#pictured: the bookshelves i had to stack up to fucking get to him

[fallout-fallen-knight]

“Why is Sturges on the roof?”

“He likes to feel tall.”

[astaroth1357]

Lucifer? I Shrunk the MC…

I thought of the title and was like, “And I’m gonna not do anything with that?” Experimenting with format. Feel this one is a hot mess but, oh well, it was fun to write and that's what I care about.

Scene: 

Satan scrambles around his room, knocking over stacks of books and flinging others this way and that. All the while he can't quite stop himself from rambling, "Okay, don't panic. I know I can fix this. I have a spellbook around here somewhere… No, not this shelf… Hold on."

Meanwhile, MC is sitting on the pillow to his bed, practically engulfed in it because they're now only 3 inches tall. The result of yet another enchanted book mishap. This time it was an old tome left on the ground that they happened to trip over. As they watch Satan shuffle urgently through his bookshelves, they sigh and prepare themselves for yet another misadventure. It took five days for the last enchantment to wear off so they may as well get comfy…

"Take your time…"

Reactions:

Lucifer

His immense displeasure about the whole debacle cannot be understated.

Honestly, why doesn't Satan take better care of his things?? He should at least try to keep the powerful items out of the walkways!

Gets into a 3 hour screaming match when he sets Satan's punishment as giving a fourth of his book collection to the school library. Fully expects to find his things "mysteriously" cursed for the next few months.

He does find tiny!MC pretty amusing though.

If he thought they were fragile and helpless before well… now they can hardly lift a fork.

Makes triple sure that his brothers understand that if they're not careful with them, punishments will be extra severe.

Quadruple sure with Mammon.

Doesn't mind carrying tiny!MC places, mostly on his shoulder.

Lets them whisper jokes and funny asides in his ear during particularly dry meetings.

Mammon

First, he laughed because this shit is funny. Not only did Satan fuck up but the MC is now the size of his index finger! He could punt them like a paper football! (not that he ever would)

Next, he immediately starts trying to figure out how to use their new size in his schemes. He's talkin' infiltration baby!

Whether or not tiny!MC goes along with his less-than-legal ideas, he sort of loves that they're so small now anyway.

1) He can carry them around on his head or on his shoulder which is just convenient AND highlights that they're his to other people even more.

2) Watching them trying to do normal things is just hilarious! They get winded from just trying to use a pencil to write a sentence on normal sized paper.

3) Will never admit it, but the feeling of their tiny little arms hugging his cheek is one of those things he never knew he needed until now.

Leviathan 

Almost choked on his drink when Mammon plopped tiny!MC on his computer desk.

It was like someone made a little figurine of them! But this one could also walk around and say nice things to him!!

A little disappointed that it's practically impossible for them to play games like this, I mean they're smaller than the controllers.

Totally makes up for it by getting them to pose with his figurines. He never thought he'd be able to get a snapshot of MC and Ruri-chan together like that! It almost makes his figure look life-sized! If only… 

Lays a pillow on his lap and lets them nap on it while he games. Can never bring himself to wake them up so he'll stay in place long past the point of being comfortable just so they can sleep soundly.

Didn't notice he accidentally knocked them over into a Beel-sized popcorn bowl (which is more like a popcorn cauldron) while they were having an anime marathon. It took five minutes to hear their little shouts and he had to fish them out. Thanked their father that Beel hadn't actually joined in that night because they may have been gobbled up….

Satan

Is really, truly, genuinely sorry that he shrunk the MC...still thinks it's bullshit that he has to give away his books though.

Tries to make up for his mistake by helping them with whatever they need. He'll take notes for them in class, prepare finger food so that they have more manageable portions, and does all the "heavy lifting" for them when he can.

Continues to assure them that the spell is only temporary but also consults Solomon and pours over as many books that he can find on the subject just to make sure. He loses a bit of sleep over this.

Is the first to step in if he feels like his brothers aren't being careful enough around them. He already feels terrible that he got them into this mess, the last thing he wants is to see them get hurt over it too.

Treats them extra gentle, like they're made porcelain, the entire time. He won't hold them with a clenched fist so he lets them sit or lounge on his palm when they travel.

Chucked Levi out a window and into a tree after he heard about the popcorn incident.

Asmodeus

Adores tiny!MC, they're so freaking cute like this!!

Takes it upon himself to help them with the more intimate things, like how are they going to bathe or change clothes??

Goes out and buys a bunch of doll furniture and tiny outfits like this whole thing won't just wear off in a few days.

Pretty much sets up a little dollhouse in his room for them to use when they just want to be around things their own size.

Takes a shit ton of pictures though, them trying on the outfits, using the furniture, just being super smol and adorable, it doesn't matter he is all over this!

Lives for tiny kisses. It's like getting brushed by a feather on your cheeks, nose, and fingers!

Beelzebub 

Would die for tiny!MC in a heartbeat and is not ashamed to admit it.

He saw them happily chowing down on a grape about the size of their head and that was it. He was done. Ready sign his life away to this bite-sized human being.

Loves to bring them tiny snacks or break off a piece of what he's eating and watch them try to eat it. All food looks so much bigger in their little hands that he briefly considers having Satan shrink him too. Belphie talks him out of it, something about the blackhole in his stomach collapsing in on itself...

Was really cautious with them at first, though, considering he was already a lot stronger than they were to start with and suddenly they got a lot more fragile. But the MC eventually assures him that they have faith he won't hurt them.

Still the most anxious of the brothers about it. He always makes sure to watch where he's going, triple check beneath his feet, and slow the pace of his eating down enough to process what goes in his mouth BEFORE it gets there.

Is also glad he wasn't there for the popcorn incident. And got Levi out of that tree.

Belphegor 

Very conflicted about it honestly. On one hand, they're too small to sleep with anymore. He could roll over and suffocate them. But on another they're just so… cute.

...And so terribly easy to mess with now. He could knock them over if he blows hard enough, never mind poking them.

One morning he was feeling particularly malicious and put their little shoes at the other end of the dining room table. That amounted to like a two-mile jog for them. He couldn’t help but laugh at their tiny fists hitting his palm when they finally got there.

After Satan cursed his favorite pillow to scream every time he put his head on it he stopped being so mean.

Made up with the MC by sacrificing some of his pillow stuffing in order to make them a tiny bed he could carry around. If he couldn't sleep with them, he could at least sleep near them.

When that wasn't enough they made him do laps around the House with Beel. It was around the time that he was about to collapse into the flowerbeds that they found Levi dangling from that tree. He'd have laughed if his sides weren't already splitting… So much... running...

[rosesisupposes]

Objections, Your Honor

Two lawyers are across the aisle in open court once more. But today something is off, and no one is happy with the result.

read on ao3

characters: mainly Logan & Janus; background Virgil, Patton, Roman, Remus, Remy, and Emile

pairings: soulmate Loceit; QPP Analogical; QPP Moceit; romantic soulmate Royality; romantic soulmate Dukexiety; romantic soulmate Remile

content tags: non-traditional soulmate AU; courtroom drama; arophobia and acephobia; shameless self-pandering with legal arguments about the MCU; gushing about QPPs; couples therapy

reader tags: @royally-anxious @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed @potestessemagishomosexualitatis  @mariniacipher @vintage-squid

word count: 10,386

⁂

The day it happened was no normal day for Logan. But not, of course, because of that.

He cared because it was a trial day. Months of motions back and forth, weeks and weeks of preparation, and today was oral arguments. He normally avoided open court, particularly against such an opponent, but nothing could be done.

His case files were impeccably arranged in his padfolio, his grocery list of arguments annotated in precise writing, blue ink dotting the page with emphases and connections, his notepad prepared at his left.

He glanced to his right out of the corner of his eye at his opposing counsel. He didn't want them to see him looking. But he sneered internally at the haphazard stacks of papers spreading across the table and the garish gold ink that looped and curved across sticky notes.

The judge finally came out, and Logan stood, crisply buttoning his tailored jacket as he did so. At the signal, he identified himself clearly. "Logan Finch for the appellant, Your Honor." 

And then, from his right: "Janus Alighieri for the appellee, Your Honor."

Logan rolled his eyes internally. Janus was, unfortunately, a very familiar foe at this point. But then, they were two of the most respected lawyers in their state, with opposing specialties and reputations for innovative tactics.

Logan was self-aware. He had another reputation, too: as a black-and-white thinker, unshakable, unalterable. He preferred to think of it as a particularly strong conviction. Versus "The Snake" against him, who coiled and twisted the facts of his cases to benefit his clients.

And of course, that was the issue today - Logan strove to show that his client had a straightforward, airtight argument that should clearly prevail, while Janus found miniscule details that he said should be enough to distinguish the case at hand and make it different from previous decisions, enough so to allow the case to be decided in his favor. He'd charmed the jury at trial, and now argued against Logan's appeal.

Logan prided himself on keeping a cool head, but listening to Janus' speech just got under his skin. His neat handwriting started to get messier and messier as he furiously scribbled notes of counterarguments and responses to his opponent's points. Then Janus turned slightly, just enough to see frustration's color burn in Logan's cheek, and he smirked.

Logan barely heard the gasp from the observers behind the bar, because he'd just snapped his pen in his grip.

He looked straight ahead, somewhere slightly to the left of the judge's head, but he saw very little, his furious thoughts too loud to allow any else to be processed. But the audience was murmuring and talking, far louder than any judge usually allowed - what was going on?

A clerk from behind him hurried up to the judge's dais and whispered urgently in her ear. Logan had yet to look around, but he was slowly coming back to himself, enough to be confused at this disruption in normal procedure. He refused to look over at Janus' probably-still-smirking face.

The judge cleared her throat. "Counselors, we will recess for the day. Please join me in my chambers now."

Logan frowned, but cleaned up the broken pen and gathered his file neatly back into his leather briefcase. He didn't look over, but he heard the flurry and crinkling of papers as Janus threw his notes into his own bag. Without glancing over, Logan followed the judge to the small office at the back of the courtroom.

"Mr. Finch, Mr. Alighieri. I do hope there's a good explanation for this breach in propriety, not to mention the code of conduct," she said sternly as they both stood before her heavy desk.

"Breach, Your Honor?" Janus asked. He sounded just as confused as Logan felt.

"As barred attorneys, you are expected to know the code as well as I," Judge Kasel said severely. "No soulmates may be involved in a trial together, except as co-counsel."

Logan's ears roared. "Your Honor, I apologize, I must have misheard. Soulmates? How is that relevant-"

"Mr. Finch, don't play dumb with me - the entire courtroom saw!"

"Saw what?" Janus asked. His voice was oddly distant and strained from its normal silky tones.

Judge Kasel stared at them in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you both managed to not see that? I'm quite certain the entire county saw the glow just now, through even the back of your suits!"

"Glow?" Logan asked. His chest was suddenly very, very empty, a vacuum of air or substance, and had he not been sitting he was sure he would have fainted.

"Yes, glow, both your marks on your shoulders. Given your mutual surprise, I will assume that this was indeed unknown, and will not declare this case a retroactive mistrial. But you will both need to send in replacements from your firms."

Janus spoke up, his voice tinny. "Replacements, Your Honor? I should think even in light of this- development, only one of us would need to withdraw-"

"Mr. Alighieri, while I appreciate your dedication, I will not delay this trial for the entirety of your bonding. I will give you both 3 days to propose counsel to take over, and scheduling will proceed with them."

Oh fuck. Bonding, Logan thought, unable to speak. That absolutely ridiculous expectation.

The clerk poked her head in. "If they need to speak privately, this side office is empty."

"Yes," Logan responded robotically. "Yes, I believe we need to speak."

They filed into the small room. The clerk closed the door behind her, whispering "Congratulations!" as she disappeared.

Janus sat in one of the chairs heavily. Logan remained standing, staring blankly at the bookshelves built into the wall.

"I can't believe this," Janus said finally. "We've known each other for years, how could we possibly be...?"

"Soulmarks frequently emit a barely visible glow from proximity alone, particularly when located on skin that is generally covered. Heightened emotion or situations with high levels of stress lead to brighter glows that were invisible or unnoticed previously," Logan recited dully.

"Oh yes, how could I forget, I'm talking to Encyclopedia Brown," Janus said, rolling his eyes. "Of course you've memorized that too." He unbuttoned his suit vest dexterously despite his trademark yellow gloves, slumping forward in his chair as he threw his vest over the arm carelessly.

"At least one of us actually has a factual basis for this event, rather than us both being in the dark," Logan snapped back.

"Yeah, your vast knowledge of facts really helped! Did your misguided quest to know everything somehow miss the detail of who's your fucking soulmate?" Janus said, nearly whisper-screaming.

Logan whirled to face him, a fiery reply already on his lips, when he suddenly saw a blue light showing through Janus' white shirt, bright enough to glint off the polished chair back and off the glass of the picture frames on the wall.

He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. "Yes. That was a detail I had not learned. It felt trivial, unable to affect my work. But now that it has, we're better off resolving this."

Janus deflated too. "Yeah. We should. If we can just get through this part, at least we'll stop glowing like horny teenagers."

Logan focused on a tiny flag displayed on the desk as he spoke, not looking over. "I know of a very respectable landlord who rents bonding apartments in the city. Nothing overdone or kitschy, no 'honeymoon' suites, just furnished apartments for indefinite stays."

"Fine. Not like we can't afford it, whatever the price."

"I have some arrangements to make at home-" Logan began

"As do I, unless-"

"Unless what?"

Janus took a breath. "How would you feel about living with a snake?"

"I rather thought that was the entire idea," Logan replied coolly.

Janus shot him a withering glare. "I mean a python, you absolute cotton-headed ninnymuggin."

"Ah, my mistake," Logan said calmly. "That should be fine. A pet, I assume? Or your chosen co-counsel?"

"Let's get one thing straight, Finch," Janus said, rising to his full height, looking down at his infuriating opponent. "I don't like you. I don't expect or particularly want you to like me. We are going to be residing together up until, and only until, our illogical marks have decided in their weird cosmic energy to stop lighting up like neon signs whenever we experience strong emotion in each other's company. I fully expect to be pissed off the entire time, which will make figuring that out easier. But you do not get to speak to me that way, or I'll-"

Logan looked up to meet Janus' eyes. "Or you'll what, Alighieri?"

"I'll report you to the bar for breaking the code, and convince them you already knew," Janus replied smoothly. "And you of all people should know- I am very persuasive."

Logan's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Fine. And yes, you may bring your python. I'll be leaving my cat at home, however."

"Fine with me," Janus said curtly, deflating back into his normal slouch.

"I will send you the details of the landlord I mentioned. I can make the arrangements within the hour."

"Sure. Wait-"

"What?"

"How are you going to send me the details?"

Logan paused. Their only real contact over the years had been in person or by professional communications. He could hardly use a process server or subpoena to give Janus his key. "Ah. Right. Your contact information, then?" He pulled out his notepad.

Janus pulled out his gold pen and scribbled his phone number at an angle, entirely crossing the college-ruled lines. Logan cringed but took it.

"I will contact you shortly, then. And I will may sure to look for pet-friendly apartments."

Janus nodded. "Right."

"Right."

They both paused.

"Uh. See you soon, then," Janus said, and left the room abruptly.

⁂

Janus had to hand it to him - the apartment was all Logan had promised. Clean, sleek, and spacious. The landlord had even left a spare heat lamp, so Janus' sweet Monty would be comfortable.

Best of all, there were several separate rooms in the suite - two bed, two bath, and two offices.

The kitchen was also well-furnished, and came stocked with staple foods. Logan had arrived, however, with extra bags of groceries.

"I brought my own additions," he said. "The landlord is a friend, but he doesn't buy from the shops I prefer."

He proceeded to pull out several large jars of kimchi, what looked like at least a gallon of soy sauce, and various bright packages that Janus couldn't read.

Janus resolved to take pictures and look up what these things were later. Not while Logan was standing here, glaring up and over as if daring him to comment.

"I've picked the smaller bedroom," Janus informed the shorter man calmly. "Monty is set up in there, so if you're weird about snakes, just avoid it. Actually, feel free to avoid it anyway. I've got a brief to write."

Logan made a noncommittal sound in response.

Hours later, Janus emerged from his office to eat something. His brief was finished, sent off to his senior partner. He hadn’t yet told the firm about the day’s events- only that the appeal would need to be handled by another partner with his associates’ help, he needed to take emergency leave, and he would let them know soon how long he expected to be unavailable. H

e found evidence in the kitchen that Logan had prepared, eaten, and cleaned up dinner for himself.  That was fine by him. He made his own food, grabbed a bag of candy, and retreated back to his room.

The next morning, he woke up at his normal late time, stretching in the sun. The kitchen once again showed evidence of Logan's presence- particularly the currently-soaking coffee pot.

When the sun started to descend once more and Janus had yet to see his new roommate, he grumbled. Guess he'd have to be the fucking practical one.

He blew Monty a kiss for good luck and stumped down to the rooms Logan had claimed. He rapped on the door. "Finch. We need to talk."

He waited. There was silence, then a slow drag of a chair. The doors cracked open.

"Yes? What about?"

"No. We need to talk. Or, fuck, I don't know. Be in the same room occasionally."

Logan sighed deeply, and opened the door more. "Fine."

Janus went to the living room and sat on one side of the couch. Logan followed him and settled on the chair facing him.

"So." Janus began.

"So what," Logan replied flatly.

"Sew buttons," Janus replied automatically.

"What?"

"Just something one of my friends says," Janus muttered.

"Ah. So what was it you want to discuss?"

"I don't know!" Janus snapped. "But I'd really like to get back to my life, eventually, and that can only happen if we bond." His lip curled.

Logan sighed heavily. "And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?”

Janus fell silent. He had very few ideas. Pop culture made it very clear that bonding was an extremely romantic event. First kisses. Proposals. Or, in the less sappy movies, it seemed to consist purely of falling into bed together. None of which appealed in the least, particularly not with Logan.

Logan stared expectantly. "Nothing? You just pulled me out with no ideas?"

"If you're the fucking brilliant one, you come up with one then!" Janus spat out the suggestion with a glare, but then he saw it - a soft gold glow shining through Logan's tee, reflected in the tasteful mirror behind him.

They both deflated again, glows reducing down to hidden beneath their clothes. 

Logan adjusted his glasses. "I. Ah. Apologize. I realize you are attempting to resolve this issue."

"But you're right. I have no idea how to," Janus admitted.

Logan took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Unfortunately, neither do I. Perhaps just coexisting will be enough."

"How long will that take, though?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

They lapsed into silence.

Finally, Janus suggested, "Maybe we can do our work in the same room. Set up in the dining room with all our stuff. Coexist but in proximity."

Logan glanced over. "That seems relatively painless. Let us make an attempt, then."

⁂

Logan had not had any particular expectations for how well they could share a work space.

And yet, it was still far worse than he'd expected.

Janus talked to himself. As he read, as he wrote, as he researched. Not loud, but a constant stream of soft muttering, disjointed words and full sentences. 

It was the most distracting thing Logan had ever been suffered to experience.

"Will you please be quiet," he said tightly, after an hour passed with no signs of letup. 

"What do you mean?" Janus asked.

"That infernal whispering, please, could you stop?"

Janus looked at him quizzically.

"You're talking under your breath," Logan said. He felt a headache coming on. 

"Oh, am I?" Janus asked. "Sorry. I'll be quiet."

It lasted all of half an hour, and then the muttering started again. "SCOTUS said yes but that was a city sidewalk, 2nd says no but that was Lincoln Center, hm, decoration, use, separation, intent?" 

"You're doing it again!"

Janus looked slightly guilty. "It's barely conscious, it's how I process things. Could you just wear headphones?"

"I need silence."

"Noise-canceling, then?"

"Fine. Do you own a pair?"

But the headphones didn't help. The sensation was too odd, of being closed-in, and he kept bumping then as he went to lean against his hand. Finally, Logan stood. "I'm going back to my office. This experiment has failed."

Janus' eyes narrowed. "Well, thanks for deigning to sit in my presence for a full three hours before giving up."

"I'm not giving up, this is just not tenable!" Logan insisted. 

"Well, you asked for ideas, and I came up with one. If it's not working for you, you come up with a better one. Come find me when you're done thinking, I know it could take you a while."

He stood and grabbed an apartment key, and stalked out to walk off his frustration.

As he walked, he called his best friend.

"Hey Pat, it's me."

"Jan! Hi buddy, how are you?!"

He sighed heavily. "I want to go home."

"But you only just got there?"

"Yeah, and it's going shi- I mean, badly. Really badly."

"I'm sure you'll work it out," Patton said confidently. "You're a brilliant and wonderful human, and anyone smart enough to argue against you will be able to see that!"

"Thanks, hun," Janus said. "The fact remains that I also don't like him."

Patton hummed tunelessly. "It doesn't have to be instant, Jan. These things usually take time."

"Unlike you and Ro."

"Well, yes, but that's because we were meant to be!" Patton soft, his voice taking on that soft, besotted tone it always did when he talked about his soulmate.

"Isn't the whole point that all soulmates are meant to be?"

"Well, yes..." Patton faltered. "But it doesn't have to look like us, we're just hopeless romantics!"

"I know. How's wedding planning going?"

"We started watching movies for inspiration and got distracted with a Disney marathon," Patton said fondly. 

"But you had fun?"

"Absolutely!"

"Good," Janus said, meaning it. There were very few people, in his opinion, who deserved happiness the way Patton did.

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Pat- what if it was a mistake? What if we just have defective marks or something?"

"I'm sure that's not true!" Patton insisted.

"It just seems like - I mean, we're not even friends. Most people get to start from strangers at worst, but we've been antagonizing each other for years, what if, I don't know. Neither of us had a soulmate and so they glitched out?"

"You just need to find some common ground," Patton said confidently. "You can't both be so passionate about being lawyers without something more in common. I believe in you, buddy!"

Janus sighed. "Thanks, Pat. Say hi to Roman for me, tell him Monty misses him."

"Will do, nephew! Call any time you need, okay?"

"Love you, Pat."

"Love you tooooo!"

Janus realized he'd circled the block and was back at the apartment entrance. He steeled himself, then went back up. He repressed the petty urge to bang open the door to disturb Logan's quiet as much as possible.

Logan wasn't in the common spaces, but emerged not long after Janus returned.

"I feel I must apologize," he began. "It wasn't my intent to denigrate how you work. It is just clear that sharing a workspace is not going to be preferable for either of us."

"Yes, I'm aware I had a bad idea," Janus said, overly patient. "Kind of an odd apology, but I accept. Can I have lunch now?"

"Yes, of course. May I join you?" Logan asked.

Janus raised a distrusting brow.

"The idea of spending time in the same space was a good one. I thought we might try a context in which we don't need to focus."

"Fine."

They prepared food around each other, both managing to bite their tongues when they needed the same counter space or cooking implements, which Janus was proud of himself for. They ate in silence.

Janus heard Logan sigh in exasperation and braced himself for yet another snippy comment. Instead, he heard an unexpected question.

"Do you enjoy superheroes?"

"To eat? No, they upset my stomach," Janus replied drily.

"I mean to watch. Superhero movies and shows."

"Occasionally, yeah, why?"

"Perhaps we could watch one this evening. At the same time."

"Sure."

And they parted to continue working on their own.

⁂

Logan had been correct that, as far as superhero movies went, the MCU was a safe choice.

In retrospect, though, perhaps Civil War had been... less so.

It had started when Steve first objected to the Sokovia Accord plan- and Logan had scoffed.

Quick as a cat’s pounce, or an adder’s strike, Janus’ head whipped around. 

“You disagree?”

Logan glanced over briefly, screen light blinking off his glasses. “Well, of course. Didn’t New York and Sokovia show that some control is needed? Lawlessness leads to more civilian casualties.”

“And yet, if supers are controlled so much that risk of liability keeps them from acting at all, casualties would be just a tad higher, don’t you think?”

Tony and Steve’s voices raised on the screen as Logan replied, “What would the difference be of the villains and heroes if they all act with complete impunity?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did we lose mens rea when we switched over into Marvel-land?” Janus asked, voice clipped. “Isn’t the entire basis of our modern penal system based on culpability, not just the act or harm done?”

Logan looked down his nose. “Of course culpability matters. But you well know that one of the factors for absolute liability is when an act is inherently and extremely dangerous. Say, for instance, displays of superhuman force in a densely populated area.”

“So you don’t think there can be any space for personal judgment on the heroes’ behalf?” Janus asked incredulously.

“Look what that space did already! Does the name Ultron ring a bell?”

“So of course, the one who made a terrible call is the one who now wants to be restricted? That sounds like asking for the global government to save him from himself instead of taking responsibility.”

“Better that those with actual accountability be the ones bearing the responsibility!”

“Oh, yeah, and we can definitely trust this government’s judgment! A Hydra infestation was all part of the plan!” Janus’ voice was raising, far louder than the movie that still flickered on, ignored.

“There still needs to be rule of law! Steve wants to abandon it all for one person, and a war criminal at that-!”

“And that’s incomprehensible?”

“Of course!”

Janus fixed his supposed soulmate with a glare. “And you mean to tell me that there’s no one, no one, that you would be willing to burn the world down for?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but Janus continued quickly before he could. “No one who won’t fight for themselves, because they think they’re not worth it, but you know they’re so worth it that you would be willing to kill for them?”

Logan, about to spit out an impulsive reply, paused, momentarily speechless. As clearly as if they were sitting on the edge of the couch next to him, his best friend from childhood filled his mind. Virgil, who never believed their worth no matter how many times Logan and their soulmate Remus told them so.

Janus saw the pause and continued softly. “I’m not saying rule of law isn’t important. But the trouble with laws is they’re only as tailored as legislators make them. And they’re human, and therefore fallible. We need exceptions, for those situations that they didn’t imagine.”

Logan struggled for moment, then replied, just as quietly, “You’re right.”

Janus’ mouth fell open in shock, but just as he did, the tv’s faint blue glow throughout the room was washed over with two beacons in blue and gold, blazing from their backs.

At the sight, Logan’s face went from contemplative and open to stony. He stood abruptly and stalked off into his room. The door closed behind him with a decisive click, and Janus was left staring at the wood in confusion and anger.

⁂

“I just don’t get it!” Janus whisper-screamed into the phone. He was power walking through a nearby park, moving so fast he’d passed a skateboarder and a particularly leisurely biker. “Does he want to keep on glowing forever? What is his problem?!”

Patton made sympathetic noises in response, quite familiar with the sound of Janus in full rant mode. Roman was lying with his head in his lap, listening on speaker, so Patton was settled in to be as receptive to his friend’s complaints as he needed.

“I mean, we finally agreed on something, besides the fact that we want to get this fucking resolved, and then he just, what, shuts me out? Literally and figuratively? I literally can’t even catch him leaving to the kitchen for food now!”

Patton winced. “Not since? But it’s been two days!”

“Two and a half, yeah,” Janus replied. His voice suddenly sounded weary. “I can’t keep doing this. The trial’s going on without us anyway, I might as well just give it up and make sure I never have to argue against him again.”

At that, Roman sat bolt upright. “Janus, my dear esquire! You cannot abandon your quest! This is your soulmate!”

“Yeah, well. Maybe some soulmarks are broken. Or we just met at the wrong time. Maybe if we’d met in law school we would have been a team, but now it’s too late.”

Janus sounded contemptuous, but Patton could hear a distinct note of regret.

“Maybe...” he started, but trailed off, thinking.

“Maybe what, Pat?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve heard of soulmates who, you know, take an abnormally long time to bond, or manage to un-bond after years together, but they can fix it. Do you remember my old roommate?”

Janus wrinkled his nose. “Patton, are you suggesting couple’s therapy? I’m fairly certain that only applies to couples.”

“Well, you’ve kinda been forced to be one, right? At least to figure out bonding? They could probably help, or at least let you know if it’s not worth the effort.”

Janus sighed. “No, you’re right, it’s a good idea. I just have no idea how I’ll get Finch to go along with it.”

“Might I make a suggestion?” Roman asked politely. 

“Sure.”

“Perhaps try calling him ‘Logan.’”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Worth a shot, I guess. Love you both.”

“Love you Jan!”

“Best of luck with the love of your soul!”

 Back in the apartment, Logan was pacing in precise squares in his bedroom. He half-expected the rug to be worn down by the repeated impact at this point. 

“L, I don’t know what to tell you, buddy,” the gravely voice on the phone said. “You really have only two options here: find a way to avoid him forever, which will probably involve having to turn down cases you’d like-“

“I bet he’d stay on them just to force me off,” Logan interrupted, growling. 

“That is a possibility,” Virgil replied, their voice overly patient. “The other option, though, is to work this out,” they continued. 

Logan scoffed.

“Lo, that doesn’t mean you’ve gotta turn into a Hallmark movie! But it’s clear this isn’t just going away, and it’s not like you’ve got nothing in common.”

Logan groaned. “Virge, I don’t-“

“I know, man. I know. But you can’t just hide in your room until he just decides to move out, which means you’re gonna have to talk to him at some point.”

Logan didn’t reply, just continued pacing. 

“You know I’m right, Lo,” Virgil said patiently. “You don’t have to say it, just promise me you’re not going to keep being a hermit, okay?”

Logan sighed. “I promise.”

“There we go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

About to hang up, Logan heard a voice in the background and Virgil asked him to wait.  Then, “Reme wants to say hi.”

Logan let out an exasperated sigh, but he was smiling. “Fine, I’ll allow it-“

“Loooogggyyyyy! How’s the soulmate boning going? Have you figured out that you’re a power bottom yet?”

“Hello, Remus. I take it you’re well.”

“Let’s just say I’m glad you’re my brother-in-law because I may have some need for a lawyer soon.”

Logan couldn’t conceal the grin from his voice as he replied, “As I know you know, I am not a defense attorney, nor would I ever be so unwise as to take you as a client.”

“Aww, you’re such a smart cookie! And by cookie I mean a snack, because mmmm-MMMm you’re a snacc!”

“Always glad to know I’m appreciated,” Logan replied drily. “Goodbye, Virgil. Goodbye, Remus.”

“See ya, L.”

“Byeeeeeeeeeee!”

⁂

When Janus returned, he was a bit taken aback to see Logan sitting in an armchair, reading. At the sound of the door, he looked up. 

“Ah, Alighieri. I- I wanted to apologize for my behavior.”

Janus paused. It was a good sign, but still so unexpected as to be unsettling.

Logan cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have left you in a lurch. You did not cause this situation anymore than did I, and you have not been unkind. I have a suggestion for how we might move forward.”

Janus winced internally, thinking of another disastrous attempt at a movie or workspace. “I actually had a thought on that as well, but um. What was yours?”

Logan cleared his throat again. “Well, since we have been... brought into this situation together, but as a pair are struggling to adjust, it seems logical to consult with an expert, much as we would in our work. Therefore, we should consult a professional on personal relationships.”

“Oh, thank god,” muttered Janus. “Yeah, I was gonna suggest a couples counselor too. I think that would make sense. And I actually have a personal reference to a very experienced therapist.”

That settled, they found the earliest possible appointment, only two days later. 

“I do need to warn you-“ Janus said as they walked up to the office. It was their first time out of the apartment together, and it had been a very quiet walk over. “The methods of this therapist are- unorthodox. But they are highly acclaimed in their field.”

“Oh, are they an enby?” Logan asked. 

“Yes and no,” Janus replied. “You see, there’s two of them.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, they’re a couple therapist that is also a couple.”

“I don’t- well- I mean, that’s odd, right?”

Janus grinned. “Yeah, odd is a common word to describe them. But they’re highly praised and like I said, they were recommended personally.”

“Right,” Logan said, squaring his shoulders. “An open mind is helpful for effective therapy, after all.”

“That’s the spirit! I think,” Janus replied, holding the door open.

A gothy receptionist showed them to a private room with a comfortably large couch. Logan looked around in trepidation and slight alarm at the decorations. There were countless Funko-Pops, posters, stuffed animals, and an alarmingly high number of travel mugs from what looked like every single cartoon that had ever existed.

Janus was slightly more prepared then Logan, but he still jumped out of his skin by the sudden singing coming around the door. A deep voice was booming, “Duhhh duh-duh-duh-duh-da-DUH!” in a building crescendo that went on and on, until both lawyers were staring in a mixture of confusion and irritation.

Then a tall, lanky man slid in the door and lowered his glasses to wink at them both. “Hey babes. Welcome to therapy.” 

The singer followed him through the door, their bright pink hair a sharp contrast to their warm brown skin. “And thank you as always for the intro, honey!”

They smiled, big and toothy. “Welcome indeed! I’m Dr. Emile Picani, pronouns they/them, and this tall drink of coffee is my partner, Dr. Remy Picani, pronouns he/him! And you are Janus and Logan, correct?”

Logan looked a bit stunned still, so Janus took the lead. “Yes, I’m Janus Alighieri and this is Logan Finch, pronouns he/him for both. And I was referred by Patton Corwan-Augustus.” 

Emile smiled even bigger, if that were possible. “Oh Patty! Best roommate ever, I still miss his brownies. It’s lovely to meet you both!”

“Best roommate? What am I, chopped liver?” Remy asked, hand pressed to his chest. 

“Best friend, best coffee-maker, best of men and best of husbands,” Emile replied, and said husband immediately blushed.

Logan coughed politely. “Have you been married long?”

Remy smiled, still pink around the edges. “We’ve actually been married almost 10 years. The minute we graduated university, actually, when we knew our parents had not a shred left of financial control. We went through our PhDs together, which is why, of course, we’re qualified to help out other couples, because let me tell you, would not recommend.”

“Which brings us, of course, to you two!” Emile said brightly. “What is your goal in coming to therapy?”

Janus and Logan both began speaking at once.

“Well, it started in court-“

“It was completely unexpected, we’ve known each other for years-“

“-dreadfully embarrassing, not to mention the professional ramifications-“

“-it just feels like something’s missing-“

“-really want to just sort this out-“

“-just want to figure out the disconnect-“

“-and we can forget about the whole thing.”

“-want to make this work.”

They looked at each other, shocked, as their words both sank in.

Emile was tapping their Powerpuff Girls pencil topper steadily against their lips, eyes wide behind their pink-framed glasses. 

Remy, at their side, leaned back and took a long, loud slurp of his iced coffee, rattling the ice around until the room’s attention was on him. Then he looked up and said, “Hoooo-wheee.”

“So I’m getting a lot of differing goals here,” Emile said delicately. “Let’s start with you, Janus. Can you expand, please?”

Janus tried to speak, but felt like his voice had dropped into the cold pit that was suddenly his stomach. “I, um,” he started with a shaky breath. He barely noticed when Remy pushed a cup of ice water into his hand, but a sip steadied him somewhat.

“You can look just at me, if that helps,” Emile said softly. “Or at my buddy Kaa here.” They gestured to the stuffed snake on the shelf behind them. 

He looked like a fuzzy little Monty. That would do. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Janus said, acknowledging the water from Remy. “So. We’ve been rival lawyers for years, because we’re both the best at what we do. It was shocking, to suddenly be glowing in open court, but I thought we just needed to find common ground that’s not arguing. That’s why I’m here, at least.”

“And Logan?” Emile asked, still in that kind voice. Logan wouldn’t meet their eyes, though, or anyone’s.

“I thought- we both seemed so upset by the news. Or at least, I was, and perceived you to be as well.” He didn’t look up as he addressed Janus, but his eyes shifted over and took root on Janus’ polished loafers. “My plan was to spend whatever time was needed to stop glowing, then get back to our respective lives.”

“Do either of you have a question you’d like to ask of one another?” Remy asked. “It can be as large or small scale as you’d like, serious or frivolous.”

Both men looked up at the lanky therapist, who’d actually removed his dark glasses, revealing slightly foggy-looking irises. “Logan, it looks like you have one.”

“Oh- yes. So, Alighieri- I mean, Janus. To be clear- you were not upset by the news?”

Janus took a breath. “I mean, I was shocked, and upset to be removed in the middle of a case. But not about the soulmate thing, specifically. And I have a question too?” He looked to the therapists, who both nodded.

Janus looked over, and saw the Logan was watching him in his periphery. “When you say you were upset about the news- was it about the soulmate thing, or about me as your soulmate?”

Logan actually sat up, looking shocked. “Oh, goodness gracious. Absolutely about the concept of ‘soulmate’ in general, not personal in any way. Did I-?”

“Well, yeah, a bit,” Janus said.

“I am- I am so sorry. I would have absolutely have been equally upset, no matter who I found to be an accidental soulmate.”

Janus felt his stomach unclench just a bit.

“Logan, what about soulmates in general upsets you?” Emile asked.

Logan’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and he stayed silent for a moment, then two. Finally, he said curtly, “I never asked for one. And no one asked if I wanted one, either.”

“No one asked if I wanted to be trans, and yet here I am,” Emile said with a cheeky grin. “We don’t always get a say over the circumstances of our birth.”

“But Emmy, you’ve found self-acceptance and happiness deriving from coming out,” Remy put in. “Logan, were you content with life before this reveal?”

Logan nodded. 

“So there was no sense of dysphoria prior, or absence of a euphoria that was gained since.” 

Again, Logan nodded.

“Couldn’t-“ Janus began. His throat felt a bit stuck. “Couldn’t there be something to be gained, though?”

Logan picked up a small figurine of Dexter from the table next to the couch, and fiddled with it in his lap as he spoke. “It’s not impossible, there could certainly be gains from a better acquaintance with you. But that’s not what a soulmate is supposed to be, is it? They’re supposed to complete you,” he said, his voice dripping in disdain. “Because you were incomplete before. Because you weren’t enough, alone, you were just waiting for the One. And of course, you can’t be trusted to find them yourself, some cosmic force determines it for you.”

Remy rested his hand in his hand, elbow propped on his knee. “Spill it, sis.”

Logan stared in confusion. 

Remy smiled. “It means, approximately, ‘continue, you’ve got something good to say’. I’m getting a lot here- but a lot of the frustration seems to be with the idea that forces you can’t control are messing with your life, is that fair?”

Logan shifted. “Well, yeah, but that makes me sound like a control freak.”

“Not at all,” Janus interrupted. “Of course you don’t want something incomprehensible to make decisions for you. That’s not controlling, that’s perfectly understandable and human!”

Logan managed a small smile in response.

Emile beamed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself!”

“But I am def gonna poke some holes in your thought bubble,” Remy said cheerfully. “Starting with this: what do you mean when you say a soulmate is intended to be The One?”

Logan stared in disbelief. “Come on. Really? Look at, I don’t know, any piece of media ever. Or at you two. Or at my- friend and his husband. Or any other pair of soulmates!”

Janus added, “I mean, that’s what’s intended, right? With the whole ‘marked from birth’ thing?”

Emile looked at them both very seriously. “Did you know that Remy isn’t The One for me?”

“But he’s your soulmate?” Janus gasped out.

Emile nodded gravely. “He is my soulmate. But he is not my only soulmate.”

“I was designated female at birth to very traditional parents. They wanted me to marry my soulmate at 18, like they had, and they assumed he’d be a man. But my other soulmate was a girl, and I loved her with all my heart. And when I realized I wasn’t a girl, I thought my parents might accept us more. I was wrong.” They took a breath. “We were separated. I don’t know what happened to her. But it was enough to know that my parents didn’t care about my happiness, soulmate or no.”

“I’m so sorry,” Logan said quietly, and Janus nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. 

“I was lucky, though,” they continued. “I found Remy only two years later. And he accepted me as I am, both my gender and my other soulmate. And the cartoons, of course.”

“I never got to meet her,” Remy said. “So we will never know if she was my soulmate, too. I choose to believe she wasn’t. I think she could have been Emile’s one and only, had they been able to stay together. And that doesn’t make me feel any less lucky to be Emile’s husband, nor any less loved by them.”

“And not to shock you even more, but not all soulmates are romantic,” Emile said. “I know that’s the media portrayal- but well, the media is also pretty straight. And cis. And white. And neurotypical. And-”

“What they’re getting at,” Remy interrupted, “is that common portrayals miss a lot of the variety and complexity of humanity as a whole, let alone the complexity of relationships.”

Logan was sitting very still, and not speaking. Janus was trying to wrap his mind around this, and spoke with uncharacteristic uncertainty as he asked, “So- for instance, um, you could have soulmates who are, uh, queerplatonic partners?”

Logan’s head snapped up, staring at Janus with wide eyes.

Remy grinned. “Yes, of course! I was worried I was going to have to do a vocab lesson, but you both seem to know what that is.”

“But-“ Janus began, brows furrowing.

“But that means-“ Logan muttered to himself.

“Why isn’t he my soulmate?” Janus asked, at the same time Logan asked, “Why aren’t they my soulmate?”

Lit by the twin glows reflecting against the wall, the therapist couple exchanged a pregnant look. Emile reached out and took a hand of each patient. “I know this is a lot to process, but I really want you to keep something in mind: a soulmate is not the only way we can love someone. It’s not the ‘best’ way or only valid way to love someone. The same way the platonic love you clearly both hold for a significant person in your life is no less valid than romantic.”

Remy sat up straight. “I want you both to think about this when you go home. Your love for your QPPs is wonderful, and worth cherishing. And I know you are both lawyers, so here’s a question for you to brief. We cannot know the actual intent of whatever force gave you marks that respond to each other. So I want to you look for what evidence there might be, in each other, for your connection.”

Emile added on, “You have a link, and it’s worth exploring. It doesn’t have to ever be more important, more meaningful than another connection you have. But understanding it is critical to bonding successfully.”

“I think we should wrap there, for this week,” Remy added. “But you can talk about this, of course, without us.”

Janus and Logan nodded, and left. The walk home was as quiet as the walk there had been, but this time the air thrummed with thoughts and ponderings.

⁂

Janus and Logan made dinner with relatively little talk, only quiet asks to pass a spice or a cooking implement. It wasn't an uncomfortable quiet, but one where their minds were far too loud to vocalize just yet.

Janus quietly suggested putting on TV, and picked the game show network as a neutral, unobjectionable option.

They ate as they watched, still burdened with their own thoughts, but slowly started to murmur the correct questions under their breath before the Jeopardy contestants were able to.

Final Jeopardy, as luck would have it, was on Latin - but specifically, Latin as used in law. Both attorneys chuckled at the contestants' answers, some of which weren't even close to correct.

Janus directed a cautious smile in Logan's direction, and found it reciprocated. But as he saw that familiar glow start to reflect off the walls, he tensed, waiting for Logan flee once more.

For the first time, though, he didn't. His eyes widened as he took in the lights, but he didn't move to stand or leave.

"About today-" Logan began. "I don't know that I am quite ready to discuss it all, but I did want to once again apologize for my handling of this situation, and its emotional impact on you. It was entirely unintentional, but I regret causing you distress."

"Thank you," Janus replied softly. "And thank you for being willing and open to go to counseling. I learned a lot today, all of it important."

"I'd like to talk about it tomorrow, if you'd be willing," Logan added. "There are some additional details I need to share, but I don't think I'm able at the present moment."

"Sounds good," Janus nodded. "I'm going to turn in for the night. Sleep well."

"You as well."

But despite feeling tired, Janus found he wasn't at all sleepy. He ended up sitting up until the wee hours of the morning, stroking Monty gently and thinking a great deal.

⁂

The next morning, Janus woke up much earlier than his usual habit, but he needn't have worried - Logan was clearly waiting for him in the kitchen, sipping coffee and idly solving the entire Sunday crossword.

He looked up at the sound of Janus' door, and indicated the mostly-full coffee pot with a nod. Janus gratefully filled a mug for himself and lightened it thoroughly with cream, drinking deep as he stood angled so that he could offer critique and suggestions on the crossword.

"No, shush," Janus said, though Logan had not spoken. "It's gotta be White. Y'know, Betty? C'mon. Most-loved Gold? It's obvious."

Logan just smiled and penned in “White” in the horizontal boxes, immediately able to fill in the Down clues crossing them.

Once the puzzle was complete, Janus refilled his coffee and sat properly at the kitchen island. 

"So, if you're amenable-" Logan began. "I believe I'm prepared to discuss yesterday in more detail."

Janus nodded. "Did you want to start off?"

"Yes, I think I must. Because there was one detail that I wasn't quite prepared to share that I think will be quite helpful in securing a full understanding."

At Janus' encouraging nod, Logan closed his eyes to take a breath, and said, "The truth is, I'm an aromantic asexual. That's why the concept of a soulmate was so upsetting to me, particularly because up until this week I had assumed I didn't have one."

Janus looked down. "I'm ace, too, but not aro, and... yeah, same boat, mostly. I thought I wouldn't have one, but when we started to glow, I assumed it must be romantic. But that must not be the case."

Logan tented his fingers together. "So you're not aro, but you do have a QPP?"

"Yeah - I definitely can experience romantic attraction, but what I feel for Patton has always been stronger, and different."

"I'd like to hear about him, if you'd be willing," Logan said softly, and was rewarded by a smile that seemed about to glow as brightly as his soulmark on Janus' face.

"Oh, he's just the best," Janus gushed. "I met him at the perfect time in my life. I'd just been dumped by an asshole because he couldn't deal with the fact that the asexual part wasn't just me being a tease. I was feeling pretty low, post-college, all alone in a new apartment, and then this beam of sunshine turns out to be the kind of neighbor who brings cookies as a greeting. Even though I wasn't exactly receptive, he just kept coming back, even just to check up on me, and soon I found myself looking forward to it, and then inviting myself over in return."

Logan paused. "Wait, your ex broke up with you because you were ace? Was it a surprise?"

Janus rolled his eyes. "No, not in the least. I'd told him, and reminded him, and he'd just been assuming I would 'get over it,' the fucker. Right after the breakup, there were times I wondered if he was right, if I should have just powered through my repulsion to make him happy. But Patton was amazing about that, too. When he heard what happened - oh my goodness, he was so angry on my behalf, he looked like he was going to Hulk out. And then he made it his mission to make sure I was being validated in my identity and knew that I was eminently lovable both in spite of and because of my aceness."

Logan smiled. "That's wonderful. I can see why you love him so much."

Janus sighed happily. "And it hasn't changed even though he's met his allo soulmate. Roman knows that our bond isn't and will never be a threat to theirs, and he makes Pat so happy. They're planning their wedding right now, but they've already signed all the papers and it'll just be a party where they gush about each other in public."

Janus sat for a moment, basking in the glow of his affection for Patton, before he turned to Logan and asked, “You have a QPP too, right?”

“I do,” Logan said, a smile stretching across his face unconsciously. “Their name is Virgil. And they’re also married to their soulmate.”

“Tell me about them,” Janus said, when Logan fell silent. 

“They’re- they are just amazing. They’re my best friend, have been since about fourth grade. ” Logan’s eyes went a bit misty as he considered his childhood. “We bonded over being surrounded by idiots, after a debate simulation where we were on opposing sides.”

Janus smirked. “You mean I’m not your first? I’m heartbroken.”

Logan shot him a glare, but it had none of true anger’s heat.

“I guess we always had the feeling that we weren’t quite like everyone else. Besides the introverted tendencies, it wasn’t really a shock when they came out as nonbinary. They’d been online, discovering new terms, and in learning about their identity I ran into the aro and ace labels. I felt seen, do you know what I mean? And then Virgil just compounded that feeling by immediately understanding and accepting me. They call me a brother, just to explain that our relationship isn’t “just” friends.”

“What was it like when they met their soulmate?” Janus asked. 

“It wasn’t nearly as smooth as your experience seems to have been,” Logan admitted.

“Their husband is... unique. Prone to rather odd fixations and interests. But he’s also demisexual, and like us, had thought he wouldn’t have a soulmate. And part of his defense mechanism against that kind of rejection was, well. Embracing his off-putting side. Being disgusting for the sake of it. Grossing out others before they could judge him for his orientation.”

Janus grimaced. “I know that feeling, all too well. Donning a mask, so that a rejection won’t be of you, just your persona.”

“Exactly,” Logan said, nodding. “I don’t think it helped that both Virgil’s and Remus’ soulmarks were in their hair. They’d both dyed their hair many times over the years, but it wasn’t enough to hide it. And once they had shown up- there was no more pretending.”

“Was it hard for them?” Janus asked. 

“Accepting it was. But then they started actually talking and then it just- clicked. All those macabre interests that overlapped, the mutual obsession with MCR. They fell in love the minute they both let their walls down. And like you said- it never really changed what I had with Virge. They didn’t meet Reme until college, and didn’t get married until last year. So Virge told Reme that I was here to stay, and part of their life, and he accepted it without a blink. He’s a forensic archeologist now, to Virge’s forensic detective, so they’ve actually both been helpful in cases, too.”

“That’s... kind of adorable, in a weird way,” Janus said, scrunching his nose. 

Logan chuckled. “‘Adorable in a weird way’ is the best possible description for their relationship.”

Janus tapped his finger on the island. “That sounds so familiar, though, and I can’t quite place it.” He closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath. “Wait! Is Virgil’s husband an Augustus?”

“That was his surname, yes, though now it’s Angelico-“

“Oh my god!” Janus burst out. “That’s Patton’s brother-in-law!”

“What?”

“Roman Augustus! That’s his soulmate’s name! And he had a twin, but they had a falling out and haven’t been in contact for a couple of years. But he said he’d been in forensics!”

Logan blinked. “Well, it is certainly a small world. Not that Remus has ever talked about his brother, but I knew he had one.”

“That’s kind of crazy. What are the chances?” Janus asked, laughing. 

Logan looked pointedly over. “Do you really want to know? I could calculate them-“

“Thanks, calculator watch, but I’m good.”

They both chuckled quietly, sitting side by side at the kitchen island. 

“Hey, uh- thank you for trusting me, with the other day, and with this,” Janus said softly. 

“I owe you thanks as well,” Logan replied. “I don’t frequently have the opportunity to talk about Virgil in detail and it’s- it’s nice.”

Janus just beamed, returning the sentiment without words. 

In that moment, the sunlight of the room was tinged with colored light, gold and blue overlapping into rich emerald.

Logan hesitated, seeing it, but after a moment lifted his arm. Janus smiled and leaned in, accepting the offered side-hug.

“Hey Finch- I mean, Logan?”

“Yes Janus?”

“I may not be sure yet why we’re soulmates, but I’m definitely not disappointed that we are.”

A beat.

Then a soft murmur replied, “Neither am I.”

⁂

Later that afternoon, Logan returned from stocking up on more food to find Janus lying upside-down on the couch, lanky legs dangling over the back. His face was red enough to show that he’d been sitting there for a while as the blood rushed downward.

“I cannot imagine that is at all comfortable,” Logan commented drily, neatly putting away the packets of noodles and snacks he’d purchased.

“It helps me think,” Janus replied. “Especially when I’m trying to see something from another perspective.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “This better not have been a set-up just to make that terrible pun.”

Janus looked over, grinning. “It actually started that way, not gonna lie. I’d been venting to Patton about an oral argument simulation in law school and he suggested this as a joke. And then it actually helped.”

Logan huffed in what sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh and came to sit more normally in a chair next to the couch. “So what is it that you’re trying to change your perception of so literally?”

“Our case, actually - Gomex.” At Logan’s quizzical look, he replied, “The partners aren’t letting me onto new cases until they know I’ll be back in person. I’m getting bored. So I thought, you know. Why not figure out what I was missing in this one.” He shrugged, an odd contortion for an inverted torso.

“You were missing something? But you won at trial.”

“And I was caught off-guard by your appeal - or at least, the part where it survived my motion to dismiss.”

Logan allowed himself a satisfied smirk. “Surprised you with my impeccable research, did I? All my rock-solid precedent pointing out the clear error in the original jury instruction?”

Janus’ legs kicked idly in the air. “Your research is always impeccable. Of course you were able to find precedent on-point for the general issue, you’re good at this. But the facts of the case are just so different that how could any of those past rulings be definitive?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, tapping the arm pensively. “Wait, so you really believe that? It wasn’t just a tactic to make Gomex feel like they’re getting their money’s worth for your legal fees?”

Janus finally righted himself, sitting upright with a leg balancing on the coffee table. “Well, yeah , of course I do. I don’t take the time and effort to go to trial for bullshit unless the client can’t be talked down from combat mode. Racking up charges for unnecessary trial prep is only fun when they don’t take my advice.” He looked quizzically at Logan. “So you really didn’t see the difference between Gomex and, what, Sourgoutsis?”

“No material difference, no. It’s in the right circuit, it’s recent and binding, and it established a test that clearly applies here.”

“But the test requires knowledge!”

“Knowing includes reckless disregard for the truth, and Gomex had that.”

“Oh, you can hardly say it’s reckless when all the claims were paid without issue for a decade!”

Logan leaned forward, counting off points on his fingers. “The guidance is updated each year. The commentary points out the changes. Gomex has to certify as a company that they accept all current guidance and direction. If they didn’t actually know they were submitting false claims, they should have known, and had a duty to know.”

Janus’ eyes were flashing, but more with excitement than anger. “But even the commentary didn’t clarify that these specific claims would no longer be accepted in the future. Doesn’t the agency have a duty to be clear about changes in accepted policy when the code is so vast and companies used past claims as standards for future approval?”

“But the companies are the experts in their own industries. They should know that these kind of differences are significant and material.”

Janus sat up fully straight, pointing enthusiastically. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“I figured it out! It is a matter of perspective. But not the perspective of side versus side, like I was thinking. It’s time.”

Logan leaned in, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Expand, please.”

Janus nodded, mirroring Logan’s pose even as his hands remained free to gesture. “So you’re looking at this as: company knows their procedures best, they’re the ones making profit off it, so their duty to know details is higher than the public agency. Right?”

Logan nodded.

“Here’s where I’m coming from - it’s not a question of if this company knew or should have known this distinction, or even if this industry has the expertise that the agency lacks. It’s about what this case would do to the Sourgoutsis test for cases in the future. If the agency doesn’t have to clarify a policy change now, why would it ever? If it’s not enough that companies rely on a long history of approval here, when will it ever be? Do you follow, Logan?”

Logan linked his fingers, tapping the tips of his forefingers gently. “So your concern is about using a history of compliance as evidence of good faith?”

“Exactly, yes.”

“But Gomex knew that the change meant the compliant history was no longer relevant.”

“Only because they had insider knowledge of the change process. Not from the public information.”

“Wait, so you agree that Gomex knew?”

Janus grinned sheepishly, baring all his teeth. “Well, we’re both off the case now, so- yeah. They knew or should have known their claims would get rejected and banked on the agency not noticing for just long enough.”

Logan gasped. “But you still went into court and got the jury to agree with you that they didn’t!?”

Janus shrugged pragmatically. “It’s not about Gomex, it’s about the precedent this will set. I’d rather one bad actor get away with it now than have who-knows-how-many claims get screwed in the future for a good-faith misunderstanding.”

“Especially if that bad actor is paying you millions to help them get away with it?” Logan asked with an eyebrow raised.

Janus raised one of his own. “So you’d rather let a bad test become binding because the agency is paying you millions to get it set in stone?”

Logan, about to respond hotly, paused. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment. I didn’t think it was that bad a test until now - I assumed the insider knowledge would be baked into the standard.”

“You gotta think cynically, Mr. Finch,” Janus said with a chuckle. “Picture the worst-faith application and work backwards from there, cause you know it’ll end up happening.”

“Hmm,” Logan said with a quiet laugh. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

Janus fluttered his lashes. “The great Logan Finch thinks I’m right about something. My life’s goal is achieved.”

“Hey, I think you’re correct quite a lot!” Logan objected. “Infuriatingly precise and pedantic, sure, but ultimately right. There’s a reason my firm sends me against you - no one else wants to fight what’ll be a losing battle half the time.”

“Only half?”

“Even you must admit I’ve been correct on more than one occasion,” Logan said with a smile.

“That is true,” Janus admitted. “Knowing that you’re going to be the opposing counsel always makes me up my game.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Logan said wryly. “I’d never admit it to the other partners, but you make me a better lawyer, Janus.”

The flattered glow of Janus’ grin was immediately dwarfed by two other, brighter bursts of light. Gold and blue pulsed from their backs in a flash, then settled into steady light. The colors lit the stylish room, blending to emerald as they pulsed in time with each man’s heartbeat. Logan looked at the glow reflected on the white couch cushions with wonder as he realized that Janus’ back  was no longer shining blue, but green. He caught his eyes and realized his own glow must have changed colors as well.

The lights pulsed more and more gently until they dimmed and went out, leaving Janus and Logan sitting across from one another just as the last of the sunlight fell below the horizon and the room went dark. 

The silence stretched for several moments, until Janus finally broke it with a bemused, “Huh.”

“So that was-”

“I think so.

“So now we’re-”

“Bonded, yeah. I think.”

“That would be a logical assumption.”

The silence returned, each man lost in his own thoughts. When they spoke again, it was at once.

“Maybe we should-”

“Perhaps we could still-”

“-make sure it’s permanent?

“-take a few days more?”

They shared a grin.

“A couple more days couldn’t hurt,” Janus said. “After all, it could be a fluke. We wouldn’t want to set a standard from a mere fluke.”

“Oh, of course not,” Logan responded with the same tone of amusement. “We want to confirm the integrity of the test.”

Janus stood to flick on a light, then turned as a thought occurred. 

“Wait, Logan - even once we go back, we won’t be able to be opposing counsel anymore. The soulmate code will still be applied, even though we’re not romantic or QP soulmates.”

Logan’s face fell for a moment, then lit up once more as he stood. “Well, we’ve got a couple days at least. I think the two best lawyers in the state might be able to argue that every precedent has an exception, don’t you, Mr. Alighieri?”

Janus’ smile mirrored Logan’s own as he replied, “Why yes, Mr. Finch, I think we might.”

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter 5

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, hospitalization, blood and injury, swearing, awkward Javi, unrequited feels, mentions of sex toys, feelings, pining, 

Word Count: 3132

Notes: You're released from the hospital, and Javi sets up house. While doing so, he stumbles across a couple of things that make him feel all kinds of ways!

Read on Ao3

You were released from the hospital two days later under the stipulation that you were to rest and were not to return to any kind of active field duty until fully cleared by the doctor and his medical team.  Over the course of those two days, some of your memories had seeped back in, like figures appearing through thick fog and slowly taking form and shape.  But, it seemed to you, not any of the really important ones were returning.  You remembered now some specific events from the last two years of your time as an agent: big busts you had made, critical incidents that had ended badly for your agency, colleagues that had been lost in the line of duty.  You had been able to recall many details of your work against the worst of the drug cartels in Colombia from the last two years and even further back...but most memories of things from the past three or four weeks were still a grey void with nothing in them, not even shadows to hint at memories waiting there in the fog.

You were rarely alone at the hospital: if Dixon was not sitting at your bedside, then Javi was there in her place. Between the two of them, you had managed to scrape together some large pieces that were missing about your relationships: you had worked with Dixon earlier in your career in San Diego and when she had risen in ranks and earned a seat down here in the thick of things, she had brought you along with her.  You had the feeling that she viewed you as a bit of a protege and you felt confident that the memories you had of her support and backing of you were true.  Memories about your relationship with Javi proved to be a bit more difficult to get confirmation on.  While both Dixon and Javi were very willing to discuss and confirm anything you asked about your mentor, when you inquired or asked for clarification on your history with your husband, both agents seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering you.  Dixon was more guarded than Javi and the older woman would often change the subject as quickly as she could when you asked her about your husband.  You got a distinct sense that she did not approve of your marriage to the man you had been partnered with during your time here.

You remembered that was how you had met Javi; you had been assigned as his partner.  You remembered the earliest days of working with him: how he had flirted with you and you had rebuffed him, how there had been moments when your partnership had skated the line of something more.  But it was only the older memories that seemed to come clearly to you...the closer to present day you came, the emptier your memories became.  You had tried to remember when exactly your relationship with Javi had made the jump from work partner to life partner.  When and how had the two of you told each other how you felt?  And you had zero memories of a proposal, a wedding....no memories at all of how it felt to touch and be touched by the handsome man who spent hours sitting in comfortable silence next to your bed. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him questions about those things...not yet.

Surprisingly, Dixon was the one who escorted you when you were released.  After the older woman saw you carefully buckled into the passenger seat of the car, you inquired as to why Javi wasn’t the one driving you home.  Dixon’s eye flickered behind her dark sunglasses, and she mumbled something about him getting your apartment ready for you. She assured you that he would be waiting at your home when you got there.

Your home.  For a moment, your stomach sank, thinking about how you would be going back to a place that was foreign to you but was supposed to be a safe haven, a refuge, the home you shared with a husband you were supposed to be in love with.  Would you remember any of it?  Would anything that you found there help jog anything loose in your memory?

You could only hope.

***

“Fuck!”

Javi growled as he struggled to keep a box from teetering off the pile of other boxes that it was precariously stacked on.  His hands were full of his clothes on hangers, halfway between the box he had just removed them from and the clothing pole in the closet.  He had been struggling most of the morning with lugging half of his possessions down the two flights of stairs of their shared apartment building and trying to make it appear as though he had lived in this apartment for longer than a few hours.  Both he and Dixon had agreed it would be best for her to return to familiar surroundings...but they still needed to keep up the premise that the two of you shared a life together.

Javi had never given much thought to domesticity.  The closest he had ever come was Lorraine...and the brief moment of introspection he had had when he had seen her those several years ago at that wedding.  Thoughts had crossed his mind then: what would it be like to have a wife, to wear a ring on his finger, to have promised himself to someone forever?  To have a future that was shared with another person?  To make important decisions with another person and not just on your own?  To have 2.5 kids and a house?  But he hadn’t spent too much time dwelling on it simply because none of that was really who Javi was, was completely unimaginable to him.  He had never once really thought that sort of life would ever be one he would want, much less be able to live.  And, quite honestly, he wasn’t all that sure that that kind of life was one that he deserved.

Now, it seemed, life was playing a little gag on him: turns out maybe there WAS a way for him to see if married life was for him...although he did hate the fact that his partner had had to be injured in the process.  

One thing he was certain of at the moment, though: if getting married and divvying up and combining possessions was as big a pain in the ass for real as it was for this farce?...Well, that was a strike against matrimony in his opinion.

At first he had merely grabbed a small duffle bag full of items; things he thought he might leave at a woman’s house if he was spending the night or a weekend: a change of clothes, toiletries, firearm.  But when he had let himself into her apartment two floors below his in their building, it had struck him that that wasn’t going to be good enough. 

Her apartment was lived in.  Unlike his own, which he realized now seemed a little sterile and cold, her’s was warm and (though not a word he often used in his vocabulary) cozy.  She had artwork on the walls, shelves full of books from all different genres...even a few board games and some well-worn records on the record player stand. He spotted a rolled up yoga mat under a bench beneath the window and a couple of handwritten recipes and smiling photos tucked under bright magnets on the refrigerator. Her bedroom smelled of lavender and soft vanilla; the bed was neatly made (again, unlike his own) and dirty clothes resided in a hamper rather than tossed carelessly into a corner. The spare room that served as an office housed neatly organized work related content and photo albums of people from home, holiday decorations stashed under the guest bed; her closet had her clothes neatly organized (by color, who knew!?). He had quickly come to the conclusion that he might need to put a bit more effort into this charade.

So he had proceeded to spend the next several hours being swept into a whirlwind of imagining what a shared space would look like if the two of them were actually married.  He had started with the few books he had in his own apartment; a few biographies, some car magazines and a ratty copy of “The Art of War” and “The Hobbit”.  He had jammed them onto the neat bookshelves in her living room before returning quickly with some of his own records: some Cumbia records and an Eagles album, which he shuffled in with her own Steely Dan, Creedence Clearwater and Three Dog Night. 

He didn’t have much to contribute to the kitchen besides a few bottles of whiskey and a bottle of tequila next to her own bottles of red wine.  He had pulled a photo taken when he graduated from high school from his wallet and placed it on the fridge next to one of her with her huge family.  He paused a moment to assess the contrast in the two pictures: her in the midst of her five older brothers and parents, all wearing matching Christmas sweaters...him standing bashfully and stiffly next to his dad, who grinned proudly at the camera, one arm awkwardly slung over a teenage Javi’s shoulder.  The bathroom didn’t take long, either.  He added his razor, a bottle of Old Spice, and his toothbrush and comb; he glanced into the medicine cabinet as he placed his deodorant there and eyed what looked suspiciously like a package of prescription birth control...his mind started to wander and he slammed the cabinet door shut, heading back upstairs to his apartment for another load.  

He had strong-armed his clothes still on the hangers into some file boxes to make them easier to carry down the stairs, then had hauled shoes, underthings, suits, jeans, and (what he had not really realized until this moment) a ridiculous amount of the same style shirt in different colors downstairs and was now trying to wedge them into one half of her closet, trying to make it look like they had been there for a while and doing his best to not become buried by the haphazardly stacked boxes.  Once the last set of shoes was stuffed into the closet next to a pair of sky high red heels he had never seen her wear before, (he was CERTAIN he would have remembered those) he opened the dresser to shove his socks and underwear into a drawer and gulped. Staring back at him was a drawer full of his partner’s bras and panties.  

For a moment he felt like a creep pawing through her underwear drawer, but he steeled himself and carefully nudged the sensible pieces of cotton material to one side of the drawer.  As the material shifted, he spotted a brief flash of red lace and something that could be black and leather, but he refused to investigate any further; he could feel his face flushing and his heart pounding harder.  He dumped his own underwear into the drawer and shoved it closed, sighing with relief and opening the next one; socks wouldn’t cause his mind to wander into dangerous territory nearly as badly!  He carefully shoved the rolls of clothing to the side to make room for his own once again and felt his hand hit something.  His breath hitched as he uncovered what was very obviously a vibrator.  Next to it was a tube of lube and a small box about the size of a deck of cards.  Try as he might, he could not stop himself from carefully tilting open the lid of the box...Javi was quite educated when it came to knowing his way around a woman, but he was clueless as to the purpose or use of the two small colored balls nestled into the velvet inside of the box...although he was pretty sure he at least knew where they were supposed to go.  

His mind clouded with images of his partner stretched out on the bed behind him, bringing herself to orgasm using these items and he felt himself harden in his jeans.  He let out a puff of air and carefully nudged the items to the other side of the drawer, reburying them beneath the socks as they had been before.  He piled in his own footwear, then shakily closed the drawer, still trying to blink away the images playing out in his mind.  He wondered what her face would look like as she came apart.  What did she sound like?  Did she cry out when she reached her peak?  What would his name sound like tumbling from her lips in the middle of her climax, what would she taste like…?

He stormed out of the bedroom, furious at himself for going down that path.  He felt like a pervert, getting so turned on after snooping through her personal effects.  He was angry at Dixon for insisting that they do this; but he was frustrated at himself, more.  He shouldn’t be going through her things like this.  He splashed some cold water on his face from the kitchen sink and trudged back up to his own apartment, pacing for a while once he got there, trying to both ease his erection as well as determine what else he should bring with him back to her apartment.  His eyes settled on the shoulder case that had been retrieved from the house that had been used in the undercover operation.  He pulled out the two framed photographs that had been next to “their” bed; the photos that she had referenced when she had first woken up.  He stared at them, thinking that if he hadn’t been present at the time they had been taken, he would have believed they were real, too...that they were actual photographs of two people madly in love with each other.  

Maybe…

No.  He stuck both pictures under his arms, grabbed another box filled with work files, tossed his favorite ashtray and lighter in the box along with one or two small tchotkes, a couple of coasters and a small plastic plant from the window sill, and made one more trip down the stairs.  He dispersed the items randomly throughout her apartment, thinking to himself that it at least gave a more unified image of two different people existing within the same space.  

He hauled the box of paperwork into her second bedroom converted into an office space and plopped it down on the desk, taking one or two folders and strewing them about the top of the desk, again in stark contrast to her own organized, neat piles.  It started to reflect their separate desks at work now, which he found convincing.  He sat in the desk chair for a minute and quickly shuffled through the small desk drawers, double checking for anything glaring that might be difficult to explain.  As he opened the bottom drawer, his eye caught a blue leather bound notebook.  Flipping through it, he saw pages and pages of writing in his partner’s familiar handwriting.  As he thumbed through, he was startled to spot his name on one page.  He carefully flipped back, scanning the writing and was surprised to find that it actually appeared quite often.  He turned a page and began reading from the beginning:

“Everything sometimes feels so incredibly heavy here.  The job, the humidity, the pressure of being a woman in this man’s arena.  I hate it!  I hate that I have to be strong all the damn time.  I hate that it feels like I can’t seek the same comforts as other women...even if I have insisted that it be this way.  I’m so grateful and proud of myself...most of the time...like 95.5% of the time.  The other times, I just wish I could let myself cry when something heartbreaking happens.  When someone says something scathing that hurts my feelings at work.  When I watch Javi go off to sleep with yet another woman.

Javi.  That feels so heavy all of the time, too.  I can’t seem to ever level myself out when it comes to him.  Some days he drives me absolutely insane and I want nothing more than to bash his face in with a paperweight.  Other days, I just want him to put his arms around me and hold me.  Not do anything or say anything, just hold me tight…because he is, truthfully, the only single person that I trust.  

And yet, am I fooling myself in saying that...in saying that I trust him?  Because do I really?  If I really trusted him, why don’t I just go to him?  He only lives two floors up.  Why can’t I knock on his door and fling myself into his arms and kiss him and feel what it’s like to press my body against his?  Why can’t I bring myself to do that?  Well...probably because I don’t really ACTUALLY trust him...not with that part of myself.  Javi is the man I want having my back in a shootout...but is he the man I want to be next to me every night when I fall asleep and every morning when I wake up?  I dream about him sometimes...about him being in my bed with me, but we’re usually not sleeping...we’re doing everything but.  I dream about it and then I wake up feeling empty because he’s not there, because it wasn’t real.  The emptiness is heavy, too...”

Javi clapped the journal shut, feeling his stomach churn.  He shouldn’t have read that and guilt thrummed through him.  These were her private thoughts; never meant for anyone else but her to read.  Once again he felt like an intruder and he loathed himself...Dixon...that asshole Ortiz...for putting both of them in this situation.  He dragged a hand over his face, growling low in his throat.  He looked down at the box at his feet, still open with a few files and the two photographs staring back up at him.  He reached in and took out one framed picture, sitting it upright on the desk: the “engagement” photo.  He took the “wedding” picture out and then tossed the journal into the box, carrying both items from the home office.  He carefully set up the photo on a bookshelf in the living room, then put the lid back on the box and headed back up the stairs to drop the box off in his apartment and lock up.  Before he left, though, he made sure to slip the freshly cleaned gold band onto his left ring finger.

His wife would be coming home any minute now.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[v-velvetykisscs]

Safety Net

Chapter 3

"Come in." a voice from within says clearly, with a neutral tone. Jean turns the right doorknob, opening the door softly, stepping in.

I mirror his step and subconsciously position myself behind him, shielding myself from whoever was inside.

"Hey Eren, I came in to report o- Shit man it fucking reeks."

Jean pinches his nose, and when the scent reaches me my nose burns. Weed and whiskey fill the air. "Crack a window open dude, have you been basking in this smell all evening?"

A husky voice, fills the silence: "What do you care, this is my fucking office." the male coughs, his tone amused.

I'd expected him to scold Jean, but their informality had stunned me.

What had Historia pulled me into? Why hadn't she told me about this place? About these people? How had these series of events unfolded in a single night? I felt like I would never understand.

The more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to understand. I wanted to escape this feverish nightmare as fast as I could. That man was going to draw his gun on me and Toria without giving it a second thought. I can't let that affect me now.

This man is going to give me my answers, whether it's by choice or by force. It didn't matter to me.

"-She insisted on speaking to you." Jean explained, his body half turned to eye me as he spoke. 

I'd zoned out.

My hands were clammy and my heart thrummed in my ears. I inhaled, frowning slightly. I clenched my fist.

"Well then, If you'll excuse us."

Eren had said, ushering him out of the room solely with his authoritative tone.

I feel a small breeze sway past me as Jean walks out. My eyes darting around the room, trying to take in as much detail from within the darkness. Heaps of paperwork are stacked on a small table in the opposite corner of the room from me. Dark figurines above furniture. Trophies. Then, my eyes caught onto his desk; black and smooth, a coffee stained mug had been used as a pen holder, 2 ink pens spilled out of the mug onto the desk for use. A grey apple laptop laid folded in the middle of his desk. A tiny, turned over picture frame on the left. An ashtray to the right of it and a half empty glass of whiskey. The bottle nowhere insight.

Could use some.

I finally allow my eyes to land on the man before me. The twisting shadows of the room only display the sharp angles of his jawline, a pair of full lips and a perfectly straight nose.

No stubble, he must be young.

He slowly rises from his seat and walks slowly toward me, one hand in his pocket. He's wearing a navy blue suit and his white shirt is 4 buttons undone, showing a glimpse of muscle. He moves smoothly around his desk and stands in front of it, he leans back, tilting his head up a little, revealing a pair of emerald eyes staring right at me, illuminated by the dim corridor light. His shoulder-length hair glistens in the light; like smooth, silk curtains.

He uses his free hand to raise two fingers in a beckoning motion.

"Come and sit" he speaks.

As I take measured steps towards the leather cushioned chair, he holds the back of it, waiting for me to approach it and pulls it out for me to sit. I plop down on it softly, maintaining hard eye contact. I catch a small whiff of his personal fragrance: a mixture of pinewood, men's deodorant and a hint of cologne, entwined with the intoxicating smell of the room. I cross my legs as I eye him retreat to his own seat. I tear my eyes away for a second to eye the bookshelves on either side of the room, then to the wide, window panes taking up the space behind him, the yellow city lights half hidden by blinds.

"Seems like you haven't caught a break today"

"Not by choice." I respond, with venom.

He reaches for the blunt resting on the ashtray and holds it between his index and thumb, placing it between his lips and using a lighter to ignite it. We both look down at it as a bright orange flame forms at the end of it. He takes a puff and blows it out behind him. I hold in a cough. He reaches behind his head to tie strands of his hair back.

His calmness is beginning to irritate me.

I inhale and place my hand on the table.

"I came here to get answers, not to get some half-assed sympathy." I watch his face for irritation or outright anger but he takes another drag of his rolled up grass. 

He wasn't going to give in if I'd kept with this method. I had to catch him off guard.

He chuckles. "You've got fire, I like that."

I stay silent, my eyebrows in a hard line and my jaw clenched.

I stay focused on his movements, awfully calm to my liking. He drops the pot back into the tray and reaches next to it to grasp the glass of whiskey. Suddenly I take notice of the discoloured white bandage around his moving hand, encompassing his entire hand and knuckles as he downs the rest of the bitter drink with a small gulp.

Why isn't he hiding it?

"Seems like a nasty injury you got there. Is it recent?"

I don't miss his eyebrow quivering in the dimness.

He's surprised.

"It is, I got it taking care of something."

"You mean someone."

His mouth stretches into a smirk.

"You catch on quick, doll."

He's twisted.

"I don't want to know about you or your filthy business, I just want out." I assert.

"Nothing's ever that easy. Now that they've seen you they'll want to go after you. They know you're with us."

He's off his rockers. He can't seriously think that after being forcefully dragged into his mess I would wilfully stay.

"They? Who's they?"

"My brother and his men."

I laugh in pure disbelief:

"Oh so that's what this is about: a petty, fucking gang war between 2 immature brothers. Great. What's next? Initiation? Training? Killing?"

"Pretty much, yeah. But the killing is not necessary unless you're in immediate danger." His tone is light.

This is a joke to him. He finds this entertaining.

I stand wordlessly and move towards the door.

Note:

Here's chapter 3, sorry it's a little shorter than the other two. There's gonna be more coming soon. Thanks for reading <33

[1nsomniacwriter]

Remus’ poor mental health comes to light and a gift is given

Part 2 of the library AU

Let me know if you want to be tagged

Logan followed Remus to his room and was welcomed into the exact opposite of what he expected. He had expected a mess like Roman’s room but ten times worse with unexplainable stains and mold. What he saw was the exact opposite. Sketchbooks were stacked on the corner of a desk and notebooks on the opposite corner. Painting supplies were put away and more disturbing things on a shelf above the desk. A book shelf adorned the far  right wall. Pictures from before The Divide hung around the room. The bed was made instead of a mess. A small fan rested next to where Remus’ head would be when he slept. Shades of green and gray covered the room. Nothing too dark as to not make the room seem smaller. 

“Different than you expected huh?” Remus asked.

“Far different,” Logan said.

“I’m a bit of a neat freak. The clean and organized space tends to help with my intrusive thoughts,” Remus explained.

“That makes sense,” Logan said.

“I’ve mentioned Mortuus but you’ve never actually met her have you?” Remus asked.

“No, I do not believe I have met your little companion,” Logan stated.

“I must rectify that,” Remus said in response.

Logan watched as Remus moved over to a mini fridge in the corner and got out a bag of assorted fruit. Upon hearing the noise Mortuus came running from under Remus’ bed and jumping at it. Remus handed her a strawberry and picked up the marsupial. He walked back over to Logan while cooing to the opossum.

“Logan met Mortuus,” Remus said.

“She is beautiful,” Logan complemented.

“Thank you,” Remus said and put her back down.

She walked over to Logan and peered up at him.

“You can pet her,” Remus said as he turned to his bookshelf.

Logan bent down and began to pet the opossum.

“How did she become your companion?” Logan asked.

“Janus, Virgil, and I found her when she was a baby,” Remus said.

“How?” Logan asked.

“Well it was five years ago…” Remus began.

“You love her quite a bit don’t you?” Logan said.

Janus, Remus, and Virgil were running through the darker creativity's side of the imagination having fun and just being idiots. Virgil was swinging from tree to tree with Remus while Janus watched. A noise caught the attention of the trio. Virgil losing concentration fell out of the air with a cry of shock.

“You okay spiderling?” Janus asked.

“I’m fine,” Virgil said getting up,

“What was that?” Remus asked, moving to the ground.

“I don’t know but let’s find out,” Janus said.

“But-” Virgil started.

“Yeah! Let’s go tata anguis(dad snake, Latin) I wanna know,” Remus cried.

“Fine,” Virgil whined.

“Sweet,” Remus said and ran in the direction of the noise.

That was where they found a baby opossum looking up at Remus. Remus fell for the small marsupial instantly.

“Oh can we keep her Janny,” Remus cried.

“I suppose but she is your responsibility,” Janus said.

“I promise. Your name will be Mortuus,” Remus said, picking her up.

A paw was placed on his nose and he made little noises of excitement.

“Far more than I love myself that’s for sure,” Remus said.

“That is… worrying,” Logan said.

“Nah,” Remus said, picking up a book, “I’m not that important.”

“Remus, Do you honestly believe that?” Logan asked, worried about the intrusive side.

“I mean yeah. My function isn’t that important and the creativity part could be given back to Roman,” Remus said flipping through the book.

“But you are important. You are important to us,” Logan said.

“If you say so,” Remus said with a shrug.

“Remus why do you think you are not important to us?” Logan asked hurt that the man he cared so deeply for thought he didn’t care.

“It’s not that I don’t think you care, it's more that I have a hard time truly believing you,” Remus said, putting the book up.

“Why is that?” Logan asked.

“I’ve been abandoned by too many people who I thought would always be there for me. There was you who I couldn’t have been closer to as children but you left me simply because I was now a dark side. I know Janus didn’t mean to but that month I spent alone while he started dating Patton still hurt. Virgil’s sudden hatred for me hurt worse than Janus. Virgil was like the brother I lost. Roman he left without a second thought. He hated me and scorned me for something I have no more control over than that of a child being possessed by an evil spirit. I hurt but I still missed him. It’s hard to trust that people do in fact care when you get pushed to the side as often as I do,” Remus explained.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you Remus,” Logan said moving forward.

“Don’t apologize for something I have already forgiven you for Logan,” Remus said.

“I have an idea as to how I can prove I do care,” Logan said.

“And what would that be?” Remus asked.

“How would you like unlimited access to my library,” Logan asked.

“Are you sure?” Remus asked.

“Positive. You are more than capable of taking care of a book properly and that’s the only reason the others are forbidden from entering,” Logan said.

“You’re not fucking with me are you,” Remus asked beiging to basically vibrate in excitement.

“I am not,” Logan said.

“Holy Shit! This is better than reading about medieval torture methods,” Remus cried.

Logan smiled fondly at the excitement on the duke's face. If he had known how happy this would make Remus he would have done it sooner. Remus looked ecstatic and as soon as it completely sunk in that he had access to the biggest collection of books in the mindscape he squealed like an excited little girl. Logan laughed at the Dukes antics.

“Would you like to see the library?” Logan asked once Remus had calmed down.

“Yes please,” Remus said, his eyes holding stars.

“Follow me then,” Logan said heading to the door.

Remus scooped up his reading glasses and scrambled after the logical side. Nodding to their fellow sides when they moved past the common areas Logan pushed open to giant oak doors revealing his library. Oak bookshelves were everywhere books in every possible place. A chandelier hung from the ceiling and a roaring fire sat in the fireplace in the front center of the room. Comfortable chairs rest around it. A window seat where Logan could sit and fly through was at the far end. Remus spun in a circle taking everything in. This was a dream come true.

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, very very slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

A/N | Likes and comments always appreciated. :)

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

1300 miles playlist

Tag | @mrs--barnes

_____

previous chapter

_____

Jo wakes the next morning to a text from Danny: Did you fuck the Winter Soldier?

She rolls her eyes and responds: Fuck off. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore.

Danny replies with a leaf emoji and the words: Come upstairs.

Jo slides her glasses on and climbs out of bed. She pads into the living room as quietly as she can to find Bucky snoring on her couch with Toulouse perched on his chest. She can’t stop herself from snapping a picture with her phone.

Upstairs, she lets herself into Danny’s apartment. She’s met at the door by Greta, Danny’s PTSD service dog, a medium-sized German Shepherd who waits patiently for Jo to kneel down and scratch her behind her ears.

“Morning, pup,” Jo whispers.

“I’m out here,” Danny calls from his third-floor balcony.

“Coffee?” Jo asks.

“Cold-brew in the fridge,” Danny responds.

She detours to the kitchen before joining Danny at the small table on his balcony.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Jo asks. Danny always smokes the morning after a nightmare.

“They’re called flashbacks, and yes,” he responds, taking a deep drag of the joint.

“But they’re getting better, right?”

"Since you came back, yeah, they're getting better."

“Give me that,” Jo says, reaching for the joint. She takes a drag then exhales slowly. “You can always wake me up when you have a flashback, you know.”

Danny snorts. “I was afraid I’d wander into your bedroom to find you getting dicked down by an Avenger.”

“Please stop,” Jo groans. "You get that you're my brother, right? And this is weird."

Danny laughs, "It's only weird if you make it weird." Then he says, “Seriously, though, what’s the deal with Mister Tall-Dark-and-Handsome? I mean, if Sam trusts him, then he must be a good guy, but he’s literally a hundred years old, Jo.”

“He’s…” she pauses, “really sweet and charming underneath the brooding exterior. I really like him, Danny.”

“But?”

“But he lives in New York,” she whines.

“Yeah,” Danny says, taking another drag on the joint.

“‘Yeah?’ That’s all you’re going to say?”

Danny shrugs. “Some things are worth working for.”

Jo laughs, “Okay, why don’t you get back to me when you’re not high. I’m heading back downstairs.”

“Love you, Josiebean,” Danny says, using the nickname he gave Jo when they were kids.

“Love you, too, Daniel-San,” Jo replies. Danny laughs at the Karate Kid reference like he always does, and Jo kisses his forehead and pats his shoulder before leaving.

_____

Bucky wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon, his stomach rumbling at the scent. There's a warm weight on his chest, and when he opens his eyes he's greeted with the yellow stare of Toulouse.

He looks at his watch. It's a little after eleven. He usually wakes earlier, but he also doesn't usually sleep as soundly as he did last night.

He wanders into the kitchen in his borrowed sweats to find Jo standing at the stove in an oversized t-shirt, shorts, and out-of-season Halloween socks, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her back is to him, and he takes the opportunity to study her naked legs. More ink peaks out from the hem of her shorts and covers most of her thighs. Bucky has the urge to drop to his knees before her and run his tongue over every intricate design.

Instead, he clears his throat, so he doesn't startle her, and she turns to face him. Her face is bare, and she’s wearing large, gold-rimmed glasses. Bucky can’t decide if she looks prettier like this or like she did last night, with her hair flowing down her back and her guitar in her hands.

"Morning," Jo says. “Sorry to shatter the illusion,” she continues, gesturing to her glasses and outfit.

Bucky smiles. He isn’t sure what the protocol is for greeting the woman you made out with and whose couch you slept on last night, but he decides he wants to kiss her again. He takes the few steps toward her and pulls her into his arms. This close, she has to crane her neck up to look him in the eyes.

“Morning,” he says. They’re so close and his voice is pitched so low that Jo can feel the word rumble in his chest. Butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Bucky leans down slowly and presses his lips against Jo’s. This kiss is softer and slower than the kisses they shared last night, and the heat that explodes in Jo’s lower stomach burns the butterflies away. Her fingers dig into his triceps, one arm yielding to her touch, the other firm against her digits. She sighs and opens her mouth to his tongue, letting him deepen the kiss.

He licks into her mouth, and Jo moans, her hands coming up to cup his stubble-covered cheeks. Bucky’s own hands slide down Jo’s back to her buttocks, pulling her hips flush against his so she can feel the effect she’s having on him. Jo gasps, and Bucky’s lips leave hers to trail wet kisses against her jaw.

When he pulls away, Bucky’s smile is almost smug. He likes all the sounds he’s able to pull from her, and he wants to hear more.

Jo turns back to the stove, catching her breath and trying to hide the flush she knows is rising from her chest to her cheeks.

“Breakfast — well," she looks at the clock on the oven, "brunch — is ready. Have a seat.”

Bucky places a final kiss against the back of Jo’s neck before sitting.

Toulouse rubs against Bucky's legs beneath the kitchen table. He reaches down to scratch Louie between the ears, and the cat lets out a contented chirp.

"He's usually not that nice to strangers," Jo says, watching the two of them from across the room.

"My sister had a cat growing up — big, fat orange thing that was missing half an ear. His name was Marmalade."

Jo smiles brightly and sets a plate of food in front of him. “Coffee?” she asks.

“Please,” Bucky says. “But I can get it.”

“No need,” she says, handing him a mug of fresh coffee. “You want oat milk? Sugar, maybe?”

“Black is good,” Bucky says, taking his first sip.

Jo sits across from him with her own plate and coffee cup. They spend breakfast talking quietly. Bucky likes the domesticity of it. He's gotten used to having breakfast at the Wilson's with Sarah, Sam, and the boys, but this meal with Jo feels more intimate. He has a brief flash of spending every morning like this, but he pushes it away as quickly as it comes. He's trying not to overthink whatever’s happening between himself and Jo. He’s not used to having good things in his life, but he wants to lean into this, take the risk.

"You said last night that you know who I am," Bucky says as they clear their plates from the table.

Jo is quiet for a moment, neatly stacking plates and coffee cups in the dishwasher.

“I may have seen a documentary or two featuring the Howling Commandos,” she says, closing the dishwasher and turning to Bucky. “And Sam and Steve may have crashed in Danny’s apartment for a couple of months when they were on the run following the Accords.”

Bucky is silent. He's staring at Jo with the same brooding intensity as last night, but there's something more in his eyes — a sadness she hadn't noticed earlier. She's seen that look before on Danny when he first came back from Afghanistan. It's the look of someone who's lost everything. But as quickly as it's there, it's gone.

Bucky clears his throat. “You knew Steve?” he asks.

“Yeah. I mean, briefly,” she whispers. “Let me show you something.”

He follows her into the living room where she pulls a box from one of the bookshelves. She empties the contents onto the coffee table; it's a handful of polaroids featuring varied combinations of Jo and Sam and Steve and Danny. Bucky sits on the couch and picks up one of the photos. It's of Steve with a German Shepherd; in the photo Steve is smiling brightly, and Bucky's heart aches at the sight.

"That's Greta," Jo says, sitting next to Bucky, "Danny's dog. She was just a puppy then. She adored Steve."

Bucky laughs through his nose and picks up another photo. This one features Sam and Jo sitting at a table in a kitchen that looks like Jo's but slightly different — Bucky assumes it's Danny's; Sam is clearly in the middle of a story, and Jo's head is thrown back in laughter. A stab of jealousy hits him in the chest — Bucky wants to make her laugh like that. He skims through the rest of the polaroids, finally landing on one of Jo and Steve sitting side by side at a piano, Steve's large frame dwarfing the woman next to him.

"He found out I can play a few '30s and '40s standards on piano," Jo says, smiling at the memory. "There wasn't a lot for him and Sam to do cooped up here for three months, so I taught him some basics."

Bucky stares at the photo for a while before he speaks. "You play piano?" he asks.

"I started on piano, took up guitar when I was ten, then bass when I was thirteen. I can also play drums, organ, banjo, mandolin, and a little violin," she says. "And I have a Bachelors of Music with a concentration in voice."

Bucky stares at her for a moment, then tosses the photo back onto the coffee table and reaches for Jo, pulling her onto his lap. She settles with her legs on either side of his hips and her hands on his shoulders.

"So, you have very talented fingers, then?" Bucky asks with a flirty grin.

Jo rolls her eyes and laughs, but she's secretly pleased with where this interaction seems to be headed. She was worried Bucky would feel like she had kept something from him by not telling him about Steve last night, but he seems to be taking it in stride.

"Thanks for showing me those photographs," Bucky says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "He gave up everything for me back then, so it's nice to see that maybe he had a little bit of happiness during that time."

"He wanted the same for you," she whispers, nudging her nose against Bucky's.

Bucky kisses her softly, then pulls away, staring into her green eyes. Jo slides her glasses off and sets them on the coffee table behind her.

She drags a finger down his vibranium arm and asks, “Can you feel that?”

Bucky licks his lips. “Yeah. It’s—it’s different from the real one, but yeah.”

Jo hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything else. Their lips meet again, and this time the kiss is longer, needier. Bucky sweeps his tongue into her mouth, and Jo is certain she's going to have beard burn across her face tomorrow. But she doesn't really care.

Jo slides her hands into Bucky's hair, and he sighs into her mouth when she angles her hips against his just right, pressing against him slowly. His grip on her waist tightens before he slips his vibranium hand down across her backside to gently guide her movements. His flesh hand covers her right breast, palming her through her shirt.

Jo's hands leave his hair to slide beneath Bucky's t-shirt. He pulls back from her slightly and puts his hand over hers.

“I have scars,” Bucky warns.

“Okay,” Jo mumbles against his lips, trying for another kiss.

Bucky pulls back again. “They’re not pretty.”

Jo looks at him. “Bucky, do you really think I care about that? Do I look like someone who’s worried about conventional beauty standards?” she jokes. She smiles softly and brings a hand up to cradle his jaw. “You don’t have to show me. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss him again.

He pulls away from her mouth to tug the shirt over his head before he can overthink it. He’s gorgeous like this, and Jo wants to touch every inch of him. She starts with his chest, and her fingers dance lightly across the scars on Bucky’s left shoulder before she presses a quick kiss to the spot where flesh meets metal. Bucky smiles at the gesture, then his lips are on Jo's neck. As he sucks a mark into the place where her neck meets her shoulder, Bucky slips his flesh hand beneath the fabric of Jo's shirt.

Bucky's thumb slides across her nipple, and he pauses, warm metal against his digit stopping him. Jo can feel Bucky's fingers against her breast, trying to work out what exactly he's touching. She leans back, her hands on Bucky's chest to keep him from following her and pulls her t-shirt over her head.

Bucky's fairly certain his heart stops at the sight before him. He’s not sure what to look at first: the small gold balls that adorn either side of Jo’s erect nipples or the intricate floral design inked on her sternum between and below her breasts, framing them perfectly.

“So…I have my nipples pierced,” Jo says, taking Bucky’s staring for hesitation or confusion.

Bucky licks his lips. “Fuck,” he mutters before running his thumb across her right nipple and taking the left one between his teeth.

Jo hisses and bucks her hips harder against his cock. He's hot and hard beneath her as she grinds against him. The feeling he had last night – of being on fire – has returned, but it's tenfold now. Every thought of taking things slow, every bit of doubt has evaporated in wake of his need to please Jo.

Bucky grips Jo's waist and flips her onto her back on the couch, coming to rest between her open legs.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pressing his bare chest against hers. His dog tags are cool against her skin.

“Very," she breathes.

Bucky's lips find Jo's again before trailing across her jaw, down her neck, and over her breasts. He lets his tongue explore one of her pierced nipples before taking the bud between his teeth and pulling slightly. Jo gasps, and her own hands slide from Bucky's shoulders down his chest and across his stomach, her blunt fingernails scratching against his abs as she goes. She palms his cock through his sweats, and Bucky's hips stutter. His eyes clench shut like he’s in pain, and he pulls away to catch his breath.

"Sorry," Jo says quickly, removing her hand. "We can slow down."

"No," Bucky all but growls, then takes another deep breath and opens his eyes. "No. It's just been," he pauses, "it's been a while since I've done this, and you're kind of driving me crazy, Jo." He lets out a breathy laugh, then seems to sober. "I just—I, uh, need to be in control of some things. If that's okay."

She smiles her understanding before kissing him, softer this time. Bucky leans into the kiss and sweeps his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. He props himself up with his vibranium hand, and his right hand moves back to Jo's breasts, teasing each nipple in turn.

"Tell me what you want," Jo says as Bucky's teeth bite gently at her pulse point.

Bucky presses his lips against Jo's ear and whispers, "Touch yourself. Please. I want to watch you fall apart."

Jo whimpers. She catches the look on Bucky's face as her hand travels down her body and into her shorts. His pupils are blown wide, barely a hint of blue visible around black. She knows her own eyes look much the same.

She hisses when her fingers meet the bundle of nerves between her legs, then slide lower. Bucky can't decide if he wants to watch her hand beneath her shorts or her face. He settles for moving his eyes between her face and breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath she takes. Finally, he lowers his head back between her breasts and traces the outline of the tattoo there with his tongue. Jo moans and bucks her hips.

Bucky presses his own hips against the couch, trying to find the smallest bit of relief. He's not going to last. It's been too long since he's been with someone this way, and his body feels like a live wire. He reaches up to push the fabric of her shorts aside, moaning when he realizes she's not wearing anything beneath them.

He feels Jo's fingers pull away, and he growls, "Keep touching yourself." She does, her fingers rubbing hard circles into her clit. "Good girl," Bucky praises, and Jo keens, Bucky's name falling from her lips.

He slips his own fingers inside of her. She's so wet and warm, Bucky is afraid he'll finish just from this. Or maybe it will be the sound of her moans that do me in, he thinks. Because she sounds lovely, better than she did on stage last night. And she feels perfect wrapped around his two digits. He adds a third, and Jo's whole body tenses. Bucky can feel her warm heat tighten around his fingers as her legs bend and draw in closer to her body. The sight of Jo coming pushes him over the edge. He's spilling into his sweatpants like a teenager, and he doesn't even care. All he can think of is the sound of Jo, the feel of Jo, the look on Jo's face.

Bucky collapses onto Jo's body, his full weight resting on her for a second before he props himself up again and looks at her. She's smiling sleepily, a slightly dazed look in her eyes, and he can't help but admit that it makes his ego swell to know he can make her smile like that.

"That was..." he starts.

Jo hesitates, then runs her fingers through his hair softly. "Good? Great? Amazing?" she says.

Bucky breathes out a laugh and rests his head on her chest for a moment. "All of the above," he replies. Jo hums, and Bucky continues, lifting his head again to look at her, "You're fucking perfect, doll."

Jo laughs, and replies, "You probably say that to all the girls, Sarge."

Bucky sobers. "No, Jo, I don't. Really." He brushes a strand of hair from her face. "When I said I haven't done this in a while, that was an understatement," he says. Dr. Raynor told him he needed to open up, nurture friendships (or whatever this is turning into), so here he goes. "I wasn't really planning on this happening — not that I'm not glad that it did..." He pauses.

"But you live in New York, and I live here. And we just met,” Jo finishes.

"I don't know how things like this work these days," he says. He's looking at her with such sincerity that Jo thinks her heart might burst. "I told you I wanted to do this right. Dinner, flowers, the whole nine yards.”

Jo cocks her head to the side and smiles. "Let's start with dinner."

_____

They lay in silence for a while, Bucky's head resting on Jo's naked breasts, her fingers running through his hair. Jo's starting to think he's fallen asleep when Bucky speaks again.

“I should probably go,” Bucky says reluctantly. "Sam was expecting my help with the boat today."

"I'll drive you," Jo says. "Just let me get dressed."

"You don't have to do that. I can call a cab."

"Delacroix's, like, an hour outside the city. It'll cost a fortune. Let me drive you."

Bucky hesitates, but Jo nudges at his right shoulder gently until he agrees. He presses a soft kiss to her lips before he stands and offers her a hand. While Bucky moves into the bathroom to change back into his own boxers and jeans, Jo slips into her room. She comes back out wearing jeans and a vintage Lilith Fair t-shirt; she's traded her glasses for contacts. Jo shoves her feet into her combat boots at the door and turns back to kiss Bucky quickly before they leave the apartment.

_____

The drive to Delacroix is quiet except for Jo's Paul Simon playlist thrumming from the car speakers. Bucky thinks he might actually like the music. Or maybe he just likes listening to Jo sing every word.

When Jo pulls up outside Sarah's house, Bucky turns to her from the passenger seat. “I don’t have your number,” he says.

“Give me your phone," she responds, smiling and holding her hand out.

Bucky unlocks his phone and hands it over. Jo saves her number before texting herself so she has his, as well. She deletes the text conversation and hands his phone back.

"There you go, Sarge," she says with a wink.

Bucky leans across the car's console and wraps his vibranium hand around the back of Jo's neck. He pulls her close and presses his lips against hers gently. Jo responds by running her fingers across the stubble on Bucky's jaw and sweeping her tongue into his mouth. A moan rumbles through Bucky's chest, and he tries to move closer to Jo's body, but he knocks his knees roughly against the center divider.

"Shit," he curses, pulling away. "It was easier to kiss a dame in the front seat of a car in the '40s," Bucky complains.

Jo laughs. "Kissing a lot of dames in cars, were you?"

"I got around," Bucky says, a grin on his face.

He feels like himself around Jo – not exactly the person he was before the war, but close. He almost feels like he could be a better version of that man; he wants to be that for Jo. For now, though, it's easy to flirt and laugh with her, watch her eyes light up and her smile brighten.

"I believe it, Sarge," Jo teases. Over Bucky's shoulder, she notices Sam standing on the front porch of the house. "I think I've stolen you away from Sam long enough," she says.

"Please, doll, steal me away anytime," Bucky flirts. He kisses her once more. "I'll see you Tuesday," he whispers, his hand lingering on her cheek before he climbs out of the car.

“Looks like someone had a good night,” Sam laughs as Bucky ascends the front porch steps.

“We are not talking about this,” Bucky grumbles.

“Oh, we’re definitely talking about this,” Sam says, clapping Bucky on the back.

______

next chapter

[heartbeatan]

Devil's Garden (Chapter 2)

Return to Chapter 1.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Desperado Series.

Return to Taehyung Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter Two

Taehyung arrived mid-morning to The Devil’s Garden the next day. The establishment wasn’t open to the public yet – it usually wasn’t until near noon – but a lot of the staff were there already, hustling around the property tending to crops, the distillery and preparing the guest services. He was guided down a long corridor by the hostess until she eventually released him in front of your office. You weren’t there yet. You were somewhere else on the property and would be there “momentarily” or so he was told. At first, Taehyung sat patiently in the winged chair across from your desk – smoothing out his tie and straitening the lapels and pleats of his freshly pressed suit.

But patience was never Taehyung’s strong suit and soon his eyes began to wander towards the nooks and crannies of the room. The space smelled clean – clean in the way a woman would keep it. Like fresh laundry, or a citrus cleaner, perhaps a vanilla incense was placed somewhere in the room. He gazed over the bookshelves to his right, looking for the source and spotting the jar of oil and reeds. He stood up before he realized that he had, then strolled across the room.

“Yup,” he said out loud as the scent intensified, confirming the diffuser was the source. His gaze then wandered beyond it, to the books and the knickknacks strewn over the shelves. Organized chaos is what he would call your system. Clean and tidy, but without direction. Files related to business were stored between novels, which were propped against trinkets and photo frames. This office, this shelf, each piece was telling a story - although he didn’t quite know yet how to read it.

The first thing that really caught his attention was a short, silver, decorative dagger, propped up on a simple plexiglass stand. It was the kind you’d find in a games shop. The kind people, of a certain taste, would splay throughout their homes and hang from walls. It seemed massively out of place compared to the contemporary, bright décor of the room. Perhaps it was a gift, or an artifact from a phase you went through in your younger years. He then noticed a box, wood carved and antique looking. He couldn’t stop his internal private eye from flicking the latch to peer inside.

Cigarettes. Taehyung smiled. So, you weren’t as squeaky clean and polished as you first appeared. You too had a dirty little habit the way he did. Except, unlike him, you hid yours. Probably only had one every once in a while, when the world became just a little too stressful.

He closed the lid, then moved a little further down the shelves, ghosting his fingers over the books until he reached one that intrigued him. It was a romance novel – he could tell from the spine. He recognized it as the drugstore type that his mother liked to read. He reached for it, taking it from its place on the shelf and flipping it over in his hand to read the summary.

This one was about a woman at the turn of the century. Young, pretty, wealthy and from “good breeding.” But all she had ever wanted was to rough it with the lads at the tavern: drink beer; gamble over poker; wear pants. A woman who would soon meet a strapping but primitive type man, who would offer her what she wanted at a cost of one wild night together.

Taehyung’s sniffed in amusement as he read the ridiculous description, but it had his curiosity regardless. He wondered… was this simple fantasy, or did this type of scenario titillate you? Was this something you dreamt about late at night - something you secretly wanted? One night of passion with a man who would debase you… use you… ruin you… before you returned to your pretty little life and the boring fucker you meant to live it out with?

He knew these thoughts were biased and self serving, but, oh god, did he enjoy the idea that they could be true; the idea that he could be your Sir What’s-His-Face, owed one night of making you come over and over again.

Maybe it would happen here, at the winery, under the cover of darkness so that sucker of a husband of yours would never find out. After hours, so that no one would be around to hear the sounds he’d make you make…

Taehyung replaced the book on the shelf as he heard voices and footsteps in the hall outside your office. Before returning to his seat, however, something else caught his attention. A photo within a frame. It appeared to have been taken there, in front of the visitor’s entrance. You were there, centre, surrounded by just a few people – far less people than worked here now – but he deduced it was a staff photo. Probably from when you first opened The Devil’s Garden. Next to you stood a man, tall, handsome, grinning widely with his arm wrapped around your waist. Taehyung hated him immediately.

“Mr. Kim,” he turned his head towards the door as you called his name. You stepped across the threshold, smiling brightly at him, more preoccupied by the stack of papers in your arms than of the stranger canvasing your office.

“Taehyung, please” he reminded you, hating how the formality of his name sounded off your tongue.

“Sorry!” you apologized as you threw the stack of papers onto your desk, before turning to him and sticking out your hand and smiling. “Taehyung.”

For some reason, your gesture for a handshake felt even more formal than calling him Mr. Kim, and he didn’t like it either. But nonetheless, he reached out and shook it, but not before his eyes – just as they did the first time you met – flickered down your body to drink in the sight of you. Today, you were in yet another dress. But this time, it was a little more formal, a little bit tighter, and he could swear by the way he marveled at your legs that it was a little bit shorter too. This time, you wore open-toed high heels, and he salivated at the way they showcased your feet and curved your spine. In fear his unconscious objectification of you was obvious, he snapped his gaze back to your face, but your eyes were not on him. Instead, they too had flitted to his shoes, then back up his form, over his broad chest, until they locked with his. For an awkward second, you stared back at him in what appeared to be a state of shock. As if you had been caught. Your cheeks blushed slightly – he was sure of it. Were you… checking him out?

No way, Taehyung thought to himself. You were just sizing him up. Reminding himself what a shit show he looked like yesterday, you were probably surprised that he had cleaned himself up so well today. For some reason, that made him even more embarrassed. He wasn’t sure why – either for the fact that you saw him a mess just less than 24 hours ago, or for the possibility that you realized he was cleaning up for you.

“Is this your first husband?” he blurted out suddenly in a bid to overcome the awkwardness he felt. He pointed backwards to the picture frame he had just be looking at when you entered the room.

“Yes,” you confirmed as you peered over his shoulder to its place on the shelf. “We weren’t married yet, but yes.”

“So, he worked here?”

“Sort of,” you shuffled your head, implying that it wasn’t that simple. “He was going through school at the time. I was supporting him, but he worked here sometimes to help me out.”

“What did he go to school for?”

“To be an electrician.”

“You like your tradesmen, then?” Taehyung quipped, but immediately regretted it. What kind of an asshole jokes with a woman he hardly knows about the type of men she fucks? What kind of an asshole jokes about someone’s dead husband?

This kind of asshole, he thought as he braced himself for a look of disappointment and offence to flush across your face. But, to his astonishment, it never came. Instead you laughed.

“I do have a type, I supposed,” You chuckled as you walked behind your desk. You gestured with your hands to the pile of papers you had brought in with you. “I brought everything I could find dating back to when Ezra and I first got together. Fortunately…” you curved your lips into a mock grimace, “we haven’t been together that long so there shouldn’t be much to sift through.” Taehyung smiled at your apparent humour over your present situation. It put him at ease knowing you were the type capable of laughing at your own circumstance. So many of his clients weren’t – no matter how ridiculous the request or even more ridiculous the return – he received a many a lectures on his lack of sensitivity and jaded emotives.

“Well, let’s get started then,” he suggested as he pulled his suit jacket off his shoulders and began to roll up the cuffs of his shirt.

 

Even though the work itself began slow, the morning passed by rather quickly while you taught Taehyung your bookkeeping style and he showed you what to look for. The hostess delivered lunch to you both in the office sometime mid afternoon, prompting a necessary break for you both. Taehyung asked you more about the inception of the winery – a question more so in personal curiosity rather than in detective interrogation – and you animatedly told him nearly every benign detail of how you opened and closed your lucrative paralegal service in the city in pursuit of your new passion for wine making and hospitality. The story eventually led to a personal tour of the property – just him and you, wandering the vineyard and buildings. You teaching him all the things he already knew or didn’t know about wine making, as well, sharing with him your dream to expand… to open a bed & breakfast on the property… to even the wild idea of owning a small chicken coop for feeing your guest the freshest of feasts. Your passion for your work lifted his mood, but at the same time made him incredibly jealous – or at least, nostalgic. Nostalgic for a time when he was impassioned by his work. When he was bright eyed and ambitious, attaining a career he was passionate and driven for.

“Did you always want to be a private investigator?” you asked him, as you two made your way back towards the main building.

“Sort of,” he replied, trying to hide the grimness that came with his answer. “I wanted to be a detective. A P.I. was just sort of plan B.”

“You could still do it, I’m sure!” your tenor bubbly and encouraging. “It took me a little courage and a few years scraping by, but I made it my dream come true. I’m sure you could too!”

He smiled meekly, appreciative of your words and the naivety behind them. “I did, actually.”

“You did?” you asked in confusion.

Taehyung nodded. “I was a detective. For many years.”

“Oh?”

He could tell from your tone that you were both curious about the story but that you had also picked up on the fact that it was a bit of a sensitive subject. Normally, he would have ended the conversation right there. In fact, normally, he wouldn’t have revealed his past career at all. But today, next to you, he felt different. Today, he felt he could talk about it, even if it was only a small piece.

“I did it for years. But then I left for a while. Thought I’d go back eventually, but… started doing this instead.”

“I take it something happened?”

“It can be a taxing job. It’s also more political than most would like to believe.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you apologized, noticing how Taehyung’s language had become more elusive.

“It’s fine,” he shook his head. “It’s just a long story.”

You made the rest of your way back to the office mostly in silence. Taehyung regretted it. He had wished the conversation had stayed on you – that he could amusedly listen to you babble about nothing and everything. But, fortunately, the awkwardness soon faded as the two of you returned to the office and buckled in to working hard for the remainder of the day. At least the apparent awkwardness faded.

For Taehyung, even though he could for the most part will himself to become lost in his work, there were too many times when his eyes and mind would wander onto you. Damn, did you know what an effect you had on him? You were so god damned fuckable. The way your lips curved, and your brows furrowed when you concentrated drove him wild. He just knew that was how your face would contort when you were focusing on coming, and fuck, did he ever want to see that. When you leaned forward over your desk, he could catch an incendiary glimpse down that fucking dress of yours, leaving him near salivating at the thought of biting down and marking the soft mounds. At some point, you left your chair for a file stored a top one of the bookshelves. With your back to him, he could shamelessly watch you with out getting caught. Admire the way your body stretched and flexed, the way the fabric of your dress would pull, taunting him with a potential glimpse of your bare ass.

If only you were his in this moment. Or at minimum, if he knew you wanted him too, he would have stood up and crossed the floor. He would have stepped up behind you. You would have felt his chest ghost over your back, just before you would have felt his hand travel slowly, smoothly, tauntingly up the back of your thigh then underneath that skirt. He would hear you gasp faintly when his fingers brush over the silk protecting you from him.

He knew your panties would be silk.

He’d slip his finger along your slit again, this time a little harder, let you know he meant business.

“We’re working, Taehyung,” you would breathe unconvincingly. “Someone might catch us.”

He’d raise his other hand, covering yours as it gripped around the ledge of the shelf in front of you, anchoring you to something so that you knew he didn’t care enough to stop. He’d then drag another long finger across your dampening core, but this time, he’d end his movement by gripping a hold of the fabric, pulling it tight in his fist. As he pulled, your back would arch a little, your ass would perk for him, and you would feel the tension of the fabric tight against your clit. Your gasp would let him know that you too didn’t care enough about getting caught.

He’d release his grip, but he wouldn’t strip you of your panties. No – he would want you to come in them, stain them so that you’d have to go without them for the rest of the day. Be reminded of him everywhere you went that afternoon. So, he’d slip his hand beneath the fabric instead. Touch you raw. Make you drip. Until, inevitably, through gritted teeth you’d beg for him to sink his fingers into you and fuck you harder.

“This is that last one,” your voice broke his thoughts as you returned to your desk with the box you had pulled from the top shelf. “Everything from the last month.”

“Good,” he replied, looking down at his watch to check the time. “What time do you need to be home?”

“Well…” you began slowly. “Ezra is supposed to be done at six… Which means he should be texting me at any moment telling me he’ll be home late.” Taehyung could tell you were trying to be humourous, but it was clear you were annoyed and feeling a little hurt.

“If he does, let me know. Let’s finish up this if we can.”

It felt like working under a ticking time bomb. Curiosity hanging in the air as you both waited for the cellphone to buzz - waiting for the alert that Ezra wasn’t coming home on time, and the prompt for Taehyung to climb in his car and try to figure out why that was. But the message never came. Through it all, you managed to complete the audit of the books.

“Did we find anything?” you asked Taehyung as you stretched back in your chair, both mentally and physically exhausted from the task.

“No. Not that I can see,” he replied. “Everything seems to be in order here. You run a tight ship.”

You sighed.

“I know it seems like a waste, but this was a good first step,” he said, noticing your slight disappointment. “This is a good thing. We don’t know what he’s up to yet, but at least we know he’s not stealing from you.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “I just want to know what the hell is going on. I’m tired of feeling paranoid.”

“I know this is the most annoying thing to hear in a situation like this but… you just have to be patient. We’ll get there.” You looked up to him, a thinly pressed smile on your face. He could tell his words comforted you a bit, but not enough. “And in the end, there could be nothing. He might be telling the truth.”

The words tasted bitter rolling off his tongue. He thought perhaps they would ease your mind, but it felt like he was telling a lie. If your husband weren’t up to something, this would be a first for Taehyung. Rarely were his client’s intuitions ever wrong – especially when they had gone about taking the step to call him in the first place. He doubted your suspicions were unwarranted, but as you sat across from him now - your eyes locked on his, your lip tucked once again between your teeth, and the surface of the desk between you just begging to be cleared so he could lay you over it - he also selfishly wanted your suspicions to be right. Wanted to know that your husband wasn’t worthy of you.

And then it came… the buzz of a notification on your phone. Both your eyes gazed to each other, then to the phone vibrating on the desk. You picked it up, swiping the screen to unlock it and reveal the message. Taehyung watched you as read it, saw how your lips pursed and your shoulders sunk.

“What does it say?” he asked, but you didn’t answer him right away. Instead your thumbs tapped rapidly over the screen as you replied to him. Moments later, a second buzz came. You sighed audibly as you read his reply.

“It’s Ezra,” you dropped the phone back onto your desk and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “He says he’s going to be late tonight.”

Taehyung looked you over as he felt your aura of brightness dim into one of disappointment.

“Is there something else?” he asked. “You seem more surprised than I expected?”

“It’s just…” you looked back to him, but he could tell you weren’t sure if you wanted to share your thoughts. “Tonight was a bit of an anniversary of ours. We had… special plans. He promised.” His stomach knotted at your words. He didn’t know what your “special plans” were, but he knew what they would be if they were with him.

“Did he say what he was doing?”

“Just that he had to work. Said he’d wouldn’t be home too late.”

Taehyung nodded, unsure of what else to do.

“Since my dinner plans are now cancelled… are you hungry?” you asked. He was. He wanted to stay. But this was the perfect opportunity for surveillance. So, he replied with a polite “no.”

“You should go home,” he suggested instead. “Wait for your husband. Let me know if something changes.”

 

Some time later, Taehyung found himself parked along a darkened street located somewhere in an industrial district on the outskirts of the city. Although dimly lit, he had a clear view of the yard located behind Stintsons – the construction business Ezra worked at.

The building was dark. The yard empty. But Taehyung noticed the station wagon still parked in the lot. It had to be Ezra’s. Hell, no one even drove a station wagon anymore – what were the chances another employee had one as well? He swiped the screen on his cellphone, noting by the clock that it was almost eight. He then opened his messages, clicking on your name to read the last thing he sent you.

TH 6:09 PM: Let me know when he gets home.

He could tell you had read the message, but still there was no reply.

A creak in the still evening perked Taehyung’s ears. He squinted through the darkness to see a figure exiting the building and making their way towards the station wagon.

“There you are,” Taehyung breathed. He watched as the figure climbed into the car, as the lights and engine roared, and as the vehicle pulled itself from the lot and headed down the street. Taehyung reached for the ignition, turning the keys to bring his own car to life, then carefully pulled out into the street to follow.

The wagon drove through the town, down the main roads until it made its way to the highway, taking the pass that Taehyung knew was in the direction of your home. He noted how incredibly unsuspicious it was. Most who were hiding something tended to travel down back roads, take indirect routes, avoid CCTVs. Although this was his first night of surveillance, the thought crossed Taehyung’s mind that perhaps Ezra really wasn’t up to something. He was at the office just as he said he was. Now he was heading home, just as he said he would.

Regardless of those thoughts, Taehyung kept the tail – following the wagon off the exit, down a long residential street, until he turned into a crescent. Taehyung parked his car, turning it off and letting the lights go dim. He watched as the wagon pulled into a driveway. Noting the number on the house, he quickly pulled out his notepad, flipping through the pages until he found the address you had given him.

Yup… this was your house. He looked back up as the wagon door open. The driver climbed out of the car, brandishing a bouquet of flowers in his arms.

“What a fucker,” Taehyung seethed as Ezra made his way up the stairs, opening the front door to the home before he disappeared inside. That’s when his phone buzzed with the receipt of a new message.

Y/N 8:56 PM: He’s home.

 

Taehyung sat there in his car on the street for a while, watching the sky turn a pitch black, watching the lights of the neighbourhood disappear as each household fell to sleep. He was biding his time, but he was driving himself mad in the process.

He replayed over the image of a flower bearing Ezra arriving home to his gorgeous fucking wife who had been waiting all to patiently for him. Better yet, he obsessed over the possible scenarios of what came next. It was an “anniversary” type of night, you had told Taehyung. A “special” night. Were you angry at your husband for coming home late on your “special” night? Did you throw those pathetic flowers back in his face? Or, were you pleased? Did his flowers make you swoon for him? Forgive him? Did you thank him with a long, sensual kiss as he made his way through the door?

Was your “special” night supposed to be romantic? Perhaps, this undeserving, lucky son of a bitch walked into an erotic scene you had planned for weeks. Perhaps a silk robe adorned your shoulders, and you held in each hand a glass of wine – one for you and one for the man who would get to fuck you. Or maybe it was more of a romantic night, and you were upstairs already, your body splayed across the bed and covered only by a tiny chemise, waiting for someone to come find you and make love to you. Or maybe you were a little bit naughty. Maybe you wore lingerie, flame red, tit lifting, and ass hugging. Maybe you were waiting on the kitchen counter, or the dining room table – your legs spread wide, your hands caressing your own body – signalling for your man to eat you until you cried, then pound you until you went blind. Could your husband even fuck you that good?

Even through his jealousy, Taehyung’s dick twitched at the thought. He knew he could fuck you that good. He knew just what he’d do if he was the one walking through that door, and he couldn’t wait to get back home so he could rub one out as he imagined it – just the way he did last night in his chair and again this morning in the shower. He probably could jerk off right there, in his car, outside your house, like some perverted stalker who knew they wouldn’t be caught – but he didn’t - even he had limits.

Another hour rolled by, and the neighbourhood was now completely quiet and shrouded in darkness, save for the single lamp post. Convinced it was safe, Taehyung quietly exited his car, taking with him a long thin rod. He crossed the crescent then walked up your driveway, stopping when he was next to the passenger door of the station wagon. Taking a quick look around, he slid the thin metal between the driver’s side door and window, maneuvering the piece until he heard the gleeful click of the door unlocking. Sliding himself inside, he first popped the centre console and shuffled through the items for anything of interest. When nothing came about, he checked the glove box, quickly scanning over each piece of paper.

He paused at an envelope, noting the familiar insignia on it. It was from the train station. Flipping it open, he found inside two tickets – dated for a week from today, both headed for the coast. Two tickets. That meant Ezra had intended for two to travel. You hadn’t told Taehyung anything about travelling. Did you know? Was it a surprise? Was that why he worked late, to make extra money for a trip? Or, was it a trip for him and his secret lover? A thousand scenarios ran through Taehyung’s mind, but he had no time to mull them over now. Instead, he snapped two pictures of the tickets before replacing everything as it was.

 

The next morning, Taehyung woke to the irritating sound of his phone buzzing and ringing beside him. Through groggy eyes, he looked towards the clock on his bedside table. Empty bottles of beer and wine blocked his view, and he remembered what he had done after he got home last night.

“Fuck,” he croaked as he finally felt his hangover when he moved to find his phone. The call went to voicemail before he could reach it. He considered ignoring it and rolling back over and back to sleep, but curiosity of who was calling him at six in the morning got the better of him.

It was you. You were the one to call him… but that wasn’t until after you had texted him 11 times already.

Taehyung sat straight up in bed, clicking your number as he did, waiting for you to pick up.

“Taehyung,” your voice came through in a clear distress. “He’s missing!”

[orionwhispers]

Fools Gold // Tommy Shelby

(A/N - ok. i started this imagine in december but then life happened and here we are almost in march. this took a really long time to write and im honestly kind of iffy about it but i hope you guys like it. also side note - tommy is a MASSIVE dick in this and do not let a boy/girl/anyone treat you like this - this is purely fiction and irl if someone uses you like this then they are trash. also second side note im mean to grace in this but I have a lot of feelings ok. LOVE U GUYS)

Thomas Shelby needed a distraction.

His mind was hazy, like looking through a cloud of smoke. He saw Grace everywhere. Sunshine coloured hair reflecting on the grey puddles in the street, sapphire blue eyes watching him from the bluebells sitting on Polly’s desk, her soft laughter in his ears whenever he heard a bell chime. He wanted a distraction. He wanted a quick fix, something soft and warm that would fill the emptiness of his bed and the hole in his heart, but he never imagined just what that would cost.

The first time he saw you was on a Wednesday. The clouds were silver and the air was cold, and London was a welcome change in scenery. He was visiting Ada, in the city for business but wanting to see the kind face of his sister, some softness in his world of sharp. It was late at night, the moon round and full and the library almost empty, and he nodded at his sister in greeting as she filed away the last of the novels.

“Tommy.” She smiled, with rosy cheeks and tousled hair. “Let me just grab my coat and we’ll be off.”

She turned to speak to someone, and Tommy impatiently tapped his clipped fingernails along the edge of a desk, his brain always working, mentally relieving business deals in his head as he waited. He listened to the low hum of the roads outside and the incessant flickering of a street lamp through the window, turning slowly at the sound of footsteps approaching.

His breath hitched in his throat.

Standing beside his sister, all kind eyed and ink stained and sweet as strawberry ice cream was a girl. A girl that for the first time in a long time, made the memories in his brain curl off and vanish like wisps of smoke.

A girl that could be the perfect distraction.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright closing up? I’m sorry to rush off like this.” He didn’t register his sisters voice, his ocean blue eyes trained on you, with your cherry bitten lips and pink polished fingernails.

“Oh Ada, I’m fine. Have a lovely time.” You replied, voice just as honeyed as the rest of you. You gave Tommy a soft smile, wringing your hands together, slightly uncomfortable with the attention you had accidentally drawn to yourself.

He stepped forward without a second thought, his palm outstretched. You blinked back at him, like a deer caught in headlights. Ada had spoken about her brother; how he could sweet talk the devil, and how he was destined to rule the world with his golden mind and silver tongue. You had been intimidated by her words, and standing before him you felt utterly, hopelessly, mortal.

You tried to hide your nerves as you shook his hand, his large fingers engulfing yours and sending sparks down your spine. His blue eyes reminded you of the ocean, like a stormy sea and the smell of salt, and you were worried you might just drown. He wasn’t handsome. He was beautiful.

“My apologies for stealing my sister away.” He said, his voice even and still, warm like a summer breeze. “I’m Tommy.”

“(Y/N).” You replied, trying not to falter under his unwavering stare.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).”

You held his gaze for as long as you could, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks and your neck grow hot. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that was what unsettled you the most. You had never been in the presence of someone so powerful and striking, and you felt so small next to him.

After a moment you pulled away, biting your lip gently and motioning to the overflowing bookshelves around you. “I should get back, it was nice to meet you. Have a nice night, Ada.” You smiled at your friend, before turning on your heel and walking away, feeling eyes bore into your back.

Tommy watched as you left, entranced by the swish of your skirt and the soft footsteps you took, and-the dizzying length of your tight clad legs. Ada tightened her scarf around her throat, a smirk on her face as she made her way to the door.

“Don’t even think about it Tommy.”

——————————————————-

It was hard for him not to.

That night, as he drove back to Birmingham, he pictured your pretty face, your teeth chewing on those rose coloured lips, the slight tremor in your words as you spoke. In the quiet of his bedroom, the moon watching him from high above, it was usually Grace who disrupted his nightly reflection. But for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t her voice soothing him to sleep.

He knew he wasn’t going to fall in love. Grace might have been on the other side of the Atlantic with a husband that didn’t deserve her, but Tommy was a romantic, and he truly thought that one day they would reunite. Lizzie was a good fuck, but she was temporary. Now she was hired as his secretary he didn’t want to blur the lines of their relationship, and he could already feel her growing too close for comfort. He didn’t need a girlfriend, especially when he knew that no one could compare to Grace, he didn’t need another person to worry about and he certainly didn’t need another broken heart. But what he did need was something to fill the void.

It was easy to find you, even with just your first name. He spoke to one of his informants in London, under the guise of ‘looking for a new assistant’ and the following day he had a stack of papers sitting on his desk.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N). You worked at the library two days a week, and spent the other three training as a nurse. There were no previous addresses or references from past jobs, just your current flat and the hospital where you worked part time. There was nothing personal, no mention of family or relatives nearby, just a slightly faded photograph of you taken before the war. You weren’t looking at the camera, your eyes occupied elsewhere, almost as if you were shying away from the photographer. You looked younger, but just as beautiful and Tommy thumbed the worn print between his fingers; careful not to smudge your face, a fingertip trailing along your lips.

———————————————————-

The flowers came three days after you had met.

You had been at the hospital learning how to properly stitch wounds, and your head was numb from processing so much information. You were exhausted, droplets of rain splattering across your collar and down the back of your blouse, and you were desperate for the warmth of your bed. You toyed with the keys in your pocket, finger running across the ridges so that you could get in as quickly as possible, but you fumbled when you noticed a spark of crimson on your doormat.

It must have cost at least a hundred pounds. Rich, ruby red roses all neatly clipped and arranged, their petals healthy and as soft as butter, and the gold foil writing on the box was of a store on the other side of London, one you had been too intimidated to even step foot in. You assumed that it was for Mrs Kim upstairs, or perhaps a gift from Ron to Mark after they had one of their colossal rows, but as you reached for the label, you felt your brow furrow.

“It really was a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Regards, Tommy Shelby.”

You left them in your kitchen, squashed into the only vase you owned, clipping them practically to the wick to get them all to fit. You ignored them as you ate dinner, the radio nothing but noise in the background. You tried not to think of them as you sank into a scalding hot bath, or as you clambered into bed, and it worked - because what you thought of as you drifted off to sleep wasn’t ruby red roses, but ocean blue eyes.

——————————————————————

Two more bouquets came in two weeks. Both just as lavish and extravagant as the first, and both sitting in the biggest drinking glasses you owned. Your flat smelt like a florists’, and pollen lingered on your clothes all day, a constant reminder of the man who had sent them. You busied yourself with work, letting the day to day distractions of the injured occupy your mind. The hospital had needed an extra pair of hands and you needed experience, but when you finally returned to the library, you cornered Ada as she restocked the shelves.

“Oh (Y/N)!” She smiled, as pure and fresh as new snow. “It’s not been the same without you.”

“I don’t want a boyfriend.”You blurted out, eyes wide.

You had hoped to say something more eloquent, but Ada’s jet black hair and similarity to her brother made you fall pathetically at the last hurdle. Her eyebrows shot up, and you inhaled deeply. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Please tell Tommy, thank you for the flowers, but I’m not really looking for something right now.”

“Tommy sent you flowers?” There was curiosity evident in her voice as she stepped forward, heeled boot clicking against the floor.

“Well, more like three bouquets.”

“Wow.” Her brows almost reached the pendant light dangling from the ceiling.

“I thought you knew - I mean, I thought you gave him my address.”

She shook her head, a small smirk dancing in her face. “Nope. But that’s never stopped Tommy before.”

You exhaled, looking up at her and chewing on the bottom of your lip. “You know that I - I can’t. I don’t think I’m ready, you know, after everything...”

Ada was your closest friend, she had been since she arrived in London. Beautiful and intelligent, with her young son and quick wit - you remembered meeting her on her first day at the library, feeling nervous and intimidated by such a confident and clever woman, but barely a week passed and it felt as though you had known her your entire life. As the months flew by, the two of you would often go for drinks or dinner by the river, staying out till midnight and laughing until your ribs felt tough. She trusted you enough to let you babysit Karl, the little boy calling you his Auntie and making your insides swell with pride. And finally, on a warm summer night, with her cherry red lips and coal black eyeliner, the two of you watching the sun set from the balcony of her expansive house, she opened up to you.

As the sky darkened and you shared champagne and strawberries in the open air, she told you about her family and her past. Her voice was smaller than you had ever heard it, such a powerful woman almost seeming meek as she bore her soul to you. She told you about Freddie, the headstrong and golden hearted man she had fallen for, and you intertwined your fingers when she spoke about his death. She told you about her reasons for arriving in London, cautiously speaking about a gang that roamed the streets back home, you listened intently, eyes wide when she revealed that the main members were of her own blood.

She trusted you inexplicably, telling you things that she had burrowed away for years and that meant the world to you. So under the moonlight, you tipped your head back and emptied your glass, blinking back tears as you explained your own past, the one you had been running from.

Now though, she pressed a kind hand to your shoulder, her eyes softening ever so slightly and it broke you away from your thoughts.“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’ll tell Tommy to keep his cock in his pants.” She winked at you, making you let out the breath that you had been holding, a relieved chuckle escaping from your throat.

She tugged your sleeve gently, motioning to the overflowing pile of dog eared novels by her feet. “Come and help me sort all this out.” She said “And let me fill you in on my date yesterday.”

Ada phoned Tommy as soon as she arrived home. He answered on the third ring, his voice tired and thick with smoke, his exhaustion evident through the speaker. One mention of you however, and he perked up like he had downed three shots of espresso. Work had been fucking awful, and imaging you and those rosebud lips was a pleasant distraction from the ache in his skull.

Ada told him to back off, and he could practically feel his sisters stern expression despite being 100 miles away from her. “She’s too nice for you Tommy, and not interested. Besides aren’t there enough girls in Birmingham? Why do you have to come after the one I’ve actually made friends with?”

Tommy had rolled his eyes. He loved his sister, but he didn’t feel like explaining his reasoning to her. He knew that she would never approve, never really understand him.

“You know I want you to find someone, especially after...” She inhaled sharply, choosing her words carefully. “Look, Tommy, you’ll find someone, but just not (Y/N), yeah? She’s been through a lot.”

He hummed, not voicing his real thoughts, always liking to keep his cards close to his chest. He said his goodbyes and hung up, Ada’s words lingering in his brain. His spine had stiffened at the implication of Grace, he hated being reminded of the past, especially memories he was trying so hard to forget. But it wasn’t just that, there was something about the words she had chosen that had sparked a fire in his gut.

“She’s been through a lot.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she was insinuating, but to him, it made you all the more alluring. He would never pursue a woman who truly wanted nothing to do with him. He might not have been the textbook definition of a ‘good man’ but he respected those who turned him down - although it was very much a rarity. But there was something about you, something about the way that you had held his stare, the innocence in your eyes and the attractiveness that hung around you like sugar water.

He loved the chase, especially when the reward was as sweet as you.

—————————————————————-

He waited outside your flat, hands in his pockets and peaked cap low on his head. It was almost six and he knew that you would be returning from the hospital soon, so he crossed his legs, leaning on the doorframe with a cigarette between his lips, secondhand smoke curling in the air.

He heard you before he saw you; the hiss of the cold air as you fought with the heavy door, the clunk of your patent loafers across the concrete and the jangle of your keys in your palm. He smiled to himself. Watching as you walked up the stairs, rifling through papers in your hands and then looking up suddenly, your eyes widening with shock.

“Tommy.” You said, filled with genuine surprise, clutching your handbag tightly, sure that you would drop it otherwise.

He liked the way his name sounded on your tongue.

He reached forward, steadying your wobbling hands and collecting the papers before they could scatter down the hallway. You stiffened at the contact, but he held you secure.

“Is Ada alright?” You asked quickly, hoping his impromptu visit didn’t come with bad news. He looked down and felt his stomach twist at the sight of your long lashes and shining wide eyes.

He shook his head. “My sisters fine. I actually came here for you.”

“Me?”

“Ada rang me, and I wanted to apologise for being so forward. It wasn’t my intention.”

You straightened, pulling slightly away from his hands. “You could have called, or written a letter.” The words came out slightly sharper than you had hoped, but you felt bristled by his sudden appearance.

He smiled. A half tug that looked boyish and cheeky, almost a smirk, and you hated the way that it made your heart flutter. “Well, yes, but that would have meant not seeing you in person.”

You fought back your own embarrassed grin, feeling blush rise from your throat to the plump of your cheeks. A flicker of humour sparked in his eyes, feeling triumphant at getting even the smallest of responses from you. The heat around your collar was turning such a delicious shade of red, like a honeycrisp apple, and it was hard for him to look away.

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You shifted on one foot, trying not to look into his milky blue eyes, knowing that if you did he would have you hook, line and sinker. “Tommy... I don’t know.”

“Just one dinner and I’ll be out of your hair.”

You exhaled, feeling yourself starting to cave. “Okay. One dinner. And nowhere fancy.”

Five minutes later and you were out the door. You had slipped off your work uniform and stepped into a lavender beaded dress and a pair of modest kitten heels. You hated the way you double checked your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the stray hairs by your forehead, placing a cool hand to your chest to try and level your breathing. You didn’t put on any makeup, you weren’t trying to give Tommy the wrong idea.

You reminded yourself that you were just going to dinner, as friends. Nothing more.

Tommy watched you under the shimmering lights of the club. The rhythmic clash of the jazz band echoed all around him, beautiful women laughed and swayed on the dance floor, and the air was thick with smoke and bitter whisky, but his attention was solely cast at you.

Your head was down, and you were picking at the food on your plate. The expensive bottle of red wine sat opened in the middle of you both, your glass untouched and his filled halfway.The owner had recognised him immediately and sent over the gift, and he didn’t miss the caution that flashed on your face at the gesture.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” He asked, voice smooth like silk.

You looked up at him. “No, thank you though. I have an early shift in the morning.”

He nodded, cutting through his steak, a sliver of blood on his knife. “How long have you been a nurse?”

He already knew, but he wanted to hear your answer.

“Well, I’m technically not a nurse - not yet. I’m still training, but I only have a few months to go.” You smiled, and he watched as your whole face lit up as you talked about your passion. “I’ve always wanted to do it. Now I finally am.”

“Well, I think that’s very admirable.”

“And what do you do?”

“Oh. I’m a bad man.” He said, as if it was the most causal thing in the world. His cobalt eyes flickered from his plate to you, holding you hostage in his gaze.“But I’m sure Ada’s told you all about that.”

You inhaled. “I try not to judge people based on rumours.”

“Even if they hold some truth in them?”

You didn’t say anything. You swirled around the spaghetti on your plate, spearing your fork through a pea. After a moment you cleared your throat, daring to look up at him.

“I think the world has changed. Times have moved on, and sometimes it requires a firmer hand to get where you want to be.”

Tommy paused, genuinely taken aback by your reply. You had been so timid and placid before, but now there was an intensity to your words, one that he found particularly alluring.

“It doesn’t mean that I agree, but - ” You sighed. “A few years ago, I was turned down by a nursing school; they said I was too young and too inexperienced and... it really shattered my confidence. I was going to give up completely, but instead I decided to keep studying, and I was working three jobs to just make ends meet. When I applied again I made sure that there was no way they would reject me.”

Your eyes flickered up momentarily as you chewed on your upper lip. “All I’m saying is, sometimes you have to work hard to get what you want.”

Tommy mulled over your words, tongue running over his teeth. He picked up the stem of his wine glass and held it towards you in a toast. His eyes caught yours and his stare was unwavering, the edge of his lips unturned in a boyish smirk.

“To getting what we want.”

———————————————————-

You really, truly, honestly, didn’t want to enjoy your dinner with Tommy - but you did. The night was so easy, after a while you managed to find a comfortable niche and the conversation flowed like running water. As time passed you found yourself giving into habits that you thought you had left behind, like tucking a loose curl behind your ear, or giggling into your hands, a warm shade of pink staining your skin. Tommy watched you, the anchor on his chest lifting slightly, the way it always did when he found himself getting his way.

He walked you home with his suit jacket draped over your shoulders; despite your protests, leaving you smelling like whisky sours and cigarettes. He could feel your apprehension as you stood under the archway of your apartment building. The wind had picked up and rain was drizzling onto the both of you, and his stomach tightened when you looked up at him with raindrops coating your eyelashes. He was waiting for you to speak first. If he had his way, he would be joining you in your flat, pressing you up against the wall and kissing your lips until they were swollen. He wanted to untangle the braid in your hair, unlace the dress that made you look ethereal and feel you breathless under him, but he remained patient.

The truth was that even though you had only spent one evening alone, the constant buzz of work and life in his brain had faded into static. (There was only one woman who had ever made it fully fade, but now he knew now to take whatever he could get). He had genuinely enjoyed the night, even without the guarantee of ending it in your bed. It was pleasant to spend a few hours talking about something other than business deals or brutality, to fill silences with stories about films you had seen or your misbehaving patients.

He would be satisfied with a goodnight kiss, to taste the sweetness of your lips and feel the curve of your waist under his palm. He liked the way that the nerves you had started the night with were flittering under your skin once again; it made him feel good, it made him feel wanted, it made him feel powerful. It would be enough to sate him over until the next time you met up - because believe him, there would be a next time - but even he couldn’t stop the flare of surprise that splashed over his face when you simply handed him back his jacket and darted up the stairs.

“Thank you for dinner, Tommy. Have a good night.”

Underneath the broken bulb in your hallway, with his expensive patent shoes slowly filling with water, he let out a loud, genuine, chuckle.

—————————————

A few days passed, and whilst your evening with Tommy still lingered in your mind, work was much too hectic for you to be wrapped up in distractions. There were no more surprise bouquets or unannounced visits, and no phone calls at the end of your shifts either, you knew you should have been relieved, but you couldn’t ignore the tiny flicker of disappointment. You decided to tell Ada, mentioning your dinner casually the next time that you saw her, dropping it into conversation as though it wasn’t a monumental piece of gossip.

“You did what?” Her voice echoed around the expansive library and you playfully shushed her, pointing to the people reading on the floor below.

“It’s not that big of a deal!”

“Psh! Easy for you to say!” She huffed, elbowing you in the ribs as she meticulously rearranged the books on the shelf in front of her. “I thought you were... you know...” She waved her hand like she was wafting smoke from her face, a clear indication of what she thought you were going to do to her brother.

You sighed, wiping the dust from a hardcover. “I know, I know. But he’s... charming.”

“Yeah, like a fox.”

You laughed at her blunt tone. She turned away and continued working, her shoulders shrugging with her movements. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will, mum.” You tugged on the bottom of her hair like a child, making her meet your line of sight. “Honestly, Ada, it was a nice night, but it’s not like it’s going to go anywhere. I have no plans to see him again - ever.”

Your intentions were shattered as you left the hospital one evening, stopping dead in your tracks when you recognised the distinct peaked cap and felt the unmistakable domineering aura all around you. You tried to bite back the smile threatening to take over your entire face when you saw him leaning against a red brick wall, tall and cool, the kind of man that would have a million songs made about him.

You couldn’t deny the twist in your gut when he smiled at you, so cheeky yet smooth like rich dark chocolate. You felt the envious glances of the other nurses leaving their shifts around you, bubbling with jealousy and curiosity. You didn’t even care that you would be the main topic of discussion at the next tea break on Monday, as much as you hated to admit it, you felt like the world around you was blurring, leaving nothing but the two of you.

“Is this a social call, Tommy? Or should I get the first aid kit.” You called out under the noise of the streets around you, your voice deceivingly controlled.

He flipped his leather notebook closed, one you hadn’t even noticed he was so engrossed in, sliding it into his pocket and uncrossing his legs, his eyes shining with humour.

“No, not tonight. Although I’ll know where to come if I ever need it.”

You came to a stop just before him, not trusting yourself to get too close.“What can I do for you, Thomas?”

He didn't comment on the space you had left between you, but you knew that he had noticed it. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet, nimble fingers rifling through until he pulled out two stubs of paper.

“I have tickets for the play tonight.”

You felt your eyes widen as he showed you the passes. You had made an offhand comment at dinner about wanting to see this particular play, one that you didn’t think he had even noticed, but he was obviously more observant than you had given him credit for.

“Wow. That’s great.” You smiled, “Well, I hope you have a lovely night.” You winked at him, turning on your heel but he grabbed the edge of your sleeve, pulling you back towards him.

“I think it’ll be a little rude of me if I show up alone, and besides, a lot of these things tend to go over my head, I think I might need somebody to help me understand everything.”

You wanted to resist. You wanted to tell him no. You wanted to be strong and admit that the fortress you had built around yourself wasn’t ready to start crumbling down, not just yet.

But you couldn’t.

You knew that this could all be a mistake. Letting people in wasn’t something you were used to, especially not someone as charming and handsome as Tommy. But you found yourself liking him, as though he had some kind of magnetic hold over you, pulling you closer even when you wanted to run.

“Tommy I - It’s kind of you, but I don’t think it’ll be wise.”

“Please.” He said, and hearing such a vulnerable word coming from his mouth made your throat constrict. “I know that I’m being forward and feel free to tell me to piss off, but honestly, I had such a wonderful dinner with you and I would love to take you out again. And besides, you’re my only friend here in London.”

“What about your sister?”

“Oh we’re really not that close.” He teased.

You laughed, chewing on your lip so harshly you thought you might draw blood. Despite the protests in your brain you reached out and took a ticket, looking up at him with those big eyes that made his toes curl.

“Fine.”

The theatre was beautiful. It was wide and open, with red velvet seats and high ceilings. It was the prefect escape, laughing and gasping with the audience as the actors fought and danced on stage, magnificent hand painted back drops making you feel like you were no longer in London. You ate truffle coated popcorn and drank glasses of champagne, all sent over by the ushers that recognised Tommy instantly, practically bowing to him when you both arrived.

But Tommy truly couldn’t care less for whatever was happening in front of you both, because he was completely captivated by you. He liked when you tipped your head back when you laughed, he liked the way your eyes lit up and followed the characters on stage, as though you were in a trance. He followed the curve of your nose and the pout of your lip under the cream coloured lights, unable to fight back the smile when you noticed him, blush rising up your neck like a tidal wave.

He walked you home that night, just like he had before, his jacket slung over your shoulders and his hand ghosting against yours. You seemed more open, your anecdotes a little more personal and your laugh a little louder, and he really felt like he might be getting somewhere. He liked making you giggle and the way you tucked into his side when a car raced by a little too fast, and he wasn’t even disappointed when you simply handed back his coat at the end of the night, a ghost of a smile on your lips - if anything it made him want you more.

The morning after the play, with eyes blurred from sleep and a migraine brewing behind your eyes, you found a still warm lemon loaf and a container of expensive coffee on your doorstep. You smiled as you tied your hair up messily with a powder pink ribbon you had around your wrist, placing the coffee inside by the kettle and half of the sickly sweet treat in your handbag, knowing you would need it to soften up Ada when you inevitably told her about the evening you had shared.

She had rolled her eyes and scolded you; reminding you to be cautious. And you wanted to be, really, but there was something about him that made you ignore the warning signs hammering in your chest, and before you knew it you were back under his arm when he next showed up on your doorstep.

He took you to a horse show on the other side of London, telling you that he needed another pair of eyes and a consultant for helping him choose a new mare. You had told him you knew nothing about horses, and yet he persisted, pulling you in with that damned smile and those ocean blue eyes. You had managed to get one over on him though, meeting him at his car the next day, dressed in a blood red gown that made his breath get caught in his throat. You looked beautiful, ethereal even, with your curled hair and shy eyes. And that colour red, the colour of sin against such a gentle soul made the fire in the pit of his belly reignite whenever he looked at you, but worst of all, was the way that colour reminded him of her.

He didn’t want to be wallowing in the past. So he allowed himself to get sucked into you, allowed the smell of your perfume and the sound of your voice and the warmth of your body distract himself from the blonde beauty that was clawing back into his mind.

He was waiting for you in his matte black car on his last night in London, and you tried to ignore the thump of your heart when you realised that he wanted to spend his final day in the city with you. He drove to Hyde Park, the sun was high and the sky was the cloudless, a long stretch of blue that seemed to go on forever. You walked across the grass, keeping your hands laced together so you wouldn’t risk brushing your fingertips against his, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hide the goosebumps that would rise on your skin.You watched him smoke, inhaling and exhaling smoothly, blowing out nicotine like it was water, and he smiled when he caught your eye.

“Why did you bring me here today?” You asked finally, when the two of you came to a stop by the edge of the pond, watching the ducks and swans swim between the reeds.

“I like appreciating beautiful things.” He said, tilting his head so he was looking you in the eye.

You sighed, watching the sun reflect diamonds from the water. “I don’t understand you, Tommy, and that makes me nervous.” He didn’t know what to say, and so he let you continue. “How much has Ada told you about me?”

“Nothing. She’s a good friend.”

“She’s my best friend.” You murmured, and he watched the way your eyes glossed over, like you were replaying a million memories in your head. “You know, she told me to stay away from you.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t know why you’re pursuing me.” Your voice was small, like the ripples that lapped over the top of the pond.

The truth is he didn't either. He knew it was wrong, using you as a way to get over Grace, but he’s never been known for having the most ethical methods. Doesn’t he deserve this? For everything he does, for the money he makes and the lives he’s built for his family, doesn’t he deserve something kind and pretty and gentle? Doesn’t he deserve a distraction from all the noise?

You reached into your handbag, rummaging around through the loose lipsticks and many receipts that you’ve shoved inside. He peered as you pulled out a small coin purse, rose coloured and no bigger than your palm. You unclasped the two little pearls at the top, and he noticed your fingers shaking ever so slightly, like a leaf in the wind.

You pulled out a picture and handed it to him, dog eared and greying but unmistakably you, laughing into the cheek of a young man, his arms slung over your shoulder. Tommy looked over at you, but you were watching the water, jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“Who is he?”

“Steven.” You cleared the lump residing in your throat, the one that always surfaced when you spoke about him. “We lived next door to each other, he was my first kiss, my first love, my first - everything.”

Tommy felt a pang in his gut like a sucker punch, he could hear the hurt in your words, he knows it too well, because it’s the same that echoes around his skull whenever he thinks about Grace.

You continued, “We were together since primary school, and all through secondary. I really thought we were going to be with each other forever.” You sniffled, and Tommy knows what you’ll say before you’ve even formed the words, because he’d been through the horrors himself. “He was a few years older than me though, and then he... and then he got drafted.”

“He was never made for the war. No one is, not really, but he was special. He was so kind and gentle and funny, and it wasn’t fair. We got married the day before he was sailing to France. I wore my mothers dress, it was too big and a few buttons were broken, but it was perfect. We were just kids in love.”

The silence that followed told Tommy everything he needed to know, and his gut felt heavy, like it was filled with lead. He wanted to reach out and touch you, the sadness radiating off of you like perfume, but he kept his hands to himself.

“How did it happen?” Tommy asked after a moment, knowing that you might not be able to bring up the subject unless he did.

“Second battle of Somme. Front line. They said he took the bullet instead of his comrade, jumped in the way to save him. They said he died quickly, that he wasn’t in much pain.”

“He died a hero.”

“He shouldn’t have died at all.”

Tommy agreed with that.

“The war took too many good men.” His voice was growing as sullen as his eyes, thinking back to a time that always sucked the life from him, his mind growing hazy with thoughts of the trenches and mud on his feet, sticky blood staining his hands.

“And destroyed those left behind.”

He inched closer to you. He was so tall and stoic, eyes focused on the water in front of you yet you felt completely seen, something about him making you feel content. Above you, the clouds were darkening, a chill whipping around you both. He brushed his shoulder against yours, the fabric making you shiver slightly, and he grabbed your wrist gently, intertwining your fingers with his, making the first move because he knew you couldn’t.

“Come on,” He said, voice raspy and thick like billowing smoke. “We don’t want to get stuck in the storm.”

The rain was torrential. It was almost comical how quickly the clouds gathered and darkened, spitting droplets from above that trickled down and splattered the both of you. You giggled as you ran to the car, Tommy holding his jacket above the two of you, your heels splashing through puddles. It felt like a weight had lifted from your chest, when you opened the car door and bolted inside, breathless and wild. It had always been hard to talk about Steven, the words getting stuck in your throat like thick honey, but the relief of having it out in the open was enormous. You didn’t realise just how much of the past you were holding onto.

Raindrops were scattered along Tommy’s fine leather seats, the bottom of your dress painted with a faint layer of mud. His windshield wipers squealed as the cleared away the water, the car thick with tension and heat rising from your damp bodies. It was late by the time you made it back to the centre of the city, the rain still cascading down loudly onto the pavement around you. You could hear your blood rushing to your ears, the kind of constant hum that made you feel as though you were being held underwater.

Your whole body was bubbling with apprehension, you could feel Tommy moving behind you, the edge of his jacket brushing against your arm. You couldn’t find your keys inside your handbag, struggling from adrenaline and the icy chill of the air. Wet hair clung to your forehead, and you were certain your mascara was halfway down your cheeks, and you turned to Tommy to apologise for your clumsiness, but he was already gazing at you.

You were looking up at him, so innocent and so gentle and so beautiful under the soft glow of the navy sky and the twinkling stars and all he really wanted was to kiss you senseless - so he did.

He tasted like sweet mint and nicotine, and you tasted like woodsmoke and wisteria. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, it wasn’t like stealing kisses in the alley when you were sixteen, or clumsy kisses in the bed you shared with Steven, this was intense and passionate and all consuming. Tommy allowed you to devour him, the smell of you overpowering his senses and he buried his soft aching hands in your messy hair.

His body was pressed against you, thick and hard against the velvet of your figure. You pulled away slowly, lips puffy and swollen and baby pink. You were blushing, red hot from nerves and exhilaration and you laughed sweetly against the crook of his neck, eyelashes fluttering against his flesh.

“Do you want to come inside?”

His fingertips were the paint coated brushes and your body was the perfect canvas. You reacted to his touch like it was everything you craved. Your kisses were open mouthed and messy, and he had to bite his tongue to stop the cascade of groans threatening to spill from his lips. Your pulses were synced, the low light of your bedroom made you look like a creature from a fairytale, and he touched you like you were made from glass. His hands were soft yet rough, you let him run his fingers through his hair and then leave bruises on your hip bones. He shuddered into your neck, sweat dripping onto your skin, whines leaving your mouth that he wanted to drill into his brain and remember for the rest of his life.

He was breathless. He closed his eyes as he laid down next to you, the sky outside black like coal. You had been perfect. He couldn’t hear the shovels. The usual constant battle in his brain was replaced by the salty memory of your skin, your hot breath against his ear, your legs tangling with his. He felt you next to him, curling into him slightly, your body still recovering and your toes twitching.

The bedroom was quiet, nothing but the creak of the wind against the window and the occasional pattern of rain against the glass. He felt his ears twitch when you opened your mouth, muffled and sleepy, a pang of sadness in your voice.

“Please don’t break my heart.”

He pretended to be asleep.

————————————————————-

He was gone when you woke up. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting, but cracking your eyes open to the lazy sunrise and the emptiness of your bed was as painful as a bullet in your spine. You felt embarrassed, looking down at the marks of your skin as you scrubbed away the night in the bath, running a warm flannel over your skin so many times that your flesh turned red. You felt ashamed; ashamed that you hadn’t listened to your best friend and ashamed that you had put your trust in someone that you knew would hurt you.

But deep down, in the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t deny that you still liked him, still wished that he was with you. You knew it was wrong but you forgave him. You knew he had to leave early; perhaps he hadn’t slipped out the way you had thought, perhaps he had truly wanted to stay. You felt foolish and young and weak, but you missed the feeling of his lips and his skin, the weight of his hips against yours.

Two full weeks passed by until he showed up again. There were no calls, no surprise bouquets or impromptu visits, just the lingering feeling of shame on your body. You didn’t say anything to Ada, too mortified to admit that you had slept with her brother and he had run out before you had woken up. You knew that he was the one in the wrong, he was the one who deserved to feel like shit for treating you that way, but that didn’t stop the pounding of your own insecurities.

Rich raspberry wine and candied cherries, these were the remedy for a broken heart. You were sitting cross legged on the sofa, the radio crackling behind you, soft jazz lulling you into a relaxed daze. You were sewing the hem of one of your dresses, threading the needle and watching the stitches close. You had already downed two glasses of wine, loving the taste and the burn in your belly, and you groaned when you heard two sharp raps on the front door.

“Ron, did you forget your keys again?” You huffed, expecting to see your forgetful neighbour waiting for you, but almost catching your fingers in the door when you realised who it was instead.

“Hi.”

Piercing blue eyes and a jawline that could slice your palm, two things that you simultaneously adored and loathed. His hand curled around the door as you tried to slam it shut, pushing against you so it couldn’t be closed.

“Fuck off.”

“Please. Please. (Y/N).”

“No Tommy - Thomas. Fuck!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t give a shit.” You lied.

“Please just let me explain.” He said and you huffed, trying your hardest to not look at him for too long, it was like looking directly into the sun: painful and disappointing.

“I - No.”

“Please.”

Fuck him and that fucking voice.

You opened the door a crack, enough for him to slip through and into your flat. He looked so dark amongst the bright colours of your crockery and the yellow tulips planted on your windowsill. You moved backwards, trying to make yourself as small as possible, ignoring the ache growing inside of you, the ache to run into his arms and forgive him.

“I’m sorry for the way I left.” He scratched his forehead and cleared his throat, the sound echoing around the room. “There’s no excuse.”

“You made me look like a twat, Tommy.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” You said, but you weren’t sure if you meant it, liking the vulnerability in his words, the tenderness of his voice soothing you despite your inner anger.

He lifted his palm to run through his hair, jet black coat cloaking over him like a shadow. You saw it then, under the light of the blue moon, a gash tearing through the skin on his wrist.

“You’re bleeding.” You stated, and you saw his eyes widen slightly, looking at the wound on his arm as if he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Huh.”

“God, Tommy.” You inhaled, sucking air through your teeth, “Let me clean it, it looks like it needs stitches.” You hated yourself for giving in, knowing that the cut wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t like he was going to be leaving your flat in a stretcher, but you still cared for him, despite everything.

The smell of antiseptic wipes and the tangy metallic taste of blood filled your bathroom. You pressed on him a little too hard, smiling as he winced slightly. Neither of you spoke, letting the silence hang between the both of you, almost tangible. You could feel his eyes on you, those fucking sparkling eyes following the curve of your nose and the wave of your hair, lingering a little too long on your lips.

“I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You bit through the gauze, measuring it against his skin, anything to not meet his line of sight.

“I have a habit of ruining good things.”

You scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for that line?”

“I thought you might hit me if apologised again.”

Against your better judgment, you laughed. “Yeah, I might have.”

His palm, warm and heavy and reminding you of the pressure of his body on top of yours, clasped over your own, making you still.

“Have I fucked everything up?” He asked. You didn’t say anything, not trusting your own voice. You felt the roughness of his fingertips circling your skin, languid like waves lapping across the shore. He inched closer towards you, smelling like fresh crisp apples and old cigarette butts, managing to always be the perfect mix of chaos and control. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

You should have pushed him away, but you didn’t. You gave into the darkness of his blue eyes, the ring of lust forming around his pupils and the desire stirring in your belly like bubbling water. He tasted so sinful yet sweet and you were the perfect remedy for the terrible day he had, so receptive and angelic under his touch.

“If you rip your stitches, you’ll have to redo them yourself.”

He laughed into the soft, buttery flesh below your jugular, kissing your collarbones as his hands dragged you impossibly closer, lips crashing onto yours.

You fell asleep first. Hair cascading on your silk pillowcase, and he connected the freckles on your back like they were constellations. He could hear the gentle drip of the tap in the bathroom, and

the hum of the city around you. The noise in his head had stopped, but it still remained like a dull static in the back of his mind. He pushed it away though, focusing on the calming energy of your body and the tenderness of your touch.

He would be gone tomorrow.

He’ll let you wake up to him, he’ll drink the coffee in your kitchen and fuck you under the golden sunlight, open mouthed kisses shared in the confines of your apartment. But then he’ll leave again, giving you just enough to allow him to come back. He craved you, but it was medicinal, like a hit of opium when the shovels got too loud, not something he could afford to indulge in.

He looked over at you, fast asleep, your nose twitching slightly. He can’t give you what you want or what you deserve, but just for the night, in the quiet of your bedroom, with his hands on the curve of your hips, he’ll be the man that you want him to be.

—————————————————————-

His visits were sporadic and unpredictable. He would show up out of the blue, lurking around the back streets like a nomad, knocking on your door just before midnight, his hands covered in blood. On those nights you would clean him up, neither of you would speak as you washed away the crimson from his skin, rubbing ointment on the growing purple bruises on his knuckles. He would kiss you feverishly and wildly, desperate to feel your body so soft and pliant under his. Those nights he craved control, and you were the only person who would give it completely to him.

Sometimes he would show during the day, with a wide smile and an expensive suit, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He would take you to dinner or for walks down the canal, you might sit curled in his lap at the pictures or perhaps drive to a new city, his hand in yours, allowing you to pretend that you weren’t just the girl he came to when he wanted to feel something.

He would take you gently, almost romantically. In the back of his car or at a hotel that cost more for one night than your months rent, moulding your body under his like clay. He’d make you moan for him, the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, and he’ll relish in the attention you’ll give him. You’ll be the one thing that calms him after a hard days work, it’ll be your body and touch that unclench his fists and help calm his mind. He uses you like snow, strong, hard hits that leave him gasping for breath.

He’d always be gone before the sunrises. He’d wait for you to be asleep, hair around your head like a halo, lips puffy and swollen from clashing with his, fingertip shaped bruises across your hips. He’d never stay long enough to hear the disappointment in your voice, see the gloss that coats your eyes, the hurt pounding in your chest.

It stings like alcohol on a wound even when you’re expecting it. When you wake up and your bed is cold and empty, and your body is missing the warmth of his. You’ll give yourself a few moments to cry, take a scalding hot bath and scrub his smell from your flesh, tell yourself over and over that this is the last time. Never again. But you know as you make your way home, with a clouded head and aching legs, that the next time he shows up, you’ll let him stay.

———————————————————-

It had been almost a month.

A month of complete silence. You felt stupid but not surprised, the sadness nothing more than a dull pain in your chest now. You felt like you were just existing, not living. Constantly waiting for him to show up at your door and make your world start spinning again. You tried to distract yourself with work, but hearing the ladies gossip in the cafeteria about their loving boyfriends and amazing dates made the hole in your heart throb.

You hadn’t told Ada what had been going on, but she was your best friend, and you were certain she had already sussed it. You’d been skipping shifts at the library, spending more of your time cooped up in your flat or the hospital, opting for overnight shifts, anything to distract you from the loneliness of your bed.

Your cupboards were bare, cups of tea gone cold dotted all over your flat, and cobwebs starting to appear in the corners of your walls. You needed to go to the grocer and buy something that wasn’t bread or wine or chocolate. You were rooting through your purse, hands smelling like copper when you heard the shrill ring of your doorbell. Your heart stopped, but you didn’t get your hopes up; you were done waiting around for him like a bloody border collie.

You could see her silhouette behind the door, raven coloured ringlets and red lipstick. You sighed, running your fingers over the creases in your jumper before you opened the door, expensive french perfume wafting into your flat.

“You’re avoiding me.” She said sharply, waltzing inside, thick fur jacket brushing past you.

“No I’m not, Ada.”

“Yes you bloody are!”

You watched as she rummaged through your cupboards, pulling out two glasses and then flopping down on your sofa and patting the seat next to her. She grabbed a bottle of vodka from inside her handbag, almost bigger than your head, and she started to pour.

“Tell me everything.”

So you did. It was embarrassing and awkward, but damn did it feel good to get off your chest. Ada sat watching intently, pursing her lips and sighing when appropriate, burgundy nails tapping on your table when she got particularly annoyed. She threw her head back and finished her second glass, faint cherry red staining the rim.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit friend.” You apologised, gulping the remaining droplets of your own drink. “I just - God, I had no idea what to tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything.” Her voice was ernest and for the first time in a long time you actually felt like you could breathe, Ada always had that effect on you. She had a way of making people feel comfortable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” You sighed, cradling your knees to your chest. “I was too embarrassed.”

“It’s not your fault, babe, Tommy’s a dickhead!” She shoved you lightly and you smiled halfheartedly. “And I would tell him that in person! Not that I’ve seen him since Grace came back.”

You felt your spine go rigid.

“Grace?”

Annoyance painted Ada’s face, and she pursued her lips like she was sucking on a lemon.“He didn’t tell you about her? That she came back?”

Not explicitly, but she had always been there. Ada had once told you about her brothers lover, the beautiful blonde vixen who had turned his world on its axis. That was partly why you were so hesitant, knowing you couldn’t compare to a woman like her, but Tommy had made you trust him, and look how that turned out.

Now you were slapped with the cold, hard truth, and it hurt.

She was the woman always on the tip of his tongue, the one that he saw when he closed his eyes. You were the body he used, the temporary buzz and the hit of pain relief, but she was the one he really wanted, the woman he pretended you were.

“No. Must have slipped his mind.” You laughed falsely, feeling tears build behind your eyes. You inhaled, your voice quiet. “But Grace - she was the one wasn’t she? You know, the one who...”

The one who broke his heart. The woman he loved, the woman he really wanted.

She hesitated, but then nodded sadly. “Yes.”

“God I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m sorry baby.” Ada pulled you into her arms, cradling you against her chest like she was comforting her son. You let the tears fall, felt them cascading down your cheeks like a waterfall. Ada stroked your hair and pulled you close, and you closed your eyes, finally giving into the sadness.

———————————————————-

It was slow - the healing process. Falling back into a routine of work and chores, and eventually starting to laugh and smile again. You passed your final exam with flying colours, finally becoming a registered nurse. Ada was there with Karl, cheering you on when you left the hall with papers in your hands. You continued working at the library, hiding behind the bookshelves at the back with Ada, clutching your stomach from laughing so hard, your knees weak. You made new friends with the ladies at work, visiting clubs and bars on the weekends, trips to the pictures after a long day on the job. You even got asked out on a date, with a handsome doctor called Dennis who always made you a cup of coffee in the morning and saved you the donut with pink sprinkles he knew you liked.

It took time, but you were finally starting to feel the wound scab over, but of course, a hurricane in the form of a smart mouthed gangster was just enough to blow down everything you had worked so hard in repairing.

Three months of no contact had passed.

It was late. Hot water billowed around you as you stirred your tea bag, inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon and lemon. You pulled your satin robe tight against your skin, admiring the soft blush pink colour and shuffling towards the bedroom in your matching slippers. You hummed as you turned down your bed, longing for the sweet embrace of your covers, but you were pulled from your daydream by pounding on your front door. You sighed, ignoring it and continuing to fluff your pillows, but when it didn’t stop, you frowned and stormed towards the assailant.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You muttered, swinging the door wide open, but the words evaporated like ocean spray when you came face to face with the man you least wanted to see. It was such a cruel sense of deja vu, and you could feel your face growing red hot with anger.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

He ignored you, stepping over the threshold and back into your life. You held your hands up, defensively and aggressively, your brain not knowing whether to fight or fly. You inhaled loudly, you didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you upset.

“Please, Tommy. Just go.”

“I needed to see you.” His words were quick, raspy and urgent, but you brushed them off like they were nothing.

“You’ve seen me, now leave.”

“Not without speaking to you. Let me explain.”

“Was she busy?” You spat. “Is that why you’re here? She’s away so you think you’ll just come and see me and I’ll let you in? Let you touch me? Fuck you, Tommy.”

His eyes were wild, frustration painting his features. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like that?” You spat. “Not that you were using me as a tool to get over another woman? After everything I told you - ” You stopped, not wanting to think about your past. It was too painful.

He came closer, walking towards you so cautiously and softly you might have laughed. “Just hear me out.”

“Why the bloody hell should I listen to you?”

He shrugged exasperatedly, your words striking his skin like a branding, because you were right. He had no moral high ground or proper explanation for the way he had treated you.

“I’m fucked up. Too fucked up for you.” And he’s telling the truth. You’re so pretty and honest and kind, even when you’re crazy with rage, your whole body is practically buzzing with anger and you’re still so beautiful and light and he knows that he ruined you. You trusted him, you confided in him, and he still left.

“I can’t believe I was falling so such a goddamn righteous asshole!” You seethe, raking a hand through your hair. His eyes widened but you merely scoffed, if looks could kill he would have been swallowing dirt. “Don’t act like you didn’t know. Don’t act like you have no idea what I was feeling for you.”

He didn’t know what to say, and he could his stone cold heart breaking.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You sniffed. “This is the last time I want to see you.”

“Just let me stay, let me make it up to you.”

He moves closer, wanting to feel your hair between his fingers, the soft embrace of your touch and the sweetness of your lips. Things had been going wrong all day, the business struggling and the cops getting suspicious and all he could think about was holding you. He wanted to try, he needed to feel you, he needed to feel something real. He wanted to apologise, pull you under him and make the both of you forget. For one more night he didn’t want to be Tommy Shelby, he just wanted to be the man who got to hold you.

You inhaled. “I’m seeing someone else.”

He felt a knife slice through his abdomen. He had no right to feel the shock and jealousy prickling through his skin, not after what he had done, but he still felt the raging green envy bubbling inside of him. He was being completely unreasonable and cruel, but a part of him had really hoped you would wait for him, but it’s that unfair mentality that had cost him.

“What?”

“I’m seeing someone - someone from work.” You said, finally gaining the nerve to stand up for yourself, wanting to wash away six months of your life you had given to him. “We’ve been going out for the past few weeks.”

“Who is he?” His tone was more demanding than he meant it to be, the shock and twinge of insecurity he felt from your announcement was making his words sharper.

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

He needed to take back control of the conversation, he needed to explain. He knew just how much he had fucked up, he’d been gone for too long this time, and his own selfishness might have cost him the best thing he had going for him. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“No, you just never meant for me to find out.”

“That’s not true, (Y/N). Listen to me, I - ”

“I have a busy day tomorrow, Thomas.” You said firmly, putting your foot down and refusing to let him try to right his wrongs - you had worked too hard on moving on. The hidden meaning in your words made Tommy’s jaw clench, his hands reflexively flinching at his sides. “So, please, just... just go.”

You were crying, but trying so hard to hide it. He could see the gloss coating your eyes and the flush rising from your chest, as though your body was leaking sadness from every pore. He felt his heart pound against his ribs. He was so used to getting what he wanted, in business and in private, and yet he felt like he might have just lost it all. So he turned and left, shutting your front door and trying to tune out the sound of your sobs, feeling even more empty inside then when he had arrived.

—————————————————————

He finally got what he wanted.

Grace was sitting opposite to him, her knees brushing against his, her smell so familiar and dizzying, but yet it didn’t feel right. She was a vision in a sea foam dress, with her sunshine coloured hair and perfect features, her eyes filled with a million stars that he could once spend hours getting lost in, but not anymore.

It felt so fake, so forced. The conversation didn’t flow, his words were stagnant, getting caught in his throat. She was looking right at him, the same way she did when they would wake up tangled in one another, at a time in his life that he used to think he was the happiest.

But maybe that had changed.

He was finding pieces of you in her. He knew that Grace only drank red wine, but out of habit he almost poured her a glass of bourbon; because that was what you liked. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the same way you did. How the shawl draped over her shoulders would look perfect on you.

He was sitting across from the woman of his dreams, but none of it felt right, because she wasn’t you.

Perhaps his dreams had changed.

He tuned out Grace as she spoke, her voice not calming him as it once had. All he could think about was what he had lost. He had been a prick, he knew that for certain. He hadn’t meant to not call you, to leave you in the lurch like he did, he just didn’t like anyone getting too close.

When he was in Birmingham he was the leader of the Blinders. He was smart and strong and thought things through so nobody else had to. He was the kingpin, the man who ruled with an iron fist and got exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. But with you, in London, he had allowed himself a sliver of peace. He let himself sleep next to you, peach coloured moon dancing over your bodies, curtains blowing in the wind. After a long day he found himself driving to see you. Wanting to see that shy smile that would make his knees buckle, feeling like a teenager even when he had beat a man half to death mere hours before.

You were a forest fire. Just a small spark, the smell of your hair, the velvet of your skin, the sound of your laugh, and his entire world was alight. He remembered taking you out, the feel of your small hand against his, genuinely wanting to know how your day had been. He remembered the sound of your laugh, when he had you pressed up against the window of his car, in between ticket stubs and cigarette butts and road maps, unable to stop the grin making its way onto his own face.

Even in the months he was gone; when Campbell came back and turned his world back to shit, in the quiet of his office, his mind always wandered back to you. He thought about you whenever he saw fog rolling over the hills or he felt rain patter across his shoulders, he would lose himself for a moment and his brain would conjure up a picture of you. When he saw John and Esme at the Garrison, soft gentle touches reserved for one another, that stupid dopey grin on his brothers face, he thought of you.

It was more than just sex and he was a fool for thinking that that was all it had been.

“Tommy? What’s the matter?”

It was Grace. Her voice like ripe berries and warm milk, but entirely wrong. He blinked, remembering where he was, feeling the velvet of the sofa under his suit. She smiled when she realised she had captured his attention, slightly smug and self assured, and she continued her story of the joys of living in New York.

Tommy looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they had met up. Here they were, in a five star hotel room outside of Birmingham, with champagne and caviar and imported chocolates. But she’s married, to somebody else. And yet, she had rang him and expected him to drop everything and join her.

He almost laughed at the irony of the situation.

Grace was like the first sunshine after being caught in a storm, but perhaps he’d grown to like the rain. He’d been chasing her for too long, like a fucking puppy, and now she was sitting centimetres apart from him, and he realised that she didn’t look all that magical. He thought about the anguish he felt when she left, the pure heartache that almost split him in two when he found out she had married another man, the pain of sleeping alone once more - and it makes him falter, because that’s exactly the same way he’d treated you, and you deserved so much more.

He knew Grace wanted. She wanted to fuck. She wanted to feel something other than her pathetic new husband, she craved the feel of power and the memory of what it’s like to run around with the devil. Her hand moved from the stem of her wine glass to the top of his thigh, a gentle, almost timid touch, testing the waters before she fully submerged. This is what he’d wanted since the very minute she boarded that train, to be back with the woman he loved, but now her soft caress feels like a slap. She didn’t notice his internal struggle, wine drunk and ready to fall back into his arms, but all he could picture was you with another man, his hand resting on the silk of your skirt.

He felt the familiar tick in his jaw, the way his knuckles flexed unconsciously, he knew he had no right but jealousy was eating away at him. How fucking stupid had he been? And now another man would have the pleasure of taking you out, making you laugh and blush under diamond chandeliers. Another man would get to walk you home, listen to your voice and then kiss you under the silver moon. He couldn’t even bear to think of the next part, the mere thought making flames ignite around his pupils.

“Tommy?” Grace asked, her eyes big and round like saucers, lips parted and just waiting to be pressed against his. She watched as he stood up, his knees clashing against the bar cart, far more flustered than she had ever seen him before.

“I have to go.”

———————————————————-

The club was loud, the bands instruments following you everywhere you went. The room was painted red and gold, shimmering lights and glowing pink shades reflecting from every surface. You were in a booth in the corner, nursing a glass of bourbon and eating sweet green olives, vinegar and alcohol on your tongue. Dennis was sat opposite, clad in a fine suit with a fresh haircut and laughing at his own anecdote, his hands gesturing wildly as he retold a story you had already forgotten.

You liked him, you did. He was nice and funny and handsome, - but he didn’t make sparks dance on your skin when he touched you, and he didn’t occupy your mind every second you were apart. Maybe that was for the best, maybe you needed to be sensible and date with your head, not your heart, because that was why you always got hurt.

You mind had been muddled since Tommy came back. All of your hard work had crumbled to pieces when he had knocked on your door. It was beyond frustrating, the way that he managed to crawl back inside your conscience with just a few words. You tried to blink away everything that happened, focusing on Dennis sitting on the other side of the booth, losing yourself in his kind smile and bright eyes.

He reached out and patted your hand with his, and you noticed how smooth his fingers were, not like the rough calloused pads that you could remember digging into your thigh and - you stopped, determined not to let your mind wander. You weren’t being fair to Dennis, he deserved someone who would give him their undivided attention, and didn’t spend the evening think of another man.

You let Dennis order another round of drinks, the conversation coming back round to the hospital - the only thing you seemed to have in common. You were just about to ask after a patient who you had heard wasn’t fairing very well, when you heard a commotion coming from the main hall. You raised your eyebrows and twisted around, trying to get a better view but you were blocked mostly by the sea of bodies. You turned to look at Dennis, but watched his own gentle brown eyes fill with shock.

“I need to talk to you.”

Fucking hell.

You felt flames licking your skin and ice cold water on your head at the same time. That stupid brummie accent that made your toes curl even after all the shit he had put you through. You saw surprise flash across Dennis’ face, his brows knitted at the stranger who had approached your booth. You didn’t want to turn around and face him, but you didn’t want the situation to get out of hand. You risked it. Swivelling in your seat so you could see him fully, your eyes flittering over the curls in his hair and the dammed sea blue colour of his irises.

“Tommy.” You kept your voice as level as you could, but it was proving hard. “Tommy, what the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, come outside with me.”

His stare was so heated that it almost made you feel uncomfortable, and his hair was tousled, the way it always got when he ran his hands through it repeatedly. You could tell he was jealous, not missing the way his eyes had darted to Dennis’ hand covering your own. You could see the clench of his jaw and the tension in his forehead and it made you feel good, it was about time he had a taste of his own medicine.

“She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you.” Dennis said, rising from his chair so he could meet Tommy’s line of sight. You reached out and squeezed his wrist slightly, willing him not to get involved, not for your sake, but for his own.

“I’ve had a a really fucking long day and I think that it’s best if you don’t piss me off.” Tommy spat, his voice husky and exasperated, pointing a finger across the table. Coming face to face with you and your new lover was enough to tear the strings that were holding him together, he wasn’t a patient man and all he wanted was to explain himself, but it was hard when he was in such a jealous haze. His mind and his mouth weren’t working as one, he was losing his composure, and quickly.

“Stop it.” Your voice was stern, cold enough to turn him to stone. You could feel dozens of eyes on you, watching you all like you were performing at a play, mouths agape and eyes wild with anticipation. You blinked up at Tommy and you could see him soften, the hurt evident in your features enough to make him want to tear out his hair, furious at himself for how he always fucks things up.

You turned to Dennis, heart clenching as he held his ground despite being much smaller and a million times less intimidating then the gangster behind you. You gave him an apologetic look, knowing that the only way to diffuse the bomb that was Thomas Shelby was to speak to him alone.

“Thank you for everything, Dennis.” You said, shaking your head at the insanity of it all. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me for how this evening has turned out.”

He brushed off your words, as gentlemanly as ever, shooting a harsh look at Tommy. “Are you sure you’re alright going with him?”

You could see Tommy open his mouth to spit back something, his hands clenched at his sides, but you pushed him roughly in the torso and stormed past, heading for the back doors.

Your face was hot and red with shame, you could still taste alcohol on your tongue, but it had turned bitter and sour. You could hear him behind you, his expensive shoes clattering on the cobbled streets, his heavy exhales in the dark. He reached out, his touch timid and reserved despite the scene he had just created. At the feel of his fingers on your upper arm you pushed him off, walking further away into the alley.

“(Y/N)!) He called, but you ignored him, wiping away your tears before swirling on your heel, voice laced with venom.”

“It wasn’t enough for you to break me back at my flat?” You shouted, hearing your heart shatter with every syllable. “You had to come and do it in public too? What the fuck is wrong with you Tommy?”

“I know. I know.” He came towards you but you stumbled back, holding up a finger to keep him away from you. “I shouldn’t have made a scene.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” You cried, it was hard enough to even try to get over him, but now he was making it impossible and you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“I’m in love with you.”

You couldn’t stop the tears now. It was the words you had been begging him to say, the words that you had wanted to hear since you had first met, but they just made you weep harder. His face was so ernest, more honest than you had ever seen it, but it was so goddamn hard to believe him.

“You’re not in love with me, Tommy.” You murmured, swallowing the thickness in your throat. “You just want me because you saw me with another man.”

He shook his head, reaching out to touch you under the yellow glare of the streetlights. The feeling of you in his arms was so right to him, so familiar and warm that it felt like coming home. The tear streaks on your cheeks shone like the stars above the two of you, so beautiful and so heartbreaking and he needed to let you know how he felt.

“I’m in love with you.” His voice was firm, and even though you wanted to you couldn’t look away from him, trapped in his gaze. “It’s always been you. And I should have told you sooner.”

You stopped, everything you had wanted to say evaporated like ocean spray around the two of you, the water crashing so loud you could hear it in your ears. You were tired, and confused, half of you wanted to slap him and the other half wanted to fall into his arms. Instead, you sat down on the curb, feet planted in the gutter, dropping your head in your hands.

“I need a cigarette.”

Tommy smiled. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his packet and a lighter, giving you a smoke before lighting the end, watching the flame flicker in your eyes. You took three long drags, trying hard to control your breathing and rivalling emotions before you spoke again.

“How did you find me?”

He inhaled, puffing on his own cigarette. “I’ve had men watching you since the first time we met.”

You snapped around to face him. “You’ve fucking what?”

“You really think I was going to let you go around the city without protection?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

The silence was deafening and you hated how you instinctively wanted to move by his side, press your body up against his for warmth. Instead you looked up at the navy coloured sky, counting the stars and pretending you couldn’t feel him watching you.

“I fucked up.” He spoke. “ I used you and I hurt you.”

You bit your lip to try and stop the tears from falling once again.

“I was heartbroken because of Grace, and I needed a distraction.”

“A distraction.” You repeated.

“I’m sorry. It’s redundant now, I know. But I am. I fucked everything up and I’m sorry.”

The tension between you was almost palpable, like the nicotine that was surrounding you both. You could feel the sincerity in his tone, but you also knew that he could talk a man out of his house if he really wanted to.

“Did she turn you down?” You countered, facing him. “Is that why you’re here with me?”

He shook his head, tongue running over his teeth, wisps of smoke leaving his lips. “I saw her for the first time tonight.” He said, honestly. “I sat across from her and I realised that she meant nothing to me, not anymore.” You felt him beside you, the pressure of his thigh digging into yours, desperate to get you to look at him.

“It was just sex.” You muttered, looking for some kind of safety net to stop you from making the same mistake, no matter how badly your heart is pleading you to fall onto him.

“Don’t fucking say that. Don’t lie to me.” He stammered, as though your words had truly hurt him.

“You treated me like shit, Tommy. How can I ever trust you?”

“I can’t promise I won’t fuck something up. I’m a bad man and I do bad things, but I swear, right, on my fucking life - that I will never do anything to hurt you.”

He was so close to you. The strong man so weak as he brushed his nose against yours. He felt years younger, and felt the overwhelming ache to drag you into his arms and kiss you senseless.“I need you with me. I can’t do any of this without you - And will spend every day proving to you just how much you fucking mean to me.” He whispered, words trailing off into the

crown of your hair.

You couldn’t stop it. All of the warning bells in your head extinguished like candles, and all you could think about was him. He had hurt you, dug a knife into your rib cage and left you to bleed, and perhaps a better woman would have left him sitting in the gutter, but you knew that the two of you were bound together - just as beautiful and broken as one another.

You shook your head, looking up at him through your eyelashes, the man who had turned your life upside down. You didn’t want to think anymore - so you didn’t, instead you smashed your lips onto his, making his head spin wildly, losing himself in you.He’s always had a high tolerance, but somehow, just one touch, just the brush of your lips against his, the heat of your breath on his skin, has him utterly, completely, wasted

“Please don’t break my heart.” You said, reminiscent of the first time you had slept together, pressing your forehead against his. He breathed you in, the smell of violets and salt, warm coffee and vanilla, the scents that he wished he could bottle. He pressed his lips to yours, claiming you as his as much as proving he was yours. He relished the taste of you, his kisses greedy and passionate, making sure that you were still there and knowing that he would never let you go again.

“I won’t.”

And it’s a promise he’ll keep.

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker Next Door Neighbour AU

----

Tonys new neighbour is kinda weird.

Like, he’s not trying to be callous or anything. But he’s just, y’know. Strange.

They first met four months ago. 

The apartment opposite Tony’s had been vacant for only two weeks ever since old Mrs. Perry moved to Florida to retire with her grandkids. That was until one rainy Tuesday, when Tony sighted his new neighbour trudging down the hallway, hauling box after box through the elevator, whistling to himself as he relocated all of his belongings to 7C. 

Tony, on his way out, had first seen the guy trying to precariously balance a large box in his arms whilst trying to unlock his apartment door at the same time. Predictably, he’d dropped his keys and Tony had swooped in and picked them up for him.

“Oh my gosh, thank you” the guy had said earnestly, shaking Tony’s hand after opening his door. “Yikes, I’m such a mess. Mercury in retrograde, am I right?”

Tony had nodded, having no idea what he was talking about, and promptly left.

So, the new guy - Peter, he had later learned was his name - was cute. Fluffy curls, gorgeous skin, irresistible big brown eyes. 

But he was, y’know, a little bizarre.

Tony’s not even exaggerating. 

Every time he goes into the hallway he’s met with a sneeze-inducing wave of patchouli and incense, holding his breath as he passes, wondering if he is living next door to a Shinto shrine. Tony swears at night that he hears humming. Like, of the om mani padme hum kind of variety. He hears the distant clang of singing bowls and tuning forks at midnight when he’s turning in to go to bed. 

He thought about politely telling Peter to keep it down but every time he knocked on the door of 7C Peter just beamed at him in welcome and asked him about his day with genuine interest.

Tony bought ear plugs instead.

Tony swears that Peter can’t be any older than he is, early twenties at the youngest, but he says words like radical, dude and oopsy-daisy, groovy. One time he stubbed his toe around Tony and said fiddlesticks. He seems to be in and out at the weirdest times, waving burning sage at the letterboxes at three AM as if it were the normal thing to do.

“What do you even do,” Tony had asked one morning in the elevator. Peter was carrying a crate full of succulents, biceps bulging with the strain.

Peter looks down at his crate of plants and then back up to Tony as if it were obvious. The duh goes unsaid but Tony hears it.

“I’m a yoga teacher and a reiki practitioner,” he says, handing Tony a succulent from the crate.  

Tony blinks down at the small potted plant. 

“Um,” he says. 

“It’s an echeveria elegans,” Peter explains, smiling.

“Do you... want me to hold this for you?”

“No, silly,” Peter had laughed. “It’s yours. Keep it in the sunlight and try not to over-do it with the water.” 

Tony leaves the elevator more confused than before, clutching the succulent all the way to his 9:00AM class.

-------

Tony can handle weirdness. Tony can handle eccentricity. He can even handle the new plant he absolutely does not have time to care for and absolutely did not call Brenda.

But what Tony can’t handle is the ear-piercingly loud Gregorian chanting that comes from next door one night whilst he’s studying. Up for two days already, his concentration is shot by the guttural singing, the lead of his pencil snapping against his notebook in frustration. It’s nearly midnight for fucks sake.

Tony had stormed over, enraged and determined, and rapped his knuckles on the door for a good two minutes before it had swung open, a smiling Peter giving him a warm welcome on the other side.

“Do you mind?” Tony had demanded. “I’m trying to study for my thesis.”

Peter looked taken aback, contriteness making his big brown eyes dewy and soft. 

“Oh my gosh,” he’d said, extending a hand out, “I’m so sorry about that. Hang on, wait here. Please wait.”

So Tony had waited, expecting Peter to rush to lower the volume. Instead, he’d returned with a fist-sized, green and purple rock-crystal thing, presenting it to Tony with a grin. 

Peter had placed it in Tony’s palm, using both hands to curl Tony’s fingers over the heavy, polished stone.

“There,” Peter says proudly. “It’s fluorite.”

“It’s what,” Tony blinks.

“For clarity and concentration,” Peter explains, beaming a mile wide. “Keep it, okay? Good luck on your thesis.”

He’d closed the door, leaving Tony with a rock in his hand and the chanting continued.

Tony bought noise-cancelling headphones to put over his ear-plugs.

He definitely didn’t place the fluorite on his windowsill by his bed or smile at it sometimes or run his fingers over its smooth edges.

Ever since it’s been a never ending stream of peculiar behaviour, weird conversations about moon phases, etheric bodies and third eyes while waiting for their laundry to dry in the basement, the effect of the upcoming perigee syzygy on the neighbourhood and guessing Tony’s star sign.

“Cancer, right?”

“What?”

“Your zodiac sign,” Peter answers, rubbing at his eyebrow, pushing the hairs askew. His nails are painted black. 

“Gemini,” Tony answers warily, piling his underwear and bedsheets into his basket.

“Damn, I was close,” Peter smiles, pouring his own mixture of organic fabric softener into the washer. “I’ll figure you out yet.”

Tony wants to reach over and smooth down the raised hairs on his eyebrow. 

He’s a perfectionist, that’s all.

But in any case Tony just continues to go about his life, continues to study, grade his papers. He visits his optometrist and gets a new prescription and wonders how he is going to pay his phone bill when he spends more on heating over the winter than he intended.

It's all fine, whale music and white sage aside.

Not that he’d ever admit it, but it’s kinda nice.

-----

One day Tony rouses from his slumber to hear loud voices outside, the bellow of protesters on the main arterial street below. Tony thinks nothing of it and pops in his ear plugs, keen to get another hour of sleep before he has to be at his class. Being a TA is the worst.

Later, Tony watches the local news, watching in horrified fascination as his neighbour is one of the many arrested for protesting at a rally of a visiting Republican senator. 

“What’s with the pyjamas?” Tony had queried at the letterboxes the following day, roaming his eyes over the soft-looking Hello Kitty pants that Peter had been arrested and released in - and was still wearing. 

The pictures of his arrest had been on twitter for gods sake. He was trending as #hellokittyguy. It was all his students were talking about.

“Oh, I’d slept in,” was all Peter said. 

“You slept in. To a protest.” 

“Irresponsible, I know. I’m already beating myself up, don’t worry.”

At this stage, Tony can’t even find himself to be bothered by it. He’s so used to the sound of the koto, the wind flute and kalimba from next door that it’s damn near unsettling to go without it. Tony’s used to the weird attire, from the ponchos and the sandals and the fisherman pants in mid-winter, the beaded bracelets and rose quartz pendants. He’s even used to finding Peter knocking on his door, asking for salt or milk or handing him personalised organza bags filled with small crystals and incense cones and charms.

And if he looks forward to their talks at the door? It’s only Tony’s business.

One night Peter sets off the fire alarm from burning rope incense. He says he got it when he went to Nepal, apologising profusely to the grouchy occupants who send him withering stares.

Tony doesn’t even ask, too busy staring at Peters lithe, muscled frame that had been hiding under the baggy clothes. The man is clad only in his underwear, didn’t think to grab anything when he’d fled to the emergency meeting point. 

It’s three in the morning. Tony’s not even mad.

"Did you know your aura is gold and red,” Peter had asked that night, wandering over to him and accepting an offered a cigarette.

“No,” Tony yawned, taking a drag and wishing he was back in his own bed, fire truck lights flashing, dizzying and disorienting.

“S’nice. Pretty.”

Peter wraps his arms around himself and shivers, the cool night air sending goosebumps over his pale skin.

Tony quickly shrugs his own jacket off his shoulders and offers it to Peter so he doesn’t have to stare at the obscene way his nipples harden.

“Thanks, Tony. You’re a sweetheart.”

“I’m not - it’s not a big deal,” Tony grumbles. “You looked like you needed it, so.”

Peter smothers his smile in the collar of Tony’s jacket. Tony still sees it. 

His stomach squirms like the first time he held someones hand.

“Do you want to have dinner sometime?” Peter asks, as they pile back upstairs an hour later after the building has been cleared.

“Yeah, okay,” Tony agrees, eyeing the dimples of Peters lower back and the crevice of his muscles where his spine rests. He’s got an ass that’s so perfect it deserves to be worshipped but Tony isn’t looking at it. He’s not.

“Tomorrow work for you?”

Tony nods, watching Peter disappear back into his apartment with an awkward wave and a smile. He’s still wearing Tony’s jacket. 

If Tony goes back inside his apartment and jerks off to the image of Peter wearing just his jacket and nothing else, well then, no one else needs to know.

----

The following evening Tony knocks on Peters door, dressed in jeans and a nice shirt. He adjusts his glasses where they perch on his nose as he waits, sliding them up as Peter opens the door, beckoning him inside. 

The interior looks very different to Tony’s apartment, is the first thing he notices. 

Plants hang from the ceiling, there is a large afghan rug in the living room, all the furniture is mismatched, a sofa and an armchair with different patterns and colours, all the bookshelves are of different wood and sizes. 

There are cushions everywhere, crystals and rocks on almost every surface, incense burning by the open window, stacks and stacks of books on the divine and lunar charts on the walls. Michelle Branch is playing unironically from the speakers on Peters bookshelves.

“I didn’t know what to bring, so,” Tony mumbles, tearing his eyes away from a copy of the Karma Sutra and holding up store bought cake and a bottle of red wine.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Peter gushes, kissing Tony’s cheek and taking the items from him and herding him onto the sofa. “Sit, sit. I’ll be right back.”

Tony sits, a little dazed. The spot on his cheek where Peters lips touched his skin burns. 

There’s an old TV in the corner and a CD player straight out of the nineties nestled in the corner between book stacks. 

There’s two magazines on the coffee table: National Geographic and Cosmopolitan. God, Peter is so, so... 

Charming, is the word that comes unbidden to Tony’s mind when Peter bounds back into the living room, two glasses of wine clutched in his hands, the charms on his beaded bracelets clinking together. He’s barefoot, Tony notices. His toenails are painted black, too.

“So, I have a confession to make,” Peter begins, passing Tony a glass and sitting beside him on the sofa.

“Oh, god,” Tony winces. “You’re not an anti-vaxxer, are you?” 

He didn’t even think about that. 

“What,” Peter blinks. “No.”

“Okay, good. Sorry. Continue.”

“I’m, uh, kinda broke. I know I invited you to dinner but all I have is cup ramen and Corona.”

“Oh,” Tony says, watching at how Peter smiles sheepishly,  “That’s okay. I like cup ramen. I mean, I’m a student, so.”

“Is that okay?” Peter asks, cringing as he casts a look over to his tiny kitchenette. “Sorry, I was so shocked that you even agreed to come that I couldn’t even think.”

“Mercury in retrograde?” Tony guesses.

“No,” Peter laughs, looking at his hands bashfully. “You’re just really cool and handsome and sophisticated and I don’t know. It wasn’t in my tarot, so.”

It wasn’t in his tarot, Tony repeats in his mind, wondering when exactly he hit his head and found all of this attractive. He’s a man of science, alright?

“You been crushin’ on me, huh?” Tony asks, shifting closer until their thighs and shoulders touch.

“Yeah. You make me kinda nervous.”

“Well your tarot can’t tell you that I think you’re beautiful,” Tony reasons, sipping his wine. “Or delightful. Or that I think the way you swing your legs when you’re waiting for your drying is adorable.”

The flush that comes over Peters cheeks makes Tony’s heart beat faster.

“You really think that?”

“Against my better judgement,” Tony admits. 

“What was it that did you in?” Peter asks, leaning in, drawing his knees up and looking like a pleased cat. “Was it the green fluorite? The rutilated quartz?”

Tony leans in to bridge the gap, pressing his lips against Peter’s in a sweet kiss. He tastes like coffee and wine and everything smells like lemongrass and palo santo.

“Just your cute, quirky self,” Tony says against his lips. “And maybe the blue calcite.”

Peter laughs against his mouth. “I knew it.”

---

Later, when Tony is curled up against Peter’s bare chest, still catching his breath, Peter asks him on a second date.

“There’s a climate change rally at the State Library this weekend, if you’re interested. We could have matching signs and drink Corona after.”

“Baby,” Tony yawns, eyes heavy, “you do that thing with your tongue again and I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“Sweet,” Peter says, pressing a kiss into Tony’s hair.

Yeah, Tony thinks as he drifts off, it is.

[maybe-your-left]

A Case In Need: Am I Understood?

As always here is a link to my Masterlist with all my works. I just started a new Solo Triplets fic! 

Slight TW/CW: lots of swearing, some implied consent at the end. Violent overtones throughout. 

You haven't slept this soundly in a long time, usually you have to take some sleeping pills before lulling off to sleep but not tonight. Sunlight filtered in through your bedroom windows and you blinked your eyes open to rid the call back to your pillow. Behind you, there was a deep growling noise, followed by a hot breath on the back of your neck. Ren must’ve been sleeping with his mouth shut, you mused, wiggling your arm out you reached out for the clock on your bedside table. 

9 AM it read. 

“Mother fucker,” you yelled and threw Ren off with all your might. Successfully elbowing him in the face while untangling your limbs. 

“Jesus,” Ren cried out and applied pressure to his nose, “Why’d you fucking do that?” 

“We slept in,” you called from the closet. 

Ren whined in response, you heard the mattress creak while he threw his legs over the side followed by footsteps into the bathroom. He appeared while you were buttoning up a maroon blouse, keeping one hand on his nose. He stared at you with wide blinking eyes that were still fighting sleep. 

“Come on, we’re an hour late-” 

“What are you talking about (Y/N),” he grumbled before turning to his sink and inspecting his bruised skin. 

“My alarm didn’t go off this morning, we’re both late for work,” you pushed by him so you could reach for your toothbrush. Trying to get ready as fast as possible, throwing your hair up in an updo and smudging on your lipstick. Ren just glared at you while wiggling his nose, probably trying to get blood flow back after the hit he took. Hip bumping him to the side so you could spit out your toothpaste, he finally moved and went to the closet. Re-emerging seconds later with black slacks, buttoning up a dress shirt that was the same maroon as yours. 

“Oh you wanna be matching today?” you giggled while hopping out of the bathroom, searching for your phone. 

“Would it be wrong if I did?” he yelled back from the sink. 

Snorting back in response you made it down the hallway. Taking the stairs two at a time, pretty risky to do in heels, and finally making it to the kitchen. 

The Keurig was heating up with your coffee when Ren made it downstairs. Fixing the sleeves of his blazer jacket, seeming to look for his shoes he threw off yesterday night. You took a moment to appreciate the scene in front of you, silent domestic bliss between the two of you. This is how it would be if you and Ren were a… you shook your head at the thought. He was still very married, you couldn’t allow yourself to get used to the closeness. Clearing your throat you reached for a mug, “I forgot to tell you I’ve been working on the case file you gave me last week, found something interesting but we can talk about it when I get to the office.” 

“When you get to the office,” he mumbled while grabbing some cereal from your pantry, “Aren’t you riding with me?” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because you work for me,” a spoonful of cereal, “you sleep with me,” another chew, “you fuck me, you’re mine Angel I don’t know why you keep forgetting.” He ended with slurping milk from the bowl before standing up and placing it in the sink. “Let’s go.” 

He walked past you, grabbing his coat along with your purse which had your car keys inside them. Stopping at the front doorway he yelled for you, “Are you going to make me wait or should I have Ushar drag you to the car?” 

----- 

The drive to work was short and silent, except for the radio which was playing on some random talk radio bullshit. The man was droning on and on about stock prices and the unemployment rates, you felt yourself falling asleep because of how bored you were. Even the guy talking sounded like he was one sentence away from falling into a coma. 

You groaned, “Can we listen to some music, please?” 

“Hmm,” Ren smirked at you. You reached for the buttons to change it yourself but he was quicker than you, smacking your hand away. “Now now Angel, it’s my car. We are to listen to what I want.” 

“Oh my god…” you whined, trying to get him to release your hand from his death grip. 

“Someone’s being a brat today,” he slammed on his brakes, almost mowing over a pedestrian he was clearly not watching for. You would’ve slammed into the dashboard if it hadn't been for your seatbelt and Rens giant arm that was now outstretched in front of you. 

You pushed his arm away while he sped off again, “Maybe I wouldn’t be a brat if you didn’t try to kill me with your reckless driving.” 

“Hmm.” 

He slammed again, this time he didn’t shoot out his arm to protect you, leaving your head to whip forward and smack the dashboard. “Oh come on!” you cried, applying pressure to your forehead. You were so sure he had split it open, you fumbled with the mirror above you, examining the bump that was now forming. Luckily there was no open wound but it still didn’t make up for the fact that you had a screaming headache. “You fucking did that on purpose,” you smacked him in the chest. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he smirked again, “I would never do anything to hurt you, my dear.”

“Just shut up,” you snapped, “And can we change the radio station this guy's voice is giving me a bigger headache.” 

“As you wish.” He reached forward and pressed another preset, making sure to give you a glare as he sat back. 

“Thank you,” you huffed, closing your eyes and waiting for the music to start playing, or at least another boring old man to start talking. 

Slowly the music started, you furrowed your eyebrows trying to concentrate on it instead of the pounding in your ears. As it was getting louder you could pick out some noises, a saxophone, for one thing, was present. Followed by some other deep instruments, you blinked a couple of times trying to understand what was going on. 

“Ah, I love this song,” Ren said before turning the volume up another few notches. 

“What the fuck is this-” 

“You don’t like jazz, Angel?” he smiled at you, it wasn’t a warm smile. More like a taunt for you to complain again, setting a trap for you to fall into. He waited, staring at you while you slowly began rubbing your temples, the music was far worse than the NPR radio, each sound was so disorganized and trying to desperately outdo the other instrument he might as well have slammed you in the dashboard again. 

Fuck this was going to be a long day. 

-----

“We have a meeting today with a client,” Ren said as he seated himself behind his desk, “It’ll be at the prison, however, so maybe sure you stay by me.” 

“Sounds good boss.” 

You were rifling through your bags trying to find the case file on the client, Armitage Hux was the name, you had read somewhere that he was a known criminal with a record to show for it. Thrown in and out of jails so many times he probably had his own personalized cell. Most of his charges were small: theft, forgery, robbery, lots of organized crime work. Nothing you weren’t used to seeing, but this time he was charged with something much worse. 

During your research you noticed that Hux was always found ‘innocent’ of these crimes, usually, the bail was paid off quickly and whoever was representing him had him out of court within a few hours. It was strange for this type of crime, what was also strange was the lack of information on those cases. It was almost like someone was erasing any information about his past the moment he was set free. 

Ren cleared his throat, “I must go see Palpatine before we set off.” 

“Oh, okay, let me grab my things and we can go,” you started repacking your bag. 

“That won’t be necessary,” he stated, getting up from his chair and walking towards you, “It’s a private matter. Meet me down at the car in 15 minutes Angel.” And with that he kissed you on the forehead and walked out, shutting the door behind him. 

“Whatever weirdo,” you muttered, this would be the first meeting you weren’t brought in with him. He usually had you take notes or something while he spoke with colleagues. But he seemed to be on edge when he rushed out. You shrugged and got up, now would be a good time to look around his office. Since you started working here you hadn’t gotten much downtime between reading, writing, and fucking.  

Walking around his desk you scanned the stacks of papers. Lots were in order, alphabetical, and by date. He seemed to run a tight ship with his workload. Along with stacks of papers, there were two frames on the left side of his desk, behind his desktop. You grabbed them to get a closer look. 

One was an old black and white photo, containing a young man who was very tall and skinny, flanked on both sides with an older man and woman. It looked like it was the young man’s graduation picture, he had tassels and stoles around his neck, achievements of hard academic work, the woman was beaming next to him, holding a bouquet of some sort. The older man was handsome, a little rougher than the woman, but he had the same smirk on his face that you’ve seen Ren have. 

“Must be his parents…” you whispered, setting the picture back down. You had never heard about his family, but it wasn’t like the two of you had ever spoken about personal things. 

The second picture was in color. It showed the same man, slightly longer black hair and less of a smile, standing outside the First Order office building. He was shaking hands with a man you didn’t recognize, he certainly wasn’t the man from the first photograph. No, this man was very different, his face although smiling had no happiness. Rigid and stiff even as the photo was being taken,  and behind him was Palpatine. 

Humming, you set the picture back down and glanced around the room some more. To the left of the desk were bookshelves. Filled with texts about the ever-changing laws throughout the nation, and even some about national security. Most of them were covered with dust, but you noticed a very boring pattern of non-fiction work throughout. It figures, you thought, Ren probably reads these for fun when he’s not out dictating my life. 

Looking down at your watch you saw you had about five minutes left before having to hoof it downstairs so you took that time to scan the walls for any other information. Your eyes settled on two diplomas framed by a very large fake plant. 

University of Oxford 

Faculty of Law 

Kylo Ren 

“Of course he went to Oxford… pretentious ass,” you looked down to the second one. 

Harvard University 

J.D. Law School 

Ben Solo 

You stared at it for a few seconds. Rereading it over and over, looking back and forth between the two papers. Ben Solo? Who the fuck was that? Did they print his name wrong? There’s no way, it’s a Harvard degree. Also if they had he would’ve definitely raised hell over it. Maybe it was just a leftover decoration from a previous lawyer… the frame was a little dustier than the top one. Seemed like maybe that could be it- 

Your phone started buzzing in your pocket. Shaking your head you fished it out and answered, “Hello this is (Y/N)-” 

“Where the fuck are you? I told you to meet me in the car in 15 minutes?” 

Ren. Of course, it was, “Sorry I was uh… going to the bathroom. Coming down now.” 

He hung up after that, clearly, he was in a bad mood. Maybe something in his meeting didn’t go well. Maybe Rey’s dad confronted him about the two of you… not like there was any way for him to know about it. Unless there were cameras in the office that the two of you didn’t know about. 

You shook that thought out of your mind and stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage. Ren was parked directly in front waiting for you. You swung the door open and climbed in while he slammed his foot on the gas, peeling out onto the road. 

“When I tell you to be somewhere I expect you to listen to me,” Ren spat at you. Not taking the time to look at you while he weaved through traffic. 

“Sorry, I just lost track of time, don’t know what the big deal is,” you huffed. 

Ren snorted, “The big deal is you have to listen to me. You’re mine. I expected that lesson I taught you yesterday to stick inside your head for longer than 24 hours.” 

“Oh, you mean when you almost drown me?” 

“Precisely Angel,” He purred at you, placing a hand on your knee, “You belong to me. I control where you go,” a squeeze, “What you do,” his hand slid upwards and squeezed again, “Even when you breathe.” gripping the inside of your thigh, digging his nails into you, “Am I understood?” 

You swallowed, “Yes Mr. Ren.” 

“Excellent, now we are meeting with a client. I expect you to stay quiet throughout and take notes diligently. We’ve worked with him before so it should be brief.” 

“We have?” you questioned, “Nothing in my research showed that he’s worked with the First Order before…” 

“Whatever the case, you will not speak while we meet with him. You are not there to counsel him, only to take notes about the conversation I have with him or any mannerisms he portrays during.” Ren looked over at you, he clearly needed you to listen to him. His usual auburn eyes were dark and cold, commanding you to stay in your place. You nodded and Ren patted your leg and the two of you drove in silence the rest of the way. 

—— 

You and Ren had walked in after parking. Every officer and guard seemed to know Ren personally, never checking his ID or anything, just waving him through. You were awestruck, the facility you were at was no laughing matter. It was a maximum security prison. Only for the worst of the worst criminals, crime bosses, murderers, rapists, serial killers, you name it and they were there. You scooted a little closer to Ren, hopefully to shield yourself from the fear rippling through you. 

“Scared Angel?” he chuckled, looking over his shoulder. “There’s nothing to fear. No one will touch you while I’m here.” 

“Okay,” you squeaked out. 

The guards led the two of you down a series of hallways before opening a steel door. Behind was a man, chained to a desk in the middle of the room. He was pale, not a shiner pale like Ren but more sickly. He had bright red hair atop his head, that was at one point styled but it seemed like he had been through the ringer. He had cold eyes, staring directly at you, not once looking at Ren. “Glad to see you’re finally here,” he spoke from behind a cigarette. 

“Apologies about our tardiness,” Ren spat, “Some pieces haven’t found their place yet.” 

He moved in front of the ginger, pulling out a chair and ushering you to sit before he did. “Thank you,” you whispered, trying to keep the gingers eye contact away from yours. 

“Whose this little fox you’ve brought Ren,” he cooed at you, leaning forward on the table, “She’s different than the last one.” 

“That’s enough Hux,” he spat, “Let’s get down to business.” 

You reached into your bag and handed Ren the case file. Grabbing out your pad and pen, you were ready for their conversation. 

“What’s your name little pet?” Hux blew smoke towards you. 

You coughed and shot a look at Ren, he was staring at Hux. His jaw clenched tight, his hands threatening to rip the file in half. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he taunted, “ Or are you not allowed to speak?” 

“Hux,” Ren boomed. 

“(Y/N). It’s (Y/N),” you spit out, staring down at your pad and pen. 

“(Y/N)... what a lovely name,” Hux cooed. The way he said your name felt like a threat. You knew immediately that you weren’t supposed to do that, Ren had told you not to speak. 

“If you’re not going to talk about your charges then my assistant and I will be leaving.” 

“Assistant, is that what you’re calling it now?” Hux laughed, taking another drag off the cigarette. “That’s a fancy way to say whore.” 

Ren lunges at Hux, knocking you to the floor in the process. Pinning him to the wall and repeatedly slamming him by his shoulders. You sat there with wide eyes, usually guards would burst in at the sign of commotion but the room was quiet. The only sounds were Hux and Ren's heavy breathing, both daring the other to make a move. 

“Kylo… we should go,” you squeaked out again. 

“Kyloooo you’re scaring your whore,” Hux smiled at him. Ren growled and shoved him one last time before turning to you. 

“Get up.” he barked. 

You scrambled to your feet, grabbing the papers that were thrown around. Ren's hand found purchase in your hair, gripping on and ushering you out of the room. 

Behind you Hux yelled, “I’m sure Snoke will be happy to hear about this!” and the door slammed shut. 

—— 

Ren said nothing. 

Not even when he shoved you into the car, buckled you into the seat and sped off. He was obviously not heading back to the office. His grip on the wheel was so tight it looked like he was going to snap it. 

“Where are we-“ 

“I told you not to speak.” 

“I’m sorry I just-“ 

He pulled in front of a hotel, “No I don’t think you understand Angel. I told you not to speak, and you disobeyed me.” 

The valet knocked on his window, tearing Rens stare from you. He stepped out and handed the keys to the young man. Rounding the car he ripped open your door and pulled you out by your wrist. 

You didn’t struggle, you were so confused as to where you were going. Why did he bring you to a hotel? Was he going to forgive you for earlier? What had Hux meant about you being a whore? 

Once inside the elevator, he let go of you and sighed. His shoulders finally relaxed, and he cracked his neck left and right. “I think it’s time you understood who you belong to.” 

You stared at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern, “What do you mean?” 

“What I mean is,” the doors opened and he walked out, “You’ll either listen to me tonight, or you’ll be severely hurt.” 

You gulped, was he going to beat you? Was this it? You had always felt safe with him but something about the meeting earlier had left him… unhinged. He opened the door and shoved you in. 

The suite was huge, full kitchen and living room. Large king bed, and a huge bathroom. 

“Strip for me.” 

“What?” 

“Strip for me or I’ll do it for you,” he threatened. 

Swallowing again you slowly took off your clothes, all the way down to your heels. Attempting to cover yourself from his predatory gaze. He walked over to you and held your face. “Do you trust me Angel?” he whispered. 

“Yes.” 

He gave you a soft kiss, delicately tracing your lips with his own. “Sit down on the couch.” 

You followed his instructions, eager to see where this was going. Ren disappeared into the bathroom, re-emerging with items in his hands. “Now, I’m going to put these on you, and you’re not going to struggle, do you understand?” You nodded. “If you struggle this is going to hurt you more, tell me you understand.” 

“Yes Mr. Ren.” 

“Good,” he cooed. He pushed you back against the sofa, and tied a blindfold over your eyes. You giggled, excited about where this was headed. 

Suddenly Ren was behind the sofa, grabbing your left wrist and attaching something around it. He repeated it with the other one. “Try to move Angel.” 

You tried to pull your arms back over the couch, but found that they were chained to something. “What’s going on Ren-“ 

He then attached chains to both your ankles. Leaving you spread eagle across the couch. Unable to move, unable to see his intentions. A knock at the door, Ren sighed, “Their here early.” 

“Who's here? What’s going on?” 

“One more thing before I forget,” he hummed. He pinched your jaw, forcing it open and shoved a gag in your mouth. Strapping it around your skull. You trashed and cried out, but they came out as moans because you were unable to speak. 

“It’ll all be over soon.” Ren whispered and then opened the door. 

TAGLIST: @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @morby​ @onlykyloscenes​ @direnightshade​ @clumsycopy​ @candycanes19​ @kirah36​ @desiraypark​ @princss-bucky​ 

[hartigays]

How about #9 as a prompt, please? Maybe something post Starcourt??

9.  “I missed you so much.”

every second leading up to steve knocking on the apartment door that looms before him was, initially, filled with excitement. but now that steve is finally here, soon to be face-to-face with the person who’s only lived in his dreams for the past year and a half, he hesitates.

it’s just nerves, but it feels like it’s eating away at steve’s core. leaving him exposed and raw, like a nerve.

what if things are different? what if nothing feels the same? what if steve’s dreams are better than reality? there are too many questions in need of answers. but steve doesn’t have the luxury of taking another few months to figure them out.

so he knocks.

steve takes a deep breath, steeling himself. willing his hands to stop shaking and his heart to stop feeling like it’s beating in his throat. it takes a moment, but finally he hears the sound of distant footsteps, growing closer and closer until the door swings open.

it isn’t billy. steve doesn’t know whether he should feel relieved, or concerned.

“you must be steve,” the woman in the doorway says, giving steve a dazzling smile.

it’s then that steve is confronted with recognition. she has the same smile as billy, the same bright blue eyes and sharp jawline.

she has to be billy’s mother, sandy. the person steve knows only through stories and shared memories. the person who had to leave billy behind years ago, when neil fought dirty for custody and painted her as some sort of evil criminal, stripping her of her parental rights.

billy is 18 now. billy can live with whoever the fuck he wants. billy is here, now, in california. and this is billy’s mother, the person he never should’ve been taken from, giving steve a smile bright enough to rival the sun.

steve isn’t expecting the swell of emotion that bubbles up inside of him. it has him surging forward, flinging his arms around the woman that he’d met mere seconds ago.

it’s a thank you, of sorts. a thank you for coming back, for welcoming billy back into her home, for giving billy a safe place to rest his head while he heals and recovers after the trauma and near-death of starcourt.

for letting billy love whoever he wants, and for letting steve stay here in her home, just for a little while, to love him right back.

“sorry,” steve says when he pulls away, clearing his throat. he wipes his eyes on the back of his hand, stepping back. “didn’t mean to bombard you like that.”

“come in, sweetheart. let’s get you something to drink,” is all sandy says, stepping aside to let steve in. “billy’s just hopped in the shower, he won’t be long.”

steve doesn’t say it, but he’s grateful for the extra time to collect himself. he’d turned into a blubbering mess after speaking little more than two words to billy’s mother - he doesn’t need to fall apart the minute billy walks through the door.

billy has had enough to deal with. it’s the least steve can do to not turn into a gigantic crybaby today.

“was the flight okay?” sandy asks from where she’s rummaging around in the fridge. she returns with a bottle of water a moment later, and steve accepts it gratefully.

“oh, yeah. it was fine,” steve tells her, his leg jiggling nervously. he’s seated at one of the barstools at the kitchen counter, his elbows resting on the cool marble. “getting a cab here from the airport was the hardest part.”

sandy chuckles, nodding. “i imagine so. sounds like your flight came in at one of the busiest times of the day.”

steve just smiles. he picks at the label on his water bottle, trying to come up with something to say. nothing seems to fit, but in the end he goes with, “i, uh. i want to thank you for letting me stay here for a bit. with billy, and - um. and stuff. i know that it’s not - it’s not usual. but i appreciate it a lot.”

“everything and nothing is usual. it’s just a matter of perspective, or circumstance,” sandy says. she huffs out a soft laugh when steve just blinks. “billy can love whoever he wants. it doesn’t bother me one bit - i just want my son to be happy. i think you and i are alike in that respect.”

“has he been?” steve asks, relief flooding through him, warm and comforting. “happy, i mean?”

“he’s been well. healing. he misses you, though. i think he mentions it about five times a day,” sandy says, a small smile playing on her lips. “writing to you has helped him take some important steps in his recovery.”

“i’ve kept them all, the letters. didn’t know if i’d ever get to come out here,” steve explains, his voice soft. “it was nice to have that little piece of him while he was gone.”

“not gone, just a little out of reach.”

steve whirls around at the sound of billy’s voice, accidentally knocking his water bottle onto the floor in the process. it spills all over the counter and the hardwood, and steve curses.

“shit- i mean, sorry, that wasn’t- i didn’t mean to do that,” steve says, rushing to find something to soak up the water with.

sandy just shakes her head, resting a hand on his shoulder. “go on, i’ll take care of this. it’s just water, honey, don’t worry about it.”

billy is standing in the entrance to the hallway, leaning against the wall with a fond smile on his face. steve gives sandy a grateful look, before moving around the counter to put himself directly in front of billy.

it isn’t until they’re in billy’s room, with the door cracked at sandy’s request, that steve pounces. he has billy in his arms in a split-second, burying his face in billy’s hair and breathing in deep.

“i missed you so much,” steve mumbles, his voice muffled and strands of billy’s hair getting stuck to his tongue.

“missed you too, princess.”

billy smells like the beach. like coconut shampoo and sunscreen and saltwater, even after his shower. he’s squeezing steve tightly, and steve knows it means that billy has missed him just as much.

they stand there for a long time, holding each other. it doesn’t feel right to speak, so neither of them do. they just cling to each other like their each other’s lifelines, their hearts beating in sync.

“do you want to sit down?” billy asks after a while, rubbing soothing circles onto steve’s back.

“no, i want- ” steve stops short, pulling back just enough to look into billy’s eyes.

then, he’s kissing billy with enough force to make them both sway a little. billy nearly topples over and steve eases up, but their lips never separate. steve kisses billy desperately, chasing the taste of weed and nicotine and toothpaste on his tongue. billy kisses him back just as desperately, one hand grabbing a fistful of steve’s hair, the other holding steve steady by the small of his back.

“you know, we could’ve done that sitting down,” billy says when they break apart, panting just as hard as steve. but he’s grinning from ear to ear, and steve is suddenly struck by just how much he looks like his mom.

“didn’t want to wait,” steve murmurs, leaning in to press another kiss to billy’s lips, this one quick, but tender.

then steve pulls away, taking a moment to look around the room. he’d been in billy’s room in hawkins once before when neil was out of town, but it’d felt like it belonged to someone else. there were posters of women in bikinis everywhere, playboys stacked on almost every surface, beer cans crushed and tossed around the room, almost like they were staged that way.

here, steve feels like he’s resting comfortably in billy’s mind. there are still posters hung up, but they’re of the movies steve knows are billy’s favorites. billy’s got two big bookshelves, filled top to bottom with worn books that have steve’s lips twitching into a soft smile when he spots them.

there’s also a hell of a lot of art all over the place, hanging on his walls and even tacked up on his ceiling. all pieces steve knows billy painted or drew himself, because whenever he and billy were alone, billy’s nose would always be buried in some sketchbook or another. he’s always struck by billy’s talent, rendered speechless at the depth to it all.

steve spots a small drawing resting on billy’s nightstand, propped up against his lamp. it’s a simple piece done in black ink, but steve can’t see what it’s of until he steps closer. his breath catches in his throat when he sees that it’s a sketch of him, perched on the hood of the beemer, smiling with a cigarette in hand.

“you drew me?” steve asks, picking up the drawing and cradling it delicately in his hands.

“i draw you a lot,” billy says, shrugging. he comes up behind steve and wraps his arms around his middle, hooking his chin over steve’s shoulder. “i can show you the rest later, but first you have to let me draw you again. it’s been a while.”

billy doesn’t let steve go, but he does maneuver around him to open the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a faded polaroid. it’s the photo billy’s drawing is based on, and the memory of the night it was taken hits steve like a train.

they’d been out at the quarry, drinking beer and smoking, shooting the shit. the sun was starting to set, and steve knew they were days away from graduating and everything was about change. he remembers his heart feeling so heavy he thought it might fall right out of him. but billy had been all smiles, staring at steve as he leaned up against the beemer, the sun setting behind him.

billy had said something stupid to make steve laugh, and the moment steve smiled billy had taken the shot. the memory has steve smiling down at the polaroid, his smile a little watery.

“i can’t believe you kept this,” steve says, twisting a little in billy’s hold to try and look at him. “it feels like this was so long ago.”

“i carry it around everywhere,” billy tells him, pressing a gentle kiss to steve’s shoulder. “carry these in my wallet, too.”

billy digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, producing a torn photo strip. it’s from the time they’d taken pictures in the photobooth at starcourt, before all the pain and devastation that came soon after. the booth had only printed one set, so billy took half, and steve took the other.

“i ever tell you that you’re kind of a softie?” steve jokes.

billy huffs a soft laugh, unwinding himself from around steve so he can take his hand and pull him towards the bed. he flops backwards onto it, and pats the spot next to him. steve curls up next to him immediately, resting his head on billy’s chest.

steve hears the click of billy’s lighter, and smells the smoke soon after. the window behind them is cracked, and steve can only hear the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore, seagulls, and billy’s soft breathing. he passes steve the cigarette a moment later and steve accepts it gratefully, taking a long drag.

“how long can you stay?” billy asks after several beats of silence, taking the cigarette from steve’s outstretched hand.

“‘bout a week. that’s all they’d let me take off,” steve sighs. “wish i could stay forever.”

“wish you could too,” billy says, his voice almost inaudible.

steve tilts his head up, pressing a kiss to the underside of billy’s jaw. “one day. i promise. i’ll be here to stay.”

billy just combs his fingers through steve’s hair, humming softly. they end up falling asleep like that once the cigarette is finished, dozing off to the sounds of the ocean and the city, the evening breeze ruffling their hair. but not before steve looks up at billy one last time, struck dumb by how much he loves him.

and for the first time in a long time, everything just feels right.

[theotherackerman]

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.

NOTES: New Year’s Day January 1st, Friday

Trigger warning: mentions of self harm and suicide.

song credit:

exile- taylor swift featuring bon iver, Ymir is singing the first verse that bon iver sings

CHAPTER FOUR:  second, third, and hundredth chances

As she drove out the cemetery, she began to realize how strange this truly was. Eren used to be the one who drove everywhere. Mikasa wasn’t a big fan of driving due to the car accident she had been through as a child. It was a necessary evil in her mind. Yet here she was driving Eren home. Their roles had reversed in a sense.

“Do you not drive anymore?” She broke the awkward silence between them.

“Not really.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You can but I won’t tell you.”

Mikasa was glad the roads were empty as she slammed on the breaks. Eren jolted forward and then back again.

“Mikasa!”

“Stop it! Just stop! Stop acting like this. What could I have possibly done to make you act like this? What did I love you too much? Did I give you too much? Just tell me what I did!” Mikasa had broken. The sadness inside her had been replaced with nothing but pure rage. “You owe me that much, Eren.”

Eren sighed, “fine, just get out of the middle of the street.”

Mikasa began driving again.

Eren sighed again. “I don’t drive because I don’t have a license anymore.”

“Why don’t you have a license anymore?” She had a feeling, in the pit of her stomach, that she already knew.

“Because I crashed my car when I was drunk. Hit a building. No one was hurt besides me. Car was totaled. Building was set for demolition anyway so the people really didn’t care. Spent the night handcuffed to a hospital bed while Zeke worked everything else out with lawyers. Just ended up losing my license.”

“Is that why you couldn’t walk?”

“No, that was because of my liver.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

Mikasa stopped at the red light and looked over at Eren. He was staring out the window, no emotion on his face.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence until they reached the old house. Mikasa knew this house as well as she knew her own home with Levi. She was shocked to see a for sale sign on the front lawn.

“You’re selling it?” She asked as she pulled into the driveway and parked.

“Yeah, I’m never here. I’m at Zeke’s place most of the time. I only moved back here temporarily to get the house in order to sell.”

Mikasa hadn’t expected that to hurt but it did for some reason. She had spent a lot of time here as a child. She could still see Carla in the kitchen watching over her, Armin, and Eren.

She understood it though. She had moved to the city with her friends, after all.

“Did you want to come in?” He asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Yeah, I’ll come in.”

“Okay,” Eren got out of the car first and she followed him, locking her car behind her.

Eren unlocked the door and held it open for Mikasa to come in.

“Thanks,” she told him as she walked in.

Stacks of boxes were all over the living room, that was the only thing that had changed. The walls were still covered in pictures, the bookshelves were still full. Mikasa began to wander the room but she didn’t dare look at the pictures. The couch was still in the middle of the room, tv mounted on the wall. Grisha’s leather chair and Carla’s rocking chair were still side by side.

She missed Carla. She could see her sitting there in her mind. Her welcoming smile. She missed the woman as much as Eren did. She rested her hand on the chair for a moment as if she was willing Carla to come back to life. She couldn’t help but wonder if Carla was here, would this still have happened?

“What did I do wrong?” She asked again as she turned around to face him.

Eren sighed, “nothing.”

“Well, there has to be something for you to say those horrible things! Eren…”

Eren sat down on the couch. “It’s better this way.”

“Why?”

He stood up and began to walk away.

“Why?” She knew she was pressing her luck but she didn’t care. She could feel the rage running through her veins like she had in the car.

“Because I’ll be a burden to you!” He yelled.

“You don’t get to make that choice!”

Eren stopped and silently turned towards her.

“Maybe I wanted to share your burdens!” She took a step closer to him. “That’s what friends do. I thought I was more than that. I thought I was family.”

“That’s all? Family?” he scoffed.

“Eren...I thought I was your future.”

Eren moved from across the room so quickly Mikasa wasn’t able to process what was going on until his lips were on hers. His hands were in her short hair, he wasn’t pulling away this time. She responded, moving her lips against his. Oh, how she had missed this. Her hands gripped onto his shirt pulling him closer to her. He walked her backwards so that her back was pressed against the wall. Just as she wrapped her legs around his waist, the front door opened.

“OH! I’ll come back later…”

With that, the door closed again.

Both of them began to blush as they untangled themselves from one another.

“Zeke?” Mikasa asked and Eren nodded.

“Zeke. Guess he got done with….whatever he was doing earlier.”

“He says you’re an asshole and a fucking idiot. His words, not mine,” Mikasa laughed a little.

“He’s not wrong,” Eren laughed before looking away from her.

“Talk to Armin. He needs you. Talk to me. Don’t...push us away...again.” She reached out and touched his face, making him look at her again.

“Mikasa, I’m fucked up, more than you know and once you know….” He placed his hand over hers on his face.

“What am I going to do? Run? I’m not a coward!” She removed her hand from his face and took a step back.

Eren sighed again, “you two are better off without me.”

“I told you, you don’t get to make that choice. Armin and I will. I leave on the 8th. I’ll talk to Armin, we’ll meet before then.”

“You’re not giving me a choice here, are you?” He asked as he walked back over to the couch and sat down.

“No, I’m not. You owe Armin and I the truth. All of it. You have the same number?” She pulled out her phone.

Eren nodded, “yeah. I didn’t change it. Do you still have it?”

“I couldn’t delete you. I tried but...I couldn’t.” She put her phone back into her pocket.

There was a knock on the door before it opened.

“Sorry to interrupt but I seemed to have locked the keys in the van,” Zeke announced as he walked in.

“I should be going anyway, Levi is probably wondering where I am.”

Eren just nodded.

“I’ll see you later, Eren,” she promised.

And with that, Mikasa walked to the door.

“OW! What was that for?!” She heard Eren yell as she began to close the door.

“You are a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Zeke replied.

Mikasa couldn’t help but smile to herself as she walked to her car.

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

“So I see you listened and talked to her. I can leave once we get the car unlocked and you can continue...wear protection..” Zeke said as went to the closet to grab a wire hanger. 

“I’m not going to have sex with Mikasa after you leave. It was just...the heat of the moment…” Eren said as his face went red and he rubbed the back of his neck.

 “And if I would not have walked it?” Zeke smirked.

“Please stop,” Eren pleaded as he walked out of the door.

“I just want to make sure my little brother is prepared,” Zeke called after him as he followed Eren out the door. 

“Stop. I hate you, you know that?” Eren said as he walked towards the van.

 “That is a lie and we both know it. I told you to talk to her and I was right.”

 “Please stop talking. When does Pieck get done today? Isn’t it time for you to annoy her yet?”

“No, unfortunately she is booked with engagement shoots today.”

“Just give me the damn hanger,” Eren sighed as he held his hand out. 

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

When Mikasa arrived at the Ackerman house, this time she was not greeted by two barking  puppies. As she took her shoes off at the front door, she noticed the dogs were nowhere to be seen.

“Levi and Hange left with the dogs,” she heard Ymir’s voice say.

“What are you doing here? I thought you went with Historia.”

“I did. Then Rod kicked me out. Historia had the limo drop me back off.”

Mikasa could hear the coffee maker running.

The amount of coffee that Ymir drank in a single day was ridiculous.

“Why?” Mikasa hung her jacket up on the coat hanger by the door. She then remembered she still had Eren’s in her bag, wherever Levi had put it. She made a mental note to find it and give it  back to him.

“Because he’s an ass. I don’t know. He wanted to talk to her and Freida about something. Apparently, I’m not family as he likes to remind me constantly. So I came back here. Levi and Hange were leaving just as I came in. I have no idea where they went. ” Ymir came from the kitchen holding a cup of coffee. “So you going to tell me why you have sex hair?” She asked as she raised an eyebrow.

“ I don’t have sex hair!” Mikasa protested.

“Okay, if you say so,” Ymir said as she lifted the coffee cup.

“....I ran into Eren at the graveyard.”

“So you had sex with your ex at the graveyard. I mean sounds weird to me but if that’s what you’re into, I’m not going to judge.”

“I didn’t have sex with Eren at the graveyard! I drove him home and we got into a fight. I told him he owed me an explanation for everything. So he invited me in.”

“So you had sex with your ex at his house? Boring but okay.”

“I didn’t have sex with Eren! We just...kissed...but more than last night.”

“You kissed Eren last night?!”

“Well he kissed me but it wasn’t long. Then he left but this time, Zeke came in.”

“So his brother cockblocked him. I’m starting to like this Zeke guy more and more.”

“Yes but no. We talked for a little bit more and then I told Eren he owed Armin and I an explanation. I was here until the 8th and I’d set him up. I didn’t give him a choice, actually.”

Ymir wrapped her arm around Mikasa’s shoulders tightly. “There’s the Mikasa I know and love! I mean, your angst is great for the album and you needed to heal so I didn’t say anything. But that’s...that’s the girl I met in high school. Take no shit Ackerman style!”

Mikasa could feel her cheeks turning red.

“So why were you at the graveyard?” Ymir removed her arm from Mikasa’s shoulders and sat down in Levi’s chair. She put her coffee cup down the coaster on the coffee table.

Mikasa wandered over to the couch and sat down.

“Visiting Mom and Dad and Carla. I visit them every New Year’s. Christmas….too many people. I like to talk to them.” She didn’t know why she felt embarrassed about it.

“That’s the look Armin gave you, that makes sense.”

“Yeah….”

“I haven’t gone and seen my mom since she died. Dad….longer than that.”

“Do you remember anything about them?”

“Not really.”

Ymir didn’t open up about her family very often. Mikasa never pushed for answers with her. She knew the basics. Ymir had been in foster care as a child, just like Annie had. Neither of them had any family step up to take care of them after their biological parents had passed. Annie was adopted by her first foster father while Ymir had moved around from place to place until she was sixteen. Then Ymir went through the emancipation process.

“Alright, let’s work on the new song you wrote,” Ymir said as she walked over into the sunroom.

Mikasa’s keyboard was still set up, music resting on it.

Mikasa pulled the piano bench from the grand piano over to the keyboard. She sat down, Ymir sat down next to her.

“Okay, so how is Historia going to hit this low note right here? The notes for the entire first verse are too low for her. Do you think she planned for this to be a duet?”

“I hope so because I wrote it as one. So the first verse is for you to sing. I wrote it from your perspective too. “

Ymir stared at Mikasa for a moment. “Wait, what? Do you not write all of these about Eren?”

“No, I write from my friend’s perspectives sometimes. You and Historia happened to be having problems so I wrote this as you and her. The first verse is you speaking to her.”

Mikasa began to play the introduction of the song.

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],”  Ymir’s voice rang out through the house.

Mikasa enjoyed the fact that Ymir had a lower voice similar to hers.

“Is that about the farmer or Reiner?” Ymir asked.

“Both. So you sing this whole first verse.”

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],”

“Yeah, is that okay?” Mikasa just realized maybe her friends weren’t okay with her writing about them.

“It’s fucking brilliant,” Ymir reassured her. “What’s next?”

“This is the chorus but I thought for the first one, you’d sing it alone.”

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright].”

“So then there’s vocalization which I thought Annie could do. Then Historia would do the next verse and chorus. Then there’s a….”

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Someone was pounding hard on the front door.

“Who the hell is that?” Ymir asked as she went towards the window to see who was out there. “It’s Historia but there’s no limo, no car. How the hell she’d get here?”

Ymir threw the door open to a sobbing Historia.

Mikasa left the sun room as soon as she heard Historia’s sobs.

“It’s gone. It’s all gone. My money. My car...the recording contract. I’m so sorry.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Some Sense of Normalcy ch.3 (baon)

Summary: It’s Edge’s first day back to work at the Embassy, but his job isn’t the only thing on his mind.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Injury

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

~~*~~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch was only two steps out of the elevator and already he could taste his own sweat heavy on the back of his tongue. It was fine, no big deal, it was only a bunch of equipment, right? The harsh gleam of the overhead fluorescent lights on stainless steel shouldn’t be that damn upsetting, it shouldn’t.

Shoulda woulda coulda, and fuck it all, because it damn well was, and the bitch of it was that Stretch wasn’t even sure why.

He started to turn around. Not to get back into the elevator, no, he wasn’t peacing out. Only to breathe for a minute, use those hard-learned tactics for controlling an incipient panic attack that Doc Lee spent the past year trying to pound into his hard skull. She hadn’t said it in so many words, but Stretch got the idea that they’d all been thoroughly tested already on Sans.

Close his sockets, focus on breathing deeply through his mouth. In for four, hold it, out for four. He was supposed to be so damned good at math, he could manage that much.

What felt like a hard, rubbery fist clenched in his chest was starting to ease when he heard someone calling his name.

“Stretch!” He turned to see Alphys almost scurrying up and her smile was warm enough despite the trifle of worry in her eyes.

Yeah, okay, better to keep her worries on the right path. Stretch hung on a 100-watt smile and beamed it right her way, “hey, lizard lady, how’s it going? i didn’t even have a chance to ring the bell.”

She held up her phone. “I g-get an alert when certain k-keycards are used in the elevator. C-come on, come to my office.”

Going to her office sounded like a super plan.

Stretch followed after her as she led a path through the maze of metal tables and equipment, the other scientists in their long white coats. He knew the way to her office, but it was easier to focus on the long yellow tail poking out of the back of her lab coat, concentrate on keeping that breathing nice and even.

Alphys wasn’t always the most observant person out there when it came to social cues, but she sure as hell understood anxiety. She knew he wasn’t keen on the labs. Not from anything Stretch said, not fucking likely, but he was pretty sure Ass-gore had a top-secret file on him somewhere with a nice long list of his skills sets and another one of his phobias. He kinda thought the skill list was longer, not enough to bet on it. He hoped whatever pictures they stuck in it caught his good side, namely his ass.

The second Stretch was through the office door, Alphys closed it, shutting out all the bustling sounds and reflections, and the relief of it being out of sight, out of mind, made Stretch let out an explosive sigh.

Alphys gave him a nervous smile as she gathered a stack of folders out of the guest chair. “So-sorry about the mess.”

On her desk, bookshelves, and even the chairs were cluttered piles of papers and diagrams, surrounded her computer monitors like flimsy skyscrapers, the bright corners of manga books poking out from random levels, and empty coffee mugs standing around like statues.

There were toys, too, statues and plushies both, one that looked distinctly like smiling piece of poo, another of dragon, curled around one of the coffee mugs. On her desk was a figure from ‘Mew Mew Kissy Cutie’ and that gave Stretch a little pang to see.

Back home, (no not home, not for a long time now) it was ‘Bow Wow Smootchie Beauty’, the main character an anime girl with adorably floppy ears. For the first time in longer than Stretch could remember, a longing twinge for Undyne rose up in him. Not this world’s Undyne, his Undyne, and he hated phrasing it that way, but he couldn’t think of something better.

He and Undyne hadn’t been besties, but they’d still been friends. Close enough that he’d gone to her place a few times to hang out, watch anime, and chatter on about the episodes and what was the best kind of cup noodles. So many words tossed back and forth about nothing at all. So long as they stayed in her rooms and out of the lab proper, it didn’t bother him, and Undyne never brought up her work, even when it was kinda obvious she wanted to.

That wistful look started showing up more and more, and Stretch stopped going even before everything went to shit in Underswap. There was something for his regret bucket. That he hadn’t taken the time to keep up his end of the bargain, hadn’t invited her over to his place for some movie viewing and yeah, she hated Snowdin, but he hated Hotland, so it was a fair trade. What wasn’t fair was knowing that if he’d been in Underswap, he would’ve gone to Undyne about this problem, without ever letting her talk about her work. Watched her nervously rub her hands together, half her face obscured by her long hair, hiding behind that curtain.

Stretch blinked hard, tearing his gaze away from the little figure and focused back to Alphys’s concerned face. Underswap was a long time ago and he needed to keep the count his of personal issues to one hand, thanks.

“hey, so thanks for meeting with me,” Stretch said. He plunked down into the chair while Alphys sat at the one at her desk, specially designed to allow for her tail. He didn’t bother resisting the urge to reach for his lighter, letting the rhythm of weaving it through his fingers soothe him.

“No problem,” Alphys said, “we got off c-course with t-tracking your HP. Is it t-troubling you again?”

“let me get straight to the meat of it,” Stretch said, “i want you to run another scan on my hp, then you can tell me.”

She nodded. “Have you been h-having any symptoms?”

“i’ve been really tired lately, run down,” Stretch admitted, “i take a nap and i wake up still tired. i can fall asleep anywhere.”

Alphys hummed thoughtfully, “S-sounds like Undyne r-right now.” She gave him an unexpectedly teasing look, "Are you s-sure you aren't p-p-pregnant, too?"

"har, har, al." Stretch about sprained an eye light rolling them as hard as he could. “unless i grew some unexpected equipment, there won’t be any knocked up at my door.”

"Well, in theory, s-soul mating c-could result in the c-creation of a souling, there were experiments—"

"in theory, sure,” Stretch interrupted, unreasonably annoyed; he didn’t want to talk about experiments, thanks. “but that requires rubbing two souls together long enough to make a fire. since edge and i stick with rubbing pelvises, i'm going with not." Stretch shuddered; just the thought of it was nightmare fuel. "sorry, preggies is okay for people who want it, but i'd rather donate a femur to the cause.”

"I th-think I wouldn't have m-minded," Alphys said, shyly. "But Undyne has better HP than me, so we d-decided she should be the one to c-carry the baby.”

Even talking about this was making him a little uncomfortable, but Al had the look of someone who wanted to talk, maybe needed to. She was doing him the favor, here, the least he could do was listen. Probably Al didn’t get to talk about it much, since she wasn’t the one with the bump.

The memory of his Undyne made him push aside his discomfort. Stretch forced a chuckle and said, "heh, if that's the deciding vote, then if we were gonna baby it up, Edge would be the pregnant one."

"He would have very f-fashionable maternity clothes. He and Undyne c-could bond over prenatal yoga." Alphys looked at him curiously, rocking back in her office chair, “P-pardon me for asking, but are you t-two looking for a surrogate, then?”

“fuck, no!” Stretch blurted. Yeah, that might have been a little excessive, Alphys winced, cringing into herself. Stretch tied on his smile again, “sorry, sorry, that was rude.”

Alphys shook her head, and her words were gentle and nonjudgmental, “N-not at all, it’s a p-p-private decision, I shouldn’t have p-pressed.”

Probably not. He and Al weren't specifically close, as friends or anything else, so Stretch wasn't sure why his stupid mouth chose to add, "i really don’t want kids and edge…i mean. he says he’s fine with it.”

If Alphys was surprised to hear him toss out that conversational gambit, it didn’t show. She only leaned in, her eyes kind behind her glasses, “You d-don’t believe him?”

Wasn’t that the ten-dollar question? Stretch really wished he was sure about the answer. He wanted to believe Edge, maybe Edge even believed himself, tried to, anyway. Stretch looked down, away from Alphys’s gaze, and said in a small voice. “i don’t know.”

“Hm.” Alphys stood and waddled over to stand next to him. Even sitting, he had to look down at her as she settled a clawed hand on his shoulder, “I really want this baby,” she said, clearly, “But I th-think if Undyne d-didn’t want to have kids, I’d be okay w-with that.”

There was enough quiet sincerity in that to make him swallow hard against a knot settling in the back of his throat. “yeah?”

“Yeah,” Alphys smiled, a loving, brilliant smile meant for someone else, someone tall and brash, with a lot of red hair. Not his Undyne, but hers. “I f-fell in love with her, n-not her DNA,” Alphys said, firmly. “Although she does have very n-nice DNA. So maybe you should b-believe him.”

Stretch offered her a smile of his own, one that felt a little wobbly, but hey, it was there. Look at him, communicating back and forth like a grown up and all. Doc Lee would be so proud. “thanks al. congrats by the way. how are undyne and the bump?"

"Impatient," Alphys sighed deeply, and wasn't there chapters of meaning in that one word.

“know much about the sprog yet?” Stretch teased and it felt okay. “gonna be twins? tadpoles?”

She giggled and shook her head. “N-no, the ultrasound is showing one baby. She’s d-due anytime now, it can be d-difficult to gauge with mixed Monster species.”

The scientist in him was a little curious about that; he’d gone for physics over biology. He wondered who they’d gone with for the dad juice, but he wasn’t the kind of asshole who would ask.

“i do like kids,” Stretch admitted, “i just don’t want part ownership with one. bet edge would like to babysit.”

She hummed thoughtfully, “B-be careful with that offer, I’m s-sure we’ll take you up on it. Now, we’ve g-gotten off-topic.”

Stretch winced. “yeah, sorry, sorry, i know you’re busy.”

“Not so busy that I can’t h-help,” Alphys countered. She turned around to scrabble through the clutter on her desk, came back with a notepad and a pencil. The tip of the pencil hovered over the paper, ready to write, “Now, you’ve been t-tired. What are you getting when you run a Ch-check?”

Of course she’d ask that, it made sense, it was the very first thing to be done to see a Monster’s stats. Quick, painless, and loaded with info, and Stretch didn’t really have a good reason for not doing one already, past ‘don’t wanna’.

Time to face the tunes. “i haven’t run one,” Stretch admitted quietly, “i know, i know, i’m wasting your time--”

“Hm? No, I don’t think so,” Alphys scribbled something down on the notepad. “Anything else out of the o-ordinary?”

“i thought about it and the only thing i can think of is i’ve been doing a lot healing lately, more than usual.” He didn’t say why and Alphys didn’t ask. “a lot of shit’s been going down. honestly, i don’t even know if something is wrong, but if there is, i wanted to get a leg over on it, get checked over before anything worse crops up.”

“You’re t-tall enough to get a leg right up over my h-head,” Alphys said, and the gentle tease soothed. Right up until Alphys set aside the notepad and picked up a tablet with a pair of electrodes dangling from it. “Right then, l-let’s run some t-tests. Can you summon your soul?”

Fuck, he hated this part. Or maybe hated was too strong a word. It wasn’t that bad, really, Stretch was used to a certain clinical touch on his soul from time to time, he got sick too often not to be. Used to the feel of gloved hands holding it steady to slip in an IV needle, or to attach leads, or to take a minuscule sample to study under a microscope, checking for what kind of germ hooked its wagon to his personal shining star this time. He was pretty numb to the whole ordeal at this point.

If he were honest with himself, and hey, sometimes he was, it hadn’t felt quite so invasive until he’d let Edge go hands-on with it. No one else had ever cradled his soul in a gentle hand, gazed at the silvery light that poured out of it with adoration. Sure as hell no one else had ever seen it during sex, rubbed a careful, bare thumb across its smooth surface and dragged such toe-curling pleasure out of him he’d damn near fainted from it.

Yeah, it was hard to sit back down in the waiting room once you got a glimpse of paradise.

He summoned up his soul, and didn’t watch as Alphys went to work. She was professional and gentle, hooking up the leads with barely even a pinch. She tapped the tablet and almost instantly, her expression changed into something... complicated. Um. That didn’t seem good. “what?”

“Oh, it’s n-nothing, let me--”

“it’s not nothing, you look like someone gave you a pinch on the ass. what is it?”

“It’s n-nothing bad,” Alphys corrected. “L-let me finish first, hasty c-conclusions lead to bad r-results.”

True enough but that was easier to deal with when it came to his experiments on growing better yielding plants through hydroponics, not so much when it was his soul on the line.

He waited impatiently while she poked at the tablet and managed to give her all of three minutes before bursting out, “okay, so what’s going on?”

“See for y-yourself.”

She held out the table and on it was a screen was a visual display of all his stats, from his soul pulse (running too fast) to his defense (sitting at its normal too-low), to his HP, displayed down to the tiniest decimal.

His HP, which had been slowly ticking upward for the past few weeks, was still doing it. Only now it was above five, closer to 5.3453367883. The last three crawled upward as he stared, turning to a unaccusing four.

“it’s going up,” Stretch said blankly. Way to state the obvious, there. His mind wasn’t calculating anything past that, nothing beyond his initial shock. He’d been expecting bad news, braced to hear the worst, and this was the exact opposite. It was like a trash bag breaking open to reveal piñata candy inside.

“Y-yes!” Alphys said happily. She tapped a clawed finger on the tablet screen. “It’s s-still going at the same r-rate as before, only it’s traveled p-past your base HP!”

“but…why?” Pointless question, what did it matter so long as it was going up, but Stretch didn’t like mysteries, not on television and not in life. He liked answers.

“That’s harder to d-determine,” Alphys admitted. “You d-did say you’ve been getting more rest lately, but th-that usually causes a one-time boost, n-not a cumulative effect. You said you’ve been using your m-magic a lot m-more, yes?”

“yeah, more than i usually do around the house.”

“M-maybe you should keep that up.” She snatched up the notepad and started scribbling furiously, leaving Stretch to gingerly remove the leads himself and allow his soul fade back into his chest. “T-take more shortcuts, practice a few a-attacks. We aren’t meant to hoard our m-magic in our souls, we need to l-let it out, k-keep it from going stagnant.”

“i guess i could.” Shortcuts, anyway, Stretch wasn’t really keen on making any sort of attack, not even for the magic drain, thanks.

“I think you should t-t-try it,” Alphys said decisively, “For th-this week, work on using your m-magic more than usual, then come back and we’ll r-run another test. It’s worth investigating.” She paused. “Of course, there is a-another possibility.”

“what?”

Her smile was a little tremulous, “M-monster souls response well to h-happiness.”

Before Stretch could say anything to that, his phone rang, showing an incoming call from the main source of his current happiness.

Fuck, he’d told Edge to call on his lunch.

He held up a shushing finger to his mouth and Alphys nodded, even as he swiped to answer it, “babe! i was just thinking about you—”

“I hope they were kind thoughts and not nefarious plans.” Just the sound of his voice was soothing, the soft underlying humor wrapped around his concern, “How are you feeling?”

Too much enthusiasm was going to set off alarm bells, so Stretch settled for, “better, i think. more myself, anyway.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, love,” Edge said warmly. “Then if you’re feeling better, perhaps you’d like to come upstairs to my office and have lunch with me?

Welp, so much for secrets. He should have known better to even try at the Embassy. If the spy gear didn’t get you, the gossips sure did. “who tattled.”

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal my source.”

Yeah, about the only person that took out of the running was Andy, and only because he’d promised not to tell. “yeah, i’ll be up in a mo’.”

“Wait,” Came unexpectedly from Alphys. “C-could you ask Edge to c-come down here? For a few m-moments?”

“um, sure, al,” Stretch said slowly and all his relief about his HP started to curdle until she hastily spoke up again.

“It’s n-not about you. O-or it is, but n-not in that way, it’s n-nothing bad, only an experiment I’m doing. I c-could use both your help.”

That didn’t sound at all ominous or anything, did it. But he owed a favor and Stretch did like to pay off his tabs. Eventually.

“babe, can you come down to the labs, to alphys’s office?” Stretch said into the phone. “she says it’s nothing bad.”

“Of course,” Edge replied, surprised, “I’ll be down in ten minutes.” The call disconnected and left him alone again with Alphys for ten long minutes, ten minutes that he didn’t really want to discuss experiments in until Edge was here. He could give Alphys that much, more than he’d ever given his Undyne.

But only when Edge was here, that was the thing and it was okay; Edge might be the one with all the strategy, but Stretch had a trick or two up his sleeve, too.

“did you see the last mew mew kissy cutie holiday special?”

Alphys brightened visibly and took the bait, babbling her way excitedly into his trap. Stretch settled back into his chair to listen, for at least ten minutes, but his wandering thoughts were more on his HP and that slow upward tick.

~~*~~

tbc

[musashi]

hey jess would it be possible to get a picture of your pokemon collection without the blue lights? the colored lights make it difficult for me to distinguish which pokemon you have ^^; my brain just registers shelves upon shelves of wobbuffet lol

YEAH sfdghfd i got lighting because my bookshelves are so dark its impossible to see the pokemon otherwise haha, they cycle thru the colour spectrum i just had em on blue in that shot. hopefully white lights are okee?

had to take pics of jessie & james’s shelves together cause the little water bottle cover wobbuffet hangs down to james’s shelf sdfgsgf. the second wobbuffet directly above jessie is a special one of a kind friend that @patheticnyas stitched me himself ;o; hes fulla beans and my pal and i periodically take him off the shelf to snuggle him

james’ shelf is kinda misc hence bewear and stufful but its mostly pokemon he has. the z ring on the bigger mareanie’s head is a reference to the end of the sm anime and i also keep my spare pair of glasses on her because she’s lovecore just like me. whenever i find bottlecaps lying around i wash them off and stack them on/around james like some kind of voodoo doll situation except i only do nice stuff to him so every james in the world always feels happy and serene. if you ever feel a wave of calm wash over you thats cause i put another bottlecap on ur voodoo chokkorisan. the oddish was a gift from @jessicarocket and the heal ball was a gift from @happylilraichu!!! both of them are a DTE reference from two of my biggest and sweetest fans :’3

meowth shelf is meowth. the meowth in the back w the curly whiskers is the oldest pokemon plush i own that i’ve had the longest. it was my first ever pokemon plush and i got it when i was 4 or 5 at a toys r us i would later work at and eventually close down. baby jessie kinnie me would carry meowth everywhere and talk to meowth constantly he was my best friend ever growing up.

oh and my essential pokemon book of joy! its a book TPCI released of inspirational pokeani quotes. when cons come back i really want to ask michele to sign its sfdgsdf

arbok o clok!!!!!! heres my snakes. i bought most of this collection from someone on pkmncollectors who was selling the whole thing for 70 fucking dollars it was a steal. that chubby lookin arbok in the back was a MAJOR steal, its a burger king plush from the late 90s that usually goes for about 50 bucks but i swiped it for 10-15 on ebay. some mom cleaning her kid’s closet BIN’d it at that price and i went ape.

mimikyu party! u cant entirely tell but the sideways dude in the back is shiny. 

various jessiemons!!!!!!! i just realized woobat is covering lickitung in this pic oops. theres a lickitung back there fdghfsgh

may monsssss. i keep the bandana from the cosplay over here too, it was a gift from my friend ash who’s url is escaping me at the moment dsgffsdg sorry ash OTL the rose was given to me by a random waluigi on sunday of con while i was in full may cosplay. i heard drew audibly screaming in my head the whole time it happened.

harleymons!!!!!!!!!!! cacturne is a bootie because there’s no fucking plush of cacturne and i was tired of not having a cacturne. contest fam buttons by @pocketvoyage @pokettoby who u should give all ur money to. the glittery rose was from @patheticnyas so i put it with his pokemon so they could be together in spirit :’3

i also collect contest fam mons in figure form! i need more solidad in my life seghfsgh i feel bad for not giving her pokes more attention. theres also some randos in here like the pika funko haha i had to swipe that cause it was a highly sought after work exclusive and i have a lot of funny stories about it.

ANNNND the rest of my rocket collection! plus some groudon over there cause me maxie. a LOT of these figures were gifts fgsfgfd. the figures in the back r stupid expensive and fully articulated and the best gift ever from jessica, so naturally i made them dab. the framed white pics are kinda hard to see but they’re animation cels (sketches, i cant fucking afford colours lmao, for pokeani they go for like 1k+) of team rocket from episode 14 of OS! the funky lookin pikachu in both these photos in the top right of this one was a glass sculpture my grandparents bought from a street seller in budapest and its very special to me because my family outside of my sisters rarely pays attention to me or acknowledges my interests. the other framed print is rachael lillis’s autograph!

i have michele’s too but im waitin on my paycheck to hit tonight to buy frames sdfgsgfd. if i can manage hayashibara’s i’ll have every jessie i’ve ever watched dfgfsgd.

i also have some misc plush chillin in a corner i always forget to take pics of! mostly gifts haha. but ive also got chokkorisan plush of the OG golden trio. i put the lil croagunk pin michele sent me on brock x3

[jasontoddiefor]

Chapter 11 of that one story in which Robin #3 is magic, literally.

Read on AO3

Robin woke up again when somebody knocked gently against his door. Sleepily, he crawled out of his bed and walked over to the door. He had fallen asleep in yesterday’s clothes and given the bright sunlight already shining through the curtains, Robin must have slept through the night.

Tentatively he opened the door just a crack. He expected Alfred, not Nightwing to be standing there, looking quite nervously. He was dressed in civilian clothes and it painted a quite different picture than that of the serene vigilante of before. He seemed tired, vulnerable.

“Can I come in?”

Robin opened the door wordlessly and stepped aside to make space for him.

Nightwing entered the room and looked around. The room was a little more lived-in than it had been when Robin first saw it, but it still wasn’t anything special. Still, somehow he was embarrassed by it. Robin had been made to be striking and the room wasn’t special compared to all the others in the manor.

“It’s nice,” Nightwing said, walking up and down.

He was uncomfortable in Robin’s presence and stalling time on top of it. With a sigh, Robin sat down at his desk chair.

“Do you want anything in particular, Nightwing?”

Nightwing frowned at him, confusion sprinkled all over his face like his freckles.

“Night- you can call me Dick, if you want to.” Dick stopped talking, halted, and realization took hold of him. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Richard ‘Dick’ John Grayson,” Robin replied easily, the knowledge of the previous Robin’s identity as clear as if he’d downloaded it from the batcomputer. “Twenty-one-years old, Blüdhaven vigilante operating as Nightwing . You’re also a founding member of the Teen Titans, a group of mostly teenagers to young adults, most of whom were former sidekicks of-“

“Woah, woah, kid, slow down.” Dick held up his hands in a placating manner, now grinning sheepishly. “I see you know your stuff. But yes, you can call me Dick if you want to.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Well, I have to ‘know my stuff’ as Robin. Not that I’m doing much of that right now.”

Dick winced and, deflating like an old balloon, sat down on Robin‘s unmade bed.

“It’s not an easy time for Bruce- all of us really. Jason’s death… Nobody but that fucking clown is to blame, but Bruce still feels responsible.”

Dick’s eyes hardened and his voice edged on the corner of terrifyingly dangerous just after mentioning the Joker.

“But I’m not Jason!” Robin argued. “I’m not much of anyone but Robin, and Batman doesn’t even let me be that!”

Robin crossed his arms over his chest, already in a fool mood. The day had hardly started and he was already angry. Great. Dick observed him silently and Robin didn’t want to know what kind of impression he was making on the other vigilante.

“I might not be able to change Batman’s opinion on that, not given the terms we are on now, but I could use another set of eyes.”

Dick seemed to be hesitant saying those words, but Robin almost immediately began vibrating with energy.

“You want my help?” Robin asked, almost toppling his chair when he hurried to stand up.

Dick nodded seriously. “Yes, that’s why I came to the Cave originally. I’m tracking a ring of arms dealers and Batman has the better tech, but I think I’ll work just as fast with you helping out. So do you want to-“

“Yes!” Robin shouted. “Yes, yes, yes, please. I’ve been trying to solve old cold cases from the police, but without leaving the manor my investigations have been going super slowly and please let me help!”

Dick laughed and stood up. “Alright, alright. Down to the kitchen again then? Alfred's made breakfast and my files are downstairs. I suppose I have to get them from the Cave. You can change into something fresh in the meanwhile.”

“Sounds like a plan!”

As soon as Dick had left the room, Robin rushed to his wardrobe and quickly put on new clothes. A pair of sweatpants, gray this time, and a comfortable black and yellow Batman sweatshirt later, Robin was sitting at the kitchen table, munching on his cornflakes while Dick was sorting through his files.

Alfred had tsk’ed once in disapproval, but given that Robin wasn’t supposed to be in the Cave, they had to take their work upstairs.

Working alongside Nightwing was fun. The vigilante was perceptive and Robin admired how efficiently he worked, and how well he knew his city and its criminals. He gave Robin a quick rundown of what organization they were dealing with, how they operated and what had tipped Nightwing off.

Then the two of them started tracing the organization’s work back to Gotham, slowly dismantling them. After a couple hours had passed, they had connected the dealers with their buyers and began strategizing how to take them down.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Nightwing told Robin.

Robin smiled, this time with nothing holding him back. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself either, Nightwing.”

Nightwing messes up Robin’s hair delightfully, not even stopping when Robin shrieked.

“I told you, it’s Dick. If you’re gonna stick around a while longer, it’s only right you call me by my name.”

Robin pushed away the sheets of paper they had covered with mindmaps and leaned forward on the table, mustering Dick.

“Are you also going to stick around?”

Dick scratched the back of his head, eyes darting to the family photo sitting on the window sill. It was a small picture in a wooden frame depicting Alfred, Bruce, Dick and Barbara somewhere in the gardens. Right next to it was another picture of Jason, probably only a few months after his adoption, in his school uniform, standing in the foyer together with Bruce. Bruce was beaming and Jason smiling shyly. Robin wouldn’t know what he’d do if Batman ever smiled at him like that, probably start crying.

“I think I’ll show up a little more often,” Dick finally answered. “The Titans- they’re fine. Blüdhaven, of course, still needs me, but she’s not called Gotham’s sister city for nothing. If Gotham gets worse, Blüdhaven does as well. It’s in my best interest to keep an eye on Gotham as well.”

Dick said Gotham , but Robin guessed what he actually meant was Batman .

“I’ll make sure everything works out here in your absence,” Robin promised. “Or, I’ll try my best at least.”

“That’s more than enough, trust me,” Dick smiled.

That was when Alfred entered the kitchen and with barely ten words, told them to pack up so he could prepare lunch. Quickly, Robin and Dick cleaned up and put the various sheets they had stolen from the arts and crafts room in different folders so Dick could take them home comfortably.

Dick put everything in his blue messenger back and set off to deposit it back in his room. Since he said nothing to Robin, Robin decided to follow him. The family wing looked just like it did a month ago, freshly cleaned with nothing out of place.

Dick opened the door to his room and let Robin inside. Now that Robin was seeing Dick’s room for a second time, he could see how well it fit Dick. The CD player in the corner was angled in such a way that you got the best sound and the stacks of CDs next to it were a wild mix of modern pop, the 80s and bands that used to be popular a couple of years ago.

The right wall of the otherwise blue room was covered by a large mural. The skyline of a city with a lot of air balloons swinging gently in the wind above.

“Where is that?” Robin asked.

“Huh?” Dick turned his head to look in the same direction as Robin. “Oh. That? That’s Paris about ten years back? It was the first big vacation Bruce and I took. We went to Europe and tracked through France. Nobody knew who we were, it was quite refreshing. Especially since I hadn’t gotten used to the fame that came with being Bruce Wayne’s ward yet. There was a tournament or so near Paris and the sky was full of the balloons. It was the highlight of the vacation for me. And if not for the drug-dealing ring we accidentally shattered, I think it would have been Bruce’s as well.”

Robin, who had sat down on the bed, did a double-take at hearing about Dick and Bruce's adventure.

“You accidentally took down a drug-dealing ring? How do you even do that?”

Dick laughed and sat down on the ground, leaning against his bookshelves. “Okay, so it’s probably not even that funny, but you know how Bruce has a sixth sense for crime? So we’re walking down that beautiful alley and Bruce just freezes and squints at some shady dudes in one corner…”

Dick latched onto the story, narrating in great detail Robin and Batman’s adventure in Europe. And because he kept making references to other missions and the like, Dick kept going off track and told Robin more and more stories.

The longer he talked, the happier did Dick seem to become, and Robin too was pulled in by his enthusiasm. Some of these stories Robin knew, but the more he learned, the more did he realize that factual knowledge couldn’t compare to Dick’s vibrant description of the time Batman and Robin saved the holidays. The life Dick had lived was so colorful and fantastic - Robin wanted something like that for himself.

He could do without taking a swim in the sewers, but he’d give everything for Batman to look at him with the same fond exasperation Dick talked of.

“And that’s the reason why Bruce and I shared a hotel room,” Dick ended his monologue. “Talking rooms - is there a reason we relocated to the guest wing?”

Robin shrugged. “I think that’s Alfred’s doing. Bruce wasn’t sleeping well here.”

“Or at all?” Dick guessed with a sigh. “It’s no surprise with Jason’s room next door.”

“I found him in there in my first week,” Robin blurted out. “I don’t know what he was doing. He was just sitting on the ground and I had no idea how to act!”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Dick said. “Everybody grieves in a different way.”

Robin knew that Dick was trying to reassure him, but his words weren’t helping. Robin was well aware of how grief worked, it was part of their job and so he knew it, but he still couldn’t do anything to support Batman because he kept locking Robin out.

“But I still want to help him and I can’t because he won’t even let me come near him.”

“I promise I’ll talk to him when he gets him tonight. Maybe I can get Bruce to slow down a little. We’re not as close as we used to be, but maybe I can improve the situation a little.”

“And what should I do in the meantime?”

Dick reached up and pulled a book out of his shelf. Easily, he threw it at Robin. “Live a little.”

Robin caught the book and turned it around so he could read the cover. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

The book looked rather old and worn. A quick flip through revealed pages covered in all kinds of ink and markers.

“What’s this?” Robin asked.

“The first Harry Potter book,” Dick answered. “I had to read it for class a couple years back and took a lot of notes in it. Kids your age are supposed to like it-”

“You mean one month going on one decade?” Robin replied snarkily, but Dick didn’t even  bother to reply to that.

“-and even beyond that. It’s just a fun book to read. Try to broaden your horizon a little further away from Robin or you’ll go mad.”

Dick fell silent and crossed his arms in front of his chest as he tilted his head slightly. He was observing Robin - no, the mask Robin couldn’t take off.

“And we need to do something about that too. You can’t keep running around  in the house with a mask and without a name.”

Robin just rolled his eyes. He supposed this was where he differed from regular humans. Robin was all he was and all he ought to be. He didn’t need to broaden his horizon.

“I have a name! I already told you that! It’s Robin.”

“Yeah, no.” Dick shook his head. “Robin is a title . You need a name.”

Robin didn’t get it. Maybe this was another one of these civilian life things he was supposed to follow now? It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, the others just didn’t understand that Robin was all he would ever be and all he was supposed to be. It was fine, he didn’t mind if he would actually get to do his job.

“I’m fine without, really,” Robin insisted.

From Dick’s sigh, Robin deduced that he didn’t believe him, but it wasn’t like this discussion would go anywhere anytime soon.

“Just try it, alright? You don’t just have vigilantism in your DNA.”

Robin was going to argue that he very much did, going by the components that constructed his DNA and its donors, but decided against it in the last second. If Dick was too stubborn to see it, Robin would just have to accept it and move on. At least he’d have some more entertainment for the next weeks.

“Thanks for the book,” Robin said instead.

Dick smiled. “No problem. You can tell me what you thought of it when you’ve read it. I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it. Bruce would always try to overinterpret the book instead of just enjoying it.”

Robin blinked.

“How do you just enjoy it?”

Dick began to laugh and threw back his head so far, that it knocked against his bookshelf, but even the sudden pain from that didn’t seem to deter him.

“I’m serious!” Robin said, his cheeks flushed red. “Explain!”

But Dick kept on laughing, bright and joyful.