourself from the confines of his body, you staggered back a couple of steps. “You can’t— ”

“Ah, saving yourself for Illumi?” He laughed and it triggered your wrath.

You attacked first using Ko to focus your nen to your hand. Hisoka easily avoided your fist but it was the powerful winds of your nen technique that cut his skin. You avoided the blow Hisoka aimed at you and dashed to the door to leave, only to be dragged back by an invisible force that wrapped around your torse and your bruised wrist. You stopped breathing when, with the help of Gyo, you saw the pink stretchy material that connected you to its owner.

“I knew you’d be a fun toy to keep around. Now, let’s have fun.”

He gripped your head and attacked your lips in a bruising kiss. When you refused to respond no matter how much he sucked on your bottom lip, Hisoka bit down harshly and you gasped. His tongue delved into your warm mouth and a moaned escaped him that sent goosebumps all over your skin. Hisoka wasted no time in laying claim to your entire mouth, humming in pleasure when he lapped against your tongue and you let out a helpless moan. His kiss fogged your mind and all your thoughts focused on the warmth of Hisoka’s heavy tongue and the bubbling pleasure in your core. Before you knew it you were kissing him back, mimicking his tongue’s movement’s with your clumsy one but his responding moans encourage you to go further. Despite your bounded state, you pressed yourself against Hisoka with the primal need to feel his warmth overtaking your body and mind. Without warning, he pulled away from the kiss and the two of you were panting when his Bungee Gum disappeared and you were released.

“I won’t force you,” he offered, the seriousness of his tone catching you off guard. Your legs moved of their own accord and you found yourself walking toward the door with the voice in your head telling you to leave quickly. The ache in your core was still there, however, and the apex between your legs twitched angrily needing release. You had never done this with anyone but Hisoka’s touch left you hungry for more, so you whipped around and rushed to him, crashing your lips against his unexpecting ones.

Teeth clashed against teeth as you tried to match his fervor. Under normal circumstances, you would have been mortified from your inexperience but all reason was thrown out the window and you focused was on the budding heat from your sex and Hisoka’s tongue languidly trailing down your neck. He ran his hands down underneath your thighs and hoisted you up while you wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped his pink tresses. He groaned in approval when you tugged on his hair and he took you to his bed where he set you down.

The two of you stripped out of your clothes in seconds and tossed them aside before falling back onto the bed and finding each other’s lips once again. Hisoka pulled away after drawing blood from your bottom lip and settled in between your legs before sucking on a hardened nipple while flicking and pinching the other with his fingers. You shook like a leaf from his ministrations on your breasts and whined when he released your swollen nipple with a pop. Amused by your frustrated whines he traveled down your stomach leaving a trail of wet kisses and bite marks. You hoisted yourself up your elbows to see where Hisoka was going only to fall back on the bed when he flattened his tongue and lapped there.

“AH!”

“Mmm!”

Jolts of pleasure shot up your body. You arched your back and trembled as Hisoka licked, bit, and teased your bundle of nerves. The pleasure that had been building since you stepped into Hisoka’s suite finally erupted with one last bite on your clit and the release you’d been chasing washed over you and left you trembling from the aftereffects.

The daze you were in left you vulnerable for Hisoka to have his way with you and you only snapped out of it when he buried his large cock in your tight warmth.

“AH! H-hurts—it hurts!”

Tears dotted your eyes from the painful stretch but Hisoka paid them no mind. He bottomed out until his heavy balls slapped your skin while you gripped the sheets and cried. You searched for any semblance of compassion in Hisoka’s amber eyes but they were clouded in lust as he bore holes into your own—he was lost in his pleasure and yours was no concern of his.

When the pain did subside, you wrapped your shaky legs around his waist to bring some much-needed friction to your clit. While Hisoka selfishly chased his release, you worked on yours by greedily grinding your hips against his. The friction coupled with Hisoka’s slow deep thrusts had your cunt creaming and every time he pulled out, a sheen of white covered his thick cock that he admired before slamming it back inside.

Hisoka was an insatiable lover and you quickly lost count how many times the two of you came that night. Each time his warm release coated your walls and trickled out of you when he pulled out, the sight of you, a trembling and moaning mess, caused his cock to grow hard again and he’d plunge it back inside you.

When he finally had his fill of you, Hisoka collapsed on the bed next to you humming in satisfaction. You lied next to him until your body relaxed and breathing evened out. Sticky cum covered your aching legs and you wanted nothing more than to clean it off and leave. Gritting your teeth, you slowly shifted your legs towards the edge of the bed until they dangled off and touched the ground.

You hissed as your body screamed in pain from the unwanted movement, but you were determined to leave that night—at least until Hisoka’s arm shot out and pulled you back down on the bed.

“Ah! What are—”

“Just stay. It’s late and your body is sore.” He murmured before turning around and closing his eyes.

The voice in your head vehemently opposed Hisoka’s proposal but he had a point, your body was in no shape to move let alone walk the long way to your parent’s condo or a motel. You sighed in defeat and burrowed yourself in the sheets, your back to Hisoka, before eventually succumbing to sleep.

[misterparadigm]

A Critique of Albert Camus’s “The Myth of Sisyphus”

The following is a brief critical breakdown of Albert Camus's highly influential essay. In it, I explore Camus's implicit meanings as I find them, and question the validity of his conclusions about the nature of suffering and man's capacity for contending with it by will alone.

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

In philosophy, absurdity is defined as the conflict between the tendency to seek meaning in life and the inability to find such meaning with any logical certainty. The question of meaning has been at the heart of many philosophical explorations and treatises. The second half of the 20th century and beyond saw a spread in the acceptance of the notion of life’s meaninglessness, though no definitive and satisfactory cure for the ennui and nihilism that often follows has been laid out.

Perhaps most famous and cherished is Albert Camus’s essay exploring the Myth of Sisyphus and his ultimate declaration therein that, “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” In this essay, Camus thinks over the myth in brief and lays out an interpretation of it which centers Sisyphus’s acknowledgment of his predicament, acceptance, and most importantly his personal resolve and will to view his burden as something which gives his life meaning. We must imagine Sisyphus finding contentment in his futile labor—an act of will which scorns the gods and denies their effort to break the spirit of Sisyphus with the assertion that a life of eternally futile labor is something torturous. Camus efforts—a bit belabored, in my opinion—to make a modern hero of the one who belittles the gods and their cruel, arrogant, resentful judgments. In Camus’s view, these gods have earned no respect in their dealings with mortals. For Camus, a humanist who would sooner dive headlong into oblivion than seek out a god whom he despises, it is a noble and purposeful pursuit to deny any such god the pleasure of punishing the creature which he created to despise him to begin with—a creature forced to live out a scenario of absurdity concocted by that very god. Camus refuses to respond with devastation, but resolves to make such existence its own purpose. He asks us to grasp our free will, own it, and wield it against any force which seeks to turn the man against himself.

But is this assessment and subsequent assertion valid? A number of factors are at play here which Camus seems not to acknowledge. First, we have to acknowledge context. Sisyphus is dealing with a particular set of gods, so his situation is unique to that scenario. Camus seems to imply that this situation can be applied to the modern man and his relationship to whichever god he believes in. This isn’t apparent, and if one is to assert that it is, one must first take as a given that life is absurd, or else the resentment toward the god who created it isn’t validated. On the other hand, if life is not absurd and is in fact meaningful and purposeful, one must contend with the notion that the god who created it is of some authority on the matter of how best to embody such meaning and purpose. To Camus’s credit, we are given no empirical evidence or common enough experience to adequately, categorically state the purposefulness of existence. What we are offered, rather, is a quiet firmament and a divine hand so subtle that one can barely propose to experience its activity—rarely with any convincing force, despite fervent conviction, and perhaps even considered malevolent rather than benevolent. The suffering of life, after all, makes it easy to resent our very being. Life is discomfort, pain, confusion, and death in greater measure than pleasure and joy. Pleasure and joy, even, seem starkly restricted as vices of desire in the eyes of “modern” gods, so much that to see the beauty of life is to do so in spite of life itself rather than to acknowledge that beauty’s apparentness as we would life’s suffering. Even so, the challenge of life may not then be to grasp one’s own will and deny God, but rather, as Hamlet mused, to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. To take accountability for one’s will and wield it, much as Camus suggests, as a weapon—not against God, but rather against the apparent evils of existence, of which we would know nothing were it not for eating from the proverbial Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Often, we get caught up in the idea that God created the circumstances in which we exist, and created us to exist within those circumstances. By this musing along we may justify a resentment toward such a god and claim absurdity and cruelty. It’s quite easy to do so. However, we rarely seem to consider that, according to the myth, we were created in a more desirable scenario. Even so, we were created with free will and given direction on what to do and what not to do in order to avoid less desirable circumstances. Our free will standing, we acted in what would seem to be an inevitable manner. We were tempted to know what God knows about existence, and so we consumed the apple and opened our minds to the knowledge of good and evil. In doing so, we betrayed the trust of God and refused his advice, thus we became fully conscious and, consequently, fully accountable for our actions. With the knowledge of good and evil, a being with free will bears a responsibility to act according to the good rather than the evil. This early awakening left us naive—scarcely prepared to contend with the greater evils of the universe—and we’ve been mired in it ever since, rarely even able to see clearly what constitutes good and what constitutes evil. The complexity of such a task of judgment is said to be the court of God, and we are not to engage in such things, but we are yet left with no one but ourselves to hold each other accountable—and so how can we not judge? There is much that goes into this, but it’s a digression of the topic at hand, which is the validity of Camus’s assessment of the transferable lesson of Sisyphus’s fate.

The second factor is the presumption that Sisyphus could have the stamina to will joy out of his futile labor for eternity. It is difficult to imagine how his psychology might evolve over an endless span of time. Is it even reasonable to imagine that he might settle on a particular view of his predicament? How could it be that his view would last forever? It seems more likely that his mind might unravel after so long a labor at a single task, and that he would dissolve into his routine—that he would devolve into a machine. Such a task, it seems to me, is tailored to disintegrate the spirit of a man so that there is nothing left but the laboring organic robot, dead of his animus and dull of mind. His programming, which once explored myriad tasks and evolved in spirit accordingly, is now relegated to the track of a single interminable function, and so his mechanism devolves into only what is necessary for the eternal task. The animating spirit of a free consciousness is defined by that freedom. It is defined by the mind’s ability to explore and learn and adapt and grow. It fills the space in which it inhabits. If that space shrinks, the mind’s environment for operation shrinks. If that space takes a limited form, so does the mind. Sisyphus’s mind, I’d wager, would eventually mold to the well-worn form of his task and atrophy at all other ports of knowledge and behavior. The spirit dies without freedom. It dissolves into oblivion, a gaseous ghost seeping out in small whispers over time, until nothing remains but the solitary circuit. This is, after all, the argument so often levied against the dreadful monotony of a labor economy. One pictures the old cog-in-the-machine imagery—the grey man marching alongside his grey coworkers, seemingly oblivious to his living death. It seems to me that Camus puts an unreasonable and inexecutable responsibility on the creature of Sisyphus: to be the sole perpetuator of his own universe of knowledge, both known and unknown, so that he may propagate the only environment in which he might stave off his spiritual dissipation. This was the environment of free consciousness, which has been robbed of him. This is the plight of the prisoner; the longer a prisoner remains imprisoned, the less likely they are to thrive under freer circumstances. Their mind has adapted to a particular system, environment, and routine. And so it seems naive of Camus to imagine Sisyphus happy.

Camus focuses on the time in which Sisyphus is “going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end.” This is the time in which Sisyphus is left truly alone with his thoughts, which can only ever turn to his task, that task being the only thing left of his life and the thing which will occupy his eternity. It is here that the measure of his character—his will and resolve—is on perfect display. “That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate.” Camus suggests that, “if this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him?” The tragedy is that Sisyphus has no opportunity for delusion. He cannot pretend that there is hope of breaking this cycle. He knows that this fate is eternal, and that for every moment to follow, across all space and time, he will only ever be among the moments confined to this task—isolated in his rut. His only hope, I would say, is that over time he might lose this consciousness. In a situation like this, eternal life is an intolerable cruelty, though Camus would claim he has the will to defy the cruelty by reframing it. This Camusian grace seems an illusion to me right on the face of it, and his solution boils down to ignoring the inexorable fact of the situation: there is nothing but the task, and no perfectly repeated task can be infinitely engaging or contenting to the actively conscious mind. The implied grace finds its source in acceptance of the fate, and through acceptance one can neutralize the misery—or so Camus suggests. But again, it does little to truly contend with the eternal element. Camus’s assertion that it is possible to willfully accept such a fate and maintain that flat acceptance for not just an inconceivably long time, but for the most inconceivable length of time, seems itself absurd. Perhaps it is even the very definition of absurd. Camus asks that an actively conscious being spend his infinite life mitigating his misery by perpetually accepting it as the mere fact and state of his existence. He is asking a man who has experienced and loved life (multiple times) so much that he incapacitated Death to simply step back and view his perfectly measured misery as a neutral state of being, and to do this forever, infinitely, perpetually. How absurd is such a demand? He is asking that Sisyphus seek contentment where there is no logical contentment to be sought.

If absurdity is seeking meaning where there appears to be none, then certainly seeking contentment where there appears to be none is itself absurd. The assertion, then, is that we can somehow manifest our own contentment through will, which is, in a way, no different than trying to manifest meaning through will. It’s the act of mitigating circumstances through the illusory impetus of pure will. One may be able to bear the illusion for a measured time, but over the course of an eternity the will gives way to circumstance because the circumstance, in the case, is the immutable factor. A free consciousness, however, is defined by its dynamic existence. But if that existence no longer inhabits a dynamic environment, whatever meaning or purpose it may have had is, as a matter of logic, eradicated by the static and immutable nature of the circumstance.

It is merely a matter of logic, which the free consciousness will have determined in short order, and so the emotions cycle in whatever manner they may until the consciousness is dulled by its monotonous task. Sisyphus’s fate, I assert, is the dissipation of his free consciousness over time, until this man who loved his living freedom so much has his mind reduced to a dim, singular function. His punishment is the indignity of the gradual decline in free will until there is no being left, and he is but a moving sculpture signifying the fate of one who refuses Death. His punishment is the denial of rebirth, for he has refused the necessary mechanism which gives rise to it.

[kryzobi-wan]

Dancing in the Dark

"What kind of monster was he, to wish for beauty?"

---

Just a whole lotta touch-starved, lonely Ben Solo feeling a lot of feels when the Force decides to connect him to Rey <3 Completely self-indulgent Reylo angst and fluff. Plus a little slow dancing 🥲

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Ben Solo had learned what it meant to be lonely. Growing up surrounded by droids instead of family taught a kid that particular lesson pretty quickly. Still, that aching longing for human connection never quite left him, even after so many years of immersing himself in the cool, unfeeling darkness in hopes that it would drown out that part of himself. He had everything he had ever wanted, he tried to convince himself. Power, control, strength… it should have been enough.

But that flicker of light—of warmth—within him that he never could quite get rid of felt like the piercing, burning bite of a lightsaber wound on his flesh. If the light was supposed to bring comfort and peace, then why did its presence hurt so much?

After his solitary childhood and early adulthood, it shouldn’t have been possible to feel any more lonely than he already did. Then she had come crashing into his life, entangling their respective destinies in a mess of unacceptable feelings and emotions, and leaving Kylo more unbalanced than he had ever been since joining the First Order. Her light had illuminated the truth of every crude approximation of connection Kylo had forged over the years in his chosen place of belonging. Where once the officers of the First Order, the Knights of Ren, even Hux, had provided some semblance of stability and companionship, he now saw them for what they were: hollow, resentful beings who couldn’t care less if he lived or if he died.

For a few brief moments he had thought that Rey might fill the gaping hole this realization left in the very depths of his soul. How naïve that had been. Now she had left him, scorned him, and he was truly on his own, with not even the sickening but constant presence of Snoke to keep him company.

Weeks passed. Hux had finally stopped reprimanding Kylo for his failure on Crait, and in fact hadn’t spoken to him in days, leaving him without even that sense of consistency. In the quiet isolation of his chambers, the weight of his father’s death at his hand finally settled firmly on his shoulders. With Snoke gone, his recollection of that fateful moment came with a different kind of clarity that was most unwelcome. This kind of introspection was dangerous, and he did his best not to entertain it. But he was weak. His thoughts involuntarily drifted to those peaceful moments in his childhood—as rare as they were—where for just one moment he thought his parents might really care, that he wasn’t truly alone. The ache of soured happiness came attached with those memories, now that he had been disillusioned from their lies.

Looking at him now, it was hard to believe that he had once believed in the beauty of the galaxy. Ben—Kylo—remembered a time when the stars seemed brighter, the air more pure and refreshing. When he could feel the bubbling of joy and frivolity in his chest, giving him the sensation of weightlessness as he passed through life ignorant of how truly alone he was.

Oh, how he longed for that beauty.

He had always been drawn to such things. The artful strokes of calligraphy, flowing from the tip of his pen. The feeling of soft, green grass between his fingers, and the touch of cold, crisp water on his toes. The gentle lilt of music playing somewhere in the distance, the tune floating through his bedroom window as he closed his eyes in sleep.

What kind of monster was he, to wish for beauty?

There was no such thing. Kylo Ren could never be worthy of it. Every beautiful thing he touched met its end sooner or later. He was poison to it, so fundamentally contrary to everything it stood for that it could be corrupted by his mere presence.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Rey had closed their connection. Since that moment on Crait when she looked down on him in his defeat, he had only seen her a handful of times, and only long enough for her to scowl at him and shut him out.

So he was alone. As usual.

Wandering the halls of the new flagship star destroyer, Kylo was acutely aware of this fact. Some days were worse than others, but this was bad as it got. Something inside him was begging for someone—anyone—to see him. To remind him that he wasn’t just some ghostly apparition with no corporeal form.

Not a single passing trooper or officer acknowledged him.

Perhaps it was his own fault. After all, you can’t have both the fear of your subordinates and the good opinion of them. He had chosen what made sense for the leader of an army, and he refused to consider any other option. He was the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He did what he had to do.

As it turns out, it’s lonely to be the one on top of the pyramid.

Kylo passed by a group of stormtroopers, his cape billowing behind him. They seemed to be celebrating something, perhaps one of them had received a promotion or passed a particularly difficult round of training. They patted each other on the back, excitedly chattering in low whispers about whatever it was that spurred this reaction. Despite the armor and helmets, he could see the camaraderie they shared. They were happy.

That was enough to trigger another episode.

They were coming more frequently now. It was different than his bursts of anger and violence, where he could reach some sort of catharsis by tearing apart his immediate surroundings with the slash of his fiery weapon. This kind of attack did quite the opposite, causing him to shut down completely, barely able to move or speak until he could manage to calm himself down to an acceptable level. His breathing quickened and he was forced to grab onto the wall to stabilize himself.

Kylo sucked in a deep breath as he willed the prickling of tears in his eyes to go away. He felt exposed without his mask. His traitorous expressive face betrayed every emotion that he felt, leaving him vulnerable. He couldn’t let his subordinates see this weakness, or he’d be ousted by a mutiny before the end of the day cycle. No, he had to get away before he went catatonic. Stumbling and suddenly dizzy, Kylo made his way toward his chambers. The lights on the walls and ceiling swirled in his vision like the flash of stars through hyperspace, and it was all he could do to remain upright as he burst into his quarters and shut the door behind him. Immediately upon entering, he ripped his cape and the outer layer of his tunic off, feeling suffocated by them. Removing his heavy boots, he focused on the chill of the cold durasteel floors seeping through his dark socks, connecting him to his surroundings.

With a flick of his wrist, he turned out the lights and collapsed onto the nearest chair, resting his head atop his knees, and clasping his hands behind his head as he tried his best to stop trembling. He allowed the quiet darkness to envelop him like a blanket, hiding the tears as they streamed from his eyes.

Whenever this happened, it felt as if the air around him was pressing inwards as it slowly crushed him. He needed something real, something physical to ground him. No matter how tightly he clutched at his own body, how much he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes in an effort to stem the flow of tears, it was not enough. The pain radiated outward from himself. It was as if he were a bomb threatening to explode at any moment, at which point he would cease to exist entirely. He could be floating in the lifeless vacuum of space for all that he felt. There was nothing to hold him together.

Completely and utterly alone.

He was well-practiced by now in self-treating these sudden attacks. It may take several minutes, but eventually he would be able to breathe out one last shuddering breath and still the shaking in his shoulders and knees. The floor stilled beneath him, and he no longer felt like his screams were trapped inside his body, begging to be let out.

All he felt in the wake of an episode like this, was numb.

He stared tiredly at the floor, now propping his head up on his hands as exhaustion flooded his body.

It was frustrating, feeling so out of control of one’s emotions. Despite the fact that his master was now dead and gone, he could still feel the disappointment he would have had in his apprentice. The words Snoke would have said echoed through his mind.

Pathetic. Weak. You are too unstable. The darkness will reject you. Your emotions cause you to fail. Everyone who ever claimed to care about you threw you away like garbage, but you can’t stop needing them.

Perhaps he had been projecting a little when he said those last words to Rey.

As if his thoughts had caused it, he suddenly felt the familiar shift in the Force that signaled the start of a connection. The rumbling sounds of his ship faded into a comfortable silence that was, for once, welcome in the aftermath of his anxiety attack.

He breathed out a sigh of relief before opening his bleary eyes and lifting his head slightly to peer about his room. She was nowhere to be seen.

Just as he was about to stand to go look for her, Rey appeared in his doorway, looking irritated and disappointed as usual as her eyes settled on him. She promptly turned with a huff and disappeared from view as fast as she had come, though the connection remained open.

“Rey, wait,” Ben (because he was always Ben during these connections) called out to her before she could shut him out. He stood abruptly, rushing to stand in the doorway. She stilled, her back to him and apparently awaiting his next words before she decided to leave him anyway or not. “Please don’t go,” he hated how fragile the words sounded as they escaped his lips.

Rey let out a tired breath. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Panic began to rise in Ben’s stomach again as he felt Rey start to force the connection closed. “Stay! Please, just for a few more moments,” he said desperately. He was starting to feel dizzy again. He wanted to pretend just for a little while that he wasn’t alone. Once he regained his stability, she could leave if she wanted. He just needed someone for a few minutes to keep him from falling apart.

As if she could sense this, she turned to face him, setting her jaw firmly as she stared at him with caution behind her eyes. Relief flooded his veins, and before he could stop himself, he reached out with one hand and clutched Rey’s arm, using it to keep himself upright. She didn’t move a muscle, though she stared at him as if she wanted nothing more than to step away from him. He bowed his head, breathing deep, calming breaths in and out.

“Thank you,” he said softly after a moment.

Rey nodded once but said nothing. Her silence had become the usual ever since Crait, and as much as it pained him, he was grateful that this time she at least acknowledged his existence.

Once upon a time, she had told him he wasn’t alone. That had meant everything to him, even if it didn’t mean the same things to her. He just wanted to feel like he did in that moment. When they had touched hands, he felt a flutter of happiness and a spark of hope that he never thought he’d feel again. He saw a flash of beauty, like something had peeled back the dark shroud that obscured his view of the galaxy. For the briefest of moments, he thought he could be happy with her. That neither of them would ever have to be alone for the rest of their days.

Ben’s eyes flashed up to where his gloved hand met her skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, a chill running up his spine. He lost himself in the feel of human contact, nearly becoming overwhelmed by the sensation after so long without it. Perhaps the only thing keeping him from completely breaking down was that layer of leather still between them.

Slowly, as if he were not even in control of his own movements, his other hand gingerly brushed against the same arm, inspecting the fresh scar there. His hands were trembling as they traced the contours of her arm, down, down, down to her hand where they stopped, cradling her fingers with the softest touch.

“Ben?” Rey finally spoke, breaking him out of his entranced state. He looked up to her, tears pooling in his eyes once more. His hand instinctively tightened around hers.

“Will you dance with me?”

His words were unexpected. There was something about being there, with her, that made him wish more than ever for the things of beauty in this galaxy. They seemed to have reached a temporary truce, considering the fact that Rey hadn’t ripped her hand away from his yet. He couldn’t help himself.

“What?” Rey asked incredulously. She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Ben began to feel the tug of her hand against his, hesitating but wanting to let go.

“I just—” Ben stepped closer, patting her hand lightly with one of his and bowing his head again to look only at their hands rather than her face. He shook his head in disappointment with himself as it became clear that he didn’t have the words to articulate what he was trying to say.

I need you, he finished in his mind, but Rey seemed to hear it loud and clear. Her eyes softened, though a hint of hesitation remained.

“Okay.”

Ben’s gaze snapped back to hers, his mouth parted slightly in surprise that she had actually said yes. Something like nervousness or excitement fluttered in his stomach, leaving him momentarily breathless.

He nodded, speechless and blurry-eyed, and dropped her hand long enough only to remove his dark gloves, casting them carelessly on the floor. When he stepped into her space again, the corners of his trembling lips teased the smallest hint of a smile, which was reflected in his widened, somehow younger-looking eyes.

Slowly, in his disbelief that this was really happening, Ben scooped up each of her hands in his own, clutching them to his sweater-clad chest. There was no music, but the beating of their hearts seemed to be amplified in the space that stretched between them and their bond. It was the only sound they could hear, aside from the shaky breaths each was breathing in anticipation for this new closeness, this tender moment.

Rey moved one hand to Ben’s shoulder, allowing him to wrap his arm around her. His palm splayed across her back, reveling in the feeling of her textured taupe-colored wrappings on his fingertips. Electricity sparked where their hands met, and he saw it again. A vision of beauty. Togetherness. The rightness of it all.

He pulled her in close, resting his cheek against her silky brown hair and closing his eyes to soak in the peacefulness of the moment as they began to sway. Fresh tears trailed down his cheek, mingling with her hair. She hesitantly leaned her head into his chest and brought her hand up to the hair at the nape of his neck, stroking it comfortingly. It was almost as if she knew exactly what he was feeling, exactly why he had asked her to stay. Could she really see through him that easily? Or was the bond stronger than they thought? If so, what could that mean?

He knew who she was. She was a nobody, right? Then why did she feel like everything to him?

Oh, he was in so much trouble.

They danced, in the calming darkness of the night. Peace washed over Ben Solo, evening his breathing to quiet, content breaths. There were so many things he wanted to say; confessions he needed to get off his chest, apologies, explanations… but nothing could get past the lump in his throat. Instead, he contented himself with looking out the viewport behind Rey, taking in the majesty of the stars beyond. Long ago, he had lost the sense of wonder and awe he used to feel when immersed in the view of open space. The endless black expanse began to feel empty and cold. It reflected his own loneliness back at him.

How had he missed the numerous stars and planets that dotted the sky? They shone brightly, their warmth reminding him that there would always be life, hope, and a future—beyond.

Skywalker… Ben heard an unfamiliar voice, gravelly but laced with amusement. Still looking to the horizon…

The world around them had disappeared. The two swayed and twirled amidst the infinite vastness of space, and Ben felt weightless, like they were floating through the galaxy without a single worry or care. There was no Resistance, no First Order, no Jedi, and no Sith. There was only Rey, and the stars that illuminated her glistening eyes.

That same sense of awe, the hope and contentment of his boyhood innocence, filled his heart with every brush of her hand against his, every time their eyes met, the beating of her heart next to his own…

Rey pulled back a few inches, enough that she could tilt her head back to study his face. The hand he was holding in his dropped before she placed it on his other shoulder, her hands firmly but gently gripping them. If Ben were told that her touch was the one thing keeping him from shattering into a billion pieces, literallyholding him together, he would believe it without question. Her fingers tangled in the loose fabric of his thin sweater, rubbing soft circles over his skin. It was a comfort he was not used to, a balm for the crawling discomfort of starvation from human contact which he had felt for so long.

His eyes fluttered closed and he could scarcely breathe. They continued to sway as Ben moved his free hand up to Rey’s face, experimentally trailing his fingertips over her skin with a touch so light, she might not have even noticed had she not been so in tune with what he was feeling.

When he opened his eyes again, he observed her image through his lashes, unbothered by the sadness or pity she held for him in her eyes. He did not care what thoughts or emotions kept her here, he was just glad that she was.

In his exploration of the contours of her face, his hand brushed against a stray piece of her hair, drawing his intense focus away from her soft skin. He held it lightly between his thumb and forefinger in fascination and wonder, tousling it gently before following the path of her hair to the three buns at the back, which he threaded between his fingers.

Following his lead, Rey cupped a hand over his jaw, setting his nervous system ablaze. It was almost too much to handle. His head dipped forward until his forehead was practically touching hers, all the while they continued to sway. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, mere inches separating their lips from each other’s.

Before the situation could slip any further out of Ben’s control than it already had, Rey pulled back, her body stilling as she stared at him as if in study. His arms felt suddenly empty, but the sharp pain of loneliness from earlier had faded to a dull ache. He no longer felt like he was at risk of imploding, which was a relief to his tormented soul.

Eyes meeting hers, he silently conveyed his gratefulness for what she had done, finding words to be insufficient. He worked his jaw absentmindedly as his gaze flicked over her features, trying to gauge what she might be thinking in that beautiful mind of hers.

Without warning, she rushed forward and enveloped him in her arms, wrapping them around his neck and holding him tightly. The embrace was as short as it was sudden, but it was like heaven coming down to him. He had barely managed to reciprocate the action before she released him and stepped back, seemingly unsure of what to say.

Her voice came back in little more than a whisper, and he thought he saw a tear escape from the corner of her eye. “I understand,” was all she said, her jaw firmly set in that look of determination that Ben was so used to seeing.

And maybe she did.

Of all the people in the universe, Rey would know the heartache of loneliness better than anyone. All those years alone, waiting for the return of those who could never come back… Maybe she needed this as much as he did.

Rey stared intently into his eyes, and it felt like she was able to see directly into his soul. She nodded, perhaps in answer to his line of thinking. Perhaps it was just a gesture to reassure Ben that everything would be okay. Either way, he felt a part of himself melt away under the influence of her light, leaving him with a sense of peace unlike anything he’d ever felt.

With that, she closed her eyes and bowed her head, disappearing without consequence.

Ben breathed out a breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding, stumbling backwards to his couch to think. The ghost of her touch on his skin remained, and it brought him a lasting comfort.

He should have felt scared, or worried, that his mortal enemy knew his vulnerabilities and sorrows so intimately, but he wasn’t. He had shared with her a moment of beauty and of happiness, and something about it told him it would be a significant turning point in the story of the Jedi Killer and the Last Jedi.

As he drifted off to sleep that night, he could have sworn that he felt her gentle touch on his forehead, brushing through his dark wavy hair in comforting strokes. Tender words of encouragement graced his ears, and whether they were real or imagined, he took them to heart.

He dreamed.

Of the cool, still waters of a lake.

The light of the moon reflecting on its glassy surface.

The velvety blackness of the night sky,

Decorated with the pinpricks of diamonds glittering from above.

And the mountains,

Standing strong and steadfast in the distance,

A friendly shadow on the horizon.

He dreamed.

The woman in his arms,

Illuminating the world around her,

Her light shining like the sun,

Her smile a warm glow that nurtured his soul.

And he danced.

-.-.-

Comments greatly appreciated! I hope you all enjoyed! Much love, Reylos <3

[imagine-loki]

The sniffles

TITLE: The sniffles CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: ONE SHOT AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.

+

Imagine that against everything you both thought possible, Loki gets the flu. 

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: It’s getting to be chilly season, so the flu is lurking about. Get your flu shots! Be careful! Socially distance! Language, maybe? Mostly fluff. Mentions of illness? (Do people tag that?) Not beta’d or edited, really–probs lots of typos.

SUMMARY: Loki gets sick, though he insists it’s just allergies. Charlie puts on her bossy pants and shows Loki she’s a bamf. Loki is a Nervous Nelly.

X

Loki had nearly frowned himself into an alternate dimension when it first happened–a simple sneeze. He had been sorting through some paperwork that Stark had asked him to complete, a mindless task meant to keep him occupied under the guise of his rehabilitation. With a shrug, Loki aired out the papers, assuming dust had tickled his nose for the briefest of moments, but thought nothing more of it.

Two years into his exile to Midgard and working under the tech guru, Loki had pretty much worked off his sentence in Tony’s eyes. According to anyone with half a brain, depriving Loki of his magic, the major condition of his exile, was punishment enough for the Prince (Loki would never admit that the act of cleaning a whole kitchen to perfection on his hands and knees was methodical and soothing, but it was one of the many joys of his near mortal existence). Still, it turned out that Stark was a bleeding heart and could recognize the tell-tale signs of a son who never got proper validation from their father (or enough hugs). It could have also been the fact that the former hissing-serpent-of-an-Asgardian all but turned into a golden retriever after he fell in love. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that Stark was deathly afraid of the five-foot-nothing woman Loki now shared an apartment with, and who would most definitely cause him bodily harm for overworking her boyfriend.

All in all, within the constraints of this supposed punishment, everything was wonderful.

Then, Loki sneezed again.

And continued to do so.

But, of course, he wasn’t ill.

Achoo!

Charlie started, letting out a half-strangled shriek that soon turned into a groan as objects clattered on her desk. Her jaw clenched together so tightly, she thought her teeth would crack.

Now, Charlie wasn’t irritated that her dork alien of a boyfriend was sneezing in her presence while she was trying to get work done. No, she was irritated because she had sent him to bed (again, for the sixth time) twenty minutes ago when his fever and chills started to turn him into an unintelligible, hallucinating mess. She thought she had been quite clear in her order for him to get some rest. After all, it had been three days since Loki first sneezed, and though he had brushed it off as a bad case of seasonal allergies, his denial was starting to get ridiculous, not to mention, harmful.

Turns out thousand year old demigods-turned-mortal are no better at following orders than any other man on the planet. In fact, Charlie was pretty sure he was being more of a brat than any other mortal… not that she’d ever tell him.

Pushing away her keyboard, she stood away from the desk, taking a second to orient herself and stare in the general direction she had heard the sneeze come from.

She schooled her facial expression into what she hoped was a no-nonsense expression. “Go. Back. To. Bed.”

Loki grumbled, his voice particularly hoarse and gravelly with an added nasally quality from his blocked passages. “It’s allergies and I have things to do,” he retorted stubbornly, ignoring the fact that his whole world seemed to tilt ever-so-slightly with each step he took.

“Allergies, my ass. Loki Odinson, you have the flu. You belong back in bed. Don’t make me be the bad guy here.”

He let out a half-hearted snort, pretending that he did not at all feel the need to double over and repeat whatever little breakfast he was able to get down his gullet that morning. “I am not sick. I haven’t been sick in four centuries. Your sorry Midgardian microbes cannot infect me.”

“Yeah, when you had your full powers. Now, though–”

“I’m fine-d.”

It was a small, momentary miracle that Charlie wasn’t able to see the way he swayed on a spot, holding his head pathetically against the sudden bout of vertigo that assaulted him. At least he thought she couldn’t. Though Loki could not explain the fact that her hand grasped him by an elbow a moment later with what appeared to be no difficulty. Clearly he was off his game, and he didn’t even bother complaining when Charlie half-dragged him all the way to the sofa and forced him to sit.

He couldn’t help but smile at the brows knitted together in worry or the lower lip being chewed within an inch of its soft, supple life. The extreme gentleness and care she took in smoothing back his hair and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead made his stomach twist in the most pleasant way. This was the best antidote, he supposed, just watching her fuss over his shivering body. Loki certainly wasn’t used to being taken care of in this manner. It felt almost wrong to succumb to the desire of slumping into the pillows and letting her dote on him.

“I love you,” slipped from his lips before he was even aware that his brain had attempted to convey the message.

Charlie beamed in response, cheeks turning warm copper with a blush. Her fingers trailed down the sides of his face to cup his cheeks. “I love you, too, sweets, but if you don’t stay still and rest, I will put on Stark’s suit and make you.”

Loki smirked, twining one of her curls around his finger and letting it bounce back with a gentle tug. “Have I told you how attractive I find you when you get all bossy?”

“Only every single second this week, Lo.”

“Well, I firmly believe in truth-telling, dove,” he added, voice betraying the exhaustion that seeped into his bones. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the gentle circles she drew around his temples were some sort of ancient magic. “I’m late for work,” he protested, making an effort to sit back up. He would admit that they way Charlie shoved him back onto the cushions was a little distracting for two entirely different reasons: one, he was weak enough that Charlie could push him down like it was nothing; and, two… it was sort of… sexy. He would take them both to his grave.

“I called Tony and told him you were sick.”

Loki frowned. “What did he say?”

“He asked FRIDAY to queue up ”Ding dong! The witch is dead“,” she joked, lips tugging up in a smirk. “He said to take the week off. No one needs your Asgardian super bugs rolling around the Tower.” Charlie’s lips pressed against his forehead, followed immediately by a sigh. “You’re burning up again, Loki.”

“Everything hurts,” he conceded in a small voice, feeling like a failure when the concern etched in her features deepened further.

Charlie took in the complaint with a resolute nod.

“OK. I’ll go to the pharmacy down the street for some medicine and some electrolytes. You get some rest.” She patted his cheek and made to stand when Loki’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“I’ll come with you.” He assured, at once, hoping the edge of nervousness wasn’t obvious in his voice.

“Nice try, super spreader.” Her fingers peeled his, dexterously. “No. Get some rest. I’ll be back in twenty.”

“But–”

“I promise you I will be fine, Loki. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

Loki was still reluctant as he watched her cool and confident expression. He shifted awkwardly. He knew that Charlie was entirely capable of any task and she had adapted well to the technology available to her as a non-seeing person, but… Norns, he was just a pathetic mess when it came to her. The thought of anything happening to her… “I know, but–”

“You worry. I understand, but this is important, Loki. You’re important and you’re sick and you need me to go get you medicine.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against her hand for a long moment before finding the courage to speak. “Just… be careful, alright? Maximum alertness, yeah?”

“I promise,” she assured in a whisper, leaning in to kiss his crown. “Please get some rest until I get back.” Her fingers were back to scratching his scalp, combing through his shaggy locks until he could no longer fight against the heaviness of sleep. He uttered half a protest before drifting off, leaving Charlie to cover him up with the spare blanket she kept on the sofa and tucking him in.

Charlie would not say that she was nervous about going out without Loki, but she was certainly not not nervous. She wrapped herself up warm to ward off the autumn chill and triple checked her belongings: keys, phone, card wallet, cane. Her head turned over her shoulder on instinct, as if attempting to spare a glance at Loki sleeping on the couch, before she closed the door behind her.

Loki awoke with a start what felt like an eternity later. His hair was sticking out in all directions and his clothes felt like they were pasted to his body with sweat. He was no longer on the couch, but in bed, and he felt… marginally better. Still, his heart was thumping loudly against his ribcage with a sense of uneasiness.

Charlie.

Where was Charlie?

“Oh, gods, please no.” It was too still. Too quiet. “CHARLIE!?” He called frantically, kicking the covers off of himself, despite the fact that his head disliked his sudden change in momentum. He grit his teeth against the nausea that rose immediately after. He needed to get out of bed and–

“Oh, you’re up!” Charlie chirped happily from the doorway.

His head snapped toward her voice to find her standing with a tray and very carefully balancing a bowl of soup, a sports drink and a bottle of water atop it. The grace with which she was managing to balance the liquids over the wooden serving tray was uncharacteristic–Charlie had never been particularly poised due to her impatience and going blind had not helped matters. After a minute, she placed the tray beside him on the bed and managed to sit down without any major spillage. Loki beamed at the satisfied look on her face and the anxiously flitting and hovering gaze she got when she was particularly excited.

“You’re back,” he breathed softly, fingertips trailing over the hand resting closest to him.

“I was only gone for fifteen minutes.” Charlie giggled. “Do you not remember taking your medicine and coming to bed?”

Loki shook his head before remembering his replies had to be aloud. “Er… no. No, I don’t.”

“You were pretty out of it,” she admitted, not thinking anything of it. “We had a lot of extra veggies, so I made you soup.”

He swallowed at the lump in his throat to no avail as he watched the perfectly cubed pieces of vegetables floating in a golden broth. He could practically feel her efforts radiating off the bowl with every plume of steam that rose enticingly. “You cooked?” His voice caught slightly.

“Yeah. Don’t tell me if it’s no good. It took me forever to chop things, so I might actually cry,” she replied, only half serious.

He picked up the bowl and tentatively sipped at the broth, letting out an involuntary moan when the rich taste flooded his taste buds. “Charlie, it… it’s perfect. It’s delicious.” The satisfied grin she gave in response made the remainder of his pain float away like dandelion fluff. He sipped some more before letting out a contented sigh as his bones warmed. “You are a wonder of wonders, Charlotte Camden.”

Charlie snorted. “I went to the pharmacy and managed not to burn down the apartment. I am middling, at best.”

“Say what you want, but I am proud of you,” he whispered, enjoying the blush on her cheeks as he slurped down the rest of his soup.

He knew she was secretly pleased with the praise, even if she didn’t admit it. Loki was aware that he worried all too much about giving her extra independence with all the what-ifs that popped up in his head. She was always so eager to challenge herself and had proven time and again she was capable of so much more than what she did on a daily basis. Loki was still in her life because she desired it, not because she needed anything from him.

For goodness’ sake, here she was, minding him.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Charlie. I feel restored, already.”

“Finally, he admits illness!” She snickered under her breath while Loki grumbled. “Of course, Loki. It is my distinct pleasure.” She leaned in just enough to prompt Loki to proffer his cheek, skin warm from the flush that could only half be attributed to the warmth of the broth. Her fingers trailed over his scalp, making him shudder from head to toe. “Drink all your fluids and back to bed,” she ordered gently before disappearing back out the bedroom door.

Loki wasn’t used to being taken care of like this but… he could get used to it.

[sadistgalore]

Chapter 5: Waiting And Waiting, To No Avail

Previous | Next | Masterlist

CW: Police corruption, lady whump, sadistic whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, cutting, pouring salt over open wounds, torture, implied/future non con

“I’m sorry, Beth, but we've tried everything. I've tried-"

“I don’t care! Look harder! Think better, be better, just," Beth took a breath. "Please, find my friend.”

Nic sighed. “I understand what you're going through. I care about Harper too but, we can't find her.”

Beth struggled not to cry. "There has to be something..."

Nic rested his arm out on her shoulder. "Sometimes, we can't do anything but just wait."

"'Till she shows up dead?!" Beth yelled, but her voice broke. "You don't understand," she muttered, head down as she tried to hide her tears dripping down her face. "Harp and I have been together for years. We're like sisters, we were there for each other when no one else was."

"I knew you two had a strong bond, stronger than any two people I've ever met," Nic said as he went to set down next to her partner's roommate.

"Did she ever tell you how we met?" Beth asked after a moment of silence.

"At the orphanage, right?"

"No, actually we met before; Harper always calls it destiny," the girl laughed softly. "Her family's circus came to a theater near my orphanage, when I was around 12. After seeing your parents get murdered in front of you and being able to do nothing when your brother gets kidnapped, it tends to dampen your happy mood. Nothing made me smile after that incident, despite how young I was. But when I saw those group of performers, I felt something I haven't felt in a long time."

She turned and faced Nic. "Joy. I was smiling, laughing! Especially when I saw a girl my age, who went center stage, and threw knives dead center in targets around her."

"Harper," Nic interrupted. "I've never met anyone who can throw knives as good as her. Whenever we would go to the bars, everyone would bet on her at darts since she would always win."

"Yeah, she was- is, she is, she is..." She took a breath. "Harper is good."

Nic said nothing as she continued. "Anyways, after the show, the circus went out and greeted us and as you can guess, Harper went and greeted me. She was so nice, and we connected immediately. Sometime in our conversation, my past was brought up, and I will never forget the look of remorse on Harper's face. She genuinely felt bad, not like the fake apologies that everyone else gave me. She even gave me this,"

Beth held out her wrist, that was encircled in a woven leather bracelet. "She made it herself, saying that good spirits were hidden in the strings. Maybe she should've kept it, since the next time we met was when her family was gone, just like mine."

"I need to find her," Beth pleaded. "She said we would always be together, and we're not."

She stood up and, with a determined composure, she turned to face the detective. "We are meant to survive together, Nic, and I'm going to find her."

"Beth-" Nic started, but she was already making her way to the Chief's office.

He spoke just as she walked in. “I'm sure the detective told you, Mrs. Carrien, there's nothing else we can do to find your roommate.”

The aforementioned roommate’s friend was flabbergasted. “She’s. Your. Detective! There has to be something else you can do! Or is this just payback for her going off on her own?”

The chief raised his hand to silence her. “Although it is true that Detective Winston went on her own to investigate Edward Darmine with explicit orders not to, we are lost on her case; there are no clues pointing to her location. Believe me, Harper is one of my best detectives and I am doing everything I can to find her. Until then, I would suggest going home and getting some rest, Elizabeth.”

“You can not be serious,” Beth whispered.

“I am. I assure you, we will find her. Cases like these take time, she’ll be back in our care eventually, don’t worry.”

Beth eyed him suspiciously.

Why is he so calm? This can’t be right…they can't just sit around and wait, can they?

“She better be,” Beth muttered and walked out.

The chief watched her go, and saw a failed attempt by Nic to talk to her as she walked out of the police station’s doors. He reached for his phone, and dialed the numbers he was told to call.

It rang once, twice, then he heard a voice on the other side.

“I’m assuming Elizabeth Carrien came to your station if you are calling?”

“Yes sir,” the chief answered. “I told her we couldn't do anything else, and we would have to wait for more clues in Harper's disappearance.”

“Excellent. Make sure your other detectives come up empty with their cases, especially Nicholas Malcom. I have a feeling he'll be persistent. I’ll send you your payment by tonight.”

“Thank you. Have a good night, Mr. Darmine.”

Dark hanged up and put his phone back in his pocket.

“Sorry about that little dove, just had to take care of some business.”

Harper wheezed in response. Her body was sprawled out on the cement floor of her cell, covered in shallow cuts due to the bloody knife in Dark’s other hand.

“Don’t worry though, my dear. I just made sure that no one will ever take you from me. Aren’t you happy?”

Harper struggled to even breathe, but managed to respond. “Y-y-yes, s-s-ah, s-sir.”

She had learned quickly after their second encounter not to fuck with this man, and despite her best efforts to keep strong - she was a goddamn police detective in Washington DC, after all - she couldn't help but be scared. She was so, so terrified of her captor that she was forced to call her Master. She hated treating him with with such respect, but she had to make him think she was submissive enough to tell her about her brother. Also, she was tired of being in pain all the time.

“Alright,” the man clapped his hands. “Where were we? Ah, yes. You needed a little reminder about who exactly is in control of this relationship.”

He walked over to a corner where a large bucket of salt water was set. He picked it up with minimum effort, and made his way back to his captive.

“Now, my darling, next time, don’t flinch when Master touches you, alright? And I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt.”

Harper realized what was in his hands and froze. “P-p-pl-please…”

“Now, now, you know the rules. Follow exactly what I say, and you won’t get hurt. Unfortunately, you didn’t listen.”

The moment of suspense ended as he poured the entire bucket over Harper, salt seeping into her open wounds. He remained stone faced as she screamed and writhed in the ground, her entire body in pure agony. She felt like she was on fire, and moving only spread the salt further into the cuts and the blood.

Finally, it became too much and Harper passed out from the pain. Dark smiled as he knelt down to her level.

“Soon,” he said as he caressed her hair. “We can really get to know each other, little dove.”

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: muse 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: miyoshi kazunari/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 3.1k words, 1 image

𝐚𝐧: got back to writing again~ how much kazu-speak is too much? sorry this took a while, but I finally got over my writer’s block!

When your phone vibrates the exact minute your class ends, you know the text can only be sent by him. As the people around you begin to step outside the lecture hall, you find time to read your boyfriend’s message before heading out as well.

With Kazunari being a year above you, in a different course more so, there were times during the week where the two of you could barely catch a glimpse of each other. Projects were beginning to pile up for both of you, and with his acting to consider you initially didn’t want to bother him, but…

Just as you picked up your bag, your phone lights up again.

Wah, where r u??? I mish u already beb 💓💕💞

Stifling a giggle, you send back a text before quickly shuffling out of the classroom.

Kazunari always made the effort to put time into your relationship and give you affection, regardless if it was eating together during mutual breaks in between classes or sending each other cute messages and memes on social media.

Of course as cute as his selfies were nothing could beat physically being beside him and hearing his voice in person, so who could blame you for picking up your pace and rushing to where you knew your boyfriend was.

He’s seated on a bench when you spot him, fiddling with his phone. Before you could call out to him whips his head to face you. Instantaneously his lips break into a smile and from the lift of your cheeks you know you’re the same.

“Heyho☆ You looking for someone?” Kazunari says as you approach him, a teasing grin settling on his face. “You look a little lost~”

“I’m here for Kazu, my boyfriend!” You reply, lifting your hand and placing it atop of his head. “He’s this tall, and… oh! Super handsome, too. Have you seen him?”

Holding back a laugh, his eyes dart from left to right before sighing. “Unfortunately, he’s nowhere to be found. Aw, but you look totes adorbs~♪ Should I steal you away from this Kazu guy? I’ll def sweep you off your feet☆”

Before you know it Kazunari pulls you into his arms, the spontaneity a surprising but warm feeling. You wrap your arms around him as well, smiling against his sweater as the two of you hug while swaying left and right.

“Alright, that’s enough, Casanova.” You say the moment the hug gets too tight, slowly escaping his embrace.

“I want more though~” He whines, reluctantly letting go of you. He didn’t actually look upset if the glimmer in his eyes was anything to go by. “Well, I needed your help with something anyway!”

Anticipation bubbles up within you, expecting a new piece he needed help with, or maybe something for you to critique. After all, your admiration for his work was one of the reasons the two of you had gotten so close in the first place.

“I’ll do my best, Kazu-senpai!” You beam at him, throwing in the honorific to potentially catch him off-guard. Needless to say, it worked splendidly.

“Senpai?! You haven’t called me that in forever!” Kazunari was buzzing with excitement, grabbing one of your hands to swing it around. “Ahhhh- it was so, so cute every time you called me that! I was like, OMG—”

You roll your eyes. “I know, you’ve said that how many times?” Nevertheless, every time he mentioned it the more fond you grew of him.

“Kazuuu,” you squeeze his hand “come on, we have something to do, right?”

Not letting go of your hand for even a moment he leads you along the hallway, eventually stopping outside one of the classrooms.

“So, like, you can totally say no if you want but I’d be hella happy if you helped me out with this.”

You frown slightly, a little befuddled on what kind of request he’d be asking of you. “Kazunari, you don’t have to beat around the bush. I’ll understand.”

Nodding and looking more sure of himself, Kazunari continues. “I’d like to paint you.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Don’t you already do that without asking me? I’ve seen your sketchbook, I’m totally okay with it.”

“This is different. I need to submit a painting of something or someone that’s my muse, so I wanted you as my model,” he explains, silently watching your expression change as you grasp the whole situation.

Avoiding his gaze, you look away from Kazunari. “Muse? So- so that means inspiration, right?” You stammer slightly, imagining how frazzled you must look already. “Wait I’m- are you sure it should be me? I’m not really…” you trail off, unsure of what reason you were going to give at the end.

When he says your name you look back up at his face. “I’m being legit here, you inspire me more than you know. It won’t feel right to paint anything else when you were the first thing that popped into my mind.”

Your eyes widen at his serious declaration. It’s not everyday Kazunari gives you such a straightforward and earnest compliment to that degree. Despite your initial embarrassment, your heart swelled up with joy; watching his shoulder’s ease up made you realize that he was probably waiting for a reaction out of you. At this point, it was impossible for you to reject his request.

“If you’ll still have me, then you can paint me.”

Kazunari’s eyes light up again, expressive and sparkling, before opening the classroom door to lead you inside. “Thank you, and like obvi! Why wouldn’t I wanna show off my sunshine to the world! My baby! My go-“

You let out a huff of amusement as he continued to spurt out pet names for you. Looks like he was back to normal?

When he lets go of your hand you finally take the time to absorb the room. It was obvious it was an art-centric classroom, from the numerous easels, art supplies, and artsy clutter scattered around the room. You wouldn’t have noticed such a difference between this and the other “painter occupied” rooms if it wasn’t for the set-up right smack in the middle.

It made for a pretty picture- loads of white offset by its nature orientedness. A few potted plants (you weren’t sure if they were real or not) were strategically placed along the area. The white fabric was hung and draped atop what was probably a bunch of easels used as a base frame. Similar cloths were set on the floor, a pillow placed on top.

You have a good feeling, a hunch if you will, that you were meant to stay there; if that wasn’t enough proof, an easel with a blank canvas was positioned directly in front of the space.

“When’d you even get the time to set this up? Are we even allowed to be here?” You question, a little surprised how everything has already been prepared.

“Friends from the photography dept helped me out~ Plus I’m lowkey besties with the prof so it’s ayt as long as we clean up.” He replies, grabbing one of the spare fabrics on the table.

“Can you remove your jacket?” Kazunari steps closer to you; as soon as you unzip the garment and throw it aside he wraps the plain, white material around your shoulders like a makeshift shawl or blanket.

You know it’s for the portrait, but there was something domestic about the simple act that made your heart race. He stepped back, smiling at you and looking self-accomplished.

“Huhu I can’t- my baby’s so pretty? How is this possible? Like an angel, no, a deity!”

“Kazu-“

“My venus~ wahh, I need so many pics? Do I have enough space? Do I post on InstaBlam or-”

“Kazu!” You interrupt, your cheeks flaring up in embarrassment. It was literally a white drape! Still, it was always nice when he complimented you, no matter how extra he went about it, so you didn’t have the heart to complain— after a year, you knew he was always genuine with his praise to you.

“We should probably start with the painting, right? We don’t wanna stay too late.” Kazunari perks back up and you briefly watch him choose between paintbrushes before you sit down on the floor.

How do models figure this shit out? Where does your leg go? How do you angle your face? How much tilt was too much tilt? Even the way you sat down was suddenly making you conscious— should you sit cross-legged or on your heels? Legs stretched out or tucked in?

You fidget in place, picking at the stray threads of the cloth beneath you. Should you just let Kazunari do his magic and hope he somehow makes you look good? After watching him from the corner of your eye he drops his paintbrush back in the mug.

“Beb, the vibes are off. I was being legit when I said you looked good, but you look like you’re thinking too hard.”

“Sorry, I can’t figure out what pose works.”

He crouches down in front of you, quietly looking over your awkward form. His hands take action in moving your body, nudging the arm that laid limp on your lap to lay flat against the floor behind you. Then his palms are on your legs, positioning the left thigh atop the right so that your knees faced front and the soles of your feet faced the side.

‘Okay, don’t be weird about it’ you tell yourself, despite hyper-focusing on the ghosts of Kazunari’s fingertips barely seeping through your jeans as they settle on your chin, gently moving your head to the side and tilting it downwards.

Kazunari narrows his eyes, simply staring at your face without a word being uttered. A part of you almost wants him to break into his trendy-speak again if only to give you time to shake off your sudden bashfulness.

“We Gucci! You still look distracted though… oh! Can you think about something that makes you happy?”

Maybe it was because he suggested it, or maybe it was because he’s your boyfriend— either way, the first thing that popped into your mind was Kazunari.

Settling into university was tough, but you had worked so hard to get accepted into Veludo Arts that you could look past the taxing work handed by the professors. Aside from the workload, you came to really enjoy studying here— you learned first hand how talented your peers were, and that motivated you to work harder.

During one of the campus’ exhibits your eyes were immediately drawn to the canvas with a Japanese painting style. Even from afar you could tell the artist was incredibly talented, but the closer you got the more you were able to see the tiny details and how purposeful every stroke was.

‘The devil truly is in the details’ you thought, looking at the exhibit label card beside the painting.

“Miyoshi Kazunari, 2nd-year student…” you read out loud, wondering if he had more works you could look at around the school.

“I heard my name just now~♪ Could it be, I have an admirer?” You immediately turn around to face a guy with blond hair and green eyes, keeping steady eye contact with you as he grinned.

Cute as he was, you might have totally ignored him if you hadn’t absorbed what he said.

“Hello, you’re Miyoshi-senpai, then?” You ask, trying to hide your disbelief at how he just popped up out of nowhere. Had you been staring at the painting that long that you lost awareness of your surroundings?

“The one and only~♪ You like the painting?”

Abandoning your bewilderment you immediately shifted into admiration mode. “Definitely! I thought the sparse use of colour was genius, particularly how certain parts of the painting got bolder colours than others. Not only that but the title! You think it’s literal at first, but it’s actually a double entendre! I also-“

Your rambling gets caught off by your new acquaintance chuckling, looking infinitely amused by you. You feel pinpricks on your cheeks, deliberating if you had gone too far with your praise or not.

“Kouhai, you’re so cute~♪ If you ever need help, just DM me, alrighty? I’ll always answer ya piko☆”

It had started out with you asking for his advice or to borrow materials, but somehow someway a couple of selfies and hundreds of DM stickers later the conversation shifted to topics unrelated to art.

You had eagerly begun looking forward to seeing the green circle beside his icon as he logged in to tell you about his day, whether it be something he did at Mankai or some crazy shenanigans with his friends.

Becoming close friends with Kazunari, to getting asked out by him, to dating him— you’d be lying if you said the past two years would be just as enjoyable if he wasn’t there to celebrate with you.

The sound of your name made you escape your daydream, being met with the sight of the blond in front of you.

“Were you calling me for long?” You ask, smiling as he pets you on the head.

“Nah, but aside from some deets the painting’s done now!” Even though the easel was turned to you, you still stand up to take a closer look.

Leave it up to Kazunari to make a human look so… pure? Angelic? How’d he even make you look so good? It was almost as if he had put a dreamy filter over you. As expected, even though he said there was still work to do, the tiniest of details were present— from the creases of the fabric hung behind you to the slight discolourations of the monstera plant beside you.

However, easily the most impressive thing about the whole portrait was the look on your face. The slope of your eyelashes as they shaded your eyes— averted with a faraway look to them, as though enchanted by something unseen to the viewer. The corners of your lips lifted your cheeks, a closed smile holding onto words unspoken.

So that’s what you looked like in love.

“What were you thinking of here, my muse?” Kazunari breaks the silence, and when you turn to face him you notice he’s not looking at the painting. You don’t break the eye contact.

“Were you… musing about me?” He teases, though it’s a little lacking in spirit. You don’t fail to notice— neither the lower timbre of his voice nor the gentleness of his eyes escape you.

Even with all his eccentricities, you and Kazunari aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to love.

“Yeah, I was thinking about you.”

The look on his face was something you wish you could capture in a photo or painting yourself, a medley of unpreparedness, joy, and adoration. You can’t stop your small laughter when he literally clutches his chest.

“OMG my heart, I’m so? You’re so?” He takes hold of the cloth around your shoulders and pulls you closer until the only thing you can focus on is the brilliance of his green eyes. You could look only for a few seconds as he stretched his head forward and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was sweet and inviting, not unlike the first they shared months ago. Kazunari’s lips were warm and he tasted faintly of the candy he always liked to stock in his bag. After a moment, he brings both hands up to your cheekbones, cupping your face like he was savouring you.

Then he drops his chin, breaking off the kiss and pushing you away a fraction, so he could look into your eyes.

“Sorry,” he says with a small laugh, “Just can’t believe that expression was all for me, you know?”

You pout, poking his side. “And who else would I think about? I only have one boyfriend, Kazu.”

“Oh? Does that boyfriend happen to be a good kisser?” Kazunari asks playfully, his eyes crinkling with mirth, “I bet I’d be a better kisser~”

“Is that so?” You reply with a raised eyebrow, slowly erasing the distance until you were but a breath apart from touching. “Would you like to prove it?”

The intimacy of the moment was both strange and wonderful. You tilt your chin slightly and he immediately took it as the cue to lean in and kiss you again, drawing your lower lip between his with a light suction. If the first was gentle if not a little energetic, this time he kissed with an unexpected passion and confidence.

It was clear that missing each other plus the accumulation of little moments this afternoon led to this moment.

Kazunari traces one hand over your cheek, down your shoulder, back up again. His fingers come to rest at the back of your neck, sending a slight shiver down your spine, his thumb playing idly along your jaw as he works his mouth against yours and in the back of your head you realise the fabric on your shoulders had slipped some seconds ago. Eventually, you pull yourself closer, until you were flush against him.

Kazunari releases your mouth and starts kissing down your jawline. He presses his upper body over yours as he settles in to tease and nip at your earlobe, murmuring your name, the sensation against your ear making your whole body tingle.

You could only whimper in response as he attacks the outer shell of your ear, beginning to get overwhelmed by his warmth and his smell and you burrowed against his sweater, trying to lose yourself in all of it. At this point, you were just trying to steal as much of Kazunari’s loving warmth as you could.

You tighten your grip on his clothes when he grazes his teeth against your neck; then his lips were on yours again and you readily opened up to him, swirling your tongue against his.

When the need for air came desperately, you took to a slower pace until eventually coming to a halt, loosening the grip you had on him. You don’t immediately open your eyes, collapsing against chest once more to catch your breath. You only look back up when Kazunari lets out a loud snort that turned into a fit of laughter.

“I forgot we were still on campus for a sec,” He says, gently squeezing your forearms. You step backward, making yourself look presentable, though it serves a bit of a task without a mirror to guide you.

“We should probably clean up and leave.”

Kazunari lets out a thoughtful hum, and you can already see the grin creeping upon his lips. “Yeah, we def should… unless?”

want to order again?

[yourdorkiness]

More Fire Force Opinions That Literally Nobody Asked For (pt.2)

Guess who finished the manga~ Guess who finished the manga~ This gal~ I’m surprised that my Fire Force rant/essay meta was so well received by the fandom, thank you guys so much!!! Anyways, today I’ll be discussing some a lot of my ideas, opinions, thoughts, future predictions, and commentary on moments from the Fire Force manga.

Warnings: Spoilers for future Fire Force Season Two arcs, and for the Fire Force manga. Read at your own discretion! Now that the warnings are over, onwards! ヽ(ヅ)ノ

(I’m actually trying to order my opinions via arcs, but I feel that this is really important, so I’m putting it first.) 

1. There are no iPhones in the Fire Force. 

This is so sad? My favourite characters don’t know the joy that is staying up late, scrolling through social media, watching YOUTUBE, having MEMES, KNOWING👏THE👏GREATNESS👏THAT👏IS👏VINES!!!

I’m slightly disappointed that Vulcan, who is literally named after the god of forging himself, who can make frickin’ HOLOGRAMS, didn’t bring back any of the pre-Catalysm technology to recreate, improve, or experiment with. As an expert engineer (I say this 0.2% seriously, with the two years of high school engineering course experience under my belt), I would’ve been interested to see what kind of gadgets Vulcan could whip up. *insert ‘Inspector Gadget theme song*

Please have this very sad Jigglypuff to show how sad this is.

2. Sister Iris and Religion in the Fire Force Storyline

In the beginning of the Fire Force series, I’ve accepted the fact that Iris' role as noncombatant, meant to act as the religious and public face of the Eighth Company. I think it is a fascinating role, because it allows the story to explore the idea of religion and belief in depth, which I was really looking forward to. I was excited how the author would handle Iris’ character, but I’m somewhat disappointed that it took so long for us to see Iris and other side characters like Maki and Tamaki become more fleshed out (I’m not counting Iris’ and Hibana’s backstory in Season 1. I felt that was more backstory to flesh out Hibana’s character rather than Iris’).

Throughout Fire Force’s story, some of the things I looked forward to the most were the religious elements, motifs, themes, and questions that are sprinkled throughout the story, one of my favourites being the portrayal of the dichotomy of religion. In Joker’s backstory, we see the darkness of the Holy Sol faith, and what happens when any religious belief is taken TOO far, without any regard for human life or rights. This idea of viewing humans as a collective, no regard for the individuality and feelings of a single person in the pursuit of faith is embodied by the captain of the Shadow of the Holy Sun, Joker’s former captain and abuser. However, we also get to see the goodness religion and belief can achieve in Iris’ mini arc, which focuses on Iris’ internal struggle as she struggles with her faith after being informed of the Evangelist’s part in the founding of the Holy Sol’s religion. Shinra and Huo Yan Li, the bucket hat 1st Brigade lieutenant (Seriously, which is the correct way to pronounce this guy’s name? Huo Yan Li?? Foien Li???) interaction in the Iris arc really summed up the arc and Iris’ character beautifully. Religion and belief gives people closure, hope, and strength to keep on moving forward. Seeing the anime adaption was an amazing experience. Fire Force’s animation was the reason I decided to watch it in the first place (before staying for the intriguing plot and religious side plot), but this particular episode?? Pure art. The colouring, ambience, storytelling? So good＼\ ٩( ᐛ )و /／

Like, the little detail of the burning nun in Iris’ eyes? (lmao sorry for the extra trauma, sweet child) *chef’s kiss*

The importance of belief is also hinted in the Asakusa arc, where all the district’s inhabitants believe in Benimaru, and expanded upon in later manga chapters, when we learn that Adolla is linked to humanity’s perception and beliefs about the world around them.

I would’ve liked Iris a lot more if we got to further explore her character and the affects of religion on others more deeply, perhaps see Iris visiting the Infernals’ families and loved ones, trying to help give closure through the nation’s (mostly) shared faith in Sol. They mentioned offhandedly in both anime and manga that Iris visits the deceased’s families, and I felt it would’ve given the deaths more significance and depth if we get screentime of how families are affected by the death of their loved ones. It would have also given the Holy Sol’s religion more depth and meaning if we saw believers of Sol’s actions due to their religion, (also giving more impact when we learn surprise surprise! The Holy Sol temple is founded by the Evangelist!) since belief without actions is just lip-service.

I would have also liked to see how Iris’ prayers affect others in the Eighth company. We do get to see this, 140+ CHAPTERS LATER in the mini Iris arc does Shinra (finally) mentions how Iris’ prayers helps him not lose sight of why he serves as a firefighter and kills Infernal. I’m glad that we got this scene, because better later than never, especially since Iris’ and Shinra’s discussion and overall the entire Iris mini arcs shows the power of prayer, but I would’ve like to have this topic discussed sooner.

2. Obi’s Sole Flaw

I think that Obi was an okay character, but they kind of pushed the boundary of his “normalcy” when we saw him topple pillars and rip railways out of the ground with “brute strength”. There are limits to the human body, it is fragile, and it doesn’t matter how much conditioning or “going beyond your limits” you do. People do experience boost of adrenaline, which is probably what the very anime-like titled “Pressure of Death” is based on, since life or death situations can heighten your performance and strength. However, I do understand that this IS shonen, and it isn’t meant to be realistic.

What made Obi’s sole flaw (and a physical flaw, at that!) was his “normalcy” while surrounded by more powerful individuals then he, and having to make up for something he can’t help by working twice as hard as everybody else. Now, although I was disappointed that Obi didn’t have any character/moral flaws, what made Obi’s character mediocre to me wasn’t the choice of Obi’s sole flaw. In fact, I could see how this could be an interesting character narrative IF WE LEARN MORE ABOUT OBI’S BACKSTORY, THEREFORE EXPLORING HIS CHARACTER MORE!!! (We only know Obi was a regular firefighter, being decorated twice, and then having his titles revoked for prioritizing the lives of citizens before becoming the captain of the Eighth.) No, what I didn’t like about Obi’s character is that we never see him STRUGGLE with his flaw, how others were born “superior” to him thanks to there invulnerability to flames, how he lives knowing one day he could just burst into flames. There’s SO many interesting things about Obi’s character, that could explained further, making him so much more interesting!!!

On the other hand, Obi’s character is a great role model for what a “normal” person can do (while jacked up on adrenaline, and when they manage to overcome flight reaction in fight or flight). He works hard, training to the best of his ability, doing what he CAN do, pushing his limits so that he can go above and beyond, overcoming the “Pressure of Death”, and staying true to his ideals, something very hard to do in a world where you might burst into flames at any given moment. I know that if I were to wake in a world where I could die any second (I mean, I could die tomorrow in Real Life™, but what are the chances of that?), I would definitely find myself struggling with my faith, and staying true to the morals I admire and was taught by my parents, especially if I was putting myself in danger despite of this weakness.

3. Asakusa Showdown Arc and Shinmon Hibachi

The Asakusa Showdown arc. Yes. Just yes. I-

It was amazing, periodt. The art, the overall aesthetic, the storytelling. *Cue violent fangirling* I took SOOOO many screenshots of the fight between Benimaru and Hibachi, I’m pretty sure my camera roll is 95% manga caps now. I love how the author actually gave a (fairly) valid reason for the cool Japanese aesthetic of this arc, in that Adolla is slowly gradually colliding with the Fire Force universe, causing people’s perception of the fight to seep into the universe. Overall? It. Was. Amazing. Albeit not my favourite arc, (that honour goes to the mini-Iris arc) I think that the Asakusa Showdown arc is easily in my Top 5 Fire Force arcs.

The Asakusa Showdown Arc mirroring and showing the ideals taught in the Mini Iris Arc was quite clever, though I’m not sure if this was purposefully done Okubo, or if I’m just scrabbling at crumbs.

In the Mini Iris arc, we see how religion and belief gives closure; a stark contrast to Asakusa with its proto-nationalist/atheist values. In THIS arc, centering around Asakusa and it’s proto-nationalist inhabitants, we see what happens when there isn’t enough effort to emphasize or give closure in what happened to Hibachi, and his subsequent death. 

Shinmon Hibachi, as the leader of the neighbourhood fire watch, understood the significance of killing Infernals; of taking somebody’s life. But because of the unwillingness to let others (i.e. the inhabitants of Asakusa, that one kid who stabs him) understand the weight of killing Infernals and gain closure through understanding the reasons behind his harsh actions, Hibachi shoulders the consequences of both his and the actions of his predecessors’ ALONE, therefore leading to his demise. 

The kid who stabbed Hibachi was still a CHILD, and children don’t always have a comprehensive understanding of death and the consequences of responsibility (no matter how much that kid believes he was ready to be an adult and support his mother).

3.5 Extra Worldbuilding Questions About Asakusa

I also have so many questions about Asakusa in general! How is Asakusa powered without being supported by Amaterasu, which is the country’s (and isn’t that mind boggling, that a whole country is supported by one power source with no backup source or other forms of energy/electricity, because of patriotic pride in a machine that might one day shut down, cough manga readers where u at?) I’m assuming that Asakusa mainly use coal, candles, and lamps for energy and lighting, since we did see one example of lighting in Asakusa (an ancient oil lamp), but I’m not sure if that would be sufficient to support a whole district of people. People were able to do that in the olden days, but back then there was a smaller concentration of people, and power necessary to support them.

Is Asakusa a district that is mostly atheist or polytheist? Do the inhabitants believe in no gods, not just the Sun god brought by the White Clads and Raffles I, including the Shinto or Buddhist gods from before the Catalysm, or do they believe in multiple gods/ancestor worship and they just don’t want to worship the Sun God like the rest of the Tokyo Empire because they’re unwilling to accept the new culture, immigrants and religion caused by Amaterasu, wanting to keep up the old Japanese traditions?

4. Arthur Deserves Better Parents 2k20 (Hint of Arthur’s Secret Ability?)

When Team Vulcan + Arthur found Arthur’s parents in the sewers Nether... Honestly, I don’t want to touch on them much, since I want to be (fairly) logical in my opinions on them, not letting my personal feelings twist my hypotheses for what may happen in the future of the Fire Force storyline.

Putting aside Arthur’s parents obvious neglect and bad parenting, I’m curious if Arthur's dad is actually a prophet or did he just get lucky with his delusions. Is this related to how Arthur can notice the difference between dopplegangers and real people? Perhaps because Arthur’s delusions of knighthood are so different from how he truly is (an abandoned child who deluded himself as a knight), therefore allowing him to notice the difference between dopplegangers and Adolla, as they are created by people’s perception of a subject.

5. Let Sho Be a Normal Kid at the End of the Show 2k20

Please let the small child be happy at the end of the manga. I mean, being raised by a cult underground isn’t exactly a Hallmarks childhood. For example, in the beginning of chapter 231, look at how Sho looks longingly at those kids on scooters and was so happy when he got a balloon from the firefighter mascots! (bruh, same balloons bring me so much joy)

I hope that in the end of the manga Okubo lets Sho, Shinra, and Eighth have some quality time. In one of the early arcs (with the first speaking demon, Minamoto?) Shinra saw some kids going to school wearing school uniforms, mentioning that if Sho was still alive, he’d be old enough to go to school. I’d be so sweet if at the end of the manga, Sho would have the chance to go to school, maybe the Fire Force academy (if it’s still running if by the end of the manga they’ve discovered the reason behind Human Combustion), makes friends and beat up anybody who badmouths the Eighth.

6. Cool Combat Medics!

I’d love to see more of the cool combat medics from the Sixth! We only saw the captain, Kayoko Huang, in action with her Asclepius staff pyrokinesis, which, might I add is a fascinating and terrifying ability. Think about it, she’s controlling CELLULAR DIVISION!!! She could start creating tumors in the bodies of her enemies! Could disintegrate people cellularly and no one would know, because fire snake, so no fingerprints!

Anyways, that is all I have right now. Thank you for reading my opinions about “Fire Force”, and for the nice response I got when I published my first opinion piece! Bruh, it took so long for me to edit this... 😔 I’m thinking of doing another meta going more in depth with my theory on Arthur and how he’s able to distinguish the difference between people and their dopplegangers, but that’s for another day. Feel free to discuss about your own ideas or thoughts in the chat, or tell me what you think! I promise I don’t bite. Have a wonderful day!

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 3: Chapter 11

The Holidays in NYC: Dec 2017   

Word count: 3.3k

SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST

Aurora had always loved Christmas growing up. The chill in the air, the lights and decorations strewn around town and the towering pine tree in the corner of the bar. There were never many presents under it; usually a small something her mother could pull together and art supplies from Helen and Greg, but Christmas was never about the presents in their home. Instead, the festive season meant going ice skating with Ella after school, Christmas Eve waffles with her mum, carols to be performed at the piano, and Helen teaching her to make gingerbread biscuits and plum pudding. Even after Louise‘s death tarnished Christmas Eve and left a heavy cloud hanging over Christmas Day, the month of December still brought so much joy to Aurora's life and she made a choice once she moved to New York to focus on only the happy memories she had from childhood, knowing that if she didn’t then this time of year would slowly crush her under the weight of her grief. The atmosphere completely changed in Manhattan with the Christmas spirit and she loved every little aspect of the season. In the city, Christmas was now filled with new traditions like picking out a tree with her fathers and stringing lights with Nat and Bruce. It was introducing Steve and Bucky to cringey festive movies and ice skating in central park with Harry. It wasn’t the same as it had been growing up in London, there were far more presents under the tree now and the family around the table much bigger and louder, but despite these changes or perhaps because of them Christmas remained Aurora’s favourite time of year.

Now, however, there was pained edge to all the festive joy. She still loved ice skating in Central Park and strolling through the Christmas markets, but the cold seeped into her bones, chilling her in a way it never had before Columbia; the ache in her left arm and shoulder a constant reminder of the bullets that had ripped her apart 3 years ago. She was good at hiding her discomfort most of the time, holding back grimaces and fighting back the urge to rub at her residual limb as it throbbed. The full impact of winter had made itself known when she had returned to New York with Harry after the bands final performance before going on hiatus and while most of the people around her were unaware of her struggle, Harry caught on quite quickly. She hadn’t really been that surprised when he realised she was struggling a few days after returning from the band’s final performance on X Factor. They had just returned back to the tower from a walk in Central Park and while Steve was putting the final touches on dinner, Aurora had quietly excused herself from the room. Harry had quickly joined her, finding her curled in on herself in the hallway rubbing at the ache in her shoulder. Ever since that year Harry had always made a conscious effort to help her through the winter months, always on hand with heat pads, a massage, a steaming hot bath or even a surprise getaway to a warmer location. Rori tried not to let her body’s protests impede her activities however she now paid more attention to the forecast so as not to be heading outside on the worst days and she always rugged up with thicker jackets than most people would deem necessary.

This year was no different with the aches setting in while they were exploring Tokyo and only worsening as they settled back into life in the tower. Steve and Tony had already picked out the tree for the penthouse before their arrival but the last of the ornaments had been left for Aurora to place, the carefully wrapped hand painted baubles from her childhood added in amongst the Avengers themed ornaments that Clint had gifted the family ironically a few years earlier. As he did every year, Harry voiced his argument against Die Hard being a Christmas movie, but despite his grumbling he allowed his wife to pull him onto the sofa and curled up against her as Bruce Willis saved the day. With the time off from tour, Rori took the opportunity to throw herself back into her painting and spent hours at a time working in comfortable silence with Steve in their studio. A few days before Christmas, Anne and Gemma flew into town and Anne happily joined Steve in the kitchen to prep for the gigantic Christmas dinner required to feed the large group that would be in attendance. The pair shooed any offers of assistance, knowing that it would be more of a hindrance than a help, leaving Harry and Rori plenty of time to spend with Gemma. The three of them binged crappy Netflix Christmas movies and caught each other up on everything from tour and Gemma’s own adventures over the past few months, happy to just be spending time together.

xXx

Christmas Eve started quietly on the penthouse floor of Avengers Tower. Ever since their formation, the Avengers followed the unwritten rule to steer clear, either remaining on their own residential floors or leaving the tower altogether. Tony had remained up in the lab till the early hours of the morning, so he was sleeping away most of the day while Steve and Anne were baking for the following day in the kitchen and Gemma had made plans to catch up with friends, leaving early after a quick breakfast.

Sometime around mid-morning, Harry had appeared in the kitchen, kissing his mother on the cheek as he silently passed by her to make two mugs of coffee. He also poured some cereal and heated up a pop tart before placing it all on a tray and carrying it back to the bedroom where Rori was buried under the duvet. Anne and Steve remained silent as they watched him trudge back down the hallway, his hair sleep mussed and sticking in every direction. Steve placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as Anne frowned at her sons dejected demeanour and slumped shoulders. Her normally loud and goofy boy wore his heart on his sleeve, and she ached to see him shouldering his wife grief without complaint. She was proud of him for it, but it didn’t make it any less painful to watch.

Of course, what Anne failed to realise was that it was not only Rori’s grief burdening his shoulder and pinching his brows together. It was weighing heavily on him that this would be their first Christmas without Robin and he was fighting against the urge to wallow in that sense of loss. Looking after Rori on the anniversary of losing her mother, her home and her childhood was a much needed distraction and he welcomed the diversion. It was always easier for him to be the shoulder to lean on than to be the one in need of leaning, a trait he shared with his wife which was understandably not always great for communication or dealing with heavy emotions but they managed the best they could.

After a slow morning spent in bed, they made their way downstairs to the arts studio so that Rori could throw herself into another painting. She was in no mood to talk, so Harry simple set himself up on the sofa with his latest book, content to merely be a comforting presence so that Aurora knew she wasn’t alone. As darkness fell outside and dinner time approached JARVIS softly let them know that Tony was ordering in Chinese and asking for their orders.

Once JARVIS announced that the food had arrived, they made their way back upstairs to where Tony and Steve had queued up a Christmas movie and Gemma and Anne were already waiting on the sofa with them, both nursing glasses of red wine. Rori happily wedged herself between Tony and Harry after piling dumplings, noodles, and spring rolls on her plate and settled in as the movie began.

The Chinese food was long since polished off and they were debating which movie to watch next when Steve disappeared to the kitchen. He returned a little while later once they had settled on the next film with plates of waffles for everyone and all the toppings weighing down the tray it was all balanced on. Aurora bit back tears at the simple gesture. Looking around at the family surrounding her caused the heavy weight of grief in her chest to flare. Carrying on this little part of her life with Louise made her miss her mother more than words could express, but it also kept her closer and in some small way included her in the new family that Rori had surrounded herself with, both with her dads and with Harry’s mum and sister. She knew that her mum would have loved everyone in this room and Rori was certain that it would always feel unfair to her that it required losing her mum in order to find those surrounding her now.

xXx

Without speaking about it, Harry and Aurora instinctively swapped rolls once they woke Christmas morning. Where Harry had taken it upon himself to support Aurora through her own grief the previous day, now it was Rori’s turn to help her husband, as well as Anne and Gemma as they navigated their way through their first Christmas without Robin.

Harry was already awake when Rori fluttered her eyes open to the soft morning light filtering in through her window. She rolled over to find him staring at the ceiling and without saying a word she wrapped herself around him, pulling him tightly against her and placed a kiss on his bare shoulder. They remained silent for long minutes before Harry finally broke out of his haunting daze. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, turning in his wife’s arms to kiss her gently.

“Merry Christmas,” she replied softly, returning the kiss. “Do you want to talk about it or is it better to not acknowledge it?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice deep and laced with pain. “I feel like if I even say his name, I’ll burst into tears but then not talking about it feels like I’m trying to forget about him.”

“I know it’s hard baby,” Rori replied, “but whatever you decide is ok. If it hurts too much to talk about it, then that is ok. Doesn’t mean you don’t still love him or that he doesn’t matter. You have to do what’s best for you. Nothing to apologize for or feel any guilt about.”

“I love you,” Harry said, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you too, H,” she replied, carding her fingers through his hair.

They remained in bed for a while after that, wrapped up in each other before finally getting up and getting dressed to head down the hall to where the rest of the family were gathered in the living room. Harry fell onto the sofa next to his mother, curling up into her side while Gemma sat on her other side. Anne happily threw her arms around both of her children and Rori took up a spot on the floor at Steve’s feet, leaning back against his calves.

“I made breakfast for everyone,” Steve offered once they were both settled. “You want me to make either of you something?”

“I’m good thanks Pops,” Rori answered. “I’ll just wait for lunch. H?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“Coffee?” Tony yelled from the kitchen.

“Coffee please,” Rori yelled back, shooting a brief worried glance at Harry when he once again declined the offer. He seemed to be trying to melt into both the sofa beneath him and his mother beside him. Anne met her gaze across the room and offered a small supportive smile as she squeezed Harry’s shoulders a little tighter in her hug. In that small silent exchange between the two of them, the conversation was clear, they would do anything to help the man they both loved through his pain and it left Aurora in awe of Anne’s strength in that moment, only being able to imagine how much of her own grief she was pushing aside to be present for her son.

They remained in the living room for the remainder of the morning as the other members of the Avengers slowly made their way up from their own floors until the room was bursting with Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Sam, Bucky, Peter, May, Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey. Steve and Anne had outdone themselves and lunch was incredible. Everyone was bursting at the seams by the time they tapped out, leaving plenty of leftovers to feed them all for the next week and they finished the afternoon with eggnog and cheesy Christmas rom coms as the sun set outside and the TV and the lights on the Christmas tree provided a soft glow to the room.

xXx

2 days after Christmas Rori borrowed one of her father’s cars and crossed the East River to drive out to the North Shore on Long Island. She arrived at Oheka Castle a little after 9 and after parking, she was almost immediately pulled into a hug from Liam who had arrived a few minutes before her, having come straight from the airport.

“It is so good to see you, darling.”

“Good to see you too, Li,” Rori replied warmly. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Liam replied, taking her hand, and leading her inside and out of the cold. “How’s H?” he asked as the climbed the front steps.

“He’s good. Enjoying spending some time with Gem and Anne while they’re visiting but he said he’s looking forward to dinner tonight. How are Bear and Cheryl?”

“They’re great. You should see Bear lately. He’s pulling himself up to stand and I’m sure he’ll be walking within the next few weeks.”

“Can’t wait to give him a big cuddle when we’re back in London in a few weeks.”

They continued to catch up throughout the day while they roamed the property and decided on locations for different scenes for the music video they would be filming over the course of the next few days. Aurora also had a final fitting for her dresses and then the day was over, and Liam joined Aurora in the car for the drive back into the city.

Harry met them in Williamsburg where they had dinner at a food truck that Rori had read about and then wandered around until they found a dive bar with an open mic and grabbed a booth in the back corner where the lights were low and they were less likely to be recognized. It was a such a fun night, with all three of them having missed hanging out together and just getting to pretend that they were normal friends in their early 20s just out for drinks after work. By the end of the night, Aurora’s cheeks ached from laughing too hard and she wrapped an arm around each of the boys as they stumbled out of the bar and down the street, winding their way back to where she had parked, giggling hysterically in the way that only drunk people did. Having always been the sober member of the group, Rori had discovered years ago that nights out were far more fun when you let the drunks sweep you up in their high and because of that she knew that to anyone watching the three of them right now, no one would believe that she wasn’t just as drunk as the two men hanging off her shoulders. They finally managed to make it back to the car and Rori drove them back over the Williamsburg Bridge and through lower Manhattan until they reached the tower and called it a night.

xXx

The first day of filming began in hair and makeup with Rori having her hair curled, while a red lipstick and a dark smoky eye was applied by a lovely girl called Jessica. Once her look was finished, she slipped into a red backless tulle gown, over which she wore a heavy black winter coat as she made her way out into the gardens for her first scene. The crew were already set up and ready to go by the time she arrived and after chatting with the director, Hannah, for a few minutes, Rori slipped out of her jacket and approached the top of the short set of steps that she would be filmed descending while she sang.

“Ready?” Hannah called and when Rori nodded in reply, the studio recording of For You started playing and Aurora stepped forward, staring down the barrel of the camera while she lip-synced along to herself.

“Cut!” the director called.

“Holy fucking shit Hannah,” Rori yelled. “It’s cold as balls.”

“I’m sorry Aurora,” Hannah replied. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I promise you it’ll be worth it. You look fantastic.”

“Let’s just keep moving before I freeze to death, yeah?”

“You heard the lady,” Hannah smiled. “Let’s get set for the next shot.

Rori spent the remainder of the day running around the estates beautiful rose garden, cursing Liam and his warm, comfortable room inside where he was filming. The following day she was still outside in the garden, now suspended in a harness as she floated in the air, trying to pretend that she wasn’t shivering to death. Aurora was very excited when they reached day 3 as she finally joined Liam to film inside after enduring the frigid New York winter air in the sheer gown that did very little to protect her from the elements. She was in a different dress now and the new challenge was no longer pretending not to shiver, but instead acting romantic with Liam. Many takes were ruined when one of them broke into giggles but eventually Hannah called a wrap on the video and after changing out of their costumes, they drove back into the city to spend a final evening together as Liam was flying home the following day to spend New Years Eve with his family. They parted with wishes of Happy New Years and plans to see each other at the end of January when they would perform the song on the Tonight Show to promote the Fifty Shades movie it was attached to.

xXx

As he did every year, Tony once again hosted a massive New Year’s Eve party, filling the penthouse floor of the tower with the who’s who of New York City. Having learned from their mistakes on the first New Years following Columbia, Harry and Aurora were now well practiced in how to handle the night while navigating around her PTSD. This year was no different and they joined in the party upstairs, catching up with familiar faces and dancing the night away. With half an hour to go until the ball dropped, they made their way to the elevator riding the car down to the sound proofed recording studio that would be their refuge for the remainder of the night. Earlier in the day, Harry had set up a nest of pillows and blankets, as well as setting out snacks and drinks. they settled in to watch a movie and see in the new year while avoiding the fireworks. They fell asleep cuddled together on the floor of the studio and Steve woke them the following morning, having made pancakes and waffles to welcome in 2018. Unlike most of the towers residences there wasn’t a single hangover amongst Tony, Steve, Harry and Rori, allowing for the four of them to get an early start on the day.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[love-a-little-less-archived]

pause to ponder the miracles

a holiday secret santa gift for @hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis​

“Is me not liking you a problem, Princess?”

Clarke shrugged. “It could be.”

“Why?”

“Because I was planning on inviting your sister to come up with me for Christmas, and thought maybe, if you weren’t an ass about it, I’d invite you, too." Bellamy opened his mouth to say something but Clarke barrelled on. "So are you going to continue to hate me or can we get along? Because I know O wouldn’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

Bellamy pursed his lips. “Yeah. Okay. We can get along.”

Modern AU where Bellamy hasn’t truly celebrated Christmas in years, and with the help of his sister’s university roommate, maybe this year can be different.

Rated teen+ for language

[ read on ao3 ]

-

So!! I don’t think anyone else has posted their fics for this event yet but I figured I had it done, might as well be the first. So a little backstory on this fic: I had originally planned out something entirely different. I was trying to stay in canon-verse but honestly I was having enough trouble with the holiday theme anyway so I gave it up and moved it to modern-verse. And the first couple things I drafted up I tried to make more focused on the group rather than one person but that also didn't work very well so I decided Bellamy might be a good pick for you. And as much as I tried to not make it romantic I- kind of failed. As you’ll see.

Anyway!! I hope this is holiday-themed enough for you!! I’m actually considering maybe writing a second chapter to this because I did really enjoy typing this out, but that’s iffy.

Merry christmas, dear!! I hope you like it ♥

@johnmurphyisqueer​

( I’ll post the whole thing below the cut, but formatting is probably better on ao3 )

-

“Christmas is like softly-falling snow that covers the world in a blanket of white so flawless and brilliant as to make us pause to ponder the miracle.”

― Richelle E. Goodrich, Being Bold

Bellamy had never had much of a Christmas.

Before Aurora had passed, they’d bake cookies and buy gifts and string lights on the walls, but after, it had mostly stopped. Bellamy was too focused on providing for himself and his sister to worry much about holidays. Sure, he’d buy Octavia a few small gifts, sometimes they’d go walk around neighborhoods and look at the fancy light shows some houses boasted, but it was never anything big for them.

This year was different.

It started like this: Octavia had just begun her first year at university, courtesy of years of saving up for it, and when November rolled around, Octavia came home to him for a few days. She brought a friend. Clarke Griffin, her roommate, who looked like she’d never struggled for a day in her life. Bellamy immediately disliked her. But for Octavia’s sake, he tried to mask it.

“So, Clarke,” he started, the three of them lounging in the living room, Octavia and Clarke with a bag of chips between them. “What brings you down here?”

She shrugged. “My hometown is more than a few hours drive from campus, didn’t feel like making the effort. Octavia invited me along when she figured out I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t feel like going to see your family?”

“Nah. The only reason I’d want to go down would be to see my old friends, and not all of them would even be around. My mom and I don’t have the best relationship.” Clarke scrunched her nose. “ And I’d already told her I’d come see her for Christmas, so no reason to make the drive.”

Bellamy huffed. Clarke raised her eyebrows. “Something funny?”

Octavia was glaring at him, so he just settled back. “Nope. All good, Princess.”

Clarke didn’t seem to believe him. Octavia stood up, tugging Clarke with her. “Come on babe, why don’t we go hang out on our own?”

Clarke and Bellamy avoided each other for the rest of the day. And the day after that.

It didn’t last.

It was early, early enough that Bellamy expected to be gone for work by the time the girls got up. But then Clarke strode into the kitchen and rested her hands on the counter, hard eyes locked onto him. “Why do you hate me?”

And Bellamy, not at all prepared for that, just stared at her for a few moments. “What?”

“You heard me. What’s your problem with me?”

He turned around, taking a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She growled. He heard her shuffling around, and suddenly she was right in his face. Bellamy jerked back, almost spilling his coffee. So maybe he didn’t like her, but her glare was downright terrifying.

Bellamy clenched his jaw. “Is me not liking you a problem, Princess?”

She shrugged. “It could be.”

“Why?”

“Because I was planning on inviting your sister to come up with me for Christmas, and thought maybe, if you weren’t an ass about it, I’d invite you too.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Why?”

Clarke sighed. “Because I like your sister, and I know she’s never had much of a real Christmas. And because I’m nice, I was going to invite you so you could not be a sad person who spends Christmas alone.”

The only thing he could say to that was “oh.”

Clarke didn’t seem bothered by it. “So are you going to continue to hate me or can we get along? Because I know O wouldn’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

Bellamy pursed his lips. “Yeah. Okay. We can get along.”

Clarke grinned. “Great! I’ll bring it up to Octavia later today. Now tell me if you have anything other than that straight black coffee you’re drinking-”

And despite himself, Bellamy could tell she was already growing on him.

︵‿︵‿୨✼୧‿︵‿︵

Though Bellamy offered to make the drive alone, Clarke insisted that she come and pick him up. Said it wasn’t too much of a detour. He knew it was easier to just agree. There was no arguing with Clarke.

And so that was how Bellamy found himself draped over the backseat of Clarke’s car, the two girls chatting enthusiastically in the front seats.

“Bell, are you excited?” Octavia asked, turning around. “We’re going to have a real Christmas! With a tree and presents and lights and cookies!”

Honestly, he was more nervous than excited. He wouldn’t know anyone there other than Octavia and Clarke, and the latter he still didn’t know very well. But he let Octavia’s joy seep into him, smiling back at her. “I am.” And because he was far too polite, he addressed Clarke too. “And thank you, Clarke, for inviting us.”

She waved him off. “Oh, it’s helping me too, don’t worry. Hopefully it’ll get my mom off my back about how I need to expand my social circle now that I’m in uni. She’s been bugging me about it forever.”

He hummed. “What year are you?”

“Sophomore. Majoring in creative arts, minoring in a couple medical classes. Mostly because of my mother.”

He raised an eyebrow, though she couldn’t see. “Sounds controlling.”

“Ugh. Very.” Clarke clenched the steering wheel tightly. “She was so angry when I said I was majoring in the arts. Said it wasn’t a career that would get me very far in life. She’s always wanted me to be a doctor like her.”

He chuckled. “You don’t strike me as very doctor-esque.”

“Oh, she’s better than you’d think,” Octavia butted in. “I got sick for a few days in the first weeks, and Clarkey here had it down. I barely even had to do anything.”

Clarke shrugged. “Not a bad skill to have.”

“I probably would have died without you.”

“It was a stomach bug, O.”

“Still!”

And suddenly he wasn’t as worried about the trip as he was before. Not if it was going to be like this.

︵‿︵‿୨✼୧‿︵‿︵

Abby Griffin was a very intense woman.

She and Clarke exchanged quick hellos, Abby going to hug her daughter, but even Bellamy could tell it was awkward. When she addressed him and Octavia, it was very stiff, professional, and Bellamy could see why she and Clarke didn’t get along. The two women were opposite personalities, sharing the same stubborn streak that likely played a big part in their strained relationship.

Another thing he noticed that was very opposite to Clarke was the house. From what he knew of Clarke, she was not a very organized person. Her car was a bit of a mess, a lot of her clothes were stained with paints, and she didn’t put much effort into her appearance. Abby’s house was huge and pristine, everything sparkling clean, the house itself matching Abby’s intenseness. 

The woman sat them on the couch and went to get them drinks. Bellamy looked around the huge living room. “This where you grew up?”

Clarke shuddered. “God, no. My mom moved in after my dad… died. He never wanted anything big or fancy. I lived here for about two years before moving out. Though honestly I tried to spend as much time out of the house as I could. It’s almost too much.”

Octavia leaned closer, keeping her voice low. “You didn’t tell me your mom was rich!”

“She’s a world-class surgeon, I thought that was a given.”

“I didn’t expect this!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Clarke shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on spending much time here anyway. We’ll probably spend Christmas day here, but the real fun will be on Christmas Eve. One of my high school friends is a master at throwing parties. You’ll have the time of your life, trust me.”

Neither Blake could reply as Abby walked back in with drinks for each of them. Bellamy wasn’t sure what it was, but it tasted fancier than anything he’d ever had. 

“So.” Abby sat down on one of the plush chairs across from the couch. “Why don’t you two tell me about yourselves? Clarke doesn’t talk much about school.”

Octavia spoke up first. “I’m her roommate. Majoring in video production.”

Abby nodded, not seeming very impressed. “And you?”

Bellamy shifted. “I’m Octavia’s brother. I’m not in uni.”

“Oh?” Abby’s face shifted a bit at that. “Did you graduate?”

“Never went.”

“I see.”

“Okay!” Clarke interrupted. “O, Bell, how about I get you two set up in your rooms and we can go out somewhere?”

Octavia jumped up, eager to get out of the room. Bellamy nodded, taking one last sip of his drink. “Sounds good, Princess.”

Abby’s scalding gaze fell onto him as the nickname fell from his mouth, but he couldn’t care less.

︵‿︵‿୨✼୧‿︵‿︵

“So where are we going?”

“To a local diner,” Clarke said. “I invited some friends, too. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Clarke, I have been dying to meet your friends after all the stories you’ve told me,” Octavia responded. “Which ones?”

“Raven, Murphy, and Emori.”

Octavia clapped her hands together. “I am so excited to meet Raven. She sounds like a badass.”

Clarke laughed. “Oh, she is. I have no doubt you two will get along like a house on fire.”

And after meeting her, Bellamy knew they would.

Raven was full of energy and possibly the most sarcastic person ever. She had a brace on her leg, but it didn’t stop her from bowling Clarke over with a hug when they met outside. “Clarke! It’s been so long!”

“Hey, Rae!” The blonde laughed. “It has! How’ve you been?”

“Fantastic. Who are they? Friends?”

Octavia was practically beaming. “I’m Octavia! Clarke’s my roommate. Heard a lot about you.”

Raven preened. “Of course you have, I’m awesome.” She leaned over to Clarke. “Why didn’t you tell me your roommate was this hot?”

Clarke chuckled. “Jealous, Rae?”

“Of you? Never.” Raven reached out and took Octavia’s arm. “Come on, hot stuff, let me buy you a drink.”

Bellamy was smiling widely at how happy his sister was. Clarke bumped his shoulder, making him look down at her. “Come on. Your sister will be fine with Raven for a while. Come and meet Murphy and Emori.”

He couldn’t help the surprise that shot through him. “You don’t want Octavia to come with us?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “When will it get through your thick skull that I actually like you? Come on!”

Bellamy flushed at that, trailing after Clarke into the diner. She didn’t even have to look around, heading straight towards a table in the far corner. There were two people there, a man who looked like he wanted to murder everyone in sight and a woman with kind eyes and a tattoo covering half of her face.

The woman lit up as she saw them approaching. “Griffin! Damn, it’s good to see you!”

“You too, Emori,” Clarke said, leaning down to hug her. “You and Murphy doing well?”

Emori’s smile split her face. “We just bought an apartment together!”

“Oh, that’s great!”

“Girls, if you could stop being sappy for one minute,” the man, most likely Murphy, butted in. “Who’s this bitch?”

“Oh!” Clarke grabbed his elbow, pulling him to sit down beside her opposite of her friends. “This is Bellamy. I invited him along for Christmas.”

“Guess I’ll be stuck seeing you around then.” Murphy looked him up and down. “He your boyfriend or something?”

Bellamy blushed, and Clarke sputtered. “What? No! Honestly, I barely even know him that well- he’s just my roommate’s brother.”

And it shouldn’t mean anything, but Bellamy feels disappointed anyway. He’d hoped they were friends on their own now. He thought that was what Clarke had meant outside. Apparently not.

“Roommate’s brother, huh?” Murphy just nodded. “Kinda disappointed. Dude looks like he’d be great in bed.”

Emori smacked his head, both Bellamy and Clarke going red again. Murphy just cackled. “What? You gonna tell me that’s a lie?”

Emori huffed. “You need to learn decency.”

“If you expect decency from me then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

“John.”

“Okay, okay,” Murphy raised his hands. “Have it your way.”

“Great,” Clarke interrupted, her cheeks still flushed pink. “How about we get some food and we can catch up?”

Emori elbowed Murphy before he could say anything. “That sounds wonderful, Clarke.”

︵‿︵‿୨✼୧‿︵‿︵

Bellamy had to admit, Clarke’s friends were growing on him.

“Bellamy, man, back me up here,” Murphy insisted. “Tell these two gremlins that their movie taste is shit.”

“Says the man who likes to watch slasher films in the middle of the night!”

“It’s better than the comedies you like to watch? In what way are those entertaining?”

“In what way is watching people get their brains ripped out entertaining?”

Beside him, Clarke giggled, nudging him with her elbow. “Whose side are you on?”

Bellamy just scoffed. “Neither. Both genres are mediocre at best.”

Murphy turned to him, slapping his hand down on the table. “Oh, and what do you watch? Fucking documentaries?”

...he did, yes, but he wasn’t going to admit that now. “Just saying, if you like horror, psychological is better. Slasher films are just blood and guts. No suspense.”

“Suspense is bullshit, who needs the creepy buildup? Just get right into the action!”

“Glad to see you boys are having fun.”

Raven slid into the bench beside Emori, Octavia dropping down beside Clarke, who gave her a smirk. Leaning over, Clarke said to her, loud enough that the whole table could hear: “have fun on your date?”

“Our date was definitely more enjoyable than whatever you idiots got up to,” Raven responded for her, wrapping an arm around Emori. “Bet you were wishing I was here.”

Clarke snorted. “Never any fun without you, Rae.”

“Of course not, I’m the life of the party.” She took a sip of Emori’s drink and crinkled her face. “You losers didn’t even get good drinks.”

“Just because Emori is boring doesn’t mean the rest of us are, Reyes,” Murphy said, earning another elbow to the ribs from his girlfriend. “And who are you to judge us? You drink pepsi.”

Bellamy watched as the two descended into arguing, as seemed to happen often with this group. And even if he was a bit excluded, he still found himself having more fun than he’d had in a while. It was nice, being a part of something again. Hanging out with friends. He had never had much time for that, between working and taking care of Octavia.

Maybe he could find that again.

︵‿︵‿୨✼୧‿︵‿︵

“So did you have fun?”

Bellamy looked up from his spot on the couch to see Clarke wandering over to him, dressed in pajamas, hair dark and damp. She looked adorable. Not that he’d tell her that.

“Yeah, I did. Your friends are an interesting group,” he said as Clarke sat down on the arm next to him. From the sound of running water, he guessed Octavia had hopped in the shower after Clarke. Abby was gone when they got back, most likely at the hospital, but nobody was complaining much. “You grew up with them?”

“Kind of. We all got stuck together in high school, and we just clicked. Before that, I’d only had one friend. His dad moved though, and I never found out where to.” She had thrown an arm over the back of the couch so she could lean back, and her arm pressed against his shoulder. He could smell the shampoo she’d used. Clarke didn’t seem to notice their proximity, but he was hyper-aware of it.

“You seem to work well with them. You’re all very rowdy. Very fun. You seem like you would’ve been a trouble-making group when you were teens.”

Clarke chuckled. “Oh, we were. The friends that’ll be hosting the party, Jasper and Monty, they were always sneaking drugs and alcohol for the rest of us, and we’d always get into trouble with them. Maybe it was that common factor that had us all getting along.” 

Bellamy huffed. “Honestly? When I first met you I thought you’d be a goody-two-shoes.”

Clarke laughed. “God, no. Maybe when I was younger I was. But after my dad died, my mom started getting on my nerves, trying to control my life, and I wanted to be rebellious. So I did everything I could to piss her off. I still kind of do, to be honest, but I’m trying to get better about it. I don’t want to hate my mom for the rest of my life.”

Bellamy was silent for a moment. “You want to know another thing I thought when I first met you? When you said you had a bad relationship with your mom, my first thought was that at least you still had a mom.”

Clarke’s face fell. “Oh, Bell…”

He shrugged. “I hated you because you seemed like a privileged princess. And I guess in a way, you kind of are, but you’re more than that. You have your own problems too. It’s not your fault your mom is rich.”

Clarke offered a small smile. “I don’t blame you for thinking that. With how you grew up, you have every right to hate me for the way I live. For how lucky I am.”

He shook his head. “No. You didn’t choose your life any more than I chose mine. We didn’t choose the family we were born into, but we can choose what we do with our lives after that.”

Clarke moved her arm to wrap around his shoulder, pulling him to lean against her. She rested her cheek on top of his head. “I’m glad you don’t hate me. I’m starting to like you.”

He chuckled. “I’m starting to like you too, Princess.”

She sighed. “That’s sticking, isn’t it?”

“You bet it is.”

They laughed together, and Bellamy could feel something warm bubbling inside him. Maybe he was starting to like her a bit too much.

It was only a few more days, though. He could bear it.

︵‿︵‿୨✼୧‿︵‿︵

When they pulled up to the house, Bellamy could already tell he was in for a ride.

It was decked out in crappy Christmas decorations, blow up characters, window stickers, hell, there was even a garden flamingo with a santa hat on it sticking out of the snow by the mailbox. Octavia was out of the car barely a second after Clarke turned it off, and Bellamy laughed at her eagerness. Clarke smiled back at him, pushing open the car door.

“Look who it is!” Someone cheered when Clarke opened the door. A scrawny dude bounced up to them, wrapping Clarke up in his arms. “Missed you, Clarkey!”

“Missed you too, Jasper.” Another guy came up and hugged her, looking like possibly the sweetest person Bellamy has ever met. “Hey, Monty!”

“I’m so happy you’re back!” Monty beamed. “Oh my god have you heard the news?”

Clarke beamed back at him. “What news?” “Harper and I got engaged!”

“Holy shit, really?” Clarke hugged him again, squeezing hard. “I’m so happy for you! I’m invited to the wedding, right?”

“Of course you are!” A woman walked up to them, pulling Clarke away from Monty. “We’d never leave you out.”

“So who proposed to who?”

Monty blushed. Harper just laughed. “I proposed to him.”

Meanwhile, Jasper had made his way over to where he and Octavia were hanging by the door. “Clarke! You brought new people!”

Clarke perked up, moving back to grab both Bellamy and Octavia by their arms and drag them forward. “Yeah! Come on, I’ll introduce you to the group!”

The main room was already a bit of a mess, a poorly decorated Christmas tree tucked in the corner. Bellamy saw the familiar faces of Raven, Murphy, and Emori, who waved at them eagerly. Raven hopped up and sauntered over to Octavia, slinging an arm over her shoulder. Octavia grinned. “Hey, bitch.”

“Okay!” Clarke let go of Octavia as Raven pulled her over to sit beside her, instead wrapping both hands around Bellamy’s arm. “Guys, this is Bellamy, and that’s his sister Octavia. They’re friends from uni.”

There were a few choruses of ‘nice to meet you’ thrown out. One dude came up and extended a hand to him, which Bellamy took. “Hey, I’m Nathan Miller, but most people just call me Miller. It’s nice to see a new face around here.”

Bellamy shook his hand. “Happy to be here.”

“Kind of surprised Jasper hasn’t broke out the alcohol yet,” Clarke, still wrapped around his arm, commented. “He’s usually way too excited about it.”

Miller just chuckled. “Yeah, Maya’s been keeping him entertained. She’s his new girlfriend, by the way. A sweet girl. I’m not sure how she and Jasper work romantically, but they seem to have a good thing going.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows. “Really? Well, I’m happy for him. I haven’t seen him in any serious relationships since- ever, I think.”

“Well, he’s a bit intense, takes someone special to handle him.”

Bellamy snorted. “No offense, but everyone here is a bit intense.”

Clarke huffed out a laugh. “Think you can handle it, Bell?”

Bellamy made an unsure face. Miller slapped his arm. “Don’t worry, man, we aren’t that bad. It’s a bit overwhelming at first, but you get used to it. If you can handle her, we can’t be much worse.”

Clarke snorted. “What are you implying, Miller?”

He raised his hands up in surrender. “Nothing bad.”

“If you say so…”

“You know what we should do?” Jasper stood up from the couch beside a timid-looking woman. “We should go outside!”

Raven wrinkled her face. “Jas, it’s like, supremely cold outside. There is snow on the ground.”

“Exactly! Come on, where’s your inner child? Don’t you want to go play in the snow?”

Raven grabbed her thigh, lifting her leg. “You see this brace? This thing gets insanely stiff in the cold. I’m not going.”

“Come oooooon,” Jasper whined. “Stop being such a party pooper! Where’s your sense of fun?”

Octavia grabbed Raven’s hand, pulling her onto her feet. “I think it’s a great idea!”

Raven made an incredulous sound. “This is betrayal!”

“You coming or not?”

Raven glared at her before sighing. “Fine.”

Jasper whooped. “Yes! Octavia, I love you already!”

The group laughed, all seeming to have been spurred on by Jasper and Octavia’s eagerness, and Clarke pulled Bellamy towards the door, neither having shed their coats or boots since coming inside. He stumbled along behind her, laughing, and though the chill was sharp, he was warm with happiness. 

The rest of the group piled outside behind them, and Jasper and Octavia immediately set to work rolling a snowman. Bellamy and Clarke began to roll another section for the snowman when a snowball hit Clarke in the back.

They both looked back to see Raven cackling at them, a cocky smirk set upon her face. Clarke scooped up a wad of snow, throwing it back, but it went awry and Raven just held up a middle finger.

Bellamy crouched down to make his own snowball, and with Raven distracted by Clarke’s efforts to hit her, he threw. It hit Raven right in the shoulder, and she let out an indignant cry. Clarke cheered before Murphy came up behind her and shoved snow down the back of her coat.

And suddenly everybody had been sucked into the game.

Octavia hit Bellamy on the side, and when he went to retaliate she darted behind Emori, who Bellamy then hit in the stomach with a snowball. He got pelted with so many snowballs, but he threw at anyone who was in range, and Bellamy felt happier than he had in a long time. He and Octavia would do this sometimes when they were younger, and it reminded him of that. He couldn’t stop smiling the entire time.

Eventually, it died down, and though by now they were all thoroughly soaked, they still attempted to finish the snowman that had been started before Raven made the first attack. Even with so many people working on it, it wasn’t the best, especially not when no one had bothered to get supplies from inside, but they gathered some little rocks to use as the mouth, eyes, and nose, and it was good enough.

So after they all wandered back inside soaked and shivering and promptly collapsed in the main area. Bellamy fell onto the floor in front of the couch, leaning back onto Clarke’s legs. Emori plopped down next to him and flashed him a grin, eyes flickering between him and Clarke. Her implications were clear. Bellamy shook his head, and Emori rolled her eyes.

Jasper, still somehow bouncing with energy, declared they were going to have a Christmas movie night. “You came on a good year,” Emori said beside him. “Usually Christmas Eve is a lot more chaotic than this.”

He chuckled. “Miller said the same thing. He blamed it on the new girlfriend.”

Emori snorted. “Maya? It could be, yeah. I think Jasper’s trying to impress her.”

“I can’t imagine him being any worse than this.”

“Oh, god, this is probably him at his best.” Emori nodded to Monty. “Monty used to be the same way, until Harper. The girls keep them reined in most of the time. They probably would’ve accidentally blown themselves up by now without Harper.”

“That’s more Raven’s thing. They’d end up getting arrested for theft, probably.” Clarke leaned down behind him to enter the conversation, and he could feel her hair brushing the top of his head. “How many times has Jasper shoplifted?”

“Every time he goes to any store.”

Bellamy laughed with them, once again feeling intense gratitude to Clarke for inviting him.

“Okay okay shut up! We’re watching a movie!” Jasper yelled. “What’s a good Christmas movie?”

“Home Alone!”

“Fuck no!”

“What’s a Christmas movie that isn’t a comedy?”

“Literally none of them!”

“There are some!”

“Like what?”

“Oooookay, I’m deciding!” Jasper declared, picking up the remote. Everyone grumbled at that, but Bellamy was just amused. He felt something tap the side of his head and tilted his head back, seeing Clarke grinning down at him. He smiled back, face bright with happiness. This wasn’t like any Christmas he’d ever had, but it was his favorite already.

Jasper turned something on, Bellamy wasn’t really sure, and then he and Monty went into the kitchen to get everyone drinks. In true Christmas spirit, Harper yelled after them to make hot chocolate and not just grab some alcohol. Murphy huffed. “You really trust them with a stove?”

“They’re grown men, Murphy.”

“They don’t act like it.”

Maya trailed after the boys into the kitchen, and a little bit later they came back with cups of hot chocolate for everyone. Bellamy took a sip, the scalding liquid instantly warming him up. Someone turned the overhead lights off and the holiday lights on, illuminating the room in red and green. This was truly Christmas.

Bellamy wasn’t paying much attention to the movie, more to the quiet conversations that were constantly going on, whether it be Raven and Murphy arguing over something or Jasper making snide comments, but there was always the low buzz of talking, never silence. Not that he would have expected it from them.

A hand wove into his hair, and Bellamy turned his head to look back up at Clarke. She had a blanket tucked up to her chin, her mug held tight in one hand, and her eyes shone. She looked so content and relaxed, snuggled up on the couch, a hand combing idly through his hair. 

“You look happy,” she murmured. “Happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

He smiled. “I am happy. I’m glad you invited me, Clarke. This is amazing.”

“This is the best Christmas Eve I’ve had in a long time,” she sighed. “You should come next year, too.”

Bellamy blushed. “You want me to come back?”

“Of course. You’re fun, when you aren’t hating me.”

“I don’t hate you anymore.”

“Good. I didn’t like it when you hated me.”

Bellamy let himself indulge as he grabbed her hand from his hair, tangling their fingers and pressing a kiss to her cold skin. She giggled, and he looked back up at her, cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

He hoped he could come back next year. And maybe every year after that, too.