#so... this should have gone before the previous chapter. oops

[bellagothisdying]

"Hey, you're Bella, right?" "As far as I know, yes."

"I'm Mia Moore! Your roommate." "Groovy."

"So, why Britechester? Do you like the old architecture, are you here for the history department, or do you just like the rain?"

"I'm here for the hot professors."

"Valid." Previous | Next

Sims fics: The Duality of Bella  Bella Bella 

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

Summary: Things have gone wrong in your pack's absence. Can they make it back in time before irreparable damage is done? Can they fix the damage that's already been dealt?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 10,232...oops

Warnings: ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, panic attacks, very descriptive scenes of panic and anxiety, very heavy emotionally in the beginning, major invasions of privacy, hurt/sort of comfort, very brief mention of violence and death, and most importantly: fluff

A/N: Yeah, so this one kind of got away from me. It's definitely one of my favorite chapters now, and it's definitely the longest so far. It's pretty heavy, so plan something fun afterwards because it will hurt. I tried to catch all the possible triggers, but of course, if I miss one let me know. I promise things will begin to take a turn for the happier after this, at least for a bit. Picks up pretty much right where chapter 17 left off.

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You’re shaking. Your breaths are coming in gasps as you stare at your open door. There’s no scent in the air, nothing that would give you a hint of who invaded your space, or if they’re still in there. You should leave, barricade yourself somewhere and call Dr. Keller, or even Kate. 

What could they do, though? Your pack won’t be home until tomorrow at the earliest. 

No one can help you. 

You slowly push your door open, ready to run in case someone is hiding inside. You stand in the doorway, scanning the small space, but there’s no sign of anyone. There’s still no scent either, just your own mingled with the slight chemical burn of scent blockers. Your eyes scan the room, looking for anything that might be new, anything that might be missing, anything that might be slightly out of place. 

The clothes on the floor are slightly rumpled, but you’re not sure if you did that in your haste to pull on shoes before you left, or if they’ve been that way since the knock sounded on your door. You lift your gaze to the ceiling, scanning it and that’s when you notice it. The cover over the vent is slightly out of place. You likely wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention, if you hadn’t looked. 

The thought sends a chill running down your spine. 

You keep your eyes on the vent as you grab your desk chair, kicking clothes out of the way as you move it under the vent. You stand on the chair, reaching for the vent, but it’s not quite enough. You shove the chair to the side, taking everything off your desk before you pull it under the vent. You climb up on shaky legs, your heart thudding in your chest as you remove the vent cover. 

Nausea twists at your stomach as your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp. There, strategically placed between two of the gaps in the vent cover, is a camera. It’s small, and would have been invisible just staring at the vent from below. You feel like you might be sick as you pull it free from the vent cover, staring down into the tiny lens. 

How long has it been up there? 

You drop the camera onto your desk, your fingers shaking and trembling as you feel along the edges of the vent, checking for anything else that might be hiding up there. You replace the cover after you find nothing, a sense of dread filling you. 

Had the guys put it up so they could watch you, make sure that you’re safe? Had they put it up there before you arrived? You think about all the times you’ve changed in your room, your heat. 

You climb down from the desk, tugging it further towards the center of the room before you climb back up, unscrewing the cover off the light. You check the bulb, looking for any cameras or recording devices. You screw the cover of the light back on after finding none, a quiet sob leaving your lips as you look around your room. 

You close the door and lock it before you begin your search, checking every corner and piece of furniture for cameras or recording devices. You empty the dresser and closet, checking every drawer and corner for anything suspicious. 

You pull recording devices from under your desk and the back of your nightstand, the adhesive still fresh enough they pop right off. A cold sweat has overtaken you as you find another recording device and another camera, adding them to the growing pile on your desk. 

A quiet sob of fear leaves your lips as you check the bathroom, tearing your room apart to check every inch. You search up a tutorial on YouTube, using your phone to check for more possible cameras that you might have missed. 

You stare down at the pile of cameras and recording devices on your desk. Someone entered your room and planted them while you were with General Shepherd. It had all been deliberate. Get you away from your room and distracted so they could enter and set up the devices. You wonder if it’s all part of some sick plan, some way to ensure things are going well with your pack. General Shepherd had been very interested in your mark, invading your space without a moment of hesitation to see it firsthand. You would have shown him, had he asked to see it. Instead he’d just done it himself, as if it was nothing. 

Your hands are shaking as you find a ziploc bag in the mess you’ve made of your room, putting the cameras and recording devices into it. You drop it onto the floor before stepping on it, listening to the crack of metal and plastic and glass under your shoe. Tears slip down your cheeks as you pick up the bag of broken pieces, taking it to the bathroom. You hide it far in the back of the cupboard beneath the sink, piling things around it and on top of it to keep it hidden. 

You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, your skin crawling as you stare at the mess. You don’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own space. The thought of someone breaching the sacred space, entering your room without a second thought to put up cameras makes your stomach churn. 

Where will you go? You can’t just leave, find somewhere else to feel safe. What if they did the same to the guys’ rooms? There could have been an entire team of people that came in and put cameras up all over the barracks. A sob leaves your lips as you rush to the door, double checking it’s locked before you shove the dresser against it. You flip your desk up to cover the window as much as it can, just in case anyone tries to climb in.  

You sink to the floor in the middle of the disaster that has become your room, sobbing quietly. You want your pack home, you want to feel safe again. You glance at your phone where it’s sitting on a pile of shirts, afraid to even touch it. That woman could have done anything to it while you were with General Shepherd. What if they’re trying to call you and they can’t reach you? 

You should try to reach Dr. Keller, tell her what happened, get her to check if there’s anyone lurking around the barracks that shouldn’t be. What if they try to attack her, though? Can she defend herself? You don’t know if she can fight or not. What if she gets hurt because of you? She could ask someone else on base to look, but what if they were involved in it? What if it was someone already on base that had done it? The thought nearly makes you sick. 

You’re scared to leave again. What if they’ve noticed you found the cameras and come back while you’re gone? What if they come back while you’re here? 

The tears flow freely as you sob, too afraid to even move. You can feel it, the panic starting to bubble up again, the fear welling inside you. Your muscles begin to tense, shoulders pulling up near your ears as you try to defend yourself from this invisible threat. It’s an easy slope from fear to distress, and there’s no one to help you if you start distressing. You press your palms into your eyes, holding your breath to try and shock your body into something other than panic. 

You bite back a startled scream as a knock sounds at the door, your heart rate spiking again. 

“It’s just me,” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door. “Ready for dinner?” 

You take a deep breath, staring at the dresser blocking your door. You’ll have to move it to get out, which she’ll likely notice. You could lie, you could lie easily, but you’re not sure you could keep it up right now. She’ll notice the tears, the obvious signs of panic and distress. She’ll want to know, and you can’t trust yourself not to spill everything. 

You should tell her about what had happened, but you know she’ll be disappointed. She’ll think you were stupid for leaving, for not even sending her a text. She’ll tell John when he returns, too. He should know about it, but there’s no way a high ranking General could arrive on base without them knowing, especially one that’s their commander. Maybe it had all been a test. Maybe they do know about General Shepherd and just forgot to tell you this was going to happen. 

Maybe Dr. Keller even knew about it, and didn’t say anything because she thought you knew too. 

“I-I’m not hungry.” You say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. 

There’s a pause outside the door for a moment, a beat of silence that’s too loud.

“Is everything alright?” She finally asks. 

“Y-Yeah.” You say, clearing your throat. “Just...not really hungry right now.” 

It’s silent again for a beat, making you hold your breath anxiously. 

“Are you sure? I can come back later, or bring you dinner.” She says. 

“I’m sure.” You swallow the tears welling in your eyes again. “I’ll grab a snack if I get hungry later.” 

“Okay...” She says, and you can almost see the frown on her face. “Text or call if you need anything, alright?” 

“Yeah.” You say, your voice cracking a bit. 

You regret it almost instantly, the urge to shove the dresser out of the way and fling the door open strong as you hear her receding steps down the hallway. You don’t want to be alone, but Dr. Keller can’t give you what you need. The tears start falling again, sliding down your cheeks as you flop onto your back, ignoring the way the edge of a book digs into your spine. 

You just want your pack back. You want John to scoop you up into his arms and wrap you in his warmth and soothing scent. You want Kyle and Johnny to squish you between them, sandwich you so tightly you’re scared you might burst. You want Ghost to wrap himself around you and offer you a blanket of protection against anyone who would even dare cast a glance in your direction. 

You just want to feel at home again. 

You want to be safe again. 

***

The emotional and physical exhaustion pushes you into the state between consciousness and sleep. You’ve moved to your bed, tucked under the covers and stuck between the wall and your giant bear, as if it could offer you some form of protection as you float between awareness and somewhere in the realm of sleep for a few hours.

You’re not sure what time it is, when the disruption comes. It takes you a moment to register why you’re awake. Some deep part of your brain is prickling, sending out warning signals to your body. Something’s happening, something’s wrong, something’s posing a threat. 

You hold your breath in the silence of the barracks, listening to the slow, quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. For a moment you think you might be imagining them, that you’re still asleep and dreaming. Your fingers pinch at your skin, nails digging in to confirm that you are, in fact, awake. This is really happening. 

Your heartbeat picks up, the bitter stench of fear that’s coated your room intensifying as the footsteps pause outside your door. You let out a quiet, shaky breath as you lay there, thinking up every time you checked the door in the last few hours to ensure it was locked and the dresser was still pushed in front of it. 

You cover your mouth as the door handle wiggles, catching on the lock. The whimper of fear threatening to rise catches in your throat as you hold your breath, your body trembling under your blankets. You should reach for your phone, send a text to Kate, call Dr. Keller, do something. Yet, you’re frozen in fear as the handle continues to wiggle before stopping. 

You don’t release a breath until the footsteps fade, a quiet whimper slipping from your lips. Someone just tried to get into your room. 

You’re panicking, breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you burrow under your covers, barricading yourself between the wall and your bear, hoping you’ll be invisible in case they come back, in case they force their way in. You can’t fight, not after the day you’ve had. The best you can hope for is that your scent is rank enough in the room it’ll deter whoever is trying to get in. 

You need tomorrow to come, and fast. 

***

Daylight doesn't bring any sense of comfort. 

All it does is shed more light on the disaster your room has become, the physical representation of your internal thoughts and feelings. Your face feels puffy from crying, and there’s a bad taste in your mouth. You haven’t brushed your teeth since yesterday, nor have you showered, too scared to put yourself in such a vulnerable position. 

You glance at your phone, checking for missed calls, but there’s none. Dr. Keller will be by soon to get you for breakfast, but you’re not sure you can stand going to the mess. The idea of leaving your room, leaving it empty so anyone could just walk in and bug it or touch your things or hide out so they can take revenge on you for finding and destroying their cameras and recording devices has you paralyzed. 

That must have been what whoever entered the barracks last night had come to do. Maybe they thought you’d spend the night in one of the other rooms and they’d come to replace them. Or, maybe they wanted you to be in your room. Maybe that was the plan all along. 

The thought sends a chill running down your spine. 

You burrow back under your blankets, curling up against your giant teddy bear. You wish it was Price, that his arm would wrap around you and hold you close, keep you safe and protected in his arms. You’d take any of them right now, even Ghost. At least you know he’d protect you, especially if someone tried to enter the barracks without permission. 

You’re still lying there when Dr. Keller arrives. You stare at the dresser still pushed against the door, keeping you from opening it. Not that you really want to. You can’t stop the anxiety from taking over, bringing forward the image of Dr. Keller held at gunpoint on the other side of the door, trying to trick you into opening it so whoever tried to get in last night can finally do what they came to do. 

You know it’s a ridiculous thought. No one would be that stupid in broad daylight, and you doubt Dr. Keller would let something like that happen to her. She’d put up a fight, or at least you hope so. 

You can’t move the dresser without her knowing you’d pushed it against the door, which will only prompt questions. Questions you don’t want to answer. 

She calls your name through the door, concern lacing her voice. “Everything alright?” 

No. You want to scream it, tears gathering in your eyes again. You want to push the dresser out of the way, throw open the door and confess everything that’s happened in the last few hours to her. You want to bring her into your space, keep her there until your pack returns so you can feel even just an ounce of safety. 

But what if she gets mad? 

Leaving yesterday was stupid. Going off with some unknown beta without telling anyone was the dumbest thing you’ve done since your arrival on base. She’ll be disappointed and she’ll tell your pack and they’ll be disappointed that you didn’t say anything to her about it. Even if they knew it happened, they’d still be disappointed that you didn’t think to even question it, that you didn’t think to let Dr. Keller know what was going on. 

You made a stupid decision, and you won’t be able to take their disappointment and anger. Not after everything. 

“Yeah.” You call out, your voice shaking. “I-I’m alright.” 

You can tell she doesn’t believe you, even though you can’t see her. She probably has that look on her face she gets when she knows you’re not telling the whole truth. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. You’re afraid it might give out after the stress of the last few days. 

“Are you ready for breakfast?” She finally asks, likely giving up on trying to get any more details from you. 

You’re not hungry, and you know going to the mess will not end well. The risk of distressing is high, and the thought that any one in the mess might have been the intruder last night nearly sends you over the edge. One wrong glance in your direction might cause you to do something reckless. “I’m not hungry.” You finally say, pulling the blankets tighter around you. 

“Are you sure?” She asks. “Did you eat something last night?” 

“Yeah.” You lie, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “I had some snacks.” 

Her feet shuffle outside the door for a moment, and you can almost hear her sigh. “If you’re sure?” 

“I-I’m sure.” You reply. 

There’s a moment of silence before you get a response, your breath catching in your throat from the nerves. “Alright.” She finally says. “I got word that your pack will be landing in a couple of hours and we have permission to go out to the airfield and greet them. I’ll come back to get you when it’s time. If you need anything, call me.” 

You listen to her footsteps recede down the hallway, tears burning your eyes. You hate lying. You feel bad for keeping the truth from her, but the shame of revealing what you did is too strong. 

You hastily wipe your eyes, staring at the mess on your floor. You need to get your room back to at least its somewhat normal state, and you need to put yourself back to your normal state as well. If anyone gets any hint that something is wrong, you might crack, and you’re not sure you could handle the repercussions. 

You start with the desk, flipping it back the way it’s supposed to be and positioning it as close to where it was as you can get. You collect the books and other little things that go on it, trying to arrange it as close to how it normally is. You know they’ll notice if any little thing is out of place, if anything looks suspicious. You can blame some of it on cleaning, if they ask. You did some deep cleaning while they were away. That’s one way of putting it. 

You push the dresser back into place next, putting the drawers back in before starting on the clothes, putting everything back where it belongs. You make your bed last, the urge to nest gone completely. You’re shaking with exhaustion by the time you finish, tempted to crawl back into bed, but you know you can’t. Your pack is coming back, and you need everything to look like it’s fine still. 

They’ll notice. They’ll see it, and they’ll ask, and you’ll have to spill everything and face the shame and anger from being so stupid. 

Tears burn your eyes as you slip your desk chair under the door handle, making sure it’s secure before heading to the shower to get ready for your pack’s imminent return. You shower with the door open, getting done quickly to avoid being vulnerable for long. You try to make yourself look as decent as possible, ignoring the fact that there’s broken cameras and recording devices hidden under the sink. Eventually you’ll forget. Eventually it’ll fade from your mind and become nothing more than a forgotten nightmare. 

One of many. 

You toss your pajamas on the floor haphazardly, just to make things look more normal. You know if it’s too clean, that might raise some suspicions as well. You don’t want to give away that something happened, you don’t want to raise any suspicions. You just want things to go back to normal. You want your pack back, and you want to feel safe again. 

At least, until they have to leave again. 

You sink to the floor, leaning up against your bed as you wait for Dr. Keller to take you to greet your pack when they return. 

***

Every minute seems to drag on infinitely as you stare across the tarmac. They’ll be landing any minute. Any minute now the nightmare will be over and you’ll get to see your pack again after days of being apart. Finally, maybe, you can begin to feel safe again. 

You watch the plane as it comes in to land, your hands already trembling in anticipation. There’s a twisting in your stomach, you’re not sure if it’s worry or fear or excitement. They’re so close, so close you can almost smell them. Your omega is scratching at the back of your brain, your muscles twitching as the ramp begins to lower on the plane. You need to see them, you need to smell them, you need to ensure they’re alright. 

You can’t stop yourself. As soon as their boots hit the tarmac, you’re running. You don’t care if you’re breaking rules, you don’t care if the other soldiers get worried, or see you as a possible threat, you need to be in your alpha’s arms again. 

John grunts from the force of you hitting him, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You throw your arms around him, clinging to him as tight as you can. You’re whimpering, the quiet sounds dragging from your lips but you don’t care. You press your face into his chest, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and musk, the sharp metallic tang of gunpowder burning your nose. Yet, underneath it all, you can make out the earthy scent, the petrichor going straight to your brain. 

His arms wrap tight around you, squishing you up against his chest. His vest digs into your skin, but you don’t care. You can’t feel much of anything but relief. His breath fans your forehead as he leans down, his hand cupping the back of your head. He shushes you gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Tears fill your eyes as you cling to him, fingers gripping his shirt tightly like you’re afraid he might disappear again. If it wasn’t for the pain in your chest, you might have thought this was all a dream, that they might disappear suddenly and you’ll wake up alone again. 

“Easy.” John rumbles, gently stroking the back of your head. 

You cling to him tighter as his hand gets close to your neck, the thought of General Shepherd’s hand being so close to your neck where he could scruff you so easily making your insides squirm. 

He’s gone. He’s gone and your pack is here. 

“You’re alright.” John tries to reassure you, squeezing his arms around your trembling form. “I’ve got you.” 

You keep your face pressed against his chest, breathing him in, trying to get his scent to calm the raging storm within you. Your omega is still scratching at the back of your mind, a deep need to claw your way under John’s skin and into his body pushing at the front of your mind. You won’t be safe until you’ve been utterly consumed by him, until you’re safely tucked where no one can hurt you without going through him first. 

“Alpha,” You whine quietly, nuzzling your face against his chest. His clothes are in the way, a barrier against what you need. To feel him, to smell him fully again. 

“Easy.” He says, grabbing your hands as they shift towards the velcro straps of his tactical vest. “Let’s get back to the barracks first before we start that, sweetheart.” 

You don’t want to go back to the barracks. It’s not safe anymore. What if there’s someone waiting there for you to return? What if they get hurt because you don’t tell them what happened? What if you get hurt and cause them pain? 

“You’re alright.” John says, stroking the back of your head as he begins to ease your grip on him. “There’s a couple of muppets here who I think would like to greet you too.” 

Right. You’re so caught up in your alpha, you forgot the rest of your pack. You slowly allow yourself to be peeled away from John, Kyle right there to let you cling to him. 

And so you do. 

Your grip around him is just as tight, ignoring the uncomfortable ridges of his own vest. He holds you just as tightly, projecting his scent just a bit to try and calm you. Someone presses against your back, arms wrapping around both you and Kyle. The scent of citrus lined with beta invades your nose, Johnny squishing you into a sandwich between them. Your eyes squeeze shut as citrus and salty sea air blend together, the beta’s scents reaching deep into your brain to try and ease some of the tension in your body. 

They’re back. They’re safe. You’re safe. 

Now you just have to convince yourself of that fact. 

***

“How was she?” John asks as he approaches Dr. Keller. 

“Held it together longer than I thought she would.” She says. “Things took a turn yesterday afternoon. Shut herself in her room and wouldn’t come out. I don’t think she’s eaten anything since lunch yesterday either.” 

“We’ll get some food in her.” John says. “Thank you, for looking after her for us.” 

“Well, it is partly my job.” Dr. Keller shrugs. “Always happy to do it.” 

“Things will get easier, won’t they?” He asks. 

“Eventually. She’ll learn what coping mechanisms help and she’ll adapt.” 

“Hopefully at least one of us will be able to stay moving forward. I don’t like leaving her here alone.” He grimaces. 

“Separation is hard no matter what, especially with limited contact, on all parties involved.” She gives him a look. “I think the best thing you can do right now is just be together as a pack. Let those bonds heal and let her do what she needs.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” John says, shaking her hand. 

“Call me, if you need anything, as usual.” Dr. Keller says, watching his retreating back before getting into her car to make the short drive back to the medical center. 

John gets into the car waiting to take them back to the barracks, sitting next to Kyle who’s holding you straddling his lap, your face pressed into his neck. “That looks safe.” He remarks, even though they wouldn’t be going very fast, or very far. 

“Couldn’t get her to let go.” Kyle says, tightening his hold around you as the car begins moving. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart.” John says, rubbing your back gently. 

You turn your face to look at him, your eyes red from the numerous tears you’ve already shed, and the ones still trailing down your face. The guilt nearly makes him sick as he stares at you, feeling the slight tremble still from where his hand rests against your back. 

He’d never say it out loud, but he hates the fact they had to leave you, all four of them at once too. He’d fought, argued. He and Simon could have handled it on their own, even him and the two Sergeants would have been sufficient. Anything not to leave you by yourself during their first deployment. 

Despite his attempts, General Shepherd had been insistent that all four of them were necessary for this particular task. 

So, he had been forced to leave you behind on your own. It’s gone about as well as he expected, from the looks of it. He knew the separation would get to you eventually. The stress would grow to be too much. Every day he anticipated the news to come from Kate that you had distressed and your omega had taken over because he wasn’t there to help you. 

Every day he waited for the news that they’d lost you because the brass that put this initiative into place couldn’t understand why taking them all at once was a bad idea. 

Or maybe that was their plan all along. 

He couldn’t stop the conspiratorial thoughts running through his head as their mission dragged on. What if they were doing this on purpose? It wouldn’t be that strange to push the boundaries of what could be tolerated for the purpose of testing just how effective the initiative really could be. But pushing it like that so soon? Sure, he could rationalize it was possible. War could break out at any moment, which would require most military members to leave, to be separated from their packs for months or even years. His own team could be called out at any time for months working to eliminate a target and stop war from breaking out. 

Yet, he can’t help but feel there was something more, something deeper going on. What if they had called away for more nefarious reasons? What if getting you alone had been the reason behind General Shepherd’s insistence that all four of them were necessary for this particular task? He had refused to entertain those dark thoughts for too long, the fear of leaving you alone already itching in the back of his mind from the moment they boarded the plane to leave. 

He hadn’t been able to hide his relief at hearing your voice on the phone. Though you had sounded upset, and rightfully so, his worries had been lessened in knowing you were alright. You would tell them if something had happened. He knows you wouldn’t keep something that serious a secret. If someone had hurt you, or had tried to hurt you, you would tell one of them. 

Even though he trusts you, he does plan to speak to Dr. Keller more in depth later to ensure everything went as fine as she seemed to imply it did. Obviously their absence has been hard on you, but he needs to make sure you really will be alright, that you will be able to come back from the obvious distress this has caused you. 

***

You finally release your constricting hold on Kyle as the car pulls up outside the barracks. Even with them back, it still doesn't feel like home anymore, not after such sacred space was invaded so easily, so nonchalantly. Kyle climbs out of the car, setting you on your feet on the ground. You look between him and John, realizing Ghost and Johnny are still in the car. Your stomach falls as you realize what they're about to say, tears gathering in your eyes again.

“We still have some things we need to do.” John says, reaching towards you. 

You have the momentary urge to flinch from his touch, but you let his hand cup your cheek. “You're leaving me again.” You say, your voice breaking. 

John almost looks guilty. He almost looks upset by your visible turmoil. His hand drops from your cheek to your back, turning you towards the barracks. Your stomach twists as he guides you inside, the fear of someone being inside spiking. You know you're safe with John, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but you'd have to play dumb if they did catch someone inside. You’d have to act like you didn’t know someone had entered before, like you had been unaware of anything going on. That might almost be worse than telling them the truth. 

You inhale as he stops in front of your door, still closed from when you'd left with Dr. Keller. There's no chemical burn of scent blockers, just your scent in the air, and John's scent coming off him as he stands next to you. 

“We won't be long. Maybe an hour at most, and we'll only be across base. We'll come back and we can get lunch before our afternoon meeting. Then we'll just have reports to do, and you can sit in my office while I work on those, okay?” He says. 

Your brows pinch as you try to hold in your tears. You want to tell him, you want to reveal what happened, beg him not to leave you alone here again, but you can't. You can't face that shame, the disappointment you know he'll show on his face at the knowledge that you let that happen. You willingly left with a stranger without telling anyone. You let someone invade your pack's space so easily. They were gone for a week and you screwed everything up. 

“Tomorrow we'll spend the day together. All of us. I promise.” He says wiping the tear that slides down your cheek. 

Even though they're back, you still don't have them. 

You inhale shakily before nodding. “Yeah. Fine.”

John's thumb brushes your cheek for a moment before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You watch his back retreat as he leaves the barracks, leaving you alone again. You think back to when they’d left you, watching his back as he boarded the plane to be taken from you. You stare at the door as the cars drive off, a cold chill running down your spine. What if General Shepherd is still here? What if they're going to meet with him? What if he tells them he met with you while they were gone and they had no idea? 

Maybe you should have been honest with them from the start. 

You stare at your closed door, your hands shaking. What if there's someone inside? What if someone is waiting to take their revenge for you destroying the cameras. What if they put new ones up? 

You should have opened the door while Price was here so you could have at least screamed when someone would hear you. You back away from your door slowly, deciding to wait in the rec room. At least there you might have a chance. You could break a window and run, or at least have a higher chance of making it to a door. 

Would anyone help you? Would anyone come if you screamed? What if they’re all in on it? 

You're shaking as you sink onto the couch, sitting so you can see into the hallway. You want to see them coming so you can prepare yourself, or at least give yourself a chance to make an escape before it’s too late. 

You run through all the things Ghost has taught you in your head as you sit and wait, the minutes dragging by painfully slow. You can feel every second, though that may just be the anxiety and fear pulsing within you. You wish you could sleep, you wish you could relax, you wish you could do anything to make the time go by faster, but yet you remain hypervigilant, staring so hard you flinch at every little shadow your brain convinces you is moving. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, tense and coiled, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. It can’t be more than an hour as John promised, yet it feels like a lifetime before you hear movement. 

You hold your breath as the barracks door opens, boots thudding with every footstep coming down the hall. You nearly whimper when a figure rounds the corner, before you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Ready for lunch, kitten?” Johnny asks, standing in the doorway of the rec room. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, your hands still clenched into fists. You're breathing hard, your entire body tense. You know you're reaching dangerous territory. Any more panic, you may start distressing. What a welcome home for them, coming back to a distressed omega. They're probably exhausted, and here you are making a scene. 

Hands close around yours. Warm, calloused hands apply gentle pressure, slowly uncurling your fingers. Your hands are shaking, trembling just slightly. 

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, kneeling in front of you. When he moved, you're not sure. 

“I-I'm not...” You start, your voice shaking. 

“Ye need tae eat.” He counters, as if he had read your mind, expected the answer.  

He's right. You're beginning to feel it gnawing in your stomach, something deeper than the anxiety. With all the stressing you've been doing, you know you need to eat something. Being hungry is not helping that any, either. 

“I don't want to go to the mess.” You say quickly, the words almost mushing together incoherently. “Too much.” 

Johnny sits back, staring at you for a moment before nodding in understanding. “Alright. That's fair. I'll let the lads know.”

He stands up, leaving you alone in the rec room again. You listen to his footsteps fade, the door opening and closing for a moment. You hold your breath, practically on the edge of your seat. There's no reason they would make you go to the mess. You've eaten in the barracks many times before. 

You blame your worry on your hunger. You know omegas don't do well when hungry. Omegas don't do well being uncomfortable in general. 

Saying these last few days have been uncomfortable for you is a bit of an oversimplification. 

Footsteps echo down the hallway, a familiar hulking figure approaching the rec room. You never thought there would come a time when you would feel relief upon seeing Ghost. Yet here you are, the tension easing from your shoulders as he steps into the rec room. 

“They're grabbing us food.” He says, moving to sit in his usual spot in the chair facing the door. He sighs as he sinks into the cushions, and you can only imagine how tired he must be. 

And here you are making things worse. 

“You're stressed.” He says, staring at you. His eyes are still painted black beneath his mask, adding to the eerie vibe coming off of him. You're beginning to understand why they call him Ghost. “Stinking up the barracks.” He says, pulling out his phone. 

“Oh.” You say quietly, sinking in on yourself as you sit there. “Sorry.” 

You pick nervously at your sweatshirt as you wait for the others to return, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as they enter the rec room, food in hand. 

Johnny sits you on his lap as you eat, making sure you get your fill, likely aware that you haven't eaten yet today thanks to Dr. Keller telling on you. It's quiet in the room as everyone eats, even the TV off. They all look tired and tense, and you can only imagine what happened during their time away. The things they did, the things they saw. You wonder how much blood is on their hands now, hands that have touched you, hands that are holding you. 

They can just go off and kill people and come back and act like nothing has happened. 

You could almost laugh at how psychotic it all sounds. 

This is your life now. This is your new normal. 

“We have a quick meeting. Shouldn't take too long.” John says as they stand, Johnny placing you gently on your feet. 

You tug at your sweatshirt, avoiding his gaze. They're leaving you again. They won't be far this time, but still. You just want to curl up in bed with them and lay there until you feel safe again. 

Tomorrow, John had said. Tomorrow they will be yours. 

It might have been easier if you hadn't been told they were coming home until tomorrow.

***

You tense under the blanket as the door closes, quiet footsteps approaching your position on the couch. There's a quiet sigh as a figure drops to a knee in front of you, their figure visible as a shadow beneath the blanket. 

“Can you breathe under there?” 

You slowly lower the blanket just enough to peek over the top of it. John is kneeling next to the couch, his brows furrowed in a frown. You're in his office, having shut yourself in there while they went into the meeting. John had made you swear not to go snooping as he’d let you inside. You had promised, as you still feel no desire to dig through the likely classified files that were locked in the cabinets and on his computer. Instead you had parked yourself on his couch, burrowing under a blanket that smelled faintly of petrichor and tobacco smoke. 

“There she is.” He says as you peek above the blanket, gently running a hand over the top of your head. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?” 

“You left me.” You say quietly, trying not to burst into tears and confess everything. 

“I know.” He says, wiping the tear that slides down your cheek. “But we came back, just like we promised.” 

He is right in that regard, yet you can’t help the tears as they slide down your cheeks. The ache in your chest that had started to build over the last few days is still present despite their return. Everything is wrong. They feel too far away, too distant. Nothing is safe anymore, nothing is sacred, and they’re just acting like everything is back to normal. 

“Would you like to kneel for me?” He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek. 

You’re tempted to say no. For the first time you feel wary of your alpha. What kinds of things would you admit in your dazed state? If he questioned you, would you give him enough to put together that something had happened and you’ve been trying to hide it from him? Maybe it would help, though. It would at least ease some of the tension that’s built up. Maybe it could pull you back from the edge of distress you’ve been dangling over for almost two days. Maybe he’ll accidentally scruff you and you can forget the whole thing happened. 

The dark thought sends a chill down your spine. 

“Okay.” You say, pushing yourself up to sit. 

John offers you a hand, helping you up off the couch. You don't want to let go of his hand, you don't want to be parted from him. The omega in the back of your mind is screaming at you to get close to him and stay there for the rest of time. If he leaves you again...you're not sure you can handle it. 

He settles in his desk chair, getting everything he needs ready. He'll work on his reports while you kneel, a familiar position, a familiar situation. You've done this before several times. You're not sure why you're suddenly nervous. 

You set the pillow down, dropping to your knees beside him. The chair creaks as he shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. You fight the urge to flinch, to move away as he gently strokes his hand over your hair. You've done this before, he's done this before. You're not sure why your heart is thudding in your chest. 

His hand slowly moves lower, slipping closer and closer to your neck. You can't help it as your shoulders come up, preventing him from gripping the back of your neck. He moves his hand away as you get defensive, his chair turning slightly as he leans down. 

“It's alright, sweetheart. It's just me.” He soothes you, his hand returning to the top of your head. “I know it's been a while, but I promise I remember what to do.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” You gasp out, trying to relax. “I don't...I don't know...”

You do know. Your brain keeps flashing back to General Shepherd, his hand tugging down your collar, so close to your neck. How easily he could have scruffed you, if he'd wanted to. You would have known if he had, but he could have done anything to you during the time he had control. 

“You're stressed, all worked up.” John says, still stroking the top of your head, trying to soothe you. “It's been a long week for all of us. It was a risk, sending all four of us at once. A stupid risk that shouldn't have been taken.”

You're pulled from your emotional state at the slight hint of anger in his voice. It hadn't taken you long to figure out they likely were all sent in order to get you alone. It would have been impossible to get you out of the barracks and put cameras up with even one of them here. Did he know about Shepherd's visit? Had he put two and two together and figured out they sent all four of them on purpose? You figured he'd be angrier if he knew about what you did, about what they did to you. He would be blazing a path straight to General Shepherd if your alpha knew he got so close to you, put you in that kind of situation. 

At least, you hope he would. There’s still that fear in the back of your mind, that worry that it was all a test and you’ve failed. Would they send you back to the institute? Would they break the bonds and send you to a different pack? Would they send you out on your own, leaving you to fend for yourself until some other alpha crossed your path and decided you were worth it? Does he know you’re lying to him, hiding the truth of what happened while he was away? Is he waiting for you to confess, biding his time to see how long you try to hide it? 

You want to tell him. You really do, but you can't bring yourself to get the words out. You can't bring yourself to confess here on your knees before your alpha. You feel guilty, like a sinner, yet the shame keeps the words trapped inside. 

He continues to soothe you, sliding his hand further down until he reaches your neck. You force yourself to relax, knowing you need this. You need your alpha to take control. You need him to ease the heavy weight on your shoulders, even if he doesn't know what he's lifting. 

You close your eyes as his fingers press into your neck, your brain quieting to a hum as you begin to slip into the back of your mind. You feel the rush of endorphins as your brain begins to calm itself, quieting the storm that's been raging for almost a week. You begin to go numb, relaxing into John's hold as he eases you into a quiet, meditative state. He begins to work on his reports as he holds you, your mind floating off somewhere else, somewhere safer where no one can break in and hurt you, somewhere where the barracks are still secure and safe and your pack never left.

Somewhere where there's no initiative, and your pack picked you because they wanted you, because you were a good omega who did as she was told and didn't make stupid mistakes that put everyone in danger. 

The last of the tension leaves your body, your mind distant from the present moment. You're safe with your alpha. He'd never let anything happen to you. None of your pack would let anything happen to you.

The thought continues to repeat in your head like a mantra as you relax, held up by the strong pillar that is your alpha. 

***

“Report's done, Captain.” Kyle says, placing the stack of papers on John's desk. 

“Thanks.” John sighs, grabbing them. 

Kyle turns to look at you, fast asleep on the couch. “You want me to take her?” He asks, the formality easing between them as they settle into being a pack and not a task force on duty anymore. 

John stares at you, curled up on his lumpy old couch. It’s getting late, or at least it feels that way. You’ve been out, sleeping peacefully on his couch since he eased you out of your kneeling position. You’d clung to him tightly, and for a moment he’d considered holding you, letting you sit with him as you dozed, but he knows he can’t risk you seeing something you shouldn’t. So he’d eased you onto the couch, having to peel your hands away from his shirt. He’d nearly given up and let you keep hold of his shirt before you finally relaxed and released him. 

“Would probably be more comfortable.” He rubs his eyes, feeling the call of sleep himself. He wonders how much you managed to sleep while they were gone. You look tired, though you’ve been looking tired since your heat ended. He needs to rest himself, but he wants to get these reports done so he can keep his promise for tomorrow. “I'll be in there soon.”

“Don't work too hard.” Kyle says, moving to lift you off the couch. 

“No promises.” 

Kyle shakes his head before scooping you up off the couch, blanket and all. You’re still sound asleep as he carries you, pausing in the hallway for a moment. He had just been instinctually going to his room, but would you be more comfortable in your own room? You probably have spent the last week shut inside your space. It might be nice to spend some time somewhere else. 

He takes you into his room, laying you on the bed, making sure you’re comfortable. He needs to shower and throw his clothes in the wash, but he doesn’t want to leave you and risk you waking up without someone there. You’re sleeping deeply, though, not even stirring as he tucks the blanket up higher around you. He doesn't want to crawl into bed smelling like gunpowder and sweat. That might throw you off too. 

He takes the risk, knowing he can do both tasks quickly. No more than twenty minutes to get himself clean and his dirty clothes in the wash, as he prays you stay asleep and won't start panicking if you wake in a strange place. He had sensed how close you had been to distress, how tense you had been when he held you in the car. It’s been a hard week for you, even harder than it had been for them. 

He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief as he finds you still asleep when he returns to his room. You haven't moved at all, still tucked under the blanket from John's office. He gets himself changed and moisturized, rubbing some cream on the bruises that dot his skin. He's going to be sore tomorrow, they all will be, but he knows they won't be doing much. John had already told them tomorrow will be dedicated to spending time with you and helping you recover from the stress of them being gone. He’s silently glad for the break, knowing it could only be a few days before they get called out again. 

John had also told him he’d be pushing harder for one of them to stay whenever he can. He’s not taking this risk again, not if it can be avoided. 

Kyle’s pulling on his sweatpants when you inhale sharply. You're sitting up straight on his bed, eyes wide as you look around in fear. They’re hazy, confusion settling into your mind after going from John’s office to Kyle’s room after kneeling. 

“Hey, hey. It's alright.” Kyle says, moving over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge so he’s in your line of sight. “You're just in my room.”

“Kyle?” You whisper, clarity returning to your gaze as you stare at him. 

“I'm here.” He says. “Just went to take a shower and clean up.”

“Where's John?” You ask, tears gathering in your eyes. 

“Still working on things.” He says, cupping your face. “He'll be in eventually.”

The tears fall from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks. They wet his thumbs as he strokes your skin, your body trembling slightly as you sniffle. 

Something’s wrong. He's known it since you latched onto him on the tarmac. The way you'd held onto him like he might disappear, how you looked almost angry when John told you they still had things to do, the way your scent had filled the barracks, bitter with fear and stress. 

Something’s up, something you're not letting them in on. But, to be fair, they had just left you for a week, up and abandoned you to go play heroes. He wouldn't blame you for not telling them anything. The bonds have weakened. He can feel it, beyond just his natural beta senses. 

“What can I do?” He asks quietly, trying to project his scent a bit to help calm you. He doesn't want you distressing, not after holding it together for so long. 

“I...I need...” You inhale shakily, still trembling in his hold. “I don't know.” You whine, the tears falling faster now. 

He pulls you against his chest, holding you as you cry. He feels the tugging in his chest, sympathy for you and what you must be feeling, along with the guilt of knowing they caused this. They did this just with their absence. 

An idea begins to form in his mind as he holds you, something his family used to do when he was younger. 

He pulls away from you, standing up. “Come on. I have an idea.” 

He strips the blankets from his bed before pulling the mattress off the frame. He drags it to the door and out into the hallway before heading down to John's room. You follow behind him, watching him as he opens the door to John’s room, dragging the mattress in and dropping it on the floor. 

“Stay here.” He tells you, heading back out into the hallway.

“What're ye doin’?” Johnny asks, sticking his head out of his door. 

“Grab your mattress and Simon and meet me in Price's room.” Kyle says as he heads down the hallway, ignoring Johnny's further questioning as he makes for John’s office. 

He doesn't bother knocking, walking right in. John blinks at him from behind the desk, and for a moment Kyle wonders if he'd fallen asleep sitting up. It wouldn't be the first time. 

“Come on.” Kyle says, moving to stand in front of his desk. “Finish those tomorrow.”

“They're important, I have to get them done asap.” John counters. 

“Yeah, well I have something more important.” He leans forward at John's questioning stare. “Your omega needs you.” 

John stares at his beta for a moment, and Kyle can see the gears turning in his head, the debate happening, the conflict in his mind. He so rarely sees his alpha, his captain so indecisive for so long. He's usually so quick to act, analyzing a situation and making a decision in mere seconds. 

If only you knew the things you've done by simply existing in their lives. 

John closes the file on his desk, slipping it into the drawer before locking it. Kyle fights the triumphant grin threatening to form on his face as John stands from his chair after shutting his computer off. Kyle makes his way back down the hallway, John following behind after locking his office door. Kyle stops at his room, grabbing his comforter before heading for John’s room. 

Johnny had obviously gotten the idea of what Kyle had in mind, his mattress and John's laid out side by side so the three make one giant bed for them on the floor. He’s already laid out his own comforter and Simon’s, as well as John’s on the mattresses. They probably wouldn’t need blankets for long with their body heat, but the blend of scents will hopefully begin to ease the tempest raging in your mind. 

You’ve parked yourself in the corner, watching it all happen. You seem so small, so lost, so out of place. It's not all that different from when you'd arrived in their lives. Has being gone for a week really reverted things so drastically for you? Has your stress broken the bonds so much that you feel like a stranger amongst them again? 

Kyle steps over the mattresses, approaching you slowly. You look up from where you had been staring off into space, blinking up at him. Your eyes are still red and watery from crying, your arms clutching one of your stuffed bears against your chest. It’s the one John had scented for you, back when they were trying to get you to nest. He wonders if you’ve nested since they left, if that urge is still there, or if that too has faded. 

Kyle doesn’t often feel angry at his job. Not anymore. He doesn’t often question it. It’s what he signed up for, and he does it because someone has to. He chose this life, so he does his best to be a good soldier, to follow orders. Yet, as he stares down at you, he can’t help but feel anger bristling in the back of his mind. He tries to blame it on his instincts, on the fact that a member of his pack is so upset, so distressed at something that’s happened, and he doesn't know what to do to help. 

Yet he knows they were the cause of it, even if it wasn’t their choice directly. Something happened because of them. He tries to rationalize it. This is an experiment, a test to see how well packs will do with omegas, if it has any effect on how well they can do their jobs, if it makes them stronger, or if it weakens them. Those in charge had obviously put little regard in for how it would affect the omegas. They couldn’t have known how you would react, how badly all of them leaving would affect you. Or maybe they did know, and they simply didn’t care.. Perhaps you weren’t the focus of their study, but you were still a variable, you were still an important piece of this puzzle. 

How can they be more effective if their omega is struggling because of their absence? How can they be expected to function like a team now knowing leaving behind their omega will only cause distress for all of them? 

Kyle takes a deep breath, pushing back the anger and the emotions whirling in his own mind. He needs to focus on you right now, focus on helping you relax, helping you get back to where you were before they left you. He’s doing the best he can do right now for you, giving you what you need, even if you don’t realize it’s what you need yet. 

He holds out his hand to you, staying still as you stare at it. It takes you a moment before you slowly begin to move, slipping one of your hands into his. He guides you to the mattress in the middle, Johnny’s mattress, easing you down to sit on it. You glance around as Johnny and John toss pillows onto the mattresses haphazardly, making sure everything is perfect. It’s not a pretty nest, he’d hardly call it a nest at all, but he knows nesting is not necessarily all about looks. It’s about feeling, and right now, he knows you need to feel safe and secure. 

John quickly changes into more comfortable clothes as Kyle stretches out on the mattress, opening his arms to you. You curl up against his side, resting your cheek against his chest. You press your face into his skin, inhaling for a moment before you settle, slowly beginning to relax in his hold. 

Simon enters the room as John settles on Kyle’s other side, closing the door behind him and locking it, securing the five of you inside. Johnny settles on the other side of you, pressing up close against your back. He pulls one of the comforters up around the three of you before he tosses an arm around you, resting his hand on Kyle’s stomach, sandwiching you between the two betas again. 

Simon stands over the makeshift nest, staring down at the four of you. He’s obviously the most uncomfortable with the situation, and still a bit miffed from your lack of greeting on the tarmac. It was his own fault for being so closed off with you for so long. You had instinctively sought out the members of the pack you felt the most connected to, the most comfortable with in your time of such great stress. 

“Aw come on, ye big bastard, get in the bed.” Soap says, snapping Simon out of his reverie. 

Simon shuts the light off, bathing them in near darkness. You tense for a moment as the lights go off before you slowly relax again. Kyle listens to your breaths even out as Simon gets comfortable on the mattress behind Johnny, the four of them settling in around you. 

It's already warm in the room but none of them would even think of complaining. They’re too focused on surrounding you with their scent and their protection, the very thing you need the most. 

NEXT ->

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[ronnykins-needshelp]

🐍 Beast tamer’s petty kidnappers agenda

Chapter 3 - A beast and his beasts that he saved in the past

Full story link

Shen yuan visits Luo Binghes sect. How does it go?

Blinks innocently, this was supposed to have 3 more points but oops! Already at my writing limit…

PREVIEW-

“ Where does this man live? I'm assuming that if he were to take Er-didi anywhere, it would be there. “There was a light scowl to his usually flat lips that told them everything about what he was thinking.

“It should be here somewhere, I think Shen Yuan mentioned it to me before, I was simply not paying attention. “

It took them over two Shi to come across a book deep within the pile that Shen Liu had been assigned to. Shen Hua knew that if her brother could read better, then his progress would have gone faster.

“It says here: “The palace resides where the difference between the two realms was most obvious- Yuhu mountain and Kongxu peak, resting underneath in the Zai Dixia Tunnels dug by the previous heavenly demons who ruled. It has an impenetrable defense array surrounding it, with many demonic guards protecting the jewels of the palace. “ That's far from here, so if we want to get there as quickly as possibl,e we can't wait for any type of backup. “

“ Well then, it will be easy to infiltrate and bring back Shen Yuan! “ Shen Hua exclaimed, a wicked grin playing on her lips. She continued, “You may be asking, but meimei, what do you mean ‘by easy ‘ ? It's the lord's palace. “

No one said anything, but she snapped her fingers.

“ Well, it's as easy as tending to the gardens; Shen Li will use his trade powers to bring us in, Shen Liu will subdue the guards, and I'll find and take Shen Youan back. “

Shen Liu huffed and crossed his arms, “How could you do that? I was planning to leave you here. “

Shen Hua rolled her eyes, “Trust me, you need me, I'm the most valuable when it comes to this mission. “

“ And how are you that exactly? All you do all day is work on the farm. “

Shen Hua bursts into a fit of laughter. The two brothers glanced at each other. After finally calming down, she smirked. From her boot she retrieves a knife and throws it into the air. As it spun down, she snatched it and presented it to her brothers,

“ Please, I didn't just ‘ farm ‘ when my brother is the biggest bachelor in the kidnapping show. “

—

“ The empress is to wander through the sect to become familiar with the rest of the day. He is not to be touched or disturbed if he is to do something. “ His eyes turned pure red. “ I will not come back to anything lifeless again. “

And then he left.

It was silent, though the cultivators hated Luo Binghe, they still feared him. It wasn’t until they heard a quiet fit of giggles that they realized that the only one who didn’t take to this fear was the empress himself.

His servant quickly made him another batch of tea and added some tiny snacks that were immediately snatched.

“Why does he always shut the door like an unruly child? Has anyone ever taught him manners? “ he munched on the sweets with excited vigor before looking at the dumbfounded lords. He frowned.

“ What? It’s true. “

But no one but him ever had to audacity to voice it aloud other than him. It made them wonder if their lord was a masochist, based on the underlying aggression of the previous conversations.

Shen Yuan finished his snacks and promptly got up, which startled the others. He rubbed his hands together with a smirk.

“Now. “ his gaze turned to the ruffled-haired man who was the least interested in the whole debacle. He bowed,

“ Great master Lu, this humble one requests to see the bestiary that Zai Sheng sect has to offer. “

Shen Yuan knew his position and what title he held in the sect, which Luo Binghe did not give. Everyone here can only cry out the same objection in their heads: if you already knew us, then why push ignorance that left our poor faces tarnished by the lord!

—

“What do you mean? Are you able to unseal whatever it is? “

Mu Qingfang's gaze lingered before he shook his head. “This lowly one already tried, but to no avail. The seal was made far stronger than any of my sect siblings could ever hope to break. Whatever is suffocating this bond is very powerful. “

Shen Yuan frowned. It was off for sure, but it truly didn’t affect him or his family. So he moved on to the next disorder.

“There is water in your lungs and rash on your throat. “

“ Also, no surprise. “

“And it appears you are a virgin. “

Shen Yuan choked on his spit. He rubbed the side of his mouth.

“Wow, ok, thank you for that. “

He rolled his eyes, and Mu Qingfang internally smirked.

“You are free to go, the emperor is waiting for you. “

“Fine, fine, whatever. “

As if on cue, the reality in front of them cracked, then opened. He waited a few seconds, but no big burly man came to whisk him away.

So that’s how it is huh, Luo Binghe?

Shen Yuan grumbled and snatched the diagnosis from the doctor.

“Hold me, Gongyi. “

And he went in.

He is ashamed to say that he tripped and fell into the beast's arms.

[aparticularbandit]

Of An Endless Infinity: Day One (II)

Summary: What does it mean to be the Ultimate Hope?

Is it only hope on the big scale?  That the world is not so dark and depressing and destructive as the villain in front of you says it is?  That you can win, even when everything else says that you can’t?  That maybe it is better to live your life, even afraid, than it is to keep yourself sequestered away, alone?

Does it not also mean hope on the small scale?

Or: Makoto sacrifices himself in the hope that the other survivors might be able to help Junko. It remains to be seen whether this will actually succeed.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

Day One (of an Endless Infinity).

By the time Hina wakes up, Junko has already made it into the shower (after Kyoko makes sure there’s nothing in there she could use as a weapon, after Junko makes more than enough lewd comments about how if Kyoko really wanted to keep an eye on her then she’d join her) and back out.  They’ve already addressed the problem of clothes for now: Junko and Kyoko are roughly the same size, so although Junko is slightly taller and slightly thinner, she still mostly fits into Kyoko’s clothes, provided that she also makes a comment about how tight Kyoko’s shirts are about her chest.  It’s easy enough to fix that by unbuttoning more buttons than Kyoko considers strictly speaking proper, but that fits closer to Junko’s standard look anyway.

Still.

Even with the jacket gone and her sleeves rolled to the elbows, even with her own tie and boots with the fur, even with her long, damp pink hair pulled back into an untidy, loose braid (and her bearrettes still clipped to either side of her head), the first thing Hina says after her eyes open, after she rubs the sleep from them, after she stands, startled, and remembers everything, is a gentle, uncertain, “She looks an awful lot like you, Kyoko.”

And Junko’s lips curve into a smug smile.  “Told you so.”

Kyoko doesn’t see it, but she doesn’t have the energy to fight it either.  “All of her things are still in her room.”

“She could still wear her—”  Hina glances over to the pile of clothes Junko’s left on Kyoko’s floor, sees the bright pink flecks of blood poking out here and there from some of their wrinkles, and sets her jaw.  “Okay, fine, this is.  This better.”  She looks over to one side, lips pursing together, and crosses her arms.  “We can just throw all that in the incinerator, right?”

“Uh, no!”  Junko takes her other shirt in both of her hands, squelching blood against her fingertips.  (It should be dried by now.  It should just be bright pink stains.  (Kyoko doesn’t want to think about the fresh stains that are now likely on her own bedsheets.))  “This is the finest silk crafted just to my shape.  You don’t just throw away something of that caliber!”

Kyoko lifts one shoulder and lets it fall.  “You could burn it.”

Junko scoffs.  “Ultimate Fashionista, remember?”  She sighs and rubs her forehead with one hand.  “You can’t just buy this in a store!”

“Ultimate Despair,” Kyoko creates with a raise of her eyebrow.  “Wouldn’t you get despair from having it burned?”

“I’d get more despair if I tried to wash out all of these blood stains first,” Junko explains with a roll of her eyes.  “There’s hope in that, and then despair if it doesn’t work.  Duh.  You’re such a novice at this, Kyokyo.”

“Kyokyo?” Hina echoes, blinking twice before her gaze shifts to Kyoko.  “Where did that come from?”

Junko’s eyes grow wide.  “What, you don’t remember?  It was your idea!”  Then her lips curve into that Cheshire grin again.  “Oops.  I forgot.  My fault.”

Hina’s teeth grit together, and her hands clench into fists.  She gives Kyoko a look before saying, “I really hate her.  Really.”

Kyoko moves closer to her and hesitantly places a hand on her shoulder.  It’s uncomfortable for her to do it, the damaged nerves in her hand twinging as she does, but she provides the little comfort she can, giving Hina’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.  “If you need a break—”

“Yeah,” Hina says, gaze dropping to her hands.  “Yeah, I think I do.”  She looks up and meets Kyoko’s eyes with a faint smile.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

It isn’t like she’s surprised.  Junko hasn’t even been awake most of the time, and she’s still a lot.  It’s all a lot.  Kyoko’s just had more time – and more experience – with shutting off her emotions, to keep them hidden from the world.  Hina wears her heart on her sleeve.  Of course, this is a lot.  It would be a lot for anyone.

(It’s even a lot for her, though she won’t say it.)

Of course – of course – during this precise moment, that familiar bell rings overhead, and the morning Monokuma Announcement begins.

Without hesitation, Kyoko shoots Junko a look, raising one eyebrow.  Junko just shrugs.  “Does it look like I’ve been back to shut that off?” she asks.  Then she looks up at the television, props a hand on her waist, and stares.  “Man, I’ve never seen what it looks like on this side of things.”  Her lips curve in an approving grin.  “Kind of creepy.”

“Kind of?” Hina echoes.

Almost as soon as the announcement ends – maybe even a few seconds before, just as Monokuma’s voice fades away – someone pounds on Kyoko’s door.  Hina jumps with a squeak of surprise, but Junko just shifts closer to Kyoko, rests her chin on her shoulder just like she had before, and peers further out.  “Oh, our most precious knight,” she says in that haughty voice she hasn’t used since the fight with Byakuya, “how will you protect us from the coming invaders?”

“Oh, cut that out.”

And then a voice cuts through the door, accompanying the pounding.  “What does it mean?  Kyoko!  You gotta open up!  The Monokuma Announcement!  Did she kill you and Hina?  Is that why it’s happening again?”  Hiro, panicked, on the other side, his pounding slowly stopping.  But, again, that cry, “What does it mean?!”

Kyoko covers her face with one hand as that word – mean – stretches it out in a plaintive whine.  She doesn’t say anything as Hina gives her an embarrassed look, as she opens the door, as Hiro stumbles over himself as he falls inside.

Hiro steadies himself and looks up with wide, panicked, dark eyes.  “Oh.  You’re fine.”  He relaxes with half of a smile.  “I thought you might’ve been dead.”

“And, believing we were dead, you came to pound on my door?” Kyoko asks, raising her eyebrow again.

“Well, yeah.  Of course.”  Hiro crosses his arms.  “You’re the only one who’d know if you were dead or not.”

Hina glares at him.  “We wouldn’t have answered if we were dead, Hiro.”

“Well, you’re not dead, so that takes care of that!”  Hiro beams as though he’s done something ingenious.  That expression drops the slightest bit when he sees Kyoko’s expression – “What?” – and then falls entirely when he sees Junko, replaced with a frustrated scowl.  “Oh.  You’re still here.”

Junko tilts her head to one side.  “Where else would I be?”

“Dead maybe.”

“Hiro.”

Hiro ignores Hina’s chiding, his brow furrowing with thought.  “Only you couldn’t be dead because the Monokuma Announcement went off again.”  His eyes widen with the same panic they’d held before.  “That doesn’t mean we still have to kill everyone, right?  We don’t have to worry about—”

“It starts automatically,” Kyoko interrupts.  She steps away from Junko – even under the familiar scent of her own bath soap and shampoo, she can still faintly smell blue raspberries – and then turns to her.  “What was supposed to happen if we won?”

“You mean if I died?”  Junko grins at the word.  “Probably would have kept going until the end of time.  Or the electricity ran out.  Or something.”  She raises one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.  “I didn’t really think about that.  Unimportant, you know?”

Kyoko considers that.  She imagines the huge structure of Hope’s Peak Academy empty and abandoned, blood still spattering the basement from what would have been Junko’s death, while every so often the peal of a Monokuma Announcement rang out throughout the entire building.  Haunted.  Haunted.  By the specter of a sadistic stuffed bear.  “Yeah,” she says finally.  “Unimportant.”

“Yeah, but it’s freaking me out now!” Hiro says, crossing his arms again with a frustrated expression.  He taps his foot against the floor a few times.  “We gotta shut it off.”

“Or you could leave it running,” Junko suggests.  “It’s a nice reminder of—”

Hiro and Hina both shoot her a look; Hiro’s is a face of chagrin, his hands up in that same half state of panic, but Hina’s face is one full of frustration, painted a bright red, her hands clenched into fists in front of her.  “You’ve gotta shut it off!” Hiro exclaims again, more insistently this time.  “It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened here!”

Junko blinks twice.

Hina elbows him.

“What?  What?”  Hiro rubs his arm and looks around at everyone.  “What did I say?”

“You idiot.”  Hina shoves him again as she walks out of the room.

Hiro turns to Kyoko.  “What did I—”  Then his gaze falls on Junko, and his eyes widen in understanding.  “Oh.  Right.  The worst thing.  Uh.”  He rubs the back of his neck and groans.  “Right.”  Without thinking, he runs from the room.  “Hina!  Wait up!”

 “Wait—” Kyoko starts to say, one hand outstretched, before the door slams before her.  She grits her teeth together, face falling in frustration.  Foolish.  They’re all so….

Junko rests her elbow on Kyoko’s shoulder.  “Our most faithful knight.”

Kyoko shakes Junko off of her.  “I’m not anybody’s knight.”

“No,” Junko says, pushing up glasses she didn’t even have a few moments ago, “you’re not.”  She pushes her glasses up with one finger.  “To be a knight, you would first need a king, and yours is, unfortunately, quite dead.”

Makoto? Kyoko thinks first.  Then she considers that Junko might be referring to her father, which would make her snort, if she did that sort of thing.  “I need no king.”  She straightens, tilts her head back, and meets Junko’s eyes in a gesture reminiscent of Byakuya at his most arrogant.  “I rule myself.”

Junko takes her in.  Then her head tilts to one side again, and she almost seems to smile.  “Of course, you do.”  She removes her glasses and sticks them into a pocket Kyoko didn’t even know she had.  “Come, peasant,” she says, moving past Kyoko to the door.  “We will do as you have requested, provided we first find some sustenance and are allowed access to our things.”

“Which things?” Kyoko asks, refusing to comment on peasant.

“Our own clothes, for one thing.  These threads are positively dreadful.”  Junko lifts one hand and stares at the shirt Kyoko has given her with disgust.  She leans her head back just enough to look at Kyoko.  “However, you and the other peasants greet the day together, do you not?  We should like to join you.  Even if you are peasants.”

At her words, Kyoko’s stomach grumbles.  “Fine,” she says, voice soft.  “Food first.  Then….”

Then I’ll have to figure out how to proceed from there.

~

The dining room is surprisingly empty when they get there.  Junko slumps into one of the chairs and props her boots atop one of the tables.  “We shall wait for our subordinates here.”  Then her expression shifts.  “And they better get here soon because I’m fucking hungry!”  She leans back until the chair scoots back on its back two legs.

Kyoko doesn’t suggest that they could go get food for themselves, that they don’t have to wait, and she doesn’t make her to the kitchen for food because that would be leaving Junko alone.  But she overhears it, the sound of voices coming from the kitchen, and waits easily.

“I got it, Hiro!  It’s fine!” Hina exclaims as she leaves the kitchen, all sorts of donuts topping a plate in her hands with another shoved halfway into her mouth.  She speaks around it as she finishes chewing it, “Just drop it, okay?”  Then she notices Junko sitting at their normal table and comes to a complete halt.  She swallows once, hard, and glares at her.  “What is she doing here?”

“We can’t leave her alone—”

“So lock her up in one of the other rooms then!”  Hina’s glare whirls to Kyoko.  “How do we talk about the problem with her here?”

Junko’s eyes widen with feigned innocence.  “What problem?  Surely you aren’t talking about me.”  Her eyes grow even wider when Hina’s eyes narrow further.  “Oh,” she says with feigned disappointment.  “So you are.”  She sighs.  “I’m hurt,  HIna-chan.”  Pounds her chest twice.  “Hurt.  Right here.”

“Quit acting like we’re friends!”

Hiro leaves the kitchen with his head hanging.  “Man, Hina, I didn’t mean to make you so mad—”

Hina lets out another huff and a whine of frustration.  “I’m going to my room!”  She meets Kyoko’s eyes.  “I told you I needed a break, right?  So, like, come get me when you figure out what to do with her.”  Then she stalks off with her plate full of donuts.

“Man.”  Hiro slumps into a chair across from Junko, all hunched over with his arms on his knees.  “This sucks.  We’re supposed to be getting out of here!  And now we’re just—”  He groans and leans back, neck pressed against the back of the chair so that he’d be staring upward if his eyes were open.  “We’re stuck here forever.  It’s just so depressing.”

Kyoko’s gaze doesn’t shift, but her focus does, examining Junko’s reaction to Hiro’s words from the corner of her eye.

Nothing changes.

Junko remains in the same position she was in before, boots propped up on the table in front of her, chair tilted back.  The only difference – subtle though it may be – is that her eyes have fluttered closed, that she seems somehow more relaxed, though she hadn’t seemed tense before.  She lets out a deeply held breath.

Kyoko expects her to smile, even the smallest fraction, but she doesn’t.  All Junko does is settle.

They wait for a while to see if the other two will show up – there are so few of them left now – but after a half hour passes, Kyoko figures that they won’t.  She slowly stands, the exhaustion of the past day hitting her all at once, and presses the palms of her hands onto the table.  “Hiro.”

“Yeah?”  He doesn’t even glance up, just opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling.

“Will you come with us to the kitchen?”

Hiro lets out a grown.  “Why?”

“Because there are knives in the kitchen, and I would much rather there were two of us in there with Junko than—”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that!” Junko interrupts in a cutesy voice.  Her eyes grow big, wide, innocent.  “I’m not going to kill anybody!”

Hiro slumps forward, arms on his knees again, and stares at her.  “Yeah?  Why not?”

“What fun would there be in that?”

“Fun?” Kyoko echoes, staring at her with curiosity.

Junko sighs.  She pulls the glasses out of her pocket and places them on the edge of her nose before pushing them up with one finger.  (Surprisingly not the middle one.)  Her face schools itself into an air of intelligence.  “My primary goal in conducting this Killing Game of yours was to spread despair.  Killing anyone at this point in time would not further that goal.  You expect me to kill someone; I would only be falling into your expectations.  It has no worth.”

“So you’re….”  Hiro’s brow furrows in confusion.  “You’re not going to kill us.”

“Of course not.  It causes more despair when one of you kills someone.”  A corner of Junko’s lips curves into a soft, gentle smile.  “I have already betrayed you.  For a murder from me to cause the maximum despair, you would need to trust me and believe that I’m one of you.  That cannot happen now, so you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Huh.”  Hiro blinks twice.  “I guess that makes sense?  I don’t really follow.  But that sounds…cool?  I guess?”  He corrects himself when he catches Kyoko’s expression.  “I mean, uh, not cool.  That’s not cool.  That’s bad.”

“And I would still like an additional person with us when she’s around knives.”  Kyoko meets Hiro’s eyes.  She doesn’t say anything else, but she hopes he understands.  Right now, that’s you.

“Right.  Yeah.  Uh.”  Hiro stands and looks at Junko.  “You’re coming, right?”

Junko’s head tilts.  “Are you giving me a choice?”

Hiro glances to Kyoko.  “Uh…?”

“Are you hungry?” Kyoko asks, just as her stomach rumbles again.

“I’m fucking starving.”  Junko jumps up, and her chair falls back to the floor with a clatter.  She crosses her arms in front of her with double peace signs.  “Let’s fucking do this!”

It’s as they start to the kitchen that someone else coughs twice.  They turn to see Toko, just entering the dining room, who pauses as soon as she sees Junko.  She fidgets, unable to stand quite still.  “S-s-so she’s really st-st-still here.”

Before Kyoko even has a chance to respond, Junko’s eyes light up.  “Toko Fukawa!”

Toko startles.  “Y-y-yes?”

Junko runs to her – sprints just out of reach of Kyoko’s hand as she grabs for her – and scoops a now panicking Toko into her arms.  (It’s like she can’t even hear Toko’s shrieking – either can’t hear it or doesn’t care.)  She sets Toko down, one hand on each of her shoulders, just as Hiro and Kyoko make their way to her, and she beams down on her with a joy that Kyoko isn’t sure is feigned.  “My absolute favorite writer!”  When Toko flinches, she leans forward.  “Don’t remember that one, do you?”

“And whose fault is that?” Kyoko hisses under her breath.

“I-I-I’m y-y-your—”  Toko slaps Junko’s hand from her shoulder and steps back out of the other.  Her eyes widen with a mixture of fear and surprise.  “What?”

“My absolute favorite writer!” Junko repeats with a bright grin.  “The way you write unrequited longing?  And the despair your heroines feel whenever their love snubs them?  Oh!”  She pinches her fingers together, brings them to her lips, and then lets them fly.  “Chef’s kiss!”

Toko blinks twice.  Then her eyes narrow.  “You’re…you’re making fun of me!” she accuses, pointing at her.  Then she steps even further back, face darkening with shame.  “You’ve never read any of—”

“Blue Thread from the Scarred Mountain is my particular favorite.”  Junko takes both of Toko’s hands in her own and clasps them together, leaning towards her so that she can meet her eyes.  Her lips curve up in a gentle smile.  “I wasn’t making fun of you the first time,” she whispers, “and I’m not making fun of you now.  I have my personal copy autographed in my room, if I need to prove it.”

“Th-th-that’s a lie!” Toko says, unmoving.  “I don’t autograph my books!”

Junko’s smile does not waver.  “You signed mine.”

For a moment, Toko doesn’t say anything more.  She just stares at Junko, unsure.  Then she tears her hands from Junko’s grasp, turns, and stalks off.

Junko’s head tilts to one side again, and she sighs.  “I’ll get it anyway.  It really is one of my favorite books.”  She turns back to Kyoko.  “You think she’ll read the new ending I gave it?  Hifumi would think it was trash, but I was just so bored while you weren’t killing each other that I got desperate—”

“Don’t do that again,” Junko interrupts, and despite her hesitancy, she grabs Junko’s wrist.  She’s so thin.  Maybe that’s what it means to be a model.  Whatever it is, it makes her uncomfortable.  Her hold tightens, just enough for it to be clear that she doesn’t mean this in any sort of friendly manner.  “Don’t run off like that—”

“Why?” Junko asks, eyes widening with feigned innocence.  “It isn’t like you were able to stop me.”

It’s the way Junko blinks at her that does it, the way she acts like this is still all a game, and maybe to her it still is – or maybe it’s a combination of everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours – no, longer, the past forty-eight – Makoto dying to save her the first time only to not die, finding out that Junko was…was the mastermind, and Makoto giving all of them the hope necessary to leave only to kill himself and trap them all here forever—

All of that is enough to make anyone snap.

Especially someone who hasn’t gotten a lick of sleep.

Kyoko’s grasp on Junko’s wrist tightens.  The leather of her gloves creaks and creaks, and a part of her, however small, wants to see Junko flinch, wince, something.  When nothing changes – when the only thing she catches is a twinkle of something like pleasure in Junko’s eyes – she tugs her forward, just enough to make her trip.  “Don’t,” she repeats, “do that again.”

“Hey, hey!”  Hiro pushes himself between them, one hand out on either side.  He looks at Kyoko, confused.  “I thought we weren’t gonna, uh, be mean to her, or whatever.  You wouldn’t let Jack hurt her.”

Kyoko shakes her head.  She takes a deep breath in.  “Let’s….”  Her voice trails off.  “Let’s eat.  Then we can….”  She sighs and nearly smiles, more to herself than anything.  “We can find your book.”

“Yeah.  My book.”

Kyoko catches it when she glances up, just the slightest curl of a smile at the edge of Junko’s lips before she turns away towards the kitchen.  Hiro pauses as though she might need help, but she waves him away, mouthing, Knives, which makes his eyes grow wide, which makes him run to cut Junko off so that she doesn’t get to the kitchen before them.

But it’s the smile that lingers in Kyoko’s mind as they gather food stuffs, it’s the smile that lingers as they eat, it’s the smile that she keeps glancing up to catch again throughout the whole – a smile both knowing and frustrating that coils angrily in her belly, one that she only sees again, just briefly, when Junko glances up to catch her staring at her.

She hates it.  She hates her.  She hates this.

Most of all, she hates that smile.  That smile that tells Kyoko just how predictable Junko thinks she is. And she can’t get it out of her mind.

[space-mermaid-writing]

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 2

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter's Note: This is one of the longer chapters because I spontaneously decided to merge to chapters into one. Thanks to my lovely beta @zaria-04

Chapter 2: Why are you wasting my time?

The next time you enter the suite, Loki is standing at the kitchen island, operating the coffee machine. He is wearing Asgardian clothes again, but is giving you such an unexpectedly domestic impression that you look at him in surprise. It's a completely different picture than you got of him yesterday.

Besides, today you have time to look at him a little more closely without feeling the need to be on guard. You see his finely structured features and the long, curly hair that is neatly combed back, with just a single strand falling into his face as if unintentionally.

You wonder if everyone in Asgard looks like supermodels or if that only applies to princes.

Loki doesn't look up as you enter, nor does he otherwise make it known that he acknowledges your presents. Until you hear his voice. "Forgot how to speak, pet?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You blink for a moment and realize you've been staring. You force your body to start moving. "I brought breakfast," you announce, setting a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. Then you walk right on to the couch, where you settle into your usual spot.

Loki takes a look inside the bag. "What is this?"

"Brownies."

He leaves it on the counter top and comes over to you with his coffee, which he sets down on the small table in front of the couches. His whole demeanor is so normal, almost domestic, that it amazes you. Gone are the scrutinizing looks and pointed remarks. You can't believe it's going to be so easy.

Loki himself also takes a seat and crosses his long legs. As he does so, he bumps into the table and coffee spills over the rim of the cup onto the glass top. "Oops," he says. "Can you get me a rag?"

You're pulling your notebook out of your bag, reaching for a tissue you carry, which you hand to him. He takes it wordlessly and places it on the coffee stain, setting the cup on top to clean the bottom edge.

"Ah," he says as if he’d suddenly remember something. "I left my own book in the kitchen. Can you bring it to me real quick?" His voice is so charming that you’re about to move before you think about it. At the last moment, however, you change your mind and your butt stays on the cushion.

"I'm sure you can get that yourself," you reply in a neutral tone.

Loki makes no move to stand up. Instead, he turns his head in your direction, looking at the large window behind you. "The sun is blinding me. Draw the curtain, will you, pet?" His words are demanding now.

You look at him and your eyes meet. "I'm not your maid, Loki," you clarify. "If you want your own personal staff, you'll have to talk about that to Tony."

A smirk creeps onto his face. "I thought you were here for me, pet."

"I'm here to make sure you fit in with the team and don't have to be grounded anymore."

"But I would fit in so much better with the team if you were a sweetheart and drew the curtain."

The sarcasm just drips out. He seems to be having an excellent time sitting there, just waiting for you to slip. You are sure that he's driven many people over the edge of their seats with this ploy of his. It’s hard to resist his voice. But you realize that once you start doing whatever he tells you, you won't be able to get out of it.

So you sit quietly and start drawing little doodles in your notebook to distract yourself. "Nice try," you reply simply.

"If you get me those brownies of yours, I'll try them."

"Oh, so that's a negotiation now? How about this: I'll get you the brownies and then we will finally talk about the reason I'm here," you suggest. Normally, you would have told him that he has two legs and can get the bag himself. But you want to see how he reacts.

"Agreed."

It surprises you. You give him a searching look, but he merely nods toward the bag. So you get up and walk to the kitchen counter. But just as you reach out to grab the bag, it disappears before your eyes. You hear an amused chuckle from Loki. "My brother falls for it every time, too."

You turn to him and see that the bag is on the small table in front of him, and he's already holding a brownie, which he bites into.

It's your own fault, you think, sighing silently. You could have seen this coming. You walk back and sit down again. "So," you begin, reaching for your notebook. "Let's talk."

"Ah," Loki says, raising his index finger. "The deal was we'd talk if you got the brownies. But you're sitting here empty-handed. So there's no deal."

A child. You are dealing with a child.

You feel that your patience is slowly coming to an end. Loki seems to notice this, too, because he looks at you as if he were having a lot of fun.

He makes a patronizing gesture. "But I am a generous god," he says "Therefore, I will grant you one question. Choose wisely."

You wonder if the glass top of the coffee table is shatterproof or if it would splinter into a thousand pieces if you threw the Asgardian into it. Then you think about what question you could ask him. But since you don't even know if you'll get a real answer, it probably doesn't matter anyway. "Don't you get bored by just sitting here in the tower all day long?"

"Bored?" asks Loki back, pushing the last piece of the brownie between his lips. "I get new toys all the time. And you really do entertain me excellently, pet. When I think about how much more fun you and I are going to have together..."

His voice trails off as he takes one finger after another into his mouth to lick off the chocolate with relish. As he does so, his eyes are locked with yours.

You can't help blushing a little, even though you try to hide it by drawing your brows together in annoyance.

Just ignore it.

But it's really hard to ignore Loki. He has a presence that you feel, even when he's not in your field of vision. He could probably be standing on the other side of the room and you'd notice him.

"These brownies are to my liking. I demand more of them next time," Loki requests.

It's a small success in your books. "They don't come around every day. But I'm happy to bring them along whenever possible," you explain.

You try to reach for a brownie as well, but once again the bag disappears before your eyes. It makes Loki laugh. At least one of you is having fun.

Finally, you give up and leave for today.

~~

Due to the time difference, it's early afternoon where you live and you're cleaning up some stuff in your cottage. You still have some time before you have to go back to New York and you think about going outside to the garden to see if the berries are ripe yet.

That’s when you hear a loud knock on the front door. When you open it, a middle-aged woman is standing in front of it. She reacts a second too slowly and almost hits you with her next knock. Just in time she stops her fist mid-air. You notice that her dark blonde hair is disheveled and she has deep circles under her eyes.

"Yvette," you greet her, a little surprised. "Did you walk here?"

Tiredly, she shakes her head. "The car is parked down by the road. Can I come in?"

You step aside and make room for her. You've known Yvette Bullion for a couple of decades. She stops by whenever she needs something from you for herself or her family. A medicine, a potion, or sometimes just a look into the cards.

"What can I do for you?" you ask her, leading her into the kitchen where you store most of your work.

"It's about our youngest, Noah. Can you give me something for him once more?" Her French accent comes out as she speaks. You can tell from her voice that she's probably spent the last few nights without sleep and is on the verge of despair. Toddlers can be incredibly exhausting. Especially when the family's werewolf genes are freshly bursting out.

"Has it gotten worse again?" you huff. "It used to be better, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but it's been bad again for a few days. He often changes forms several times an hour. His bones hurt and he howls all the time," Yvette explains. "We don't know what to do."

It was a mystery to you what nature was thinking when it decided that the transformation of werewolves already breaks out in children. The process is already nerve-racking and exhausting for an adult the first few times he is new to it. But for a young child who has no idea what's going on with their body, it can be downright traumatic. Unfortunately, all puppies have to go through this.

The pack is there to watch out. That's their advantage, they can work as a team and they have a lot of experience.

It mostly goes well and there are no further complications. Once the kids learn to control the process, they get comfortable with it. But every wolf child, in fact every child of a shapeshifter species, goes through a phase where they change shape almost uncontrollably. It's like teething. Unfortunately, quite painful.

"I can give you some of the elixir again, but I have to make it from scratch," you say.

"Please."

You motion her to sit at the table and she gratefully takes a seat. "Would you like some tea?" you ask her as you flick your fingers to get several items flying from the kitchen cabinets. "You look like you could use something for your nerves."

She merely nods, and so you put a kettle of water on the stove.

Then one by one you reach into several pots and grab the ingredients you need, tossing them into a stone bowl that follows you flying. Various herbs, mealworms, finely chopped roots. With a mortar you pound everything.

The kettle whistles and you take care of the tea, which you hand to Yvette. She accepts it gratefully and blows on the hot liquid.

You put a pot on the now free hotplate, into which you pour a greenish liquid from a jar with a screw cap. You then add in the ingredients from the stone bowl. The potion hisses and bubbles quietly.

"We'll have to wait a bit for it to boil down," you inform your guest, joining her at the table. "So, how are your brothers doing?"

The Bullions are a very old clan and it's probably a testament to their adaptability that their pack has survived this long.

The adults have their transformation well under control. They have to do it at least once a month, otherwise their bones start to hurt. If they suppress the urge too long, the body takes over and decides to do it itself. No matter where you are at the time.

The full moon thing is merely a myth, as false as the assumption that vampires don't like garlic. Maybe there was a time when wolves preferred to hunt on full moon nights. Maybe that way it was easier to keep track of this once every four weeks thing. But the werewolves you've had contact with so far in your life don't have a preferred hunting night.

What is true is the fact that a werewolf should not stay in their wolf form for too long. It is an archaic state and should he spend more than a few weeks at a time in it without changing back, eventually his rational mind will shut down. It wouldn't even be a problem if hunger didn't usually take over at the same time. Because of their nature, they constantly have an incredibly large appetite, almost as if they were eating for two. And a beast without a mind of that size with above average strength and senses, eventually doesn't care what it eats. Or who.

You chat with Yvette for just about an hour before glancing into the pot and skimming some of the now yellowish liquid into a vial. You hand it to the woman.

"Mix ten drops of this into his water. And after a few hours, again. No more, you hear?" you instruct her. "That will calm him down and make him keep one of his forms. If his symptoms come back within a week, call me."

You always make sure to give your clients precise instructions. A perfectly good potion can have devastating consequences if used incorrectly. It's not to be trifled with.

Yvette nods and pockets the vial, placing a nice amount of bills on your table. "Thank you."

"No problem, really. Give my regards to the family."

She nods and says goodbye, French-style, with kisses left and right.

As you close the door behind her, you glance at the clock and curse. Her visit has made you lose track of time and you're now way too late for your meeting with Loki.

Oh shit!

Without further ado, you just leave everything as it is, grabbing your bag and rushing to your door, which takes you to the other side of the ocean. As you step through, you also change your clothes, because you don't want to show up with a dress that still has lots of traces and stains of your work on it. Instead, you make do with a narrow skirt, a blouse and a blazer.

With quick steps you hurry down the hall to the elevator. You pull your work badge out of your bag and hang it around your neck, only to hold it up in front of the SHIELD agents a minute later. Fortunately, by now you have a good routine at the check up and you are not held up for long. Then you enter the suite. Loki is already sitting on the couch, legs crossed, reading a book. He doesn't look up as you enter.

"I'm sorry I'm late," you apologize, "There was an emergency and I wasn't paying attention to the time."

You sit down and turn to the Asgardian. But he remains focused on his reading and turns a page. You raise your brows and wait a moment to see if he acknowledges your arrival.

When he doesn't, you lean forward a bit and glance at the cover. "'To the lighthouse’,” you note. "A classic."

Loki puts a finger to his lips as a sign for you to be quiet. "If you don't mind. I'm reading." He doesn't even look at you.

Okay, if that's how he wants to play. You don't mind a little peace. On the contrary, it would be a welcome change for once. Something different than the word duels of the last days.

Since no further response comes from him, you reach into your bag and use some simple magic to pull out a copy of Loki's book. You open it and start reading as well.

After an hour, you say goodbye and leave.

Apparently Loki has decided not to talk to you anymore, because the next day - today you are on time again - goes exactly the same way.

You don't know if he expects an extended apology from you for being late - it seems a bit exaggerated to you - or if this is just a new game of his. You don't mind. You’ve got time and as you told Tony: it's easy money earned when you don't have to do anything but sit there.

Still, each time you start an attempt at a conversation, ask him something or comment on his ever-changing reading.

And every time you get the same answer:

"Sshhh."

Amused, you wonder whether you're dealing with a snake, because it sounds a bit like the hissing of a reptile.

This continues for a whole two weeks until he finally speaks up real words. There's still about ten minutes left of your usual hour you spend here every day.

"Why are you wasting both of our time?"

It comes as such a surprise, admittedly, since you've already gotten used to the silence, that you just look at him uncomprehendingly at first.

"What do you mean?"

Loki rolls his eyes and now speaks very slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "You're just sitting here reading. Why are you wasting both of our time with this?"

"It's not a waste of time for me. I get paid for this," you shrug. "If you decide that's how we're going to spend our time together, then so be it."

"And if I decide that we spend it differently?" asks Loki now, and you hear the suggestive undertone as his lips curl into an amused smile. It's clear what he's implying.

"Our relationship is purely professional."

"Then I have no use for you. You're fired."

"You can't fire me. I work for Tony," you reply, turning back to your book.

Quietly, Loki snorts. "So are those mindless puppets standing guard outside the door," he spits out and you hear the spite from his voice.

"They are SHIELD agents."

This clarification seems to make little impression on him. "What’s the difference?" he grumbles. "It's downright insulting to position them there. They couldn’t stop me if I wanted to leave."

He’s not wrong about that, you realize. You don’t respond but think about his words. The short conversation dies down as Loki crosses his arms.

You look at your watch and get up. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"You know, you could wear something nice for once," Loki says and your clothes suddenly light up briefly as they change from the usual pants and blouse to a summery dress with a plunging neckline. "Who would have thought? My colors actually look good on you, pet."

You don't even roll your eyes at that. "Bye, Loki."

As soon as you're out the door, you change your clothes back. Luckily, SHIELD agents are trained not to make unnecessary comments. You don't even want to know how this looks from their point of view.

As you enter the elevator, you give them a shrug before the doors close.

In fact, you don't really care what the agents think of you. You have nothing to do with them except for the two brief meetings when you arrive and leave the suite. You haven't exchanged more than a few greetings with them.

But you did meet the other members of the Avengers in the past two weeks. Most of them were curious to see who would last so long with Loki. Apparently you're just about to break some record.

They're nice, even if it was a strange feeling at first to meet in person these people you usually only know from the news. You have come to realize that they are just normal humans. Well, some of them are humans. And actually, none of them are normal.

As usual, you send a report to Tony and also ask him to schedule a meeting in person.

It probably testifies to the importance of the matter that you sit with him that very same afternoon in some kind of workshop, where he works on one of his Iron Man suits.

"How's it going, Sabrina?" he asks you as you conjure up a stool at the table where he's working on a robotic arm. An outer panel from the device is open and the contents seem to be scattered all over the counter top. You spot circuit boards, wires, pliers, a soldering iron and lots of other things you're not familiar with.

"Great, I've had time to finish 'One Hundred Years of Solitude.'"

It had been the last book Loki had chosen as his daily reading. You didn't quite finish it, but you would read the last chapter at home later.

"Glad you're having so much fun in the company of a bipolar criminal with a god complex. Can you pass me the tin snips? No, the one that's funny shaped. Yep, that one, thanks."

"I thought Strange was the one doing the diagnoses around here," you reply, amused, looking at the various tools. The place looks just as chaotic as your kitchen at home when you're working.

"You pick up a lot of things when you're dealing with our kind of people." Tony winks at you and you chuckle. He's probably right about that.

There's a brief pause before you address the reason why you came to him. "What are the agents supposed to do in front of the princes‘ suite, anyway?" you ask innocuously, testing what he has to say about it first.

"Protecting, controlling, displaying authority," he enumerates as he reaches for a smaller screwdriver. His eyes dart to you. "Why? Did Loki say that?"

He did, but you don't want to admit that to Tony.

"This is your tower, isn't it?" you ask instead. "I'm sure nothing happens in this building without you getting notified. I heard something about an A.I."

Tony doesn't interrupt his work, but you can tell by his posture that he's now paying close attention to you. He's not stupid. Still, his voice remains calm. "Jarvis. Yes, he's connected to all floors and has his eyes everywhere. Except for the bathrooms, of course. I'm not a pervert."

"I think we should withdraw the agents," you say.

"I think that's a stupid idea," Tony retorts.

Of course he does. You were expecting that.

"If he really wanted to leave, they couldn’t stop him," you repeat the words Loki used earlier. He's right about that point.

"We need a backup plan, though," Tony interjects.

You sigh silently. You can understand him. You really do. But things need to change for improvement. You won’t get anywhere with how things are currently.

"I thought the point was to make him socially acceptable. It takes trust on both sides," you argue. "I'm not saying we should unleash him on the city right away. But tell me: has there even been one incident between Loki and the agents?" Tony opens his mouth, but you don't let him get a word out. "Aside from the shenanigans he pulls on everyone. I mean an actual incident where someone got hurt."

Tony closes his mouth again and seems to be thinking. He has his elbow propped on the armrest of his chair and his head in his hand. "Ultimately, it's not up to me to decide," he admits. "But I'll talk to Fury."

Satisfied, you nod. That's something, for a start.

"But," Tony adds, "someone has to keep an eye on him. And by someone, I mean you, Sabrina. That means that you actually have to live in the tower. Don't look at me like that. I know you keep disappearing into your witch cave or wherever as soon as you enter your rooms." His tone isn’t accusatory. Still, there's something about the way he says it that you don't like.

"I have another job." You're not quite sure if being a witch is a proper job description, but you have obligations you have to meet.

"Well, put it in the back. Otherwise, I'm afraid we'll have to find someone else for this. And I'd really like to avoid that. You've done pretty well so far."

"Fine, I'll spend more time here. But then don't complain when the kitchen smells like sulfur and chicken legs."

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Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @baebeepeach @ceo-of-stfu

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Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 18)

Previous chapter - Next chapter - Read on AO3

OHDH Masterlist - Narcos Masterlist 

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Javier Peña

Words: 10,316

Summary: As Javier and Horacio make a fresh start in Madrid, they attempt to come to terms with their past, present and future with some unexpected help.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Romantic/emotional sex, edging, PTSD symptoms, grief and parental loss, brief discussions of sexuality/coming out, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Ok, so I know I said I wasn't going to be posting for a while, but after some lovely comments I've had on Tumblr this past week, I thought I would show my appreciation by sharing this a bit earlier than anticipated ❤️

Chapter 19 is ready to go, so hopefully I can post that soon, as it's the second half of their Madrid adventures (I had to split it because it got too big for one chapter, oops).

Thank you once again to anyone still following this fic - old or new - I can't believe it's been over two years since I first started it. Never in a million years did I expect it to become, well, this lol. But we are very nearly there now!

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested. 

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 18: One Day at a Time

It was the stillest part of the day, the city suspended somewhere between the dying embers of night and the cusp of dawn. The streets below saw parallel worlds collide as overindulgent revellers staggered alongside coffee-carrying workers who had drawn the short straw.

Neither Javier nor Horacio was a stranger to witnessing sunrise from both sides. But there was comfort in waking up to it rather than being caught unawares when sleep never came.

A raucous catfight had woken them, although the sparring partners had since gone their separate ways and restored calm to the neighbourhood.

Javier surveyed the aftermath from the French doors of the balcony, a pair of arms smoothly securing themselves around his waist, their fingers entwining over his stomach.

“Did I miss anything?” Horacio croaked, grogginess still heavy in his throat, his bare chest radiating welcomed warmth against Javier’s chilled back.

“Just the usual suspects. I know the ginger one lives opposite, but I think the black one must be a stray.”

“The same one that was out here the other day?” Horacio nodded towards their balcony, equipped with a table, two chairs, and a few hanging baskets and potted plants.

“Looked like it.”

“Maybe we should put some food out if it stops by again.” Memories of the stray he and Alejandra played their part in looking after sprung to Horacio's mind. Strangely enough, that had been a black cat too.

“Should I tell Luna she’s been replaced already?”

“Don’t you dare.” At least the teasing took Horacio’s mind off the fact he missed all two-legged and four-legged residents of the ranch tremendously, and according to reports from Chucho, the feeling was mutual.

It had only been weeks since they left Laredo, but the days stretched out longer now. It wasn’t that time dragged, but their pace of life had slowed again. The ranch was a vacation compared to Colombia, but jobs still needed to be done. Here though, they had no commitments.

The first week involved sorting out their apartment. It came fully furnished, but they needed basics like bedding, groceries and warmer clothes. Arriving in Madrid during the winter months was a shock to the system after their balmy Texan Christmas, a fact Horacio probably should have warned Javier about before they stepped off the plane in their short-sleeved shirts.

Not that Javier minded whenever the temperature dropped in the evening, and they would huddle on the couch in front of the electric fire, limbs draped over one another. There was no scent of mesquite wood this time, but that didn’t matter when shared body heat and tactility were more than enough to satisfy as they christened the furniture in their shared home.

The décor was all neutral colours but vibrant paintings of local landmarks and rural Spain hung on the bright white walls. A long corridor stretched from the entrance, with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and separate living area branching off it. Despite the modest square footage, the high ceilings and large windows along the external wall made the space light and airy.

The apartment was still dark enough to protect them at this time of day, and semi-closed blinds covered the balcony doors from top to bottom. They could see out the hangings, especially if they were prised apart. But Javier had ensured on the first day they arrived that there was no chance of anyone from outside nosing in. He wasn’t taking any chances, even though that threat was left back in Colombia.

Now the commotion outside had died down, they basked in the peace of their embrace.

“It was the cats that woke you, wasn’t it?” Horacio asked after a contented silence. He had to check, even though there had been a marked improvement in their sleeping patterns lately.

“Yeah, it was. I slept well last night, actually.”

“Me too. Better now I’m getting used to the traffic again.”

“The ranch really makes you forget how fucking loud the city is.” Or maybe, now Javier thought about it, it was the ranch that was so fucking quiet. “I’m still waking up through the night sometimes, cats or no cats. But I guess that might just be getting used to this place.”

“You like it here, though?”

“Yeah, I do. I can see why you wanted to come back.”

“I only wanted to come back with you.” Horacio’s fingers traced idle patterns across the soft curve of Javier’s stomach.

A light shiver ran through Javier as he lolled his head back into the pillow of Horacio’s shoulder. “So you could do this, huh?”

Horacio hummed in agreement against Javier’s neck, his mouth working methodically back and forth as a hand wandered south in search of a trail of dark hair, skirting through the wiry strands.

“Well, it wasn’t for the sangria,” he scathed, his teeth scraping over Javier as though he would rather devour the man in his arms than a glass of that stuff. Maybe it was because they hadn’t drunk much alcohol since Javier returned from Colombia, but neither had taken to it. “And you don’t seem to be complaining.”

“There are worse ways to start the day.” Javier relaxed into Horacio’s hold, allowing himself to be manhandled because there was no rush. There never was anymore.

Plenty of early mornings had begun similarly. Sometimes one man would wake up to the calid pressure of a mouth around his cock, gradually allowing the slow burn of arousal to build whilst they were half-asleep. Other times they would spoon with one held inside the other, barely moving, vaguely dreaming but always on the brink of release.

Then there were times when slow and gentle weren't enough. They had mastered the art of keeping each other quiet, for their apartment walls weren’t the thickest. Not too much, though, because the rhythmic slapping of skin-on-skin or the crisp echo of a palm across the ass was part of the appeal.

But teasing strokes and languorous rolls of the hips were in order now. One hand pumped at an unhurried pace, Javier’s length fitting in Horacio’s grip as though they were made for each other. As though Horacio had every nerve ending and sweet spot memorised as he expertly massaged Javier’s frenulum, extracting a guttural moan that reverberated through their chests in tandem.

Horacio’s free hand mapped Javier’s skin, chasing goosebumps with the calloused pads of his fingers as he found friction at the cleft of Javier’s ass. Each touch and motion a tangible reminder he wasn’t here alone this time, that the solid form in his hold and the stubbled cheek grazing against his were real. That they belonged to each other, not as possessions but as mutual choices made again and again.

Javier luxuriated in a delirious limbo, teetering on the verge but never quite there, the need for release visceral in the pit of his stomach. Yet as he trembled and writhed, alternating between pouting his bottom lip and biting it, a part of him was willing to beg to be kept hanging. Because this was what he had wanted when they were separated by oceans and a misplaced sense of duty, and now he had it, he didn’t want to let it go.

Each twitch or convulsion only made Horacio pull Javier closer, gaining extra purchase with the firm grasp at his hip bone, grinding harder but not faster, lost in dragging the head of his cock in agonising circles, from side to side, then up and down, pausing to let it throb in time with their panting. Knowing he could probe further and give them what they needed, but then it would be game over.

So, they resisted, turning shallow breaths into deeper ones, Horacio ceasing movement whenever they neared the point of no return, reeling them back in like a wound-up coil, forcing them to admire the view below as they fought against every instinct in their bodies.

Javier allowed the balcony door to bear some of their weight with one hand splayed across the clinking blinds, pushing back a fraction just to make Horacio groan in his ear and seize the cross dangling from his neck. His other hand clutched Horacio’s arm, neck, shoulder, whichever part of him he could reach, grounding and anchoring them together.

Whenever they almost succumbed, memories of their time apart would re-focus them in the present; where their legs shook, and their toes curled at every new sensation rippling through their joined form, the anticipation of relief battling with remaining in equilibrium, daring each other to prolong the exquisite agony for as long as possible.

But resistance was inevitably futile. With several final jerks of the wrist and hips, they surrendered control, painting Javier with their release from both sides as they gave themselves over to the white-hot bliss cascading through their synapses, each spasm igniting and stoking flame after flame, consuming and burning until they almost blacked out.

Neither moved as the pink haze of the skyline broached the gaps in the blinds and blushed their fevered skin; the dawn air a perfect tonic to the blazing heat between them. A greeting from the light rather than a reluctant acknowledgement after outstaying their welcome in the dark.

Strong arms encased Javier at his front while a rhythmic beat drummed against his back, catching and soothing him in surroundings that were still relatively new. Steady, grounding, home.

“Good morning, by the way,” Horacio said between tender kisses along Javier’s shoulder.

“Hmm, certainly is a good morning.” Javier shifted to face Horacio, sweeping him up with an open-mouthed kiss as addictive as the first one they ever shared, and oh, how far they had come since then. “Is it too early for breakfast?”

“Not when we’ve built up an appetite.” Horacio nibbled at Javier’s lip to emphasise his hunger. “Although, maybe a shower before I make us some coffee?”

Javier nipped back before instigating another searing kiss, barely breaking it to speak again. “Sounds good to me.”

Nothing was particularly extraordinary about the idyllic scene they had started the morning off with. And yet that in itself was extraordinary. Not so long ago, all of this felt out of reach, something to aspire to or hope for, but not something feasible. But here they were, in their shared apartment, embarking on a new chapter together, taking another leap of faith. Not running away from the past but trying to break free from its shackles, one day at a time. 

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Once they had got their bearings in the first few weeks, they began to venture out bit by bit. First, it was walking around the city’s vast green parks, starting with the nearest and working further away from their apartment each time. Then cooking or takeaway turned into dining in a secluded bistro. And watching TV in the apartment became a leisurely stroll around a museum.

Horacio hadn’t felt much like sightseeing when he was here by himself. But things were different now. Everything was different now, even the city itself, from how the early morning light fell on the buildings to the hustle and bustle of Gran Vía. The crowds were still there in their droves. The shoppers and tourists, who would stop in the middle of the pavement with a street map sprawling across their arms, still needed to be sidestepped at the last second. But it was easier to ignore when Javier was by his side.

It was at this point that Horacio knew there was something he was going to have to do. Something he had been putting off, despite it being something he wanted to do. But that didn’t calm the nerves bubbling in his stomach as he took the familiar walk around the corner from their apartment building and down a cobbled side street. Javier had offered to come with him for moral support, but playing it safe seemed the best option, at least this time, just in case.

As he approached the glass door with its seasonal flower arrangements hanging below the red and gold calligraphic Café Romero lettering, it hit him how much his life had changed since he last visited, how much he and Javier had been through. So how reasonable was it to expect everything to be the same here? He swallowed hard as he turned the handle, the bell above the door jangling as it opened.

The interior looked the same as always. Caramel and beige walls complemented the variety of coffees on the menu and the lush green of potted plants decorating the shelves, in between photos of past and present generations of the Romero family. A large window ran along the front, providing extra lighting and an opportunity to people-watch on busier days.

Horacio could see no staff and only customers, but it was early, so the place hadn't filled up yet. In fact, his usual window seat in the corner was still free. Waves of nostalgia layered with relief rolled over him as he sat down facing the counter.

But it didn’t take long for the face he was looking for to appear from the kitchen carrying a fresh batch of napolitanas de chocolate.

A shriek of delight quickly followed once Señora Romero put down her baking tray and raised her head. She brought her hands to her face in surprise, gathering up her apron at the same time as it caught on her fingers. “Horacio?!”

The intonation of her voice suggested it was a question. But she was already crossing the floor of the café with her arms outstretched.

Horacio rose from his table, making it easier for her to scoop him into a hug reminiscent of the ones his Abuela Margarita gave him as a child.

“It’s good to see you, Señora Romero. I hope you’re well.”

She looked well, her silver hair still tied in a messy bun and her rounded figure and freshly stained apron a sign her passion for food hadn’t waned.

“All the better for seeing you.” She lightly squeezed his cheek as she took in his appearance. “Although you might have warned me, I’d have baked more of those milhojas you liked so much last time.”

“Sorry. I’ve not been back long. I’m still sorting out the apartment and trying to remember my way around.”

“Of course, of course. Rest your feet, and I’ll bring you something over. Your usual coffee?”

Horacio smiled at the fact she had remembered his order. “That’d be lovely, thank you.”

The coffee was as delicious as ever, much like the freshly made churros and accompanying hot chocolate, which Señora Romero gave him on the house despite his protests.

She updated Horacio on her family and how Luisa and her husband, Julián, had become parents since their wedding. Their new arrival, Tomás, meant Señora Romero still ran the café, with Luisa helping out occasionally until Tomás was at school.

Señora Romero rushed to grab some photos from behind the counter, showing off her latest grandson. She was in her element and every bit the doting Abuelita.

“Congratulations, I can see the family resemblance,” Horacio said, passing the photos back.

“I said the same to Luisa! He’s definitely got the Romero nose.” She gazed at the picture before shifting her attention back to Horacio. “So, what did I do to deserve the pleasure of your company?”

Horacio scoffed into his cup, creating ripples across the surface of his coffee as he took a sip. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about from where we left off?”

Horacio hadn't been looking for sympathy, but naturally, Señora Romero supplied plenty of it, gasping, tutting, and consoling in all the appropriate places when he gave an abridged and redacted version of events since their last meeting.

He spoke more than was ideal about his injury and retirement from the CNP because, by comparison, it was safer ground than the inverted commas silently hugging every use of "friend" a mention of Javier brought.

“Oh, Horacio, my dear. You have been through the wars. How’s your shoulder doing now?”

“Okay, mostly. I still get twinges, but I know I’m lucky.”

“Lucky to have someone like Javier around as well, by the sounds of it.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Even if he had wanted to stop it, the reflexive smile spreading across Horacio’s face was irrepressible.

Señora Romero studied his features intently, beaming in return once she had finished. “And how was life on a ranch?”

“It was…good, actually. I know it’s not the CNP, but I liked the peace and quiet. And the routine. Something always needed doing or fixing.”

“It might not be the CNP, but that sounds much safer and simpler to me.”

“It was. It was good to feel useful again. Like I was making a difference, even if it wasn’t life or death.” Especially if it wasn’t, more like.

“I know you never talked much about it, but I could see how restless you were trapped behind a desk. You’re a man of action, Horacio. I don’t see that changing no matter which path you take.”

The café was busier now, meaning Horacio was left to finish his churros whilst Señora Romero dealt with the start of the breakfast rush.

As he dipped his last churro in the remnants of hot chocolate, it occurred to him that, once upon a time, his father would have been the central focus of this conversation. And, of course, he had wondered what his Papá would have made of his son living and working on a ranch in Texas, of all places. But it was also a moot point. It was an answer he would never get, regardless of how much he wrung his hands about the hypothetical possibility of disappointing his father.

This was about what was best for him and Javier now. The ranch had been their escape from the madness that was slowly killing them. Although Horacio never knew with absolute certainty what caused his Papá’s heart to fail, it was a plausible theory he overworked himself. And that irony sat more comfortably with Horacio these days. Because as much as his Papá had been a role model since Horacio was old enough to understand the word police, he was also a cautionary tale.

When the rush died down, Horacio helped clear some tables. It was the least he could do in exchange for words of wisdom and a complimentary breakfast.

But Señora Romero didn’t stop there and scuttled off behind the counter. She filled a box with an assortment of pastries and cakes, sealed the lid and handed it to Horacio as he moved towards the door.

“Here, my dear. Some more to keep you going. Enough for two, in fact.”

Horacio fumbled for a response beyond thank you as he accepted the box, wishing he could hide inside it as he sensed her eyes still on him.

Señora Romero’s hand lingered on his for a fraction longer than was customary for a simple goodbye.

He looked up to find the same head tilt and gentle smile he was met with in the apartment upstairs almost two years ago. When he was indirectly talking about Javier.

“I meant it when I said don’t be a stranger. You and Javier will always be welcome here.”

The sincerity in her eyes grew sharper, and she gripped his hand. In sympathy? Solidarity? Horacio wasn't sure.

But it put him at ease enough to reciprocate and ask a question now lodged in his throat with no option to swallow it back down. “How did you know?”

“Because there’s a glow about you, Horacio. A glow I remember from a long, long time ago. I might’ve forgotten a lot in my old age, but never that. Not even now it’s just me rattling around upstairs. It doesn’t have to fade, you know. Not if you don’t let it.”

It was a running theme for Horacio’s elders to leave him speechless like this. And it was all he could do to bob his head in acknowledgement, hoping he might be capable of such sage insights one day.

The bell above the door chimed again, signalling the end of their reunion as Señora Romero greeted her new customers, inviting them to sit wherever they liked.

“I think that’s my cue. But thank you, Señora Romero. For everything.”

“Any time. Take care, Horacio. And remember, my door’s always open.”

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

Horacio dropped the box of delights on the kitchen counter, the fresh breeze and murmur of traffic revealing that Javier had moved from the bedroom to the balcony since he left.

Javier put the book he was reading down in favour of craning his neck over his shoulder to watch Horacio potter about the kitchen before biting the bullet. “So, how did it go?”

Horacio didn’t speak whilst he concentrated on transferring a couple of ensaimadas onto plates. He then joined Javier, sitting in the empty seat next to him as he offered a plate. “Better than I thought it would. She guessed about us. I didn’t tell her. Somehow she just…knew.”

“How did she take it?”

“I think we’ve got a free supply of these for life.”

They couldn’t help but laugh in unison, more from relief than anything else.

“See, I told you it’d be fine.”

“Yeah. It’s never gonna stop, though, is it?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Every time we meet someone.”

“I say it's nobody’s fucking business unless we decide it is.”

“I spoke to Alejandra yesterday. While you were in the shower.” Horacio paused at his announcement that might have appeared unconnected to their conversation, but Javier knew better. “I let her know I’m back here for now. I couldn’t tell her the rest, though.”

He focused on his plate, poking a fork at the crumbly layers of pastry, hoping to find his courage buried somewhere between them. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, stop that.” Javier forfeited his plate for leaning closer to Horacio, palm caressing his thigh. “Before Laredo, you said I should only tell Pops if I’m ready. So, there’s no rush, Horacio. Take all the time you need.”

Horacio entwined their fingers on his leg because if anyone understood his apprehension, it was Javier. “I know. I just hate keeping it from her after everything we’ve been through. She would always make me soup if I was sick. And she looked out for me after Papá was gone. She taught me Mamá’s sudado de pollo recipe because it was one of Papá’s favourites. I liked to think I was the man of the house, but she loved reminding me she was my older sister.”

“I bet she did. I saw that a lot with my parents and my Tías and Tíos. Never could decide if I’d have preferred brothers and sisters after they all got together.”

“That’s siblings for you. I didn’t want to shut her – or Mamá – out. But when things got crazy back home, I had no choice.”

“Same with Pops. The worse it got, the more I shut down. But he understood. And…I know I haven’t met them.” Yet, Javier wanted to add but thought better of it. “But they might too.”

“I know.”

“We’ll be okay whatever happens, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do.” Horacio finally let go of Javier’s hand, knowing if he held on any longer, he’d have given their neighbours something to gossip about.

Instead, he took another bite of his pastry and a swig of the half-drunk coffee from the table where Javier’s abandoned book lay. “What are you reading, anyway?”

“Oh, just this.” Javier reached for his Mamá’s poetry book, the pages fluttering in the breeze, the superstitious remnants from his upbringing wanting to believe it was a sign of something other than the weather. “Before we left, I told Pops I wished she’d met you. I don’t know if she ever suspected anything about me, but…I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Maybe not. But for what it’s worth, I wish I’d met her too.”

It had always been a relief for Horacio that his father and Javier never crossed paths, but that was mostly a projection of his own fears. The truth was, he would never know if his Papá suspected anything about him, either.

Once they had finished their ensaimadas, Horacio washed up the plates and a few items waiting by the sink, a routine he performed countless times with Alejandra when they were just about tall enough to reach the taps; before any expectations of who or what he was supposed to be were placed on his shoulders. Memories flooded back of how they would squabble over who got to wash and dry. Although, of course, more often than not, his big sister would pull rank, and in hindsight, he smiled at the possibility that, all those years later, she, rather than their Papá, was what had made his job so appealing.

As he left the clean plates, cups, and cutlery to dry on the draining board, it dawned on him that Alejandra and his Mamá didn’t have to be the same story as his Papá. They didn’t need to be another unfinished, half-written story in which the ending would always elude him, haunt him, or hold him back. Not if Horacio didn’t leave it too late this time.

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

Whilst Horacio resumed his early morning runs, they were more like gentle jogs these days. It wasn’t that he had lost his stamina after being put through his paces back on the ranch, but he didn’t feel the need to charge ahead at full pelt anymore. He was more likely to go through a routine of strengthening exercises, to keep his right shoulder from seizing up, and for whenever they decided to head back to Laredo. If that was to become his full-time job, he couldn’t afford to be out of shape.

He left Javier in bed, with plans to meet him at Café Romero for breakfast. It was to be Javier’s first time meeting Señora Romero, which they were confident they had nothing to worry about, but that didn’t quell the butterflies dancing in their stomachs the night before.

It was why Horacio had gone for a run instead of lying awake restless, counting down the hours until he could get up. His muscle memory, rather than his wristwatch, estimated that by the time he jogged one of his usual routes that took him to the outskirts of Casa de Campo park and walked a few blocks to cool down, he would be ready for breakfast.

About three-quarters of the way through his run, having just exited the park, he heard the call of his name. He willed there to be another Horacio jogging passed at the same time, but when his eyes fell upon the source of the voice, he knew he was out of luck.

“Álvaro?” He didn’t know why he asked; he’d spent enough time with Álvaro Molina to recognise his voice anywhere.

Álvaro was a chief inspector in the Spanish CNP. Not a direct parallel to Horacio’s role in Colombia, but close enough. Although Álvaro was never based at the Consulate when Horacio was, they spent plenty of time in the same cross-departmental meetings.

He was a couple of inches taller than Horacio with hazel eyes and unruly dark brown curls that were more mottled with grey than their last meeting. At one time, Álvaro carried almost as much muscle as Horacio, but he had visibly lost weight, his face now gaunt and rough with days’ old stubble.

“How the hell are you?” A hand shook Horacio’s with vigour. “Better than last time, I bet, now that motherfucker’s in the ground.”

“You could say that.”

“What brings you back? They didn���t exile you again, did they?” Álvaro winked, knowing he was on friendly enough terms with Horacio to get away with it.

A scoff and roll of the eyes was Horacio’s response. “No. Actually, it was the other way round this time.”

“Oh? You are a dark horse. Always thought they’d have to force you into retirement when you’re old and grey.”

“Yeah, me too. But I guess things change.”

“Hmm, some more than others.”

“I take it there’s been no let-up in seizures after Medellín folded?”

“Not with Cali waiting in the wings, no.” There was a brittle laugh followed by a shift in Álvaro’s facial expression, the joviality from moments ago now gone and replaced with traces of sleep deprivation.

“That’s the trouble. You cut off one serpent’s head, and two more of the fuckers grow straight back.” Horacio’s words were loaded with a sting of venom at the mention of Cali, closely followed by thoughts of Los Pepes, Stechner and the CIA’s protection of Cali. How could they possibly win when the whole system was corrupt to the core?

“Tell me about it. Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve got time to grab a quick coffee? Hell knows I need one.”

Horacio calculated he had about 15 minutes maximum spare, so, it was doable if he drank fast and didn’t get too involved in shop talk that was no longer his remit.

“Okay, there’s a place just inside Casa de Campo. But you’re buying.”

“Always the cheapskate.”

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Javier glanced up from his newspaper to the clock on the wall. Horacio was technically late; by his own standards, that was. Javier wouldn’t even have noticed if it was anyone else.

He followed Horacio’s instructions on how to get here, even down to picking the window seat in the far corner of the café. It was empty when Javier arrived – five minutes early, which must be a first – so he sat and waited.

Not long after he took a seat, a lady too young to be Señora Romero came to greet him with a friendly smile, ready to take his order.

Javier went with a café solo for each of them, saving the food order for when Horacio arrived.

Even when speaking in short sentences, Javier was self-conscious of his accent here, sometimes forgetting to adjust his pronunciation or pick a different word than he was used to. Of course, it had been the same when he arrived in Colombia and Horacio in Texas. A cultural exchange that led to many late-night conversations – and the occasional argument – about dialect differences. But that was the versatility of the Spanish language.

The same waitress brought the drinks over, although an older woman had joined her who was now clearing the adjacent table. The family resemblance between the two women was undeniable, so Javier assumed this must be Señora Romero and…Luisa, did Horacio say? He kept quiet for now, just in case he was wrong. Nor did he want to steal Horacio’s thunder with introductions.

As Javier thanked Luisa and explained the second cup was for someone meeting him shortly, Señora Romero ceased wiping a cloth across the emptied table, her ears pricking up at an accent she didn’t hear too often.

Not that Javier noticed as his eyes darted to the door, up to the clock and down to the paper with a heavy sigh.

He got through one and a half news stories when Señora Romero made her move from watching Javier curiously from behind the counter to standing by his table.

“It’s not like him to be late, is it?”

Javier was startled out of his newspaper and looked up, where rich shades of chestnut and cinnamon collided for the first time. “How—?” was about all he managed to stutter out.

Señora Romero sat opposite Javier, where Horacio should have been sitting. “Ever since his first visit, he went straight for this table. It is a nice spot, though. He always read his papers and ordered a café solo every time.” She smiled affectionately at the coffee cups on the table like they were an old friend. “Plus, he told me about Laredo. So, I wasn’t expecting another Colombian accent.”

“I’m impressed. We could’ve done with more people like you in Colombia. And I was under strict instructions to pick this table. But you’re right; it’s not like him to be late.”

There was no doubt a logical explanation for Horacio’s absence. But Javier couldn’t stop his fingers from fidgeting around the handle of his cup or his knee from bouncing under the table and causing an earthquake.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s on his way, dear. Did he go for one of his pre-breakfast runs?”

There was something comforting about Señora Romero’s familiarity with Horacio’s routines, even though Javier had never met her before. It gave them a mutual talking point and a connection beyond the usual dry small talk. “Bingo.”

“Of course! He was one of my most loyal regulars. I did miss seeing him in here after he left.”

“He’s talked about you and this place a lot. So, I’d say the feeling’s mutual.”

“Bless you, my dear. I’m glad our paths crossed. But I’ve no doubt he ended up where he belonged.”

Heat bloomed in Javier’s face and chest as Señora Romero gave him a pointed look followed by a flash of a wink. And he couldn’t help but feel sheepish that he and Horacio had ever worried about her reaction in the first place.

It took his mind off things until his gaze fell back on the clock, and he saw another five minutes had passed. Where the fuck was he? No, Javier couldn’t think like that. It was stupid and unnecessary at this stage. He just needed to focus on the pleasant conversation he was having now. So, he tried again.

This time, he asked questions about Señora Romero’s family and, during a lull in the breakfast rush, was introduced to Luisa as a friend of Horacio’s. If Luisa suspected anything, she took it in the same stride as her mother.

Next came the family photos, including plenty of Tomás, naturally. An album's worth of photos was scattered across the table, allowing Señora Romero to guide Javier through each one as though she was delivering a presentation. But as someone with a large extended family, Javier didn’t mind and even interjected with anecdotes about his own relatives.

After a tilt of his head and a sip of his coffee, Javier brought the cup down to the photo-covered table with a sense of déjà vu. It took him out of the moment and forced him to close his eyes, trying to blink away his sudden change in mood. But then, a wave of cheap perfume filled his senses. And Señora Romero’s finger pointing at the pictures was younger and manicured. The photo she placed in his hand wasn’t the many generations of the Romero family posing in front of the café; it was one of the long-lens photos of Javier and Horacio.

He blinked hard enough to see spots, allowing his vision to gradually re-focus on the safety of the photo in his hand rather than the violating one burnt into his memory. He tried not to think about those images, and for the most part, he succeeded these days. But occasionally, his brain would taunt him, reminding him how paralysed he was by the possible consequences. By the fact he put Horacio in so much danger and couldn’t even tell him about it or be with him. By the fact he and Steve were glorified puppets to the likes of Stechner whilst the CIA was up to its neck in corruption.

“These, er, these are all beautiful,” he managed to get out, hoping that the last few seconds had gone unnoticed, as unlikely as that was.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else while you wait, dear?”

That was the next question Javier heard, but he couldn’t be sure if he had zoned out and missed a whole chunk of conversation.

"Er, no, thanks, I'm good."

Without meaning to, his eyes scanned between the clock and the door again, an irrational hope taking hold that if he stared at either long enough, he could make Horacio appear by sheer willpower alone. However, as the second hand on the clock ticked and ticked, he was back in that damn hospital bed. Waiting, waiting, waiting. That was all he could do, unable to get comfortable as each movement was a red-hot poker jabbing in his ribs. But he would take that any day over the crushing, suffocating, nauseating dread that weighed on his chest like a foreshadowing of death. Not his death, although it would have been in all but name if the pendulum of fate had swung the other way.

“Javier? Are you alright, my dear?”

Javier was back in the café, a light sheen of sweat gathering on his skin as he tried to shove whatever the fuck that was back in its box. “Er, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Why don’t I pour us some lemonade upstairs once you’ve finished your coffee? I’ll ask Luisa to send Horacio up when he gets here.”

Javier expected his instincts to push him towards the door and back to the apartment, but they didn’t. Instead, they saw the genuine concern on Señora Romero’s face and the kindness in her gesture. They saw the glimmer of faded memories of his Mamá taking care of him, knowing this wasn’t the same, but also that it didn’t need to be. And so he did the only thing he could.

“That’d be good, thanks.”

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Álvaro brought over two coffees from the kiosk by the park entrance to a nearby seating area of tables and chairs. The previous day’s rain still clung to the stainless steel furniture and explained why there weren’t as many people around them as on a scorching hot day. But that worked in their favour.

They sat opposite each other across a table suffering from a wobbly leg, Horacio in his jogging pants and a somewhat sweaty t-shirt, and Álvaro apparently in yesterday's suit, shirt and skewwhiff tie, if their crumpled appearance and less than fresh aroma were anything to go by. A far cry from the pristine CNP-issued uniforms and tailored suits picked out by Álvaro’s wife their last meeting saw them wearing.

As Horacio took a sip of coffee, he noticed Álvaro reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and pull out a hip flask.

Álvaro lifted the plastic lid from his cup, poured a generous measure from the flask and offered the same to Horacio.

Horacio raised his hand and shook his head. “Bit early for me.”

They made small talk, Horacio managing to be as vague as possible regarding his reasons for living here again. “Taking a break in a beautiful city” and “Catching up with old friends” were about the gist of it. But he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information the first time, so his stunted replies weren’t out of character.

Álvaro was equally brief about the details of his life, which was out of character now Horacio thought about it. Álvaro used to talk about his family as much as his work. His wife was his rock, his kids were his pride and joy, and his brother was progressing at pace through the military ranks. But this time, he confirmed they were doing well and left it at that before getting down to business.

“An anonymous tip-off recently fell into the DEA’s lap. Lots of juicy details about Cali. The gringos are working their way through the intel, and it flagged up more links to our old friends in Galicia. There were sightings of Pacho Herrera up there, plus some of his associates are based in Madrid. So that’s opened a huge fucking can of worms.”

Horacio had a terrible time trying to stifle a reaction to the mention of a tip-off. There was nothing 'anonymous' about it from the DEA’s point of view, not even when it came to the intel's delivery.

The last time he was here, the Galician traffickers were working with Escobar. And whilst Horacio’s redeployment was conducted from behind a desk for the majority, his colleagues had chewed his ear off about various Colombian names that came up in reports or wiretaps. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the Spanish clans had moved on to Cali.

Álvaro lit a cigarette as he talked, offering up a second one from his almost-empty carton.

But Horacio declined, instead taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds promising. But Álvaro, Cali is a different beast to Medellín. They’re more discreet, professional, and they have powerful friends in high places.”

“I know. But we have to try, right? Look at Operación Nécora. Sooner or later, someone gets sloppy, drops the ball, turns on one of their own, or kills the wrong person. And then we win.”

Watching Álvaro chug back his Irish coffee in one hand with a smouldering cigarette perched in his other was like looking in a mirror to the past. And it wasn’t a pretty sight.

When Horacio was in the fray, it had been too easy to focus solely on the case in front of him, convincing himself it would all be over soon if he just shut down one more lab and seized one more kilo or wad of cash. Or tortured one more suspect. But it was never enough and never would be. He had been fighting a losing battle that had no likely ending in sight, even if the individuals and locations were a perpetual revolving door.

“I’m not sure there are winners in any of this,” he said, the resignation heavy in his tone.

“Shit, you really have changed.”

“Maybe.”

“Last time I saw you, you were raining fire and brimstone upon the narcos. What the fuck happened?”

“Do you know how many funerals I’ve been to, Álvaro? Or how many people I’ve killed? Because I don’t. I stopped counting. Then Escobar tried to have me killed – and nearly succeeded.”

“Woah, woah, what?”

“I took a bullet here,” Horacio gestured to his right shoulder, “and nearly bled out. The doctors said I was lucky I was brought in so fast.” Although Horacio knew a lot more than luck was involved.

“Shit, Horacio.”

“Yeah. So, it’s easy for you to keep fighting when you haven’t lost as many times as I have.”

“Because no one else could possibly have lost anything as well, right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sounded like it to me. And you’ve got no fucking idea.” Álvaro slammed his cup down on the table, the force of its impact splashing coffee droplets in all directions.

Horacio opted not to make a fuss but he could have sworn he saw the reflection of tears in Álvaro’s eyes as they focused on their drinks in silence. “Did something happen?”

“What gave it away?” Álvaro gestured towards himself, acknowledging his worse-for-wear state. He leaned his elbow on the table, head held in his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair. “There was another bombing. Last June. An army transporter was targeted by 40 kilos of explosives left in a parked car. My brother, Jaime, was...he was there…and didn’t make it.”

“Fuck, Álvaro. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Except, in a roundabout way, he did have some idea. Because back in Colombia, it was Horacio who delivered such news to countless families like the Molinas.

“No, well, you wouldn’t.” He took out the hip flask again, draining whatever was left into his coffee cup and knocking it back. “Not least of all because I lied about him earlier. Sorry about that, by the way. Still not very good at this sort of thing.”

“No, of course. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Your dad was a cop too, right? Before he…passed away.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I remember you telling me. It was about the only thing I got out of you, come to think of it.”

Half a rebellious smile broke through Horacio’s tightly pursed lips. “Yeah, well, I guess I wasn’t very good at this sort of thing either.”

“But you are now?”

“Better than I was. Better now I’m not trying to be him. Now I realise he was as flawed as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, trying to follow in the footsteps of a high-achiever in the family will fuck you up for life. Or so I’ve heard.”

Horacio didn’t know a lot about Jaime but was aware he was 10 years older than Álvaro. From the way Álvaro talked, it was clear how much he hero-worshipped his big brother. And if anyone knew the pitfalls of such high pedestals, it was Horacio.

“Sounds familiar. As much as I’ve always missed him, I was glad he never saw me at my worst.”

“All I wanted was for Jaime to be proud of me, and I think he was.” Álvaro’s eyes lit up, and for the first time during their conversation, the wrinkles of his smile reached them. “But I’m not sure he’d even recognise me if he saw me now.”

“The paradox of grief.”

“What?”

Another smile crept over Horacio’s face. “Just something someone once said to me. Whatever you do, it’ll never feel enough now he’s gone.”

“Never thought of it like that. But it’s not just a dead man I’m letting down. My wife tried so hard with me; she really did. But…the nightmares started. They were always about trying to save Jaime, but I couldn’t. So I drank ‘til I was comatose. Then work got crazy and things spiralled. She didn’t think it was good for me to be around the kids, and well, I can’t argue with that.”

Álvaro unloaded a jumble of words in one fell swoop, catching Horacio off guard as he tried to take it all in. But it wasn’t as though it was unfamiliar territory for him. It wasn’t as though he had no experiences of his own to share, experiences he had only ever opened up to Javier about until now.

“That was my life, for a long time, without the wife and kids, obviously. But the nightmares and the drinking got bad after I...I accidentally killed someone I was sent to rescue.”

“Shit, Horacio. You never said anything when you were – wait a minute – is that why you were here in the first place?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Horacio let out a hollow laugh at the fact the death of Diana Turbay wasn’t his superiors’ red line. “I’m sure it didn’t help my cause, but the final straw came when I led a raid on a nightclub. We took down some high-level sicarios, but a bystander got caught in the crossfire.”

“Fuck. There were so many rumours about you, no one knew what to believe. I heard you took out Escobar’s cousin, but surely they wouldn’t exile a hero.”

“I’m not a fucking hero, Álvaro.”

“Ha! So, it was true.”

Horacio said nothing, his silence giving Álvaro the answer he was looking for.

“You can’t tell me you’re sorry about that.”

“I’m not. And I don’t regret everything I did.” It was the truth. He wasn’t trying to atone for some of those fuckers getting what they deserved. They weren’t why he walked away. “But you know what they say…old sins cast long shadows. These things stay with you, whether you’re the one killing or it’s the people around you being killed.”

“So, what are you saying? That it’s too late for damaged goods like us?” There was a desperate crack in Álvaro’s voice as though he was looking to Horacio to confirm his fears and put him out of his misery once and for all.

“You probably don’t want to hear it right now, but…it doesn’t always have to be like this. It’s not easy, and it takes time, but it can get better.”

“You’re right. I didn’t want to hear that.” Álvaro kept his features neutral until he caught Horacio’s eye and they both laughed, because what else could they do?

“Neither did I, for years. Because it felt impossible. But no amount of punishing yourself will bring him back or change the past.”

“There’s quite a team set up now,” Álvaro continued after a long silence, as though he hadn’t heard a single word Horacio had said. “From your end, our end, the DEA, Interpol, the SVA. You name it, we’ve got fingers in the pie. And there’s always room for more.”

Álvaro looked at Horacio with great expectation, waiting for an answer to an unspoken question until he could wait no more. “Horacio, you know what it’s like more than most dealing with these people. And you remember how it was last time. Couldn’t so much as talk about the weather without it getting back to someone up there.”

That much was true. The situation in Galicia was eerily reminiscent of Medellín. Homegrown police taking bribes left, right and centre and passing on intel to the trafficking clans. Politicians’ and judges’ integrity in tatters because they, too, turned a blind eye. The Colombian cartels made Galicia their gateway into Europe. And their success was thanks to the layer upon layer of corruption that was allowed to exist.

“No.”

“Come on, at least think about it. There’d be none of that pen-pushing bullshit this time. You could be out in the field again, it’d be just like the old days back in—”

“Álvaro, I said no.” Horacio didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to with how his steely glare and steadfast jaw framed his face. “I’m done with it for good. End of story.”

Álvaro raised his arms in surrender, his second cigarette of their meeting now burning between his fingers. “Alright, alright, I get the message. Can’t blame me for asking now I know you’re back.” He raised the cigarette to his lips, regarding Horacio with increasing intrigue through the wisps of smoke hanging between them. “So, who is it, then?”

“What?”

“Whoever’s convinced you to quit and move here. Must be serious. And don’t lie because I know there’s someone.”

“Your interrogation skills need more work, Molina. And on that note, I better be going. You’re making me late for an appointment.”

“Nice deflection there, Carrillo. I’m just saying; they must be the love of your fucking life to give it all up.”

There was a scrape of metal against the floor as Horacio rose from his chair, not dignifying Álvaro’s prying with a response, even though it was the naked truth.

“Alright, fine, fine! I can take a hint. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.” Álvaro brought a hand to his lips, ‘zipping’ them closed with his thumb and forefinger.

Horacio sat back down with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Good for you, in fact. It’s hard enough to find someone like that in the first place, but to hold onto them and make it work? Nothing short of a fucking miracle. But you know where I am if you ever change your mind.”

“Thanks, but I won’t.”

“Thought you might say that.”

“If you ever change your mind, please think about what I said. You can’t run away from this. No matter how much you bury your head in your job. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I can’t make any promises, Horacio. You know how it is.”

Of course, he knew; that was precisely why he was saying it in the first place. But he also knew there was no point pushing it any further. “It was good to see you, Álvaro. And I am sorry about Jaime.”

“Me too. And er, thanks. For listening and everything. I really appreciate it. Although, I gotta ask, when did you get so fucking wise?”

Horacio laughed, assured there was no malice in Álvaro’s teasing, and because he had apparently accomplished what he was expecting to wait years, if not decades to do. “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit.”

“Should’ve known. Good to see you, Horacio. Don’t leave it so long next time. And I hate to say it, but retirement already suits you.”

“Thanks, I think. Take care of yourself.”

They stood up from the table, deposited their empty cups in a nearby bin and walked back to the entrance that took them onto the main road.

After shaking hands, they went their separate ways, Horacio in one direction and Álvaro in the opposite.

It wasn’t long ago that Horacio lamented turning his back on the CNP. But as he broke into a run to mitigate his uncharacteristic lateness, he caught glimpses of familiar church spires towering over every other building. They had been a comforting backdrop to his guilt and shame, and whilst he would always carry them around for certain deeds, it wasn’t a place he ever wanted to revisit. And the next time his lapel pins found themselves between his fingers, or Trujillo still called him Colonel out of habit, he would be reminded it was okay to miss something but never want it back.

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Javier sat stiffly on Señora Romero’s floral sofa, clenching and unclenching his fists to distract himself from the creeping sense of embarrassment setting in.

Señora Romero joined him in the neighbouring chair, a tray of lemonade and a selection of pastries from downstairs placed between them on the table.

“Have you eaten anything this morning, dear?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, that won’t do. Here, take some. Don’t be shy.” She practically shoved the plate at Javier, stopping short of placing one of the pastries in his mouth.

“Thanks. And sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“From what Horacio told me, I’d say it’s understandable. For both of you.” Señora Romero gave the tall jug of lemonade a final stir, then poured it into two ice-filled tumblers, handing one to Javier and settling back in her chair.

Javier thanked her as he accepted a glass, wasting no time quenching his dry mouth.

“And it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Señora Romero continued. “My country went from the Civil War to Franco for over three decades. Not to mention the violence in the Basque region, and the bombings here, of course. People don’t like to talk about it much, but the scars are still as plain as day.”

Javier wasn’t exactly an expert in Spanish history, but he knew the basics. And hearing them listed together suddenly made his experiences seem tame by comparison. Not that he thought for a second that was Señora Romero’s intention, but it gave him a large dose of perspective.

“I never talked to anyone before Horacio, to be honest. Same for him with me, but it took me longer to get there.”

“My husband rarely told me what he’d seen and done in the war. He thought I wouldn’t understand, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t. But we survived the same storm in the end, even though we were sometimes in different boats.”

“It was a while ‘til we were in the same boat. Even now, sometimes we’re not,” Javier said as his mind drifted with a smile to their conflicting views and priorities over the years.

In theory, it shouldn’t have gone the way it did. They may have shared the same broad goal in Colombia, but they came at it from different angles. They weren’t supposed to trust and understand each other more than anyone else. They weren’t supposed to walk away from their all-consuming careers for each other, and they certainly weren’t supposed to fall in love. But life had a funny way of working out.

As for their current situation, they were dealing with things in their own way and in their own time. It was never going to be something they could coordinate. But even so, it frustrated Javier when he spiralled seemingly out of nowhere. Except, was it really out of nowhere? It was all a blur now.

“In my experience, sometimes you can’t be,” Señora Romero said. “And sometimes, you won’t want to be. Sometimes, you float alongside each other in your own boats. And sometimes, it’s good enough just to sail in the same direction at different paces.”

“He’s never late. And I guess it’s force of habit to assume the worst.” Javier wasn’t expecting to say that, but it was like someone had just removed their foot from his chest. It was an admission to himself as much as Señora Romero, confirmation that it hadn’t been out of nowhere at all.

Señora Romero merely nodded, giving Javier the space to continue if he wanted to.

“On the night of the ambush, Steve – my partner – and I weren’t supposed to be there. I’m not sure we were ever supposed to be in Colombia, to be honest.”

Javier stopped to let out a sceptical sneer as snippets of his encounters with Stechner replayed in his head. For all he knew, Stechner could have orchestrated his entire career, manoeuvring him around like a pawn on a chessboard.

“But we disobeyed orders and followed Horacio anyway. And then we, er…we heard gunfire and screaming over the radio. It was the longest car journey of my life.” He took another sip of his drink and a deep breath, determined to finish now he’d started. “It was the same at the hospital and after the bombing here. Always waiting, but never knowing where he was or if he was okay.”

“Oh, Javier, my dear, it makes complete sense you would think the worst. I would be the same in your shoes. But you have to remember, he’s a civilian now. He’s not a target anymore. The ETA bombings here have been directed at the Spanish authorities.”

Señora Romero leaned forwards until her hand met Javier’s. Shades of chestnut connected with cinnamon again as he squeezed as a gesture of thanks. Neither appeared fazed by this being their first meeting, perhaps finding it easier because they simultaneously didn’t know much about each other but enough to no longer be strangers.

“And for what it’s worth,” she continued, “regardless of the rights or wrongs of your government’s involvement in foreign affairs, it seems you were exactly where you were supposed to be that night.”

Touché. He couldn’t argue with that, the irony apparent of Steve previously framing Javier’s need to follow Horacio as a warning rather than a calling.

“I may have only just met you, Javier, but I know what you did for Horacio that night was a brave act of love. Wanting to help is an honourable trait, don’t ever forget that. But you might find you’re not worrying yourself sick so much once you’re focused on helping others again. And someone out there will always need it, wherever life takes you next.”

Javier scoffed before gulping down the rest of his lemonade. “I think that’s the problem.”

Señora Romero’s hosting instincts kicked in as she re-filled Javier’s glass.

“Thanks. Horacio got out a year before me and settled in working on my Pop’s ranch. Way more than I ever did.” Javier cringed at some of the memories of him in his pre-police days attempting various jobs that Horacio took to like a duck to water, whereas he had floundered.

“Is that what he wants to do?”

“I think so. Which is great; he’s a natural. It suits him.”

“But you don’t know what’s next for you?”

“Not a clue.” Not a fucking clue was more accurate, but he caught himself just in time.

“Do you need to have it figured out yet?”

“Well, no, not yet. We’re okay financially for now. But I know it can’t last forever.”

“There’s plenty of time between now and forever, Javier.” Señora Romero lowered her voice as though she was letting him in on a coveted secret. “At your age, anyway. Less so at mine, but I take each day as it comes.”

“What’s that like?”

“There are good days and bad days. And bad weeks, months and years, come to think of it. Days when my body doesn’t do what my mind tells it to do. Days when my mind is frail, and my heart is sore. But on other days, I’ll spend time with the family. Or my piononos will come out better than they did last time. Or I’ll make new friends in unusual circumstances.” She winked in Javier’s direction. “I think the bad days are just part of life’s rich tapestry. Especially where healing wounds are concerned.”

Occasional reminders of the past – or bad days – scattered amongst the simple pleasures sounded suspiciously like their time in Madrid so far. But maybe that was okay. Maybe, that was part of the process of moving on with their lives. Maybe, progress was supposed to be subtle and non-linear, almost imperceptible unless you knew what you were looking for.

No sooner had Javier got his head around that prospect than there was a knock at the door followed by a heartfelt apology, given and accepted with a look as much as words.

Of course, Señora Romero had been right, and there was no life-or-death emergency to attend to. But any embarrassment on Javier’s part was overridden by the relief his fears were unfounded, and he would gladly take an anxious mind rather than the alternative.

Pulses returned to baseline as the trio talked, albeit Horacio’s for a different reason than Javier's.

Whilst Madrid wasn’t Laredo, they couldn’t take acceptance for granted wherever they were. But as they returned downstairs, where Señora Romero removed the ‘Reserved’ sign from their corner table and offered them yet another breakfast on the house, a weight lifted from Horacio’s shoulders. Because the first real friend he made here had welcomed him and Javier into her home and business with open arms.

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Crown Princes and Butterfly Wings (6/?)

Chapter 5 : Dark Forest

—-

Roman becomes a wingman and our trio battles their way through the wild forest of Teine. What will happen, though, when they finally come across the dragon they were warned about?

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@cutebisexualmess :)

—-

I finished this chapter literally this morning.

To be fair I only had about a hundred words left to write though so it wasn't a struggle, but still.

I also already have half of the next chapter written because I wrote it whilst writing chapter 2, so, there's that.

Happy reading!

----

The journey really did take a long time. Logan hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it would take two weeks to make it to the city.

It was only a week and a half into the journey when Roman got tired of watching Logan be obtusely oblivious to Patton’s subtle attempts at flirting. Frankly it was embarrassing to watch and he could understand that Patton might be upset by Logan seemingly ignoring every advance. And not to mention it was extremely frustrating for everyone involved. 

In the end, Roman decided that he needed to take matters into his own hands or this would just continue to become more and more frustrating as time went on. He believed he might actually explode if this gets worse.

Thankfully, the opportunity to talk to Patton alone had arisen just the next day.

—-

“We are nearly out of food,” Logan told them after they had eaten breakfast together in their camp. 

“Ah, shoot,” Patton said, “And the nearest town was back the way we came, too.”

“And there isn’t another town until Brindleswan now,” Logan said with a sigh, “We will have to go back.”

“Wouldn’t that be a waste of time? It’s a few hours trip back to the town and we’d just be looping around on ourselves,” Roman said, raising an eyebrow at the other two. Logan paused, before sighing.

“I can move faster than both of you, if I go alone I can be back with food before noon.” Logan told them, indicating once again his powerful legs, “You both can stay here and watch over the camp until I get back.”

“Can do!” Patton grinned, saluting. 

“We’ll take care of it,” Roman nodded, before winking at Logan, “I’ll look after Patton.”

Logan went purple, but quickly turned away with a nod, picking up one of their packs and the map before turning back to them. Roman smirked, yes, Logan was definitely smitten. 

“If I am not back by mid-afternoon, you can assume something most likely happened to me,” Logan told them, “However I am able to handle myself, neither of you should worry for my safety.”

“Just hurry up and get going,” Roman waved him off, “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine, and right here when you get back.”

Patton nodded with a smile, waving Logan goodbye as he walked out of the camp. Roman really wasn’t worried about Logan. His best friend could handle himself perfectly well. Not only had they both received training in physical combat (although Logan’s was only base level, he could still handle himself in a fight) But Logan also knew at least ten different spells for knocking an opponent off of their feet and at least three for tying them up without even needing to go near them. He would be fine.

Now was the perfect time for Roman to talk to Patton. Logan would be gone for a good few hours, meaning that the Prince had the perfect amount of time to give Patton the crash course on wooing dense tieflings. 

“So, Patton,” Roman said, standing up and turning to face his new friend. Patton looked up at him with his head tilted slightly to the side. 

“Yes?” He asked, sounding slightly alarmed. Roman softened, right, this wasn’t an interrogation. 

“I’ve noticed you’ve been trying to make advances towards Logan,” Roman commented, sitting down next to his friend, Patton suddenly looked even more alarmed, oops, “I was just wondering if you’d accept some friendly advice from someone who’s known him twenty years.”

“Wait- you don’t- mind?” Patton asked, blinking at Roman like he was talking gibberish.

Roman shrugged, “Of course not, Logan’s my friend and I’d like to see him happy, why would I mind?”

“Well I just…” Patton suddenly looked a little sheepish, “It’s- a little silly, really.”

“Well what is it?” Roman asked, “If only so I can clear up whatever issue this might be.”

“It really is silly,” Patton shook his head, “I just started thinking- well Logan’s so obviously out of my league in every way and you’re up there with him so I just kind of thought you wouldn’t approve of me and Logan wouldn’t like me like that because I’m way lower class than both of you and even disregarding that I don't have magic and I can't fight and it's not even-”

Patton started talking so quickly that Roman thought he may get whiplash trying to keep up, eventually he just reached out and put a hand on Patton’s arm in an attempt to slow him down.

“Patton, let me assure you with absolute certainty that Logan will not deem you unworthy or lesser than him, it’s just- not how he thinks,” Roman tried to explain, “He sort of- just- stuff that doesn’t really make sense, like social class, it all just goes straight over his head. And I really couldn’t care less, so long as you’re both happy.”

“You- really?” Patton asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not that he’s insensitive,” Roman quickly amended, “He just- doesn’t see the merit of seeing someone as lesser value based on how much gold or magic they have. He won’t judge you for that.”

Patton nodded, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, “Alright- so- if you’re ok with this, then… what’s the advice?”

“Mostly just not to be downhearted when he doesn’t acknowledge your attempts,” Roman shrugged, Patton sighed, “I’ve noticed, but Logan can be dense as a brick sometimes and wouldn’t know flirting if it struck him upside the head.” 

“I… see,” Patton nodded, “What do I do, then?”

“Well if you’re up for talking to him,” Roman said, “I’m certain he would be open to the idea, but I doubt he’ll make the first move and subtlety really isn’t something he’s good with.”

Roman laughed as Patton visibly paled, “I’m not- I’m definitely not ready to confess to him- not- not yet!”

“That’s alright,” Roman said, patting Patton’s arm with a small smile on his face, “You’ve only known each other a few weeks, after all.”

“I- yeah- I think it’s a little too soon for a relationship,” Patton laughed, shaking his head.

“Perhaps,” Roman nodded, “I will continue to attempt to nudge him in the right direction for you, though.”

“Thanks, Roman,” Patton said, “I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome, now, I have some more tips, for starters-”

—--

All the way from that point to Brindleswan on the last few days of their journey, Patton kept glancing back at Roman every time Logan brushed off his flirting attempts or said something by accident that made Patton flush particularly red. Roman attempted to return the glances with a supportive smile and sometimes even a thumbs up. He felt a little like he’d been upgraded from third wheel to wingman. Which… was a lot nicer. 

The arrival to Brindleswan itself had been incredibly peaceful. The rolling hills of farmland stretched far from the city itself. It took them almost an entire afternoon to make it from the edge of the fields to the city itself. They had passed fields full of wheat and corn and vegetables planted in the grounds, orchards filled with trees teeming with fruit and wildlife alike. Roman was familiar with this city, despite having never been here in person. 

He’d learned a lot about the city during one of Remus’ lessons. It wasn’t the richest, nor the most beautiful. It wasn’t even in the best location- being right near the wild border- but it was incredibly important to Dalandaire. Brindleswan exported the vast majority of the crops that went to go towards feeding the noble class as well as a large portion of their foreign food imports too. 

They found the nearest inn, all of them glad to sleep in a proper bed after a long while of sleeping on the road to conserve gold. Roman had suggested it, to ready them for the- potentially treacherous- next stretch of the journey. He was nervous, sure, but half of his nerves were excited, he was going to rescue a Prince, a real fairytale! And he was part of it. His companions, however, weren’t nearly as enthusiastic.

“You two really don’t need to come,” Roman told them, looking between Patton and Logan. Patton had been antsy for the whole of last evening and even moreso now as they were about to set off, Logan too had been quieter and more reserved than usual, “I know neither of you really want to be doing this, and I’m happy to go alone-”

“No,” Logan cut him off, “I have a duty to protect you, it would be a blatant disregard of said duty if I were to let you walk off into Teine alone, even if it wasn’t towards a potentially angry dragon.”

“Yeah- uh- I’d rather not actually face the dragon, but, um, we’re friends, and friends accompany each other on stupid quests that are potentially going to get us killed,” Patton said, “Right?”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“And- well if you’re both going I’d rather not be left here on my own worrying about you both until you get back…” Patton trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, “At least if I’m with you two I can be sure you’re okay, right?”

“Right,” Logan nodded, “I believe not splitting up will be the best solution, even if it may laed us all to our deaths.”

“It won’t,” Roman said, pulling all the confidence he had into those two words, “I- have a good feeling about this.”

—-

The forest of Teine was as overgrown as it was old. Which was to say very. 

Rumours and stories said that strange creatures lived in these woods. Non-sentient things, potentially very dangerous things.

Within only twenty minutes Roman had found himself having to cast the summoning spell he used to have his silver imbued longsword form in his hands- and not even to fight anything! He instead used his sword to slash through hanging curtains of greenery and chop back branches to carve them a path. 

The forest was near uninhabitable, that’s what people said, and Roman was starting to see why.

When they had finally found a clearing big enough for them to set up camp for the night, Logan took extra care with the concealment spell, adding a barrier on top of it. None of them said it, but all three of them were nervous. As they tried to sleep Roman could feel pairs of eyes on him, which was stupid, right? Because Logan had made them invisible to anything outside. But still Roman found he could only manage a few hours of sleep, and he’d been restless all night. 

By the third day they were all tired. Logan had quietly offered to carry Patton for an hour or so so that he might be able to get some sleep. Anyone could see that Patton was doing far worse than he or Logan were, after all. He’d gotten even less sleep than Roman had. After Patton had tripped on a hidden root and would have eaten dirt had Logan not caught him he’d taken Logan up on the offer and Roman was glad to see him get an hour or so’s worth of sleep on Logan's back. 

It had taken getting lost three times and almost a week's journey before they started seeing signs of something.

Before this point, they had occasionally had to fight off a couple of monsters. Nothing Roman couldn’t handle, especially with Logan’s help. They hadn’t ended up overwhelmed with enemies at a single point, but there had been a steady flow. They’d encounter one thing after another and take it down.

Now there was nothing.

As they continued towards the middle of the forest the lack of monsters wasn’t noticed immediately. 

It was only when Patton quietly pointed out that there didn't seem to be any animals around here whatsoever did they start to get worried.

He was right, of course. Roman hadn’t noticed, but now that he listened he realised he couldn’t hear a single bird’s chirp, nor the hum of an insect or the scuffling of some small animal in the brush. 

Even the leaves rustling in the wind were quiet, as if in an attempt to not interrupt the silence. 

“I think we’re getting close,” Logan murmured, so quiet but somehow deafeningly loud in the silence. The other two didn't speak in return, just nodded and continued walking.

Next they noticed the trees beginning to thin rapidly. 

Over only an hour of walking they went from needing to climb and slash their way through the undergrowth to being able to walk easily between the trees, Roman's sword becoming useless at this point. Yet he wasn't prepared to send it back to the pocket dimension he could summon it from just yet. Something told him to keep hold of it for now.

Somehow, without even noticing it, they walked straight out of the treeline. Immediately Logan had dragged them back, shushing them when Patton started to talk. 

When they actually looked, they realised that yes, the trees had completely disappeared in a wide circle. Roman's eyes widened when he saw what was at its centre.

A tower pierced the sky, tall and looming. Its sweeping round roof touches the clouds far above the highest tree. Roman briefly wondered how they hadn't seen it before. 

At first he thought there was a structure at the bottom of the tower, a large mass of buildings in odd shapes. When he looked again, he realised that the mass was breathing.

 "That's…." Roman mumbled, trailing off with wide eyes.

"The dragon?" Logan nodded, "I do believe so."

"Oh gee uh-" Patton whispered, "So- what now? That dragon is uh… pretty firmly wrapped around the tower."

"It would be difficult to sneak past it, I believe," Logan nodded.

Roman nodded, taking a deep breath and gripping his sword even tighter than before, "I'm going to go in." 

"Wait-!" Patton yelped, "What about- you don't have a plan!" 

"It looks to be sleeping," Roman shrugged. "I'm sure I could just- walk past." 

Logan narrowed his eyes.

"Somehow I highly doubt that," Logan sighed, "How about we remain here to provide backup if you so need it?" 

"And we can wait until it starts getting dark so you'd blend in a little better with the sunset!" Patton added, "We'll only have to wait an hour or two…"

Roman sighed, looking longingly at the top of the tower, he could see a balcony that wrapped all the way around, a pair of large wooden doors- closed, of course. He wanted to go now, but maybe it would be best to wait…

—-

They had set up a camp, near the edge of the clearing. They hadn't lit a fire out of fear that it would catch the Dragon's attention but they had built a fire pit for when Roman got back.

Finally, as the sun began to sink and the world was bathed in orange, Roman left the camp and headed, sword in hand, and headed for the tower.

The ground between the treeline and the tower crunched beneath his feet. When he actually looked down he could see that where there was grass, it was dead and dry, yellow like straw. Where there wasn't grass..  The ground was scorched and black. 

Roman shivered, looking back at where Patton and Logan hid behind the trees. Wnen he looked back though, he noticed that some of the trees, while still alive, were scorched on the side facing him, leaves and branches burned off. Quickly he turned back to face the tower, he took a deep breath, then another, and started forward. 

He could do this.

Unfortunately, Roman wasn't lucky enough to sneak by the dragon unnoticed. Almost as soon as he'd stepped further out into the open her giant amber eyes slid open. She watched him as he took a few more steps forward and once he'd reached a suitable distance she stood.

His first thought was that she was the most beautiful creature Roman had ever seen. 

His second was that, oh no, the dragon was staring at him, eyes unblinking, and he wondered for a long moment if he was going to die here.

----

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[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Reader) -- chapter nine

So...I realize that by having Rossi join the party now, it sort of places this story in s3, but y’all take that with a complete grain of salt because I am known for not following canon and full on disregarding it oops

Today’s chapter title is from “She” by Harry Styles! xx.

Also uhhh I just realized this one is WAY shorter than I thought, so expect the next chapter like...tomorrow ;)

Chapter Warnings: Just the team being lil shits tbh. Pretty much fluff!

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Nine: He’s thinking of you

Four days later

You catch a commercial flight back to Quantico, Virginia, and by two in the afternoon, you’re back at the BAU.

“Here she comes,” Morgan’s sweet voice floats through your ears as you walk through the doors to the bullpen. “Feeling better, kiddo?”

“Quit calling me that,” you laugh, accepting Morgan’s hug. Then JJ’s, Garcia’s, Emily’s, and even Reid’s. Once you’re done, you spin back around, finding Morgan giving you a good stare down. “What?”

“I asked how you’re feeling,” He repeats, eyebrows raised, entirely serious. Classic big brother Morgan.

“I’m better,” you answer him, flashing a smile. “Happy now?”

“Long as you are,” he grins, patting your shoulder. “Boss man missed you.”

All of the blood rushes right to your feet, locking you on the spot. “What?”

“He’s been in another mood since we left,” Emily chimes with a grimace. “He kept looking at his phone on the plane, though. Any idea what that was about?”

You shake your head probably a little too quickly, especially for you to be trapped in a circle of profilers. But you know exactly what that is about. Or...you might. If it was Hotch looking for a reply from you that never came. But maybe it was something else. Pictures of Jack?

“Well, anyway,” Emily sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Someone new came while you were gone.”

“Someone new?” You ask, at the same time Reid says, “Someone? You just called David Rossi a someone?”

“Cool it, youngster,” Morgan says, shaking his head.

“Okay, who the hell is David Rossi?” You ask.

A voice from behind you says, “That would be me.”

You spin around, coming face to face with a man who you guess is this famous David Rossi. And he’s standing right next to Hotch.

Jesus. New tie.

“David Rossi, this is Agent Y/N L/N,” Hotch introduces you both. Then says to you, almost as a side note, “You didn’t tell me you were coming back today.”

“If I did, you would’ve told me not to,” you mutter, turning your focus back on Rossi. “Nice to meet you, sir. I would say it’s an honor, but I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of being familiar with your work.”

Rossi shakes your hand. “It’s alright. It’s nice to meet you.” He pauses. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” you smile. “I graduated college at nineteen, if that helps.”

“Ah,” Rossi nods in understanding.

“Trying to replace me already, huh?” You change the subject, raising your eyebrows at Hotch. “I’m gone four days,” you click your tongue, shaking your head. “I see how it is.”

Rossi glances between you and Hotch, settling his gaze on your boss. “I like her.”

Hotch gives him a tired look, eyes moving to glance at you and he catches your grin. “We all do,” Hotch says, but you nearly shiver from the look he’s giving you. “I need to see you in my office before the end of today.”

“Yes sir,” you nod, ignoring your clammy hands and stares from the rest of the team. “Is my report on my desk?”

“Should be,” he says, nodding toward your little cubicle.

“I’ll go get started, then,” you murmur, moving to break out of the circle of profilers before anyone starts asking questions.

+++

After Hotch tells the team to get back to work, he heads to his office, entirely aware of David following closely behind. So, for that reason, Hotch doesn’t try to catch your eyes, even though he wants to.

David waits until they’re both inside Hotch’s office. “So, how long has that been going on?”

Hotch raises his eyebrows in surprise, playing dumb. “How long has what been going on?”

But he knows exactly what Rossi is referring to. Hotch should’ve known better than to think Rossi wouldn’t notice. He’s one of the best profilers the BAU ever saw, and they’re lucky to have him back. Even if it means bearing some moments like this.

“You and Y/N,” Rossi replies, looking at Hotch knowingly. “You should know better than to lie to me.”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aaron says quickly, walking around his desk to begin idly sifting through papers.

“Hotch,” Rossi presses, closing the door for some privacy. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but-- You’re not wearing your wedding ring and you haven’t called Haley once since I’ve been here, when, if I remember correctly, you used to call her every hour. I see how you look at Y/N--” Rossi nods his head discreetly toward the bullpen, but doesn’t get to finish.

“Leave it alone, Dave.”

“I know you better than you think,” Rossi says. “It’s been three years, not three hundred. You’re either deep in denial about this girl, or I just confirmed something for you that you’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

Hotch sighs, fists pressed to his desk. “Nothing is going on. That is the truth,” he pauses, regretfully meets Rossi’s eyes, letting the older read the expression for himself.

And Rossi does, his features softening with sadness. “Aaron…”

“The divorce was finalized months ago,” Hotch says. “So--”

“Y/N wouldn’t be a homewrecker.”

Hotch’s eyes widen. “That’s not what I was implying.”

“I’m just trying to get to the bottom of why you’re hiding your feelings,” Rossi says, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s not like you, Aaron.”

“She’s too young.”

“Did she tell you that?” Rossi asks softly. “She looks fully capable of making a decision like that for herself. Though, I don’t think she thinks she is. You’re not doing a good job of hiding things, by the way.”

“Nothing has happened.”

“I didn’t say anything did happen.”

Hotch nearly cusses out loud. Rossi backed him into a corner again and he didn’t even realize it. Rossi always was good at that. “You can’t say a word of this to the rest of the team.”

“I won’t have to,” Rossi replies easily. “I think a few of them might already be as suspicious as I am,” he says, but he really means be careful if you’re trying to keep this quiet.

The bad thing is, Rossi isn’t wrong at all.

You’re barely given five minutes of time to open the file again to start your report when the team starts hovering around your desk.

After a few moments of listening to them whisper, you slowly turn around in your chair. “Can I help you guys?”

“Did something happen with you and Hotch?” Reid blurts, clearly unable to help himself. Though, at least with him, he’s asking out of genuine curiosity. He probably has no idea what the rest of the team is clearly insinuating by their wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“No?” You reply. “Why? What’s going on?”

Emily shrugs. “He’s just been acting weird.”

“He’s Hotch,” you return her shrug. “Isn’t he always weird?”

“No, like...weird.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not following.”

“Didn’t he go find you after you ran out the other day?” JJ asks.

“Yeah,” you admit. There’s nothing to hide there. “I had went back to my mom’s place. He came to check on me and that’s when Garcia called about Hanna.” You pause. “You guys are making me feel weird now. What is it?”

“Nothing…” Emily trails away, glancing between them.

It’s Morgan -- damn Morgan -- who spits it out. “Did you and Hotch get it on?”

“Get it-- Morgan!” You hiss, nearly standing up from the absurdity. Even Reid looks shocked, knowing exactly what get it on means in Morgan language. “No! He’s like fourteen years older than me!”

“Alright, alright,” Morgan laughs, hands held high. “You’re not into older men, noted.”

You didn’t think you were into older men. That was before you met Hotch. But that’s not something you’re about to confess -- especially not to Derek Morgan.

“Okay, hot stuff,” Garcia links her arm with Morgan’s. “You’re coming with me. Leave the poor girl alone.”

Thankfully, Morgan goes with Garcia willingly, no doubt whispering something dirty in her ear. Reid, looking rather mortified, shuffles back to his desk and opens a book.

But Emily and JJ linger.

They pull up chairs, sitting with you, both of their eyes boring holes into your skull.

“What?” You ask, your hands sweating again. You almost move to smooth them over your pants, but that would be too obvious.

“Don’t feel bad if you do think of him that way,” JJ whispers. “We all have.”

You nearly choke on your own spit. “What?”

Emily nods. “Come on, it’s hard not to.”

“Guys, I don’t--”

“When he walks around like that,” Emily murmurs. “Makes you question things.”

“Um--”

“So it’s--”

“Listen, guys,” you finally get them both to stop. “I...don’t wanna talk about it right now. Okay?”

Something in your eyes gets them to understand, because they nod, leaving the topic alone for now. They push the chairs back to where they belong, sharing a smile.

“Wait,” you stop them. “Were you being serious? Or just trying to get a confession out of me?”

“Oh, we’re serious,” Emily laughs. “I wouldn’t have sex with him, but I see it.”

“Me too,” JJ agrees. “He’s not my type, but I get it.”

You narrow your eyes, but accept their answers anyway as they go back to their desks.

The problem is, you didn’t think Hotch was your type either. So, it did start only as looking. But it...evolved. How could it not? You feel less alone, knowing you’re not the only one to look at him that way, but you’re still...different. They both said they wouldn’t go for him, but they understand.

But you would go for him. God, all he would have to do is say the word. You came close in the basement of your mom’s house, and again in the kitchen. Too close.

+++

The day drags on despite being short due to your late arrival. One by one, the team begins to leave. Emily and JJ attempt to drag you out for drinks with Morgan and Garcia, but you decide against it. It almost looks like Reid is going to try to keep you company, but Morgan hauls him up and out the door before he can protest.

You shake your head as you watch them go. Poor kid.

Rossi left a bit ago, something about having a date with someone. Which meant you were alone with Hotch.

The thought sends another shiver down your spine, so you have to correct yourself. You’re not alone with Hotch. You two can’t possibly be the last people in this entire building.

Not to mention, you’re in the bullpen, and he’s up in his office. You’re separated.

With that last thought in mind, you try to keep your head down and finish this report.

You’re almost done, and probably would’ve finished quicker if it weren’t for the rest of the team distracting you earlier. Reid had started doing one of his magic tricks, and since it was a new one, you had to see it. Morgan came back sans Garcia and tried teasing you some more, but gave it up when Emily started in on him.

But now it’s getting closer and closer to nine p.m., and your report still isn’t done.

This one has just been too hard to do. In retrospect, when Hotch asked if you needed to sit it out, you should’ve said yes. But then…

Oh, whatever. It’s not like you can go back in time and change all of that.

“You can finish it tomorrow, you know.”

You jump clear in the air, knocking your knee on the desk, causing you to cuss aloud, all before turning to see who said that. Hotch. Of course.

“You’ve gotta stop scaring me,” you chuckle, despite the pain radiating from your knee.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding genuine. “Do you need ice?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve had worse,” you say, quickly speeding past it when your mind goes directly to the gutter. “What are you still doing here?”

“I was coming to ask you the same.”

“Well, I’m finishing my report and not scaring the shit out of people,” you joke, letting go of your knee now that some of the pain has died down. “What’s your excuse?”

He doesn’t answer your question. “Come on. Let’s go out.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “The team left hours ago, though.” They’re probably winding their night down by now, or would be too drunk for you to deal with.

“I meant…” He pauses, knowing he’s walking a thin line. “Just you and me.”

Your breath hitches. A red alarm blares in your head, warning you of what could happen. Reminding you of all the reasons you shouldn’t agree.

You ignore it.

“Okay,” you can’t help but smile as you reach over to grab your purse. You stand to your feet, glad the pain in your knee is now nonexistent, though you’re sure you’ll have a nasty bruise tomorrow. “Let’s go.”

Next chapter

[bonjour-rainycity]

Late in the Night | Part Two

Previous Part

Pairing: One-sided ( or is it ;) ) Legolas x Female Reader

Rating: G

Word count: 1416

Warnings: None

A/n Okay friends, oops. I wrote the first chapter in the first person and suddenly decided that I want to do the rest of it in the third. This is why I usually outline my fics but this one I wrote on a whim — whoops! Sorry about that. Maybe one day I’ll go back and fix it, but for now I’ll just leave it as is. And also, I’m taking a lot of setting and characterization liberties with this story because it’s just something I want to have fun with rather than extensively plan out. Hope you don’t mind :)

Legolas’ POV

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.

As he walks, Legolas berates himself, and as he berates himself, he continues to walk.

Because really, there’s no break from either.

He replays the moment from the night before over and over in his head and just can’t work it out. Something he said seemed to have damaged his relationship with Y/n. She was still friendly to him, but distant. Something he did or said or a facial expression he made, maybe, seemed to take all the warmth from their interactions, the warmth that she usually reserved just for him.

Or, he thought she did.

Maybe he was reading too much into things. Maybe there was never any special look just for him, or a softness in her voice when she said his name only, or a light in her eyes when he made her laugh. Maybe he was completely wrong, and they weren’t teetering on the edge of something more than friends.

Doesn’t she know that elves take things extremely seriously, and he wouldn’t have offered to bring her home with him, introduce her to his father and his people, and help her build a life in his homeland if he didn’t….if he didn’t….

But it doesn’t matter, he grumbles inwardly. Because it’s obvious she doesn’t feel the same way. She must have realized the gravity of what it meant when I offered, and is now trying to tell me she doesn’t want that.

But even as his head tries to convince him to let her go, to let the tenderness he feels for her fade away, his eyes find hers. She notices his gaze, and raises a questioning eyebrow. It’s accompanied by a kind smile, but that’s the smile she gives everyone. Foolishly—possessively—immaturely, he wishes to see his smile again.

He tears his eyes from hers, trying to pull himself out of his own head. Instead, he turns his focus to his senses, exploring the area around them, doing his part to keep his companions safe. After all, it’s nearly sunset, and as the light fades, so does the eyesight of many. His ears pick up on something far in the distance, and he jogs to catch up with Aragorn.

“Are you sure about this?”

Aragorn falls into step with his friend. “I have considered the risk extensively, and there is no avoiding it. We need to resupply, and I fear not only for morale but for physical health if we don’t all get a proper meal and rest safe from the elements. Besides, it’s a sizable but remote human village, quite isolated from the rest of the world. By the time news of our presence travels, we will be long gone on an alternate path.”

Legolas nods, accepting his wise friend’s assessment. Even to him, the idea of an actual rest holds great appeal — he can’t even imagine the pull it will have for his friends.

Eventually, the others begin to notice that, rather than going in a wide berth around the rising smoke that hints at a town, they head straight for it. Legolas can physically feel their excitement, and can’t stop from feeling a bit giddy himself.

Aragorn calls for a halt in the woods near the town’s gate, and the group gathers close. They are still concealed, and Legolas wonders if Aragorn has changed his mind, if he’s going to make them go back?

But thankfully, Aragorn has no such intentions. In fact, he has a very different sort of plan.

“Right,” he starts, fixing them all with a level stare. “We cannot enter all ten of us at once, that would be too conspicuous. Instead, we shall go in smaller groups that still make strategic sense. There is to be no interaction between the groups, except for pleasantries that you would exchange with anyone else. We will take staggered entrances and leave the same way, meeting up tomorrow morning a mile west. I know this town, and it has two small inns — we will split ourselves between them. Gandalf and I will go first to the inn on the West side of town. After half an hour has passed, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry — you all will join us. Shortly after I leave, so shall Boromir and Gimli, but to the inn on the East side. After a good amount of time has passed, Legolas and Y/n, you join them.”

The companions grin, finding excitement in Aragorn’s game of deception, but Legolas feels a sense of unease grow in his stomach. He has not been alone with Y/n since last night, and a tension has obviously arisen between them. He turns his head to find Y/n avoiding his gaze, but she does not protest to Aragorn’s grouping of them, so neither does he. Perhaps their time alone will give them the chance to sort out whatever he’s done to upset her.

As decided, Aragorn and Gandalf leave first, followed closely by Boromir and Gimli. Y/n sits on the ground chatting quietly with Pippin and Merry, while Legolas joins Sam to guard Frodo, as they know Aragorn would want them to do. When enough time has passed for the hobbits to leave, Y/n waves them goodbye, wishing them sweet dreams in a warm bed.

The silence of the night that Legolas had become so accustomed to is marred by the harsh nosies of the human town. It doesn’t seem to bother Y/n, who raises herself from the ground and peeks curiously through the trees. “You know, it’s the first time in months we’ve all slept apart from each other.” Legolas finds himself perplexed as Y/n shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Gosh, I sound so codependent.”

But Legolas just smiles, knowing well the sort of bond that forms between those who fight together. “No, I understand. It will be strange. But it might be nice to have a room all to yourself. None of Gimli’s snoring to worry about.”

Y/n snorts, crossing her arms and regarding Legolas with the smile he had been aching to see all day.

But as quickly as it appears, it fades from her face, replaced with a contemplative set in her brow. She looks conflicted, but he can’t for the life of him figure out why. She doesn’t take her eyes from his, and he’s too captivated to look away. Legolas takes a step forward, the darkness and her eyes and just her calling to him, asking him to come closer. Is he imagining the spark of hope in her eyes? Valar, he prays not.

Somehow, he finds himself standing right in front of her, when just seconds ago he’d been at least a yard away. Y/n tilts her head up to look at him, and the way the moon sparkles in her eyes and lights the soft curve of her cheek — he feels his hand raise, he wanted to brush his fingers and see if it’s as smooth as it looks. He wants to hold her in his arms, and beg her to forgive him for whatever wrong he committed that kept her warmth from him that day.

Y/n worries her bottom lip, still looking up at him with those wide, guarded eyes. He sees something shift in them, and knows a decision had been made, but what?

“Legolas, I need to—”

Crack!

Legolas has his bow nocked and whirls around before he even has time to fully register the sound.

He notices the squeak of hinges that accompanies the sharp smack of the wood, and lowers his bow, feeling startled still, despite the innocent nature of the noise.

“It’s alright,” he mutters to Y/n, who has only just pulled her knives from their scabbards. Absently, he feels worry for his human friend, who, with the slow reflexes that are a fault of her kin, could have already been killed, had the threat been serious. “It’s just the gate.”

“Oh.” She blinks, and puts her weapons away somewhat stiffly. “We should go, shouldn’t we? No sense in standing around in the dark longer than necessary.”

Legolas turns his head back to her, and knows the moment has passed. The certainty he saw before has vanished, and the wall between them risen again.

He returns his bow to his back, trying to ignore the crushing disappointment he feels. “Right. After you.” He waves her forward, and they start on the path to the gate.

A/n So now we’ve got a look into Legolas’ head! What did you think? Likes, comments, and reblogs make me so so happy, and let me know if you would like a tag :) 

Masterlist

Next part

Tag list: @angelic-kisses13 @lainphotography @anangelwhodidntfall

[fae-fucker]

Review: Troll Queen by Tara Grayce

Essie has her elf back...but his mind is still stuck in that dungeon. The war is over. A peace treaty has been signed. But Farrendel and Essie still have a battle ahead of them. Will Farrendel be able to build a new life with Essie now that he no longer has a war to fight? Melantha has ruined her life and the lives of all those around her. Now that she finds herself far from home and married to a troll who was once her enemy and captor, can she figure out what love and honor truly mean before it is too late for all of them? Not everyone in Kostaria is happy with peace or with their new elven queen. If Rharreth and Melantha cannot find a way to bring peace to their troubled kingdom, war threatens not only their happily ever after, but Essie and Farrendel's as well.

God-- ...

...

...

...

--DAMMIT.

This book took me, uh, months? To get through? Admittedly I’m a very slow reader and have the attention span of a fruit fly, but the previous three books were a breeze even for me, so something must’ve gone wrong here, right? Something terrible happened here.

Yes. Yes it did.

This review will be a little different, because with so many things wrong with this book and the way they intertwine and reinforce each other, I will have to split this into clear sections for my own sanity and to keep my thoughts organized.

The book is ostensibly about Melantha falling in love with Rharreth and coming into her own as the queen of the trolls while also dealing with the emotional aftermath of her betrayal in the previous book, while Essie and Farrendel deal with Farrendel’s PTSD, yes? Well. *strained smile that looks like a grimace*

This ain’t it. It juuust ain’t it, chief.

So strap in, I guess.

I will start with what’s easiest to demonstrate:

The writing

It’s bad. It wasn’t excellent in the previous books, but it was easy to read and did the job. Whenever there was weird phrasing or repetitive descriptions and word usage, it felt like a minor bump on the road. You went “Oh! Oops! Okay!” and kept moving. Here, it’s like you’re being pushed down a hill made of razor blades. It truly feels like this book didn’t have an editor, or the editor was inept, or the editor was a friend of Grayce’s and just didn’t want to make her feel bad. Some of these things are first draft errors I’ve seen in my own writing, but in a published book.

Check a look at some choice quotes:

From chapter 28:

“As Melantha marched after Rharreth, the first snowflakes began to fall. As the snow fell harder, the crunch of their boots on the snow was muffled.”

Still chapter 28:

“A clatter sounded as Rharreth pushed her skis and poles inside, then his own skis and poles. Finally, he pushed his pack ahead of him as he crawled inside.”

Chapter 33:

“Essie had felt him nearly die, the heart bond straining to keep him alive until she had passed out from the strain of it.”

Still chapter 33:

“How are the branches kept from being slippery?”

“There is magic placed on the walkways that melt any snow and ice before it becomes slippery.”

Still chapter 33:

“Farrendel’s gaze strayed past her, and when she turned in that direction, she caught sight of a large group headed in their direction.”

What HAPPENED here? How do you miss these amateur mistakes? Absolutely untenable shit right there, and so tightly packed, too? What happened, Tara?

Aside from the travesties above, there’s still a heavy emphasis on telling and not showing (we’ll get to that), general repetitiveness (do NOT take a shot every time the word “magic” is used, you WILL die), and overemphasis on things that should be obvious to anyone with half a brain but are needlessly spelled out either way. There’s just too much writing and not enough storytelling. This book felt bloated but didn’t even have purple prose or pretty writing as an excuse.

The plot .......... s

So this is a book with two simultaneous plots going on, right? One is about Farrendel adjusting to his life again after being tortured and Essie learning how to help him deal with his PTSD, while Melantha adjusts to being married to a troll among a people that hate her. Not a bad setup for a book, sound pretty good, actually! Farrendel’s PTSD (it’s not called that, but it’s pretty blatantly supposed to be that) is addressed, he can’t sleep, he has nightmares, he shuts people out and can’t seem to find any joy in life anymore. You think this is about to get difficult as Essie finds herself crying at night when he doesn’t show up for their precious nighttime hot chocolate sessions (not an innuendo, I’m being extremely literal right now).

And then something is a little off. Suddenly Farrendel is being recommended to a couple of “counselors” who have come up with the revolutionary idea of therapy. Okay, sounds good. They’re going off about how the mind can also be damaged in a war and needs to be taken care of and healed in a way that feels very PSA, cartoon-for-children type of way, but the author means well, so it’s fine. Farrendel also gets some strawberry and blueberry flavored medicine for his nightmares and panic attacks. And he starts working out and recovering physically! And you’re like, ok, seems like a good start, right? It’s all a little oversimplified, but it’s a fantasy story and the author is clearly trying to say something about mental health being important, right?

Then there’s a two-month time skip. 

And Essie notes how she’s never seen Farrendel this happy, not even before the torture. And you look down and notice there’s still half of a book left and wonder, what now? Farrendel is fixed. His PTXD, as it has revealed itself, is fine. He fixed it off-screen with the help of “counseling” that we never see. He’s buff again. His trauma haircut is growing out. So what now?

Well, now we need to talk about funny novelty mugs and figure out Farrendel’s college application!

Yup. That’s the rest of Essie and Farrendel’s plot line, at least until the very end. Just them picking out funny mugs for the family, going ice skating, having snowball fights, and figuring out how to get Farrendel into human college. Tara Grayce had an interesting and potentially good thing on her hands, seemingly had something to say about mental health and PTSD and how hard it is to live with ... and then she put it on the floor, pulled down her pants, and took one big hot poo-poo all over it! :)

But wait! There’s the other plot, right? What about Melantha and her husband, Rharreth? They had an interesting setup in the previous book, and their peoples were more openly hostile to each other and recently went to war. Their feelings were ignited during a time when they were both tortured and hurt. How will they move past this and create a future together? Will true love bloom, or will they settle for teeth-clenched teamwork?

So remember how I said in my review of War Bound that there was interesting potential in their relationship? Well ...

Turns out, Rharreth had always had feelings for Melantha, from the very start. He wanted to marry her both for as a symbol for peace but also because he thought she was cool. So most of their plot is Melantha having to come out of her shell (except also not, we’ll get to that later) and also her enduring the hatred and racism of the trolls, who literally spit on her in public. Sometimes in front of Rharreth, while he does nothing? Not sure what Grayce was going for, here. Supposedly this section was about Melantha learning to stop bottling shit up and open up about her negative feelings. Soo ... she does? And Rharreth does nothing about it. Thanks for that one, Rarry. And then one of Rharreth’s cousins stages a coup and they have to run for their lives and regroup at the elven border.

And honestly, I didn’t hate this part of the book. These chapters were easily the best part of the whole experience, as there was actual conflict and actual tension and intrigue between the different troll factions, and you got to see the characters struggle for survival and victory. It wasn’t mindblowing, but compared to Essie giggling about funny-shaped novelty mugs (which happens in great detail), it felt like I was actually reading a book and not someone writing fanfic of their own characters.

As you can probably divine from this, these two plots don’t mesh well. Or at all. On paper, the blurb describes a decent setup. You see the emotional aftermath of war and torture while another set of characters are in the middle of a brewing civil war. There’s potential here for something to say about the trauma of war, the cycle of violence, one character recovering from it while another is thrust into it etc. But as I said, Farrendel gets over his PTXD in two months off-screen, and the rest of that side of the plot is a bunch of bullshit nonsense while the troll side is running for their lives. It’s not even meant to be ironic or darkly funny or anything. There’s nothing tying these two plots together aside from two of the characters on either side being related and having gone through bad shit together. Essie and Farrendel buy funny mugs and hot chocolate, Melantha and Rharreth freeze to death in a snow storm. And both of these are supposed to be enjoyed sincerely, side-by-side, simultaneously.

Imagine my whiplash.

Then, spoilers, at the end they get unceremoniously slapped together in one final big fight. Which Farrendel wins, because he’s a god among men, and Essie forgives Melantha because Melantha is sad, and then all three royal families sit in a tent, have a lil party, and exchange cute stories about how Farrendel used to be a little spider baby who climbed walls. No, really. Three gathered armies in one spot, directly after a historic confrontation ... and all three royal families just sit around a table and giggle and laugh. Three of the individuals gathered had just murdered other people and were still wounded from that fight, btw. But it’s okay! Let’s once again describe, in detail, various novelty mugs and talk about hot chocolate!

Do you guys see how fucked this book is in every way? And I’m not even halfway into the review! :)

The characters

The book is split into two storylines and the storylines are split into two POVs: Essie and Farrendel, and Melantha and Rharreth.

I’ll start with the least offensive: Rharreth. He was fine. He starts out underestimating Melantha but also seeing the fire in her and being attracted to it (which doesn’t make any sense, but ok). His POV is mostly concerning the conflict between the warrior families wanting war and thinking he’s a weak king, and the non-warrior people of his land who are starving and who need outside help from the humans and elves. In a better writer’s hands, this might’ve been an interesting character struggling in an interesting and believable conflict. How does one keep the balance between power and mercy in a culture that values strength? Here, he’s ... fine. He’s fine. It’s whatever. Strength is seeing strength in others and honor is standing up for what you believe in, bla bla bla.

Farrendel ... well, he’s just a guy, as usual. He’s hot but sad. But then two months pass and he’s not so sad anymore. He fucks Essie, finally! Good for him. His main storyline is that he’s learning to appreciate his magic as a tool for progress instead of destruction, mainly through human magical engineering. Good for him. Don’t care. We didn’t need paragraphs upon paragraphs of characters discussing college applications and courses with him. Maybe he could, I dunno, actually suffer the consequences of having been tortured again? Having PTSD as more than just one sad week? No? Too much angst, not enough funny mugs? Ok :(

Then there’s Melantha. She did the big betrayal in book 3. Or was it 2. I can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. She’s here to learn how to be herself, which is to be less repressed and let out her anger more. So she gets some sparring sessions with Rharreth. But she’s also here to become more soft and to embrace her healing magic. Wait no um. She’s here to embrace her fighting spirit! Um but she’s also supposed to understand that sometimes healing is better than fighting. No no, listen. She’s always wanted combat magic, but she took a healer’s oath which prevents her from using magic to harm! Oh and she figured out she can put people to sleep in a combat situation! Plus, no oath prevents her from doing a good old stab! Oh but she vomits the first time she kills someone and swears off hurting people more. And then she learns that healing is sometimes more valuable. But healing can also be a strength and can be used in conflicts.

So how are you doing? Are you getting this shit? Because I’m not. I don’t fucking KNOW what Melantha’s arc is supposed to be, and tbh I don’t think Grayce knew either. It started out as her embracing her spunkiness and her negative emotions, with Rharreth telling her to stop hiding her true feelings behind her mask of perfect princess-ness, but then at the end she actively hides discomfort and displeasure because she’s learned to not hold onto her negative emotions. Henlo?????? Hewwo??? Mistew Gwayce? What the fuck is this? It feels like the author went in full steam for a girlboss narrative, then realized she hated writing women having negative feelings, so it became about Melantha learning to stop being a bitch and being more like Essie. Which is only reinforced by the last few chapters where Melantha spends several conversations with other characters admiring how happy and sweet Essie is. Growth? I guess?

And so we get to the Queen of Terror herself. Now, I am a little scared to write this as I worry Essie might manifest physically, unhinge her jaw and summon a plague of locusts from her mouth, but I need to say this: Essie is a Mary Sue. Cancel me now, Tumblr, I’ve said the bad word. She’s not the type that’s physically perfect and has every superpower in the world or is the best at everything. What she does have, however, is the power to slowly but surely bend everyone to her own will, mold everyone in her image. In my first review I described Essie as sort of a static character who drags everything down by being bland and unmoving. I’ve realized my mistake. Essie is not a statue among humans, she’s a black hole in a supermarket. The one sole constant to which all others are pulled. Essie devours uniqueness and conflict and intrigue until all are smiling as wide as she, giggle as much as she, love hot chocolate as much as she, are just as happy as she is. She’s the Beldam of this world, and her novelty mugs are the buttons which are sown into the eyes of every poor bastard that has the displeasure of interacting with her.

Melantha becomes more like her, respects her more for being so happy and choosing to be happy instead of dwelling on the negatives (yes, this is something genuinely said by a character about Essie and it’s supposed to be hashtag so true bestie). Other, “wise” characters talk about how good Essie is. Weylind, the elven king who’s hundreds of years old, learns to loosen up thanks to her influence. Farrendel doesn’t mind PDA because he just loves Essie so much. He’s more human now, better to match his human wife. None of that repressed elf shit. Essie doesn’t even have to suffer as a consequence of Farrendel’s PTSD, she cries once and then nothing bad ever happens again. She has fixed him. He’s perfect now. And one day, when they have kids, she’ll make sure that those children don’t inherit the bad habits of the elves. No, her children will be happy and open and joyful.

Or else ...

The yikes

Yes, Essie does actually think that, by the way. At the end when the aforementioned tea party happens after the bloody conflict with the troll warriors, Essie thinks how much she prefers it when the elves act more open and chatty, and how her and Farrendel’s children will only see this side of elven culture.

From chapter 40:

“If she and Farrendel had children someday, she wanted them to grow up seeing this side of their elven heritage, not the stiff and formal version filled with all too much tension. Not to mention that it would make the half the year that Essie and Farrendel spent in Estyra much more pleasant.”

So ... this is yikes, right? I would say the white jumped out at me, but they’re all fucking white, so I guess the white author jumped out at me. Imagine thinking this is a chill thing to have a protagonist think lmao. Yes Essie, pick and choose what you will teach your children of their other culture based on your own preferences and what you consider the most pleasant and convenient for you. It’s not bad if all those things you don’t pick for them are “bad” right? Instead of learning to respect the elves and their culture and mannerisms, why not just steamroll them into obedience and force them to be like you? It’s just so benevolent and kind of you to free them from the prisons of their own making :)

Anyway, this brings me to the fade-to-black in the room: wait, they’re talking about children? Have they even fucked yet? Yes. Congratulate Essie and Farrendel on the sex, guys. They’ve had it. I was surprised, too. There was no buildup, no flirting, no setting of the scene. Farrendel just decides that he’s ready to fuck and that it’s time for them to “act like they’re married” because ... marriage is defined by fucking? Uh ... I’m guessing Tara Grayce is Christian? Religious? The “no sex before marriage” vibes are fucking IN-TENSE. They get especially intense when the sex is awkwardly hinted at and then we’re quickly ushered out of the bedroom and it’s suddenly 2 months later, but after that nearly every scene with Essie, Farrendel and another family member includes at least one mention of their future children.

Like, the implications of “skip the sex and destroy any hint of sexuality, but absolutely do NOT stop talking about them having children” are absolutely insane. The undercurrent of fundie Christianity are so strong, and they get stronger with every installment when every female character is barely a character or is interchangable with another female character, or when she exists in relation to the men in her life or her children. The two queens, Rheva and Paige (Essie’s “besstie”), are both serene young mothers who have a mischievous but harmless edge because every fucking character needs a mischievous but harmless edge. They’re the same character but one has pointy ears. Then there’s Essie’s mother and Farrendel’s grandmother. Both are wise old women who have wise things to say, and both are eager for grandchildren and won’t shut up about it. All of these “feminist’s nightmare” characters are shoveled out dutifully whenever there’s a group scene with all the royals, only to be shoveled back inside when the men (and Essie, because she’s the center of the universe) have plot things to do. It’s absolutely comical and inexcusable when all the male characters, even ones with smaller roles, get to have way more screentime and get way more variation on their “generic nice guy” core while the women are just in the background smiling politely between shitting out kids like they’ve been having Taco Tuesday for two months straight.

Combined with Melantha learning to be less of a bitch and Essie being praised for being so positive and “choosing” to be happy, we get this very insidious, brain-washy world that tells women that you need to be pretty, gentle, serene and have lots of babies, and you’re only gonna be let out of your box when your children need to have cute moments with the real main characters aka the men. It’s absolutely buckwild. I don’t think it’s intentional at all, and in fact I believe the author is going for a lot of girl-power in her work, but the personal biases are so blatant it’s fascinating to look at.

Another yikes thing is obviously the way PTSD is “handled”. It’s extremely trite and moralistic, the book spends paragraphs upon paragraphs describing how soldiers get mentally wounded too and therapy and medication is just as valid as aid as a crutch is for a lost leg, and then we skip 2 months and Farrendel is happier than ever, without a single mention of a nightmare or him struggling at all. The book expects you to respect and acknowledge PTSD as a real condition while doing none of the legwork itself, because that would take time away from novelty mugs and college applications. Oh it gives us some “it won’t always be easy” crap, but no specific mentions of breakdowns or relapses, no showing of it not being easy. His healing is not even linear, it’s exponential. He’s happier than he’s ever been, even before his second torture. That’s how great he’s been doing in two months. And if that’s not fucking offensive enough, there’s also a very alarming insinuation/symbolism where Melantha has to re-break a kid’s arm to set it and heal it properly, and this is later compared to what happened to Farrendel. The book actually implies that Farrendel had to be tortured in order to heal from his previous PTSD. That his mind had to be broken again in order to be reset.

And that’s really fucking rich coming from a book that preaches about PTSD being a real and serious issue. Just retraumatize yourself horribly and spend 2 months in therapy and you’ll be fine! Your new PTSD and your old PTSD will be healed, and then finally you can apply for college :)

There’s also some very interesting and very yikes shit happening in terms of the royalty and their relationship to the lower classes, almost certainly none of it intentional. Essie has a servant girl in her and Farrendel’s house who has to get up and make them hot chocolate whenever Farrendel gets a nightmare. It’s written as this very kind and obliging thing the servant girl chooses to do, and Essie is like “oh no tee hee you don’t have to do that!” but like ... There’s no reason for Essie not to do this herself aside from convenience, and it’s not like the girl can just refuse? The power imbalances are just not acknowledged at all, almost like Tara Grayce only wants to play with the aesthetic of royal characters without engaging with what it means to be royalty, in a very sort of Disney-esque way. And we’re supposed to think that Essie accepting this frankly unreasonable thing isn’t an abuse of power, and that the servant is doing this out of her own goodwill? Hello? 

Then there’s a moment where Essie is creaming herself at how good Farrendel is with kids when he’s playing with one of her nephews, only for Farrendel to go up to Paige two sentences later and give her the child he was just playing with because the kid pooped himself, and Farrendel has a disgusted look on his face. Father material, truly. What’s funny here is that he 1) gives the child to Paige, not Averett, who then 2) gives the child to a nanny standing nearby. And this just ... happens. And nobody comments on it, despite this having a whole mountain of implications that any writer worth their word would unpack. Like, why is Essie jizzing her pants at Farrendel being a good dad when he’s disgusted with the idea of changing diapers? Oh, because Essie thinks it’s normal for royals to not change diapers themselves, that’s how normalized it is for nannies to take care of royal kids. Then why does it matter if Farrendel is a good father, when the “unpleasant” part of parenting will be done by someone else? Anyone can be a good parent when you’re only exposed to the fun bits of the kids’ lives and not the ones that matter just as much if not more. This implies Essie expects nothing of Farrendel as a father but having fun with the children, and since she didn’t question Paige giving the work of diaper-changing to a nanny, that means she expects other people to take care of her children as well. Or does she assume she’ll do the bad shit while Farrendel gets to be a good dad only doing half the child-raising required of him? What is happening here? We don’t fucking know!

This brings me to ...

The stupid

Tara Grayce doesn’t know what royalty is. Either that, or she knows and can’t be assed to engage with it. It seems that, to her, they’re just people who happen to be in charge, and there’s nothing said about the balance of power, or really power as a concept at all. Because everyone’s just such a good person! :) And everyone who isn’t a good person gets killed or “redeemed” so they can return to the status quo. The only thing that even slightly touches upon the royals’ duties is Essie and/or Paige visiting orphanages and hospitals, but that’s framed as charity work they do out of the kindness of their pure hearts. Meanwhile, whenever Averett starts talking politics, trade deals, alliances, the characters and narration laugh at him. That silly King Averett, constantly being occupied with king stuff! Can’t he relax and chill, like a normal person?

No, Tara, he can’t. He’s a king. And for a king, he does seem so be doing a lot of fuck-all whenever he’s on the page, so him at least hinting at being a king whenever he’s present is a breath of fresh air, because nobody else seems to be fucking doing anything aside from enjoying the labors of the common people for days on end.

Then there’s poor Weylind, the last bastion who stood against Essie’s eldritch powers. I had hopes that he would prevail, but no. He actually ends up in a royal man-pile with Averett, Farrendel, and Essie’s other brothers. Then he joins them all for a snowball fight.

Yes. The elven king who’s hundreds of years old, who’s been described as strict and unemotional, falls in a pile of snow with the human king and the other princes. And they all giggle about it. Because Essie is there and her brothers are there too and the entire human royal family have horrible brainwashing powers that make even the most normal/realistic characters behave in cutesy fanfic twee ways that leave you scared and confused. We’ll touch on this more later.

Finally, there’s Edmund. I’ve already mentioned in my previous reviews that Edmund as a character is fucked to hell and back. He’s a prince, but he’s also a spy, who does spying, personally, in person, first-hand, personally. Grayce very clearly is trying to write him as a manipulative and clever chess-master type, who’s always in control because he’s got all the info. Except he actually, get this, gets caught. He gets caught the first thing he does, but not only that, he gets recognized as the human prince (because he wasn’t wearing a disguise while spying) and he gets taken hostage. And then Tara Grayce does her damndest to try and convince us that he’s still smugly in control, after being recognized and captured.

*gestures wildly*

Tara? Henlo? Anyone home? How do you expect us to think highly of this man when HIS VERY EXISTENCE IS FLAWED BECAUSE OF THINGS THAT YOU YOURSELF HAVE DEMONSTRATED SEEMINGLY WITHOUT BEING AWARE OF IT? It’s genuinely hilarious to watch this narrative try and paint Edmund as a mastermind in the same breath as it shows us exactly why he’s stupid and ineffectual and would be fucking dead ages ago if this ever was an actually well-written book. Absolutely fucking amazing how dumb this shit is.

The reason I like writing about royalty is simple and cheap and I will admit it freely: It’s an easy way to make interpersonal drama have massive stakes. But here, there’s none of that. There are no stakes. The royalty here are just ... people who are fancier than everyone else, who are important in theory but without any of the weight or downsides or implications behind their power. This book pretends royalty are just people and can just be people while also inexplicably having all the power in the world, but without corruption or consequences or, really, anything.

I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know how anyone could get here.

Shut up, shut up, shut up!!!

I think I’ve pinpointed the problem with this book. With Grayce’s writing/storytelling style in general, actually, as it was present in Midsummer Bride as well. I’ve finally got it.

It reads like it’s written by someone whose main exposure to fiction comes from fandom.

Now what the fuck do I mean by that? Well, you know how people write meta about characters? How they analyze character arcs, how they link quotes and events from the start of the story to the end of the story and act like they’ve found the Holy Grail? You know those incorrect quotes posts? You know coffeeshop AUs?

Imagine someone writing all of that ... but for their own characters. And then they explain how they wrote it and what it means.

That’s the vibe here. I’m not accusing Tara Grayce of anything or trying to psychoanalyze her, just explaining what I feel when I read her work. It’s like somebody saw all those posts and all that love from fans about work they’ve enjoyed, and thought “hey, I want that for me, too!” And then, instead of spending time on actually developing these characters and this world and trusting the reader to put these things together on their own, Grayce simply ... spelled it out.

Characters have to learn about loving and being loved? Have them think about what they’ve learned, have them monologue at others at what they’ve learned. Want people to make those comparisons between the start of the journey and the end? Fuck it, cut out the middle man and do it yourself by spelling it out. Want your main character to learn to forgive your other main character because it’s feel-good? Fuck it, ignore all the potential of lasting interpersonal conflict and redemption and the fact that these things take time and just write her forgiving her for stupid reasons!

PTSD is a real and serious condition that needs attention and care and can be hard to live with? Yeah, just say it is all those things and then don’t bother showing it. Farrendel and Essie are so squee and cute together? Don’t make the reader come to that assumption on their own, reinforce what you want them to think with endless cutesy scenes of them doing nothing but being domestic. Those coffeeshop AUs won’t write themselves!

Everything is constantly telegraphed. Every interaction, every journey, every moral lesson, every character arc. None of it is show, all of it is tell, explained carefully and precisely, usually by the character themselves going on long diatribes about the true meaning of love/happiness/honor/strength. And you get the sense that the author means well and wants to be wholesome and affecting, but you’re left wondering if this all is going to be on the exam, because you feel like you’re sitting in a lecture while someone’s OCs talk at you about how deep they are.

The worst part isn’t even the telegraphing of all of this, I can excuse a cheesy monologue or two. The worst part is that they’re not earned at all. No step of these “journeys” or arcs goes unsaid. Whenever anything significant happens, characters will tell you why it was significant and what it meant to them. Whenever a character has personal issues, they always communicate them flawlessly to others, without any conflicts or disagreements or misunderstandings or follow-ups. Like Essie, these books are fundamentally against any negativity, any impact or conflict that disagreements and differences can create, and this allergy to conflict create narratives that are smooth and easy and don’t change or affect anything, all while insisting that evolution and change is happening. There are no clashes of personality or motivations, no conflicts to resolve and evolve from. None of those grand monologues or realizations are earned. They don’t feel like culminations of a character arc, of a character’s struggles and labors and evolution, but a conclusion to a bad Ted Talk. Melantha doesn’t evolve as much as she knows from the start what’s wrong with her, and it’s just at the end that she starts acting differently because everyone else told her it was okay and that’s what they wanted from her, but it’s fed to the reader like she’s been on a grand personal journey, all while explaining to us every step she takes and what it means.

This is why all of these characters are so flat and boring as well, I think. Their differences are surface-level because fundamentally, they’re made of the same stuff, aka nothing at all. Any of them could go through these same non-arcs and non-conflicts and have these exact same monologues and nothing would feel different.

And while it’s clear the author probably had good intentions, the fact that characters tell you all these things and she’s clearly going for sweet and feel-good narratives, all it does is frustrate you. Because it’s all sugar without salt, reward without labor, fluff upon fluff upon fluff while anything else is skimmed over but I proooomise it was super important. Because the narrative assumes you’re stupid, that you’re a fucking child who needs to be explained at lest you make the mistake of having your own feelings or thoughts on what’s happening, all while not showing you any of it actually happening and just telling you that it’s really good and emotional and life-changing when it’s really the blandest, cheesiest, most melodramatic yet soulless shit you’ve ever read.

I don’t know if it’s intentional, honestly. Maybe this is all a joke, and the Troll Queen refers to Tara Grayce herself. She’s certainly had a laugh at my expense.

But I don’t think so. I think she genuinely believes this is how you write an effective and touching narrative. And given the healthy amount of positive reviews, it doesn’t seem to be wholly inaccurate. Maybe I’m the rube, here.

But I prefer to make my own decisions of what is cute and what is touching. I prefer to watch characters evolve instead of listening to them telling me they’re evolving. I don’t need the narrative censoring all the negativity as if it doesn’t exist. I don’t need the narrative to spell things out for me, to give me cue cards of when to laugh or when to squee and when to be in awe of the character development. I want to do that on my own, as long as you show me. And you’re not showing me shit, Troll Queen.

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Max Lord x F!Reader] — Chapter 12

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter: food mention, tooth rotting fluff. Our story comes full circle.

Author’s note: Here it is. The final chapter of Sugar and Spice. The Epilogue should be coming soon. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did, and I'd like to thank you all for supporting me and my writing. This was my first ever series and the love I got for it was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I love you all so much. (PS— i’m still sick with COVID so I am really really sorry if this is a poor chapter. I tried my hardest. Happy valentines day.)

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER TWELVE - EPILOGUE [coming soon!]

The second Maxwell engulfed himself amongst the soft satin blankets of his bed, he knew he was glad to be home. You climbed in beside him, and his eyes raked your body as he took in the sight of your baby pink slip on silk nightgown that you were wearing. He swallowed, and reached over to grab your waist and pull you on top of him. So there you were, straddling your sugar daddy after not seeing him for over a month. You pressed your palms against his bare chest and looked him in the eyes.

"There's something I need to tell you." Maxwell announced, knowing it had to be now or never. He couldn't keep hiding it. After the month in London and Alistair being brought back into his life, a lot had changed for him. He wasn't the same man he was back in December.

"About Ali?" you asked, tracing circles into his skin.

"Well, yeah. But— something else." Maxwell replied, shuffling around slightly. You sensed it was serious due to his tone of voice and your movements paused as you stared dead into his eyes.

"You don't have another secret child, do you?" you deadpanned.

"No!" Maxwell said defensively and you smiled softly. "It's about us."

You braced yourself. He'd been gone for a month, come back with a kid, and you were certain he was going to break the arrangement off with you. You pulled your hands off him and went to crawl off his lap, but his large hands landed on your thighs to hold you down.

"That night after the annual Black Gold Christmas gala… I saw you with Bruce and I got drunk and— my mom— and… I told you… I told you everything. About my father and having absent parents and. I said— I said— I said I was in love with you," Maxwell gulped and it took him every ounce of strength to not break his eye contact with you. He wanted to remain strong. You remembered the night like it was yesterday; clear as day. Of course, how could you forget the moment he said those words? And he hadn't spoken of it since, until now. Between you being held hostage by Tristan and Maxwell being whisked away to London, there'd hardly been an appropriate time to bring it up. "I swore that once I returned from the UK we would talk about this. So, Y/N, I have to tell you that my feelings haven't changed. It's been months, we've been together and apart. We've argued and fought but we've laughed and made love too. We've had distance— hell, I've been on the other side of the world for the past month but not a second has gone by where I haven't thought about you. About loving you, and kissing you, and even if you don't feel the same way, I hope you can forgive me."

"Forgive you?" You asked after a brief silence. You'd been waiting for what felt like a lifetime to hear these words, and yet you were struggling to comprehend them. It didn't feel real.

"For not doing anything or saying anything sooner. I should've said something sooner. I wish I had. I wish… I wish…" Maxwell rambled but you placed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"No," you told him sternly. "No wishing. You don't need to make a wish because— everything is fine just the way it is," Maxwell's heart sank at your words and you watched as his chest deflated. "No!" you cried before trying to clarify. You didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "You have a successful business, and a son, and Max, you have me. You'll always have me. Because I love you too. I'm in love with you Maxwell Lord."

Max's chocolate coloured eyes widened at your confession as disbelief bolted through his body. Never in a million years would Maxwell expect that you would truly love him back. How could he expect anyone to love a man like him? Kitty hadn't. His mother hadn't. But you…

"I love you so much Max," you sighed before pressing a kiss into his lips. You caught a tear slip down his cheek and you quickly wiped it away. "Don't ever apologise for being you. Our story has been a whirlwind so far but it's not over. It's not over Max. I love you."

"I love you too." he whispered, wrapping his arms tight around your body when you kissed him again.

By the time Valentines Day rolled around, you swore it was like Maxwell and Alistair had never spent any time apart. The six year old boy was the spitting double of his father— personality and all.

He dived into your bed and jumped up and down.

"I got a card! Look daddy! I got a card!" Alistair beamed. Maxwell groaned and rolled over, holding a pillow over his head. You smiled tiredly and pulled the little boy into your arms.

"Good morning Ali, where did you get that?" you asked.

"It was on the kitchen table! Look mama, it's for me!" He squealed, pointing at the name that was inked in perfect calligraphy. Your perfect calligraphy. Your heart melted slightly at the little name he'd given you. "Mama". You figured it was something Maxwell had pushed, but he swore he hadn't, and that Alistair had decided that you'd be his mama from now on anyway. Kitty was out of the picture for good now, and you were nicer to him in the past two weeks than Kitty had been to him his whole life. That was the sad truth.

"Oh, so it is." you giggled, pressing a kiss into Alistair's forehead. You rolled over slightly and pat the middle of the bed, gesturing for Alistair to come and lay down in between you and his father.

"I only ever get cards like this on my birthday and Christmas. And today is neither of those days." Alistair pondered out loud, tapping his index finger against his chin as he thought. Just like his daddy.

"Do you know what day it is, Ali?" you beckoned.

You realised Maxwell must've finally woken himself up when his hand reached over to hold yours, his thumb circling your skin. You glanced over to him and saw that his big brown eyes were watching his son.

"Ummm…"

"It's the only day of the year where I can do this," Maxwell interrupted, pressing his lips against yours and kissing you. His sudden action was enough to take your breath away and Alistair went to make a noise of disgust. But Maxwell pulled away from your lips and placed a hand over his son's mouth. "And you, mister, can't do that!" he chastised, wiggling his finger with a chuckle.

"But daddy, kissing is yucky!" Alistair frowned, sticking his tongue out in dismay. You rolled your eyes, pulled the little boy on top of you and pressed another kiss into his forehead. Since you had a hold of him, Maxwell took the opportunity to tickle Alistair, erupting a scream of laughter. "Dad-daddy! Aaah daddy please!" Alistair laughed, kicking his legs and flailing his arms around.

"Have you worked out what day it is yet?" you asked the little boy once he'd settled back down. A small blush crept upon his cheeks.

"Va-valentines day?" Alistair asked, his voice timid.

"Are you telling me that my son Alistair has a valentine?" Maxwell gasped jokingly and Alistair's grin only grew wider with excitement.

"Can I open it?" Alistair giggled happily.

"Go on!" you laughed, giving him a small nudge.

You and Max both watched intently as Alistair opened the card. Of course, you had purchased the card and wrote it out. But seeing the excitement on Alistair's face when he read ‘love from your secret admirer’ was undefeatable. It was magical, and it filled your heart with so much love and joy. Alistair was new to your life, just as new as he was to Maxwell's, but if one thing was for sure, it was that you loved him just as much as you'd love your own child. And that wasn't lost on Maxwell.

He honestly expected you might have left him. Or grown distant upon learning that he had a son. But once again, you had proven Maxwell Lord IV wrong. You were unlike any other woman he'd ever met, and now that he had the two most important people in his life, he felt like he could accomplish anything. Nothing else mattered anymore. Just you and Alistair.

"My son, only six years old and already has a secret admirer!" Maxwell chuckled, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around Alistair. "But you'll always be my boy, won't you Ali?"

"Yes daddy." Alistair smiled a toothy grin.

"Us Lord men… we always get the ladies." Maxwell told his son, causing you to belly laugh. Maxwell shot you a joking glare and you tried to stifle any more of your giggles.

"On that note," you rolled your eyes and slid out of bed. "How does pancakes for breakfast sound?"

Both Maxwell and his son cheered with joy at the thought of pancakes. You remembered you even had some strawberries and cream left over from the night before which would go well with it. You pulled your silk robe over you and padded to the kitchen.

"Do you remember the plan?" Maxwell whispered quietly once you'd left the room, cradling his son.

"I do." Alistair beamed snuggling into his father's chest. Maxwell smiled a little.

"Tonight, yeah? After dinner." Maxwell reminded his son.

"Do you love her?" Alistair quizzed further, and Max's smile grew even more.

"I do," Max confessed. "More than anything."

"I think she loves you too." Alistair said softly.

"Yeah?"

"I see the way she looks at you," Alistair mumbled. "Like how Ariel looks at Prince Eric."

"Wh-who?" Max furrowed his eyebrows together and Alistair's jaw dropped slightly.

"Okay daddy. We're all watching The Little Mermaid after dinner." Alistair decided in that moment, his tone of voice leaving no room for question.

Maxwell quirked an eyebrow. "Really? And who put you in charge?"

"I'm a Lord," Alistair said proudly. "Besides, someone has to watch over you two lovebirds. Make sure you don't get yourself in trouble."

Maxwell couldn't believe the six year old boy. Alistair was definitely Maxwell's son, that's for sure.

Just as you were finishing up frying the last pancake, the kitchen phone began to ring. You answered it, surprised to hear the voice of your lawyer— or more accurately, Maxwell's lawyer. You had been using him to defend yourself on the case between you and Tristan. He had told you that Tristan was going to be locked away for a very long time, and that you'd won the case. A wash of relief flooded over you, and finally, things were beginning to look up for you and your little family.

You called down Alistair and Maxwell once breakfast was ready, and you served the heart shaped pancakes at the table. Maxwell came down a few minutes later than Alistair and he was holding on envelope. When he sat down opposite you, he passed you the envelope with a smug grin on his face.

"What's this?" you asked curiously, and Maxwell shrugged his shoulders casually as he sipped on his black coffee. He hadn't stopped smirking though. "Maxie, we agreed on no gifts this year?" you sighed, already feeling bad for not getting him anything.

"Baby, it's not exactly a gift. I mean, it's something for both of us. Something that's important to you and well… just open it, please." he urged.

You hesitated, exchanging a glance between Max and Alistair (who was already neck deep in pancakes), before sighing and opening the envelope. Inside was a letter from a retail agent? As you read the letter, your heart began to slam against your chest. No way.

"Max… you bought my old apartment building? The whole building?" you gasped, slamming your hand over your mouth in disbelief. "You bought it in both of our names?"

"Because I knew how much it meant to you. And how much your neighbours meant to you. They were all mistreated by Tristan, and that isn't okay. I bought the property from the council so we're the rightful owners now. And we won't overcharge rent like Tristan did. We don't need to. We'll refurbish the whole place. We'll give the families who live there a safe place that they can call home, and they won't have to worry about any abuse from Tristan, or their utilities falling apart, or bills… it'll be wonderful."

"Maxwell I- I don't know what to say I…" you were utterly speechless, tears filling your eyes. Obviously this was going to cost him a lot of money and a lot to upkeep, but for the first time, it felt like it wasn't even about money. It was a grand gesture, sure, but it was also the most thoughtful and unexpected thing he'd ever done for you.

"I love you." Max revelled and you smiled.

"I love you too." you replied, leaning over the table and pressing a kiss into his lips. You glanced back down at the letter, admiring the way your surname and Max's surname looked together on the sheet of paper.

At the start of December you didn't even own a car. You couldn't even pay rent. Now you were living in a suburban manor with your perfect little family. Amongst a little bit of sugar and a little bit of spice, you had found love, meaning and purpose. You'd found your soulmate.

Just as you thought your life was good and couldn't get any better, you didn't realise what Maxwell Lord had in store for you this evening. Your whole world was about to change.

---

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[beelsbaby]

Fate or Chance | Mammon

Chapter Six: Persephone

Summary: You flip Mammon’s world upside down when he soon comes to terms that he likes you, but he has a pretty big obstacle in the way— your feelings for another. Can he win your heart or will he lose his chance?

Hey hey hey! I hope you guys are all doing well today! Is Chapter is a wild one, so be prepared hehe I got carried away so it’s pretty long OOPS ILY GUYS 🧡

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  You look down at your phone waiting for Solomon's text that he's at your balcony when you hear a knock at your door. You walk over to open the door, not expecting to see him of all people at your door.

  “Mammon?”

  Mammon gives you an awkward smile as he scratches the back of his neck, “Hey Y/n, heard you needed... Uh, help.”

  You look at him in utter confusion, “I’m sorry, Mammon, I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Mammon groans internally. You don't even need his help! Asmodeus must have set him up. Of course, you don't need this help. You don't need him at all! He's useless to you in every way imaginable. He should have known Asmodeus would do something like this after his confession slip-up. Mammon feels his face heat up. Why does he always embarrass himself in front of you? He's such a fool. This is why you like Solomon, not him.

  “Sorry for wasting your time, of course you don't need me.” Mammon tells you as he starts to sulk away. 

  You had two options, you could have comforted Mammon, who seemed to need the comfort or you could have gone back to your phone to wait for Solomon’s text. 

  “Wait, Mammon! Why don’t you come in for a minute, I’d like to talk to you for a bit.” You smile.

  He turns back around, slowly walking into your room with his head down, not wanting you to see the red tint on his cheeks.

  “What’s wrong, Mammoney?” You ask him as you pat the spot on the bed next to you.

  He shakes his head at you as he sits down next to you, “Nothin’ wrong, I’m fine.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Mammoney. Something’s bothering you,” You scold gently, “You know you can trust me.”

  The gentle and sincere look in your eyes captivated him intensely. Your eyes sparkled with so much love that he just wanted to fall on his knees and confess everything-- his love, his sins, everything. If he didn’t know you, he would have thought you were an angel. You’re definitely giving Simeon a run for his money. You reminded him of that one story, about the beautiful goddess who captured the heart of the demon lord. What was her name again? Persephone. You were his Persephone. He’d even start a war if you’d ask him to. You were his light, his everything. and you didn’t even know. You were so blissfully unaware of how much you meant to him. It ached him to have you so close and not be able to hold you in his arms. 

  “Hello? Earth to-- No that makes no sense, hell to Mammon?” 

  Your voice brings him back to reality, “Oh sorry, I zoned out.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” You giggle, “Am I that boring?”

  “N-no, of course not!” Mammon stutters.

  “I’m only teasing, Mammoney,” You laugh, “But seriously, tell me what’s wrong.” You lean over and grasp his hand in yours, holding it gently like it’s made of glass. If he didn’t pass out when you looked at him, he was now.

  “It’s nothing really, more like a minor existential crisis, don’t want to burden ya with the boring details.” He states dismissingly. 

  “You are never a burden to me, Mammon. Tell me, please.”

  “Well… I just don’t think I’m… good enough. I mean, ya know how my brothers are always going on about me being scum… what I’m saying is… I think they’re right.” Mammon sighs.

  “Just forget I said any--” He cuts off when he feels his face collide with your chest. If he had a soul, it would have ascended.

  “You listen to me right now, Mammon. You are not scum, you are not a burden. You are The Great Mammon. I don’t care what your brothers say. You are so caring, protective, and extremely funny. Not to mention your loyalty is incomparable. You’re amazing, Mammoney. You are more than good enough. I love who you are.” You tell him as you hug him tightly against you. 

  Mammon doesn’t realize he was crying until he feels his teardrops fall on your shirt. 

  You stroke his hair, trying to calm him. He hugs you back tightly, “Thank you, Y/n. Thank you.”

  “Anytime, Mammon.” You smile down at him. You’re happy you invited him in. Seeing Mammon like this makes you feel special since he opened up to you. He chose you You’re happy you invited him in. It was worth it.

  But little did you know, having chosen to invite Mammon in, you neglected your phone, missing the text from a certain sorcerer saying he was on his way.

  You didn’t want to let go of Mammon and he certainly didn’t want to let go of you. 

  Your moment with Mammon was cut short when you hear a knock on your balcony door.

  You gasp, “Solomon!”

  You jump apart from Mammon and sprint to open the door.

   “Hi, Solomon!” you greet as you open the door.

   “Hello, Y/n. I see you’re busy.” Solomon greets back.

   “Oh, Mammon wasn’t feeling his best so I was just comforting him!” 

   “And that includes his face on your chest?” Solomon asks.

   “O-oh it was just a hug.” You answer nonchalantly.

   “Well, where is my hug? I did almost get caught and face Lucifer’s wrath.” 

   As you lean in closer to hug him, you completely miss the intense staredown that’s going on between Solomon and Mammon. Solomon grips you tightly, then sends a smirk towards Mammon. Mammon scowls at Solomon. Oh, how he’d love to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. 

  Solomon pulls apart from you, “I'm happy I got to see you tonight, beautiful. I'm afraid I have to leave, though. I believe Lucifer’s still searching for me. He’ll be here any minute now. I'll text you, okay?” 

  You nod enthusiastically, “Goodnight!”

  “Goodnight, beautiful.” He says as he leans down to kiss your cheek. He sends Mammon one last smirk before he heads back out. Mammon suppressed the growl that begged to be released. He wants to claw off that sorcerer’s dumb face. 

  You close the balcony door and turn to Mammon, “Please don’t tell Lucifer Solomon was here.” You pout.

Anything for you Mammon thinks. He gives an understanding nod. The smile you give him hurts, it’s not meant for him, after all. 

  He walks to the door, having had enough for one night. He had you, he had you in his arms, but lost you to another in mere seconds.

  “Goodnight, Mammon!” You yell as he’s walking out your door.

   “Goodnight,” he says back, then whispers, “my Persephone.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

PHEW what a chapter

Mammon is so romantic I need a Mammon ASAP

Solomon is a big meanie

Taglist (Open!):

@aleag

@reallydelicate-cycle

@iris-archive

@t-misaki

@belphiesbodypillow

@aj-1154

@fernisasinner

@hellodeath20

[deiliamedlini]

Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 10

Oops, I Did It Again

hospital | flare-up | ice chips

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

Previous/ Chapter Index/ Next

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

Zelda sat on the porch of her house, tinkering with a small object without any real intentions. She spun it around in her hands, enjoying the feeling of metal in her hands.

There was a crack of a branch, and her head snaped up, looking for the source. When it happened again, she saw it was the tree to her left.

Goddess, it had been a long time since she felt this level of unsafety.

Back when the Malice first spread, she was used to the near constant lack of sleep. She was used to ever-present vigilance. She could still close her eyes and remember the time a moblin, tall, hulking, and absolutely deranged, had grabbed her by the ankle while she slept and flailed her around as if she were some doll filled with nothing but stuffing. She remembered curling up into the side of one of her travelling companions who’d gone on to live at Mabe Village, and the woman stroked Zelda’s hair like a mother would until she could recover from the incident and close her eyes again.

It felt like that time all over again.

“You alright, Zelda?” Daruk asked as he passed by the house. He stopped to lean on her railing. “It’s been a long day.”

“Day’s not over yet,” she muttered,

“Hey now, that’s no way to look at things! You’ve got to keep your chin up. Things will get better.”

“Do you think they will? Get better? The world, I mean.”

Daruk froze for a moment, his smile faltering. “I think… I think that we need to hope for that. Hope never hurt anyone. But I think we also need to plan for it not to. Being prepared also never hurt.”

Zelda toyed with a strand of her hair, unwilling to respond to that roundabout way of agreeing with Link: the world wasn’t going to go back.

“Does Mipha need help?” she asked instead.

“No, no you should stay here with Link.”

“Link?” Zelda asked, her head shooting up. “Link’s not here.”

Daruk instantly turned red. “Oh. I thought he might be. He’s not with Mipha or Urbosa, so I just assumed… I mean… you two are… close. Right?”

“Yeah?”

“He talks to me sometimes, ya know? And he talks about you.”

Zelda smiled. “That’s either a good thing or a bad thing.”

“No, no, it’s good.”

“Are you his wingman? You don’t need to talk him up to me, I hope you know. I hope he knows.”

“You like him then?”

Zelda buried her face in her hands before setting her random object down and pushing her hair away from her face. When she looked back up, her face was beat red. “Yes. I think it’s maybe a little obvious.”

“A little,” Daruk admitted with a chuckle. “You should just tell the little guy. We’re standing at the end of the world; no need to wait for something to happen anymore.”

Zelda laughed nervously. “I don’t think I have it in me to make a first move. It’s never been my thing. I’ll make the first move when proposing a new method of application to a guardian core, but not in a relationship.”

“You think he’s good at it either? If he was, you two would be engaged by now, he’d have taken every step at once.”

Zelda snorted. “You really are his wingman. You just want us married after, what, two weeks? Less?”

“We need entertainment around here. A wedding would be nice.”

Zelda shook her head and waved her hand, shooing him away. “Goodbye, Daruk.”  

“Just saying!”

“I don’t see you doing anything on your end to make that happen!” Zelda shot back, fighting back a grin.

He didn’t bother, heartily laughing as he pointed to Zelda in defeat. “You got me there.”

Daruk nodded to her and turned to leave, surprised when he saw her at his side. He eyed her, and she shrugged. “I’m going to find Link.”

“Good on you.”

“Stop,” she whispered before veering off.

She knew where he wasn’t, so she didn’t even bother checking Mipha’s or Urbosa’s. He wasn’t at the pond, or by the shops where some were still gathered together. He wasn’t near the benches where a few people were eating.

On a hunch, a morbid one, she headed back to his house and knocked loudly on the door, hoping she didn’t hear him inside. But sure enough, she could hear his footsteps thud close until he was on the other side of the door.

“Who is it?”

“Zelda.”

She heard the door unlock and she stepped in when it opened up. Link was dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt with a pair of mismatched socks rolled down because they were too high typically. She took her time appreciating how he looked when he was this dressed down. Not that he usually wore anything fancy. And call her superficial, but she didn’t hate when he wore short sleeves either.

His eyes were tired, bloodshot, baggy, and puffy from a day of tears, but it didn’t look like any of them were too recent. His hair was tousled still, as it usually was.

Zelda wanted to ask him what he was doing in the house that just yesterday housed three, and today was only lived in by one. That it was crazy that he could stand to sit in this place knowing that his parents were poisoned by Malice in the next room over.

She opted for the next best way she could phrase it.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or… not.”

“No, no, come in,” he said, gesturing her inside.

“Actually…” she started, glancing in the kitchen. There was a spilled spice on the counter next to leftovers that looked cold and forgotten and a wet paper towel still beside an empty glass. “Am I interrupting your dinner?”

“No. I… I just spilled some stuff. That’s all.”

Zelda glanced at his hands, sighing when she saw them shaking. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my house for the night. Get out of here, you know? Or, if you wanted me to stay here and keep you company?”

Link chewed at his lip. “I mean… if you’re offering, I’m not going to turn you down. This place smells like them, and I just… I need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, I’m really offering. However long you want.”

“Thank you, Zelda. Let me just grab some stuff.”

“Of course.”

Link went into his room, and Zelda could hear the shuffle of clothes and fabric shifting around. She wanted to offer to help, but she didn’t want him to think she thought he was unable or helpless. Given his grief-stricken state of mind, she didn’t want to take that chance of offending him.

On the end table by the couch, Zelda saw melted ice chips wrapped up in a paper towel, and when Link came back out of his room with a sweatshirt and shoes on and a bag over his shoulder, and his staff in his hand, she noticed that the spot over his bruised cheek was shimmering wet.

“You look like you were in a fight,” Zelda pointed out, just so he knew it wasn’t subtle.

“Thanks.”

“I have something for the swelling.”

“I’ll take you up on that, I think.”

She led him out, walking slowly with him back to her house and let him get settled while she got him two pills from the cabinet. Turning, she saw him right behind her, feeling for the cups in the cabinet.

“Need help?” she asked. Admittedly, she’d never seen Link get himself food or something to drink.

“No, I’m set. You don’t mind though, right? You’re not, like, short on cups?”

“No, no. You’re all set.”

“Thanks,” he said, turning on the faucet.

Curious, Zelda watched him stick a finger inside the glass, and once he felt the water, he turned off the tap. Zelda hummed with interest and handed him the pills.

He downed them in a gulp, and nodded his thanks. “I appreciate you inviting me, but honestly, I don’t think I’m good company. I’d like to just sleep, if that’s alright.”

“Of course it is. I’m tired too. It was… a day.”

“Yeah,” he laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, it was.” He sat on the couch that he was familiar with from his many visits and kicked off his shoes.

Zelda watched him, gnawing at her lip as she did. Daruk’s words from earlier banged around in her head: “We’re standing at the end of the world; no need to wait for something to happen anymore.”

“Link,” she said quickly so she couldn’t stop herself. “Do you want the bed?”

“Oh, no. I’m not taking your bed from you. But thank you.”

“Well… I mean… I don’t mind sharing. If you don’t.”

Link’s brows shot up, and he froze as red immediately began to flush his skin. “I… um…”

“You don’t have to,” Zelda amended quickly. “I just… the offer is there.”

His leg bounced rapidly as he thought. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“You’re not.”

Lips twitching up, he let out a soft laugh. “To be honest, I don’t know how to say yes without sounding overeager.”

“Are you? Overeager?”

Link chuckled again, laced with awkwardness and tension. “Maybe. Yes.”  

“Same. I had a chat with someone earlier, and now… now I’m just going to try to expand my fantastic social skills.”

“Practicing on me?” he asked, getting up and grabbing his staff. He didn’t know her house that well.

Instead of answering, Zelda grabbed Link’s hand and threaded her fingers through his, inspired by his admission that he just might be overeager to sleep in the same bed as her.

Link visibly swallowed, licking his dry lips as he fought to keep his breathing under control. “I feel like a teenager again,” he laughed, squeezing her hand before shaking it around playfully.

“I know,” she agreed, letting go so she could sit on the bed.

It wasn’t long before she and Link were lying awkwardly under the blankets, unsure what to do with themselves. Should they get comfortable and risk accidently touching the other? Should they just get that bit over with and just start with a casual leg touch?

“Am I the only one overthinking this?” Link asked after several tense minutes.

“Goddess, no. I was too. I mean, you’re okay if I accidently crash into you, right?”

“I’m okay if you do on purpose, too.”

Zelda felt her body relax a bit, just seconds before tensing up again. She felt a hand on her face, lightly tracing a small pattern.

“Thank you, Zelda,” Link said, letting his thumb glide along her skin. “For not letting me be alone tonight.”

She pressed his hand against her and turned her head into it, placing a small kiss on his palm. “I’m here for you.”

Link let out a deep breath and scooted closer to Zelda, practically against her. He felt Zelda tense up before turning her head over her shoulder. He imagined, from how loud her head was against the pillowcase, that she must be incredibly close.

“This okay with you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she muttered, only to feel his hands snake over her waist.

“How about this?”

Zelda chuckled softly and settled back against him, closing her eyes. “Mhmm.”

And then she stiffened when she felt his nose brush the back of her neck.

“This?”

This time, Zelda laughed out loud. “Yes, But weren’t you trying to sleep?”

“This is more fun,” he admitted, doing it again and letting his lips follow. She shivered and tried to turn back to him. “I can feel you react. It’s…”  he stopped looking for the right word.

“Fun?”

“I was going to go for a more romantic word to fit the mood, but yeah, fun.”

“It’s been a long day,” she breathed, leaning back into him. “Sleep and maybe your brain will work better tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow then.”

~~~

Zelda woke up that night with Link’s arms still around her, barely willing to move unless it was to get closer to him. But despite her comfort, she felt something was off, like someone was watching her.

Just seconds later, Link blinked his eyes open, rubbing them before cocking his head to the side. His eyes widened, and he patted Zelda frantically. “Zelda, wake up, I smell smoke. Is your house on fire?”

“Fire?” she asked, freeing herself from his arms. She trusted Link, and quickly opened the door to her room, looking at a dark house. Then, she bounded to the window and gasped.

“What?” Link asked.

“You’re right, fire. It’s… get up. We have to go help. It’s huge.”

“Okay,” Link breathed, grabbing for his things as quickly as Zelda did.

Zelda threw on some clothes she had on a chair, and waited with her head out the window until Link was ready.

They headed outside, and Zelda skidded to a stop, causing Link to crash hard into her, throwing her far off balance.

“Hello, Zelda,” a familiar voice said.

A red-clad figure stood before her and pulled off their mask.

“Dorian?”

[iridescent-petrichor]

we’ll meet again, chapter two

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: none?

Words: 1.2K

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The next time you saw Peter was over a year later.

 You easily managed to avoid him, especially once you two started going to high school. Despite living on the same street, you never saw him outside since that day. Even if he did go outside, you spent most of your time cooped up in your room trying to get a hold on your powers. It wasn’t easy trying to get better at controlling fire when the possibility of causing a house-fire lingered in the back of your mind whenever you practiced.

It was even harder trying to conceal your powers at school, keeping to yourself to prevent slipping up and burning someone or something in public. Today, like every day, you started your lunch heading to your usual spot behind the school before you heard the faint sound of someone yelling.

So much for peace and quiet.

When you walked around the corner to find the source of the noise, you saw a senior towering over-

Holy shit. Peter.

He was leaning against the wall, barely listening to whatever the guy was saying. You frowned – how was this kid always getting into trouble?

“Dude, what even is your problem?” You sighed, figuring he wasn’t going to do anything to save his own ass.

You began focusing on the trash can a couple feet behind him, raising your hand in an attempt to “aim” your power. You weren’t paying any more attention to whatever Peter was saying when suddenly, the trash can exploded in flames, making everyone, including yourself, jump away from it in fear.

Oops.

That’s when the guy – he must’ve been a senior – spun around, finally seeing you. He looked between you and the increasingly massive fire, eyes wide in fear. “What the fuck?” Pushing past you, he sprinted inside the school, leaving you alone with Peter.

“Hey.” You muttered, trying to ignore the obvious use of your powers.

“You’re-” He stopped himself, hesitating for a moment. “You’re like me.” The words were barely audible, and if you were any further away, you probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“You’re like me.” You repeated quietly. “We should probably go just in case that guy comes back with-” You stopped, a wave of nausea hitting you like a ton of bricks. Somehow, you were outside Peter’s house, despite having just been at the school.

“Super speed.” He explained, seeing your confused expression.

“Whoa.” You muttered, leaning on him for support while you got over the nausea. Once you did, you turned back to him. “We should get back before lunch.”

“Or we could skip for the day.” He grinned, and you let him pull you into his house to play video games for the rest of the day.

 That was only the start of your friendship with Peter, much to your parents chagrin, because after that you two spent almost all of your free time together. You were inseparable.

While your parents warned you of “boys like him” every time you mentioned hanging out with him, it seemed his mother was more than happy to see that he made a friend.

Sometimes, like tonight, Peter would climb up the tree by your window and coax you into sneaking out to hang out with him. You always said yes, knowing you could never say no to him.

“C’mon, Y/N!” He whispered, leaning halfway through your bedroom window. “I even rented that movie you like, we can watch it together!”

“Pete, you hate watching movies. You can’t sit still long enough to get through it.” You said, not moving from your spot on your bed.

“Please? I promise I’ll sit through the movie.” You sat up, finally looking into his eyes.

“You said that last time.” Despite yourself, you grabbed a sweater and pulled it on, grabbing Peter’s hand and letting him speed you to his house. The movie was already starting, and you and Peter were sitting on the couch. You smiled, excited to show Peter your favorite movie.

He lasted twenty minutes.

In all fairness, it’s longer than he’s lasted sitting still since the day you’ve met him, so you could at least applaud him for that.

One second you were watching the movie and the next, with a gust of wind, he was gone. Sighing inwardly, you turned off the TV and turned to him. He was only on the other side of the room, in the middle of a game of Pong on an arcade machine he definitely stole.

“Wanna go for a walk?” You suggested, smiling when you saw him stop.

“Yeah.”

It was a nice night, perfect for a nighttime walk. You kept your eyes on the sky, enjoying seeing the stars. The two of you stayed in a comfortable silence, walking the empty streets and just enjoying each other’s company.

“I’m glad we’re friends.” Peter spoke first, keeping his hands in his pockets and looking straight ahead.

“Me too.” You said, looking at him. He looked nice, moonlight showing off his silver hair beautifully. When he looked back to you, you quickly turned your gaze back to the sky, embarrassed that he caught you staring at him. His quiet laugh made your face go warm, wishing you were the one that had super speed so you could leave before making even more of a fool of yourself.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer while you walked. The gesture made you finally look at him, greeted by his warm smile.

“I have a feeling we’ll be close for life.” His words made you laugh, nodding in agreement. The night was practically perfect, if only you could just tell him how you felt.

  “What do you mean we’re moving?!” It had been two years since that night, and your dad had just gotten a promotion that would take your whole family to New York.

“Sweetie, I thought you liked New York.” Your mother tried to reason.

“It’s so far away, and I don’t want to leave Peter!” The thought of moving so many miles away from your best friend made your heart drop.

“Well I’m sorry but that’s how it has to be. We’re leaving in two weeks, start figuring out what you want to pack.” Your father said, putting an end to the discussion when he walked out of the room.

With tears threatening to spill down your face, you ran down the street to Peter’s house. When you knocked, he was there in under a second, grabbing your hand and pulling you inside.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You shook your head, gaze falling to the floor when you got to the basement.

“We’re moving.”

It was silent for a long time, but you couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Wh-what do you mean you’re moving? Moving where? I mean like you’re kinda my only friend and my mom and sister really like you but if it isn’t too far I could-” You knew he would just keep talking forever if you didn’t stop him, so you cut in.

“New York.”

Peter’s never been speechless before, so the fact that he was quiet for so long after you told him terrified you.

“When?” His voice was small, almost scared.

“Two weeks.” You heard him take a deep breath, and grabbed his hand, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance.

“Fuck.”

[somethinginthewayiam]

What happens in New York... Part 5 - Birthday Boy

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Anna (OFC)

Warnings: language, talk of sex, alcohol

Words: 3170

Summary: Anna’s event is almost over and it is a complete success. It still tales a little convincing from her assistans Sandra, but Anna finally decides to join Sebastian at his birthday party at some club. She allowes herself to give in to her feelings for him and it is getting steamy pretty quickly...

Previous chapters:  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

It was getting late and a few guests had already left but there were still enough people that it was loud enough in the Grand Ballroom that you had to raise your voice when you weren’t able to catch a quiet corner or were standing or sitting quite close to your conversation partner. But Anna didn’t mind that because it meant everybody was having a good time.

It was well past 11 PM and Anna treated herself to her first glass of champagne of the night. She was standing next to Sandra who also had a glass in her hand. “To a great first event that couldn’t have gone any better, boss”, she said and clinked glasses with Anna. “Yes, it went well, didn’t it?”, she said with a bright smile and took a big sip of her drink. But the well-going of the party wasn’t the only thing Anna was smiling about.

About 1 hour ago… “Flowers for the pretty lady”, she heard a voice behind her and as she looked up, she found a single pedicel of paperwhites in front of her face. A surprised smile appeared on her face as she laid eyes on her favorite flowers. She took it out of the hand and turned around to face Sebastian.

“From all the flowers you could have ripped out of the bouquet, why this one?”, she asked curiously, trying eagerly to hold back that big smile that was about to creep up on her. “I don’t know, it just seemed right”, he shrugged his shoulders, his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. Anna bit down on her lip to still hold back the smile but he seemed to notice. “Was it a good choice?”, he asked with a cheeky grin. “You could say so”, she said as she twisted the flower between her fingers and looked down at it.

“Alright, give me your number, I’ll call you up when I’m done here”, she gave in and fished for her phone in the décolleté of her dress. “Whoa, what else have you got in there?”, he asked both surprised and amused. “Only what mother nature gave me”, she said as she scrolled threw her phone and clicked to create a new contact. “Oh, I’m well aware”, he said with a wink. “More typing, less talking”, she said and handed him her phone. With quick fingers he typed in his number and handed her back her phone. “I’m waiting for your call”, he said with a wink and now it was his turn to step closer and kiss her on the cheek as a temporary goodbye. He really hoped he would see her again tonight.

“What are you smiling about?”, Sandra pulled her out of her daydreaming. “The party, of course”, Anna said and quickly took another sip. “I know you love your work, but that was a boy-smile…You’re thinking about that Sebastian-guy, am I right?”, Sandra asked with a lowered voice and poked Annas ribs with her elbow. “I’m not”, Anna insisted, but couldn’t wipe that smile off her face. “Oh, yes you are! Look at yourself, you’re blushing”, Sandra said and started laughing. Anna instinctively reached up to touch her cheek with her free hand. “Come on, you know you want to tell me”, Sandra wiggled her eyebrows.

“He wants to meet up after I’m done here”, Anna finally admitted and felt her cheeks burning up. “Oh god, and what are you still doing here then?”, she asked with big eyes. “Hello? My work? I can’t leave before the Hastings did. Clarice would kill me if she found out”, Anna rolled her eyes. “Speaking of the devil”, Sandra mumbled and took a sip of her champagne, nodding to the front.

When Anna looked up, she saw the Hastings and her boss Clarice walk up to her. She quickly put her glass down on the nearby table and smoothened out the skirt of her dress. “Anna, darling, what a wonderful night. I can’t remember having such a wonderful time at my own charity”, Mrs. Hastings came over to give her little air kisses on each side of her face again. “I’m glad you had such a wonderful time, Mrs. Hastings”, Anna said with a nervous smile. “It was really a magnificent party. Well done”, Mr. Hastings said and congratulated Anna with a strong handshake. After a little polite chitchat, Mrs. Hastings kissed Anna again for goodbye and linked arms with her husband as they started to walk towards the exit.

“Come by my office on Monday and let’s talk about your performance tonight”, Clarice said and gave Anna a little kiss on one cheek before she left with the Hastings. “Oh my god”, Anna formed with her lips as she turned around to Sandra and she resisted the urge to jump up and down like teenagers. “I told you everything would go fine”, Sandra said with an I-told-you-so expression on her face, but you could see that she was hyped too.

“Oh god, this is so amazing, I could cry”, Anna said and felt her eyes getting wet. “Should I get us another glass?”, she asked instead and emptied hers with one big sip. “Are you kidding me?”, Sandra asked with big eyes. “Okay, then just for me”, Anna said a bit irritated and pulled up her eyebrows. “No, I mean, what are you still doing here?”, Sandra asked. Anna looked at her confused. “The Hastings are gone as well as Clarice. You should be in a cab right now, calling that hot guy where to meet up”, Sandra explained and took the glass out of Anna’s hand. “You’re right…you’re right”, Anna said and nodded her head in accordance with her words. “But the caterer and the band…”, Anna pointed towards the kitchen and the stage, where the band was still playing since they were booked until midnight.

“Don’t worry about it, I will take care of anything. Now go, get laid”, Sandra said and only resisted slapping Annas ass by still having a glass in each hand. “Sandra!”, Anna called out indignantly just to burst out laughing the next second. “Go!”, Sandra said and Anna finally got going. She kissed Sandra goodbye on her cheek, mumbled an embraced “Thank you” at her ear and almost ran out of the ballroom. She took the elevator up to the room where she had gotten ready in the afternoon and grabbed her purse. Sandra would take care of her clothes and bring them to her office on Monday.

While she rode back down to the lobby, she typed “I’m done here, where are you?”, into her phone. Just a few seconds later he texted her the address of a club Downtown. A big smile appeared on her face and her heart raced. She had butterflies in her stomach as she thought about seeing him again and couldn’t wait to finally get into a cab.

While she was on her way to the club, Anna opened up her ponytail and combed out the hairspray Gladys had used to fix everything. She knew how much Sebastian liked it when she wore her hair down. She put the little brush back into her purse and pulled out her cosmetic bag. Anna freshened up her make-up and was finished just as she arrived at the club. She paid the driver and got out.

Anna walked up to the bouncer and told him her name. Sebastian had texted her that he would put her on the list. With a nod towards another man at the entrance, he ticked her off the list and she was able to walk through the open doors.

It was almost midnight and the club was stacked with people. Anna had problems getting through the big crowd. She squeezed past people towards the back of the club where the booths were. She had to check in again with a bouncer and when he had ticked her off his list, she was finally able to get to the seating area. Her eyes wandered over the booths and spotted him before he saw her. The butterflies in her stomach were wide awake again. He had the top of his dress shirt unbuttoned and his jacket laid next to him on the big sofa.

Anna walked straight towards Sebastian and he stood up with a big smile as soon as he spotted her, so happy that she had actually come. Before he could even say something, her hands reached up to cup his face and pull it close for a deep, passionate kiss. His arms immediately wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. It took her a few seconds before she pulled back, her hands still on his face. “Happy Birthday”, she said and licked her lips. “It really is”, he said a bit out of breath.

“Uhm, those are my friends”, he said after a few moments and after realizing they were still at a club and not alone in his apartment. “Oops”, Anna said to him and turned around to face four surprised faces. “Guys, this is Anna”, Sebastian said and Anna leaned a little forward to shake everyone’s hand as Sebastian introduced them since they were sitting in a little booth-like corner. “We heard a lot about you”, a big, tall, muscled guy on the other end of the table said as she came to shake his hand, but she didn’t catch his name because it was too loud in here.

“Oh, I hope only good things”, she said and took a seat next to Sebastian, who immediately pulled her close and didn’t let go of her hand. “As if I could say anything bad about you”, Sebastian muttered at her ear and his breath tickled her neck. She turned her head to face him and got lost in his eyes again.

“I heard you had your first self-planned event tonight. How was it?”, the guy from before asked. “Yes, I did and it was really great. But I’m really glad it is over. Those were some stressful weeks”, Anna told him and rolled her eyes. “Yes, she was really stressed out, but I’m glad I was able to help her with that a bit”, Sebastian said and winked. Anna’s elbow hit his ribs and he coughed down a laugh. “So what do you guys do?”, Anna looked at Sebastians friends in a need to change the subject.

The small talk went on for a little while until a waiter came to take the next drink orders. “What do you want to drink? A Jack Daniels maybe?”, Sebastian asked with wiggling eyebrows. “Oh no, thanks. I always end up having sex with you when that drink is near me”, she said to him. “We’ll take two Jack Daniels”, Sebastian turned to the waiter and placed his order. “You’re so stupid”, she playfully slapped his shoulder. “But you like me”, he said with a big smile and it didn’t sound like a question. “Maybe, but for the sake of your birthday, let’s say I do”, she flirted with him and casually rested her hand on his thigh.

Their drinks came just a moment later and everybody raised their glasses for a toast. “To Sebastian, a great man, a great friend and a great actor. Happy Birthday, buddy!”, Don, his friend and personal trainer said. Anna was able to catch his name from the conversation before when one of the other guys asked him a question. “To Sebastian!”, everybody else joined in and took a sip of their drinks. “Oh, I’m gonna regret this tomorrow”, Anna said to herself as she felt the burning liquid pouring down her throat. She didn’t even like the drink itself but what it reminded her of.

“Hey, let’s go dance”, Anna said and got up. “I don’t know”, Sebastian shook his head. “Come on. I had to dance with you at my party, now you have to dance with me at your party”, Anna said to him and pulled on his hand to get him to stand up. “Yeah, but I don’t know how to move to that music”, he said and pointed up towards the boxes. “Oh, I see”, Anna said and nodded her head with a playful smile. “You’re afraid you can’t bring it out there”, she said and recreated his little speech from her charity event when he wanted to get her to dance with him.

“I see what you’re doing and it’s not going to work”, he called her out and pulled on her hand to get her to sit back down again. “But maybe this will”, she said and bent down to give him a deep kiss. “Let’s dance!”, Sebastian almost jumped up when Anna broke the kiss again which caused her to laugh out loud. He grabbed her hand and together they walked out of the booth area and downstairs to the dancefloor.

A remixed version of Ariana Grande’s Into You started playing. Anna had to smile about the song since she knew a bit of the lyrics from hearing it on the radio all the time. Sebastian led her to almost the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by dozens of people. Anna immediately got hot, but maybe it was just Sebastian standing so close to her. His hands were on her hips and one of them started a little journey on its own.

Anna started moving to the beat of the music, feeling the vibrations of the bass wandering through her body. She looked up and met with Sebastians eyes that were completely focused on her. Her arms reached up and wrapped around his neck. It only took her a second to forget where she was and only saw him. Every move she made, every sway of her hips, every body-roll, she did it just for him. She wanted to turn him on and make him go crazy just as he made her crazy by just being so close to her, looking the way he did.

Anna turned around, took his arms and wrapped them around her waist from behind and moved with him. She stuck her ass out and pressed it against his pelvis, circling her hips. It looked like they almost had sex on the dancefloor. Normally, Anna would never act so over the top, so intimate with someone in public but they didn’t even had the chance to have some space between them even if they had wanted to because of all the people. But she lost herself in him in a way she had never experienced before with anyone.

She turned back around and looked up at his face. Anna couldn’t resist and got on her tiptoes to kiss him right there on the dancefloor. She put her arms around his neck again and deepened the kiss. She wanted more and more of him and there was only one way to get that.

“Let’s get out of here”, she said by his ear and had to scream to fight the loud music. Instead of answering her with words, he just started nodding heavily and made Anna laugh. They trudged their way through the crowd back to their booth so Anna could get her purse. “We’re leaving”, Sebastian said to his friends. “Yeah, we figured that. We saw you ‘dancing’”, Don said and made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. Sebastian rolled his eyes at him, but then said goodbye with a handshake to him and his friends. Anna waved in the round and they got going.

Outside, Anna was finally able to catch some fresh air. Only now she noticed how stifling the air was in the club. She took a few deep breaths as Sebastian tried to get a cab and just then she realized what she was about to do. She would have sex with him…again! And, oh boy, she couldn’t wait.

“Anna!”, he called her over and held the cab door open for her. He told the driver his address and the cab started to move as Anna intervened. “Please take us to 122nd and Manhattan, thank you”, she said and dropped back into her seat. Sebastian looked at her with a questioning look. “It’s my address…it’s closer”, she mumbled and blushed a bit.

He should be happy that she had just invited him to her apartment for the first time, but he only heard “Let’s have sex immediately”. Sebastian leaned over and started kissing her, he got really into it. “Sebastian, not here”, she pushed him back a little with a shy smile and looked to the front of the cab to check if the driver was watching them instead of the street. “Come on, I bet he has seen way more than two people kissing”, Sebastian tried to calm her. “Oh yes, I did”, the driver said from his seat.

The fact that he was listening and actually felt the need to join their conversation also convinced Sebastian to hold back until they arrived at Annas apartment. Sebastian paid the cab driver and as soon as the cab was gone, he was alone with Anna. Weirdly enough, nobody was around at the moment and it was just a bit over midnight on a Saturday night.

“So…”, Sebastian said and walked over to her. “So…”, she replied. “Are we moving this upstairs?”, he asked her as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “You are eager to see my apartment”, she said with a playful smile and wrapped her arms around his neck, her purse in one hand.

“Yeah, let’s say that and also I can’t wait to get my birthday present”, he winked at her with a smug smile. “Birthday present? It’s past midnight, your birthday is over. How long are you intending to ride the birthday train?”, she asked back. “As long as it takes to get you to ride the birthday boy”, he answered and Anna was surely surprised by his answer. Not because how direct it was but how accurate to what she was thinking.

“Okay, that was cheesy. Thank god I know you can do better or else I wouldn’t even take you upstairs”, Anna said and got out of Sebastians grip. She turned around to walk over to the buildings entrance and immediately felt Sebastian’s arms wrapped around her waist again, his mouth at her neck, kissing upwards to her ear.

“Can I please come up and see your apartment?”, he asked in the sweetest voice and placed further kisses on her neck and behind her ear as he waited for her answer. “That’s how you ask a girl”, Anna mumbled with closed eyes and bit down on her lip. She needed to take him up and into her apartment because she wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. So, she took his hands off her waist and kept holding his hand with her left one as she dragged him behind her towards the apartment building.

[2manyfandoms2count]

I love you (not) - Chapter 4

Slightly late for @marichatmay day 4, yesterday was kind of a long day and this chapter just kept getting longer. Oops. Ft. real cats, and a nod to Star Wars day (belated May the Fourth be with you). Enjoy!

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Chapter 4: In which the flirting continues and an attempt to break up is thwarted. Again.

Marinette almost turned around the moment she saw Chat Noir standing next to the café, looking at the cats on the other side of the window.

Well, had it just been her partner, she would have walked straight up to him without a second thought, and diligently sat through their date, only to apologise at the end of it, saying that she’d fallen in love with an image, and that she didn’t think they belonged together.

What (for ‘who’ was a little presumptuous a pronoun) stood in front of her was a figure in a cardboard rendering of Chat Noir’s suit, complete with paper bell, tail, and cardboard baton. She would have forgiven its use as a disguise, even though the details kind of defeated the purpose, had the reflection of the headpiece’s eye hole not revealed that he was actually transformed underneath.

Nope , she thought at the sight. Can’t do this, nope, nope, nop-

“Marinette!” Chat Noir spotted her just as she was about to leave, and started enthusiastically waving at her.

She plastered a smile on her face, and clutched her purse as she made her way towards him. Kwami, give me strength . She wondered if ridicule was a good enough excuse to break up with someone. It wasn’t very nice, but she was getting desperate for an excuse.

“Cardboard Noir, I presume?” Her voice had an exasperated edge to it, which Chat didn’t pick up on.

“The one and only!” He twirled around to give her the full 360° view of the costume. She could tell that he was grinning under the helmet.

“To what do I owe the… pleasure?”

“Anonymity, obviously.” He rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t want this date to finish in the tabloids, am I right?”

Sure, because somebody in a piece of cardboard is so much more inconspicuous than somebody who might be wearing a Chat Noir cosplay in a cat café , she rolled her eyes as she saw people passing by and doing double takes as they walked past him, but kept her point to herself.

“How... thoughtful of you.” She smiled slightly tensely.

“Isn’t it?” Chat Noir extended his kraft paper-covered arm and she took it awkwardly for the couple of steps that separated them from the café’s door.

Chat hurried forward to open the door for her. “After you, my… Princess.” He bowed.

She bit back a smug smile as the bells jingled above her head. The nickname "my Lady" would totally have been justified in this situation, yet he’d refrained from using it. She deduced that it must be too attached to Ladybug; maybe there was hope that he still had a crush on her alter ego. She could work with that.

She walked into the shop, and almost tripped on an orange tabby cat who’d apparently been making the most of the sunspot on the other side of the door. It looked up at her indignantly even as she petted him to apologise, but didn’t move.

Behind her, a grey sphynx tried to make a run for it, but Chat picked it up and closed the door before he could cross the threshold.

“Hi there! Welcome to the C afé des Chats . How can I help you today?” A woman emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on her cat-themed apron. Her name, Cathy, was embroidered on it.

“Hello! Could we get a table for two, please?” Marinette smiled.

“Of course! Pick a spot!”

Marinette looked around the room. Apart from a small group of friends sitting near the window, and who were too engrossed in laughing and taking pictures of the cats to acknowledge their presence, all the seats were empty.

“How about that table over there?” Chat leaned towards her ear and pointed towards a cozy booth at the back of the room. She jumped slightly at the sudden proximity. He didn’t notice, as the cat in his arms started meowing, and Cathy came out from behind the counter to take it in her arms.

“Oh, let me take Yoda off your hands. Did he try running away again?” She cradled him, the cat purring as she did.

“Yes, I feel like he might take after his namesake and like the outdoors more.” Chat joked.

“Maybe I should have picked another name for him, then. It would save me a lot of time looking for him around the neighborhood.” Cathy laughed. “I’ll let you two get installed, I’ll be right with you.”

The pair made their way towards their table, Chat letting Marinette take the couch while he pulled out the chair facing her. He sat on the very edge of his seat, the cardboard taking up most of the space. They both picked up the menu, and ordered their drinks (and a lightsaber-themed pistachio éclair for Chat), when Cathy came around.

Marinette tapped her fingers together as they waited, trying to find a conversation topic. She decided to acknowledge the smaller elephant in the room.

“You know, I think we’re okay now, you can take off your costume.” Marinette pointed out. He looked like he could fall off his chair at any moment.

“Are you ashamed of me?” His hand flew to his chest, almost knocking his paper bell off.

“Me? Never!” she scoffed.

“Good, because this isn’t coming off anytime soon.” Chat Noir crossed his arms over his chest. She could tell he was smirking under his headpiece.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that…” It was Marinette’s turn to smirk, as Cathy arrived and put down two cups of hot chocolate, and Chat’s pâtisserie, in front of them.

“Is that a challenge?” Chat’s eyebrow shot up, and he turned towards Cathy. “Excuse me, Ma’am, would you happen to have a straw I could use?”

The lady blinked at him a couple of times, perplexed, before realising he was serious. “I probably do, let me go check in the pantry.”

“You’re not seriously doing this.” Marinette facepalmed.

“I’m just showing the one thing you should know about me if you want to date me; I don’t back down from challenges.” He thanked Cathy, who’d returned, and started poking a hole in his headset.

Trust me, I know that , Marinette sighed. “I take it back. It’s not a challenge. Just take your… mask off, and enjoy your order. Please?”

Chat Noir squinted at her suspiciously. “You pawmise that you’re fine with this?”

“Absolutely. I just want you to be more comfortable.”

“Fine.” He took off his headpiece, making his hair stick up from static electricity.

Marinette stifled a giggle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she cleared her throat, pulled her phone out and snapped a picture, before showing the screen to him. “I just like what you did to your hair.”

“Ah, yes. Beautiful,” her partner laughed. “I wonder what Gabriel Agreste would think about it.”

“I actually think he’d love it. It kind of looks like his haircut.” Marinette snorted.

“Yeah, that won’t do.” Some colour drained from his cheeks as he shook his head and tried to flatten his hair. The real bell under his costume jingled as he did so.

Marinette was about to ask why he seemed so upset about the comparison when a black cat jumped up on their table, looking at Chat’s éclair with interest.

“Hey, Chat Noir? Looks like you have some competition for your tea…” She took a sip of her hot chocolate and sighed happily as the rich aroma hit her taste buds.

“What?” He stopped wiggling around, his hair having regained its normal appearance. “Oh. No, no, kitty, this isn’t for you.” He slid the plate away from it. The cat tilted its head and meowed. “Being all cute won’t work on me, I’m cuter. Meow .”

“Hmm, I’m not sure about that.” Marinette stroked the cat’s head, making it walk towards her and purr. “This one is pretty adorable. Pincushion,” she read off its tag. “How original.”

“You’re not even saying it’s a claw-se call? You wound me, Marinette.” Chat gasped, before taking a bite of his éclair. “You know, I’m not sure I could be with someone who doesn’t think I’m cute.”

Marinette rolled her eyes affectionately. “Kitty, I think you know very well what I think,” she replied, putting a hand over his on the table. He gulped down the rest of his éclair, and stared into her eyes.

Pincushion meowed again after what she knew was too long for friends to gaze at each other, and Marinette jolted, feeling herself blush. Why had she done that? She should have just gone with it, it would have made everything easier. You know, Chat Noir, I definitely don’t think you’re cute. Let’s get the bill and be on our way…

Chat Noir cleared his throat, and waved towards Cathy. “Well, this was nice, but it’s getting a little late, isn’t it? Could I have the bill, please?”

“Yes, you’re right, we should probably get going… Wait a second, what do you mean could I have the bill? We’re splitting this.”

“No we’re not. I ordered the most.” Chat shot her a pointed look.

“Fine, then let me pay for my own drink, then.”

“Meow way! I invited you! I meant it when I said my treat!”

“Yes, but…” Marinette scrambled for an excuse, cursing her brain which had decided to notice that Chat’s cheeks seemed quite pink, and that she thought it looked good on him, especially combined to his slightly dishevelled hair.

“I’ll tell you what; if you really think I don’t owe you anything, then just consider this an advance for my birthday. You can pay me back in macarons.” Chat’s eyes lit up hungrily as he interrupted her.

“Your birthday?” Marinette tilted her head quizzically. “Is that soon?”

Chat froze in his seat. Ladybug had warned him about this. They weren’t supposed to share anything about their personal lives, with anyone. Just in case it landed in the wrong ears.

Besides, his birthday wasn’t until September. Which, since he’d invited her on this date, she could interpret as him thinking their relationship would last that long. Which he really hoped it wouldn’t (the romantic one, that is - he still wanted to be friends with Marinette behind the mask).

“Erm, yeah, it’s… Next week?” He scratched the back of his neck nervously. That seemed alright in terms of timeline.

“So soon…” Marinette trailed off, looking at the empty cup before her. Her partner’s birthday seemed like something she should know, yet as much as she raked her brain, she couldn’t recall a single conversation they’d had on the topic. “Does Ladybug know?”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want her to make a fuss.” He waved her concern away, and swiftly stole the credit card machine from Cathy as she returned with it. He tapped his card on it, looking Marinette straight in the eye as he did.

“Chat Noir!” She cried out indignantly. She’d been too engrossed in the consideration that she couldn’t decently break up with him now when his birthday was just around the corner, to anticipate his next move.

“Sorry, Princess.” He smiled smugly as he thanked the café owner and took his receipt. “In my defence, it makes me feel better about eating so much when I came over to your place for lunch, when I’d only brought a flower as a present.”

Marinette held his gaze for a bit, and, seeing his earnestness, she sighed. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” He nodded, and then turned towards Cathy, who was awkwardly shuffling next to their table.

“Is everything alright, Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to intrude, but… are you really Chat Noir?” She asked hopefully.

“See, the costume is inconspicuous!” Chat Noir exclaimed, sticking his tongue out at Marinette. “I mean, yes, I am.”

“I’d totally understand if you said no, but would you mind taking a picture with some of the cats? I’m happy to keep it to myself, and not put it up with the other cat pictures if you’d prefer, it’s just that I’m such a huge fan…”

“I’d love to!” Chat Noir jumped to his feet and started peeling his disguise off. “Would it be okay if my… Marinette was in the picture with me?” He winced at the formulation of his question. He wasn’t sure if it was worse than if he’d called her his girlfriend.

“Yes, of course! Here, let me grab Yoda, and maybe Pincushion and…”

Marinette didn’t have time to explore the warm feeling Chat calling her “his” Marinette, in a very excited and pure way, had elicited in her chest, as Cathy shoved a cat in her arms and pushed Chat next to her on the couch. She grinned for the photographer, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks.

“Purr-fect!” Chat beamed as Cathy showed them the picture.

She melted a little at how happy he looked, chatting away to figure out a way to get a copy of the picture. I can’t hurt him, not now , she thought as she nodded along and gave her number to Cathy so she could send her the shot.

What she could do, though, was try to figure out a birthday present for him. Something useful, that he’d be able to keep when she broke up with him after they broke up, probably a week after she gave it to him.

She thought about it all the way Home.