#that I was literally losing my hair (I’m still hoping it regains its old thickness)

[sassyandclassy94]

Funny how a bad day makes you a whole lot less excited and more hesitant to return to work the next day…

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

[notapaladin]

burn your kingdom down, pt 2

“And I said, ‘this is oneshot,’ you know, like a liar.”

ANYWAY, here is part 2! Following Acatl & Teomitl’s previous fight against Tezcatlipoca’s creatures, they discuss their relationship, plan against future threats to their happiness, deal decisively with at least one of those threats...and get laid. Yeah, there’s smut in this!

Part one

It’s also on AO3!

-

They had to stop kissing, eventually. Not that Acatl wanted to—gods, he couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without it, every minute he wasn’t kissing Teomitl now felt like a tragic waste of time—but it turned out that not only was it possible to literally kiss someone breathless, doing so had a disagreeable tendency to suck all the moisture out of your mouth. And then, too, Teomitl was still weak from his injuries; when he arched his back with a groan that mingled pleasure with pain, Acatl pulled away with a murmured apology.

“Hmph,” Teomitl said into his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

Acatl ran a hand up his back, feeling the warmth of his skin through several layers of bandages. Teomitl was trembling a little, and he didn’t think it was from the lingering heat of their kisses. Gods, he could still feel that mouth on his. “You should eat. Regain your strength.”

“Mmm.” He was frowning as he drew away, but he dutifully returned to picking at his food.

Acatl spent a long moment just watching him, his heart so full that he thought it would burst. He looked like he’d been kissed, hair ruffled and mouth red, and didn’t seem inclined to fix either one of those things. The warm hands currently wrapping up another bite-sized mouthful of fish and peppers in a piece of flatbread had just been on Acatl’s own skin, tracing old scars as though they were something precious. I love you. The words pulsed through him in time with his heartbeat, but even as he started to smile a second, more vicious thought crept in to steal his joy. I love you, and I almost lost you.

Abruptly, not touching Teomitl was absolutely impossible. He shifted closer, put an arm around Teomitl’s waist, and was immediately rewarded with solid warmth against his side and a beloved head coming to rest on his shoulder. This close, he could see the way his lover’s jaw clenched to fight back a yawn.

“You could sleep.” I’m not going anywhere.

Teomitl made a disgruntled noise. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

Since Teomitl wasn’t looking at him—he was instead determinedly applying himself to his meal as though each bite was a foe to be conquered—he gave into the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m well aware. But I seem to recall you fussing over me when my injuries weren’t nearly so severe, so you can hardly complain if I return the favor. I did tell you I love you, didn’t I?” It came out huffier than he’d intended it to, and for a moment he thought he’d misstepped.

Then Teomitl, turning red, set his plate down and buried his face into the side of Acatl’s neck. His voice came out muffled by his skin. “You did. Your timing is still terrible.”

He couldn’t help but smile into Teomitl’s hair. It was tempting to pet down his side, and so he did—because he could, because now he was allowed. He kept his touch gentle, feeling the way it made him shiver. “I’ll have to keep repeating myself until it isn’t, then.”

“Acatl.”

Even just the sound of his name on Teomitl’s lips made his heart melt. Words failed him; all he could do was shift his weight so they both sat a bit more comfortably, Teomitl warm and heavy against him. The frescoes on the walls seemed to gleam a little more brightly. Chicomecoatl’s own luck must be with me, because I surely don’t deserve this.

Teomitl’s breathing turned slow and measured. He was quiet for so long that Acatl thought he’d fallen asleep, and then he murmured, “...Since when have you loved me, anyway?”

Gods. “I don’t know,” he began, but almost immediately he realized it was partially a lie. He might not know when it started, but he knew the first time he’d been sure of it—the first time he’d looked at Teomitl and the realization that this was what love felt like had dropped into his mind like the first rain after the dry season. “I think...certainly when you came to see me after the plague.”

Teomitl drew in a breath. “You remember that?” It didn’t sound as though it pleased him, and Acatl wondered why. Had he really regretted his actions that much?

He flattened his palm against the corded muscle overlaying Teomitl’s ribs, feeling the way it made his breath catch. “I’ll never forget. You were...you looked…” He shook his head. “Imperial.” Gods, there was no way to describe the emotions that had swamped him on that day. Teomitl had lifted his head and was staring at him, but he kept his eyes on his lover’s discarded plate. “I knew I’d serve you—love you—with my whole heart.”

Teomitl made a soft noise, and when Acatl turned his head their mouths met again. It was soft and sweet, and when Teomitl breathed, “Mm, Acatl…” into the space between them he knew he was lost again.

Gentle, whispered the rational part of his mind. He’s still injured. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from sliding his hand down over the curve of Teomitl’s hip, and when he did that Teomitl made a sound that had him deepening their kiss, burying a hand in Teomitl’s thick hair to pull him closer. He wanted—he needed—more. It quickly turned almost biting, their lips parting for each other’s tongues just briefly enough to be intoxicating, and when Teomitl ran a hand over his chest and caught the edge of a nipple with one nail he gasped at the spark of pleasure.

When they pulled apart, Teomitl didn’t go far. His voice was rough and his eyes were shining and he was beautiful. “All this time I thought I had no chance, that you were indifferent at best…”

The hand on his chest slid down over his stomach, and for a moment he couldn’t think past the entirely inappropriate surge of lust. Then his words hit him, and he felt his face go hot. “All this—I mean, how long have you…?”

At least he wasn’t the only one; Teomitl actually had to avert his gaze, voice lowering as though he was embarrassed by the answer he gave. “Months.” There was a short huff of laughter. “Sometimes I think it was even from the moment you threw a knife at me—“

He bristled. “I did not throw it at you—“

“—but when Tizoc tried to kill you...that’s when I knew. The idea of losing you...it nearly killed me.” His voice grew softer and softer; when Acatl smoothed a hand over the back of his neck, he trembled. “I think it might have, if he’d succeeded.”

For a long moment, he found himself speechless. Memories flashed crystal-clear through his mind—the ahuizotls charging to his rescue, Teomitl’s hands on his knives for an instant before he handed them over, a cut-off comment that he didn’t look well. The way he’d smiled, as proud as anything, when he’d told him he’d broken out of his rooms to save him. Duality. How must he have been feeling, knowing I might die? But that was a question he already knew the answer to. The same way I felt when he was bleeding in my arms. “...I’m here,” he whispered. “And I won’t leave you.”

Teomitl’s sweet smile made him blush all over again. “I know.”

What else could he do except kiss him? The first brush of soft lips against his made him hope, just for a moment, that he’d succeed in keeping it gentle. The last thing he wanted to do was jostle Teomitl’s still-healing wounds.

Teomitl, it seemed, had other plans. He let Acatl control the pace for the span of a heartbeat before surging up, twisting in Acatl’s arms like a snake to bury both hands in his hair and press him down onto the mat. Stunned, off-balance, he went willingly. The reeds were a little rough even through his cloak, but that came a distant second to the way Teomitl seemed determined to devour him. It was a kiss with teeth, and he let out a breathless moan when a knee nudged his thighs apart.

“We should—“ He cut himself off with a gasp, because Teomitl’s mouth had lowered to his throat and the heat of those lips on his skin sent desire simmering through his veins. “Ah—nnh, Teomitl, we need to figure out what to do about Tizoc-tzin.”

That got Teomitl’s attention, at least. When he lifted his head, his voice was a soft, dark thing, like a jaguar with its claws out. “I said I’d give it a few years, Acatl. But if you want…”

His heart was pounding. It took him a moment to breathe, and then he rasped out, “No.”

“Hm. Alright, then.” Teomitl shifted, bracing himself on the mat, and Acatl realized he was shaking with the effort. It seemed that not even nearly dying had taught him the value of knowing his own limits, and it made something soft unfurl in his chest.

When he pushed himself upright, gently folding them both back into a more-or-less seated position, Teomitl went without trouble. It left him essentially in Acatl’s lap, which wasn’t something he would ever complain about. Teomitl was just so warm. He indulged in holding him for a while before he spoke. “Mihmatini said...that you wanted to kill him for my sake.”

Teomitl inhaled slowly, letting it out in a sigh against his collarbone. His brief burst of energy seemed to have faded. “I did. I do.”

Another tide of emotion nearly swamped him, and he had to stroke Teomitl’s spine in a vain attempt to let it out. Mihmatini told me, but gods, to hear it from his lips… “Thank you,” he murmured. “For staying your hand.”

Teomitl’s lips curved in a soft smile against his skin. “I love you,” he said simply.

His heart skipped a beat. He’d seen what Teomitl was like in defense of those he loved. “Knowing that makes me even more grateful, you know. That you haven’t done it yet.” When you could, and I know you could, but you say that you love me...and because of that, Tizoc-tzin keeps his throne another day.

“You asked me not to. As one man to another.” Teomitl blew out a meditative breath and added, “That...that was why I didn’t tell you.”

Acatl blinked down at him. From this angle, he mostly had a good look at the side of Teomitl’s face, but he thought he saw him turning red. “Hm?”

Oh, he was definitely blushing. It was far more endearing than it had any right to be, especially when he muttered, “I wasn’t going to waste my breath if you saw me as a child.”

He couldn’t stop a grin. “I think the time for that has decidedly passed.” To prove it, he slid his fingers up the side of Teomitl’s neck and back down, digging in his nails just enough to wring a full-body shudder out of him.

Teomitl lifted his head. For a moment they locked eyes, his gaze hungry—and then he kissed him. Hard. He seemed to be determined to prove that his injuries were no barrier to this; though he was still leaning against him, a boneless weight in Acatl’s arms, the heat of his mouth and the little sounds he made when Acatl’s nails dug into his back were designed to tempt him to forget that. To lift him up, pull him all the way onto his lap, disregard all thoughts of weakness and recovery in a bid to tear his plain loincloth aside and—

He broke away with a groan, breathing hard, and ruthlessly pushed away the pounding heat of arousal. Now was not the time. Thoughts were slow to trickle back into his mind, but then he remembered what he’d meant by bringing up Tizoc-tzin. “What I was—going to say is that we have to be careful. He already hates me, and with how paranoid he is—if he turns his attention towards you…”

“I’ll handle him.” Teomitl’s smile was brief and sharp. If he hadn’t chosen that moment to lay a hand on Acatl’s chest in a reassuring little pet, it might have made him nervous.

Well. More nervous. The part of his mind that always considered the consequences of his acts felt like a pot of water just about to boil, an unpleasant roiling mass of vows and politics and laws. There was no space for regrets—there would never be space for regrets, not with Teomitl in his arms and in his heart—but he was suddenly far too aware of what they risked. “And we have to be discreet.”

Teomitl hummed, voice taking on a teasing lilt. “So I shouldn’t cover you in gold and jade…?”

He felt himself flush. “Teomitl.”

His lover sighed, stroking his chest in a gentle, meaningless pattern. “I know you’re not one for luxuries. Don’t worry.”

He took a moment to imagine it—jade on his fingers, gold in his hair, beautiful slaves to attend his every whim. It made something squirm hot in his gut. Embarrassment, mostly. But hot on its heels came a surge of desire; yes, it was mortifying to picture himself being treated like a prince, but if Teomitl really wanted to spoil him...well. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d say no. “Nngh. If you—if you must give me gifts, do try and keep them practical.”

“I will.” Teomitl huffed. “We have enough to worry about without Tizoc wondering where half our treasury’s wandered off to—and yes, that was a joke, shush.”

My sister’s been a terrible influence on you, he thought fondly. Then he remembered their newest, greatest worry, and the warmth that had started to bubble up in his chest faded. Even though he still held Teomitl—a small furnace wrapped in sinewy muscle—he felt cold. “...The Smoking Mirror.”

Teomitl frowned thoughtfully. “Mm.”

The room around them was bright with sunlight and frescoes, but he saw none of it. His thoughts drifted back to that warehouse full of blood and carnage, and he swallowed through a throat that felt like ice. Because of me. He set that trap—tried to kill Teomitl—because of me. “I don’t think he’s done with us.”

“...No. We wouldn’t be that lucky.” He made a face. “So what do we do about it?”

Fear wanted to choke him, but he forced it back. His death was not upon him yet, and Teomitl was warm and alive in his arms. All else could be dealt with as it came. But he still struggled to find an answer, and it took a while before he responded. “I think...for now, the best thing to do is wait. The ritual I used—it severs the connection between a soul and any vessel in the Fifth World. Even for a god, it would take some time to come back from that. We’ve got a little space to prepare.”

Teomitl sighed. “If we’re fortunate, it will be another seven years until then.”

It was his turn to make an unhappy noise. “If. In the meantime, I think I’d best make an appointment to speak to Tezcatlipoca’s High Priest. He will know his god best.”

“Ah,” Teomitl said.

Acatl gradually became aware that Teomitl had probably heard that as a dismissal. And, on one hand, it would be prudent of him to make his farewells and leave now, in hopes of catching the man he meant to find as soon as possible. On the other hand, Teomitl was curled against him like he belonged there, and he’d always been weak to the way that he smiled. It was radiant as the dawn, warming him from the inside out, and he wanted to see it again.

One more kiss wouldn’t hurt. He’d stop by the temple of Tezcatlipoca later and see what Cozcatototl had to say.

&

He’d expected to make himself known to Tezcatlipoca’s Fire Priest, be politely turned away, and given a time to speak with the man that was more convenient for him. High Priest for the Dead he might be, but he was the son of peasants; Cozcatototl—the name meant “jewelled bird,” and he carried himself as arrogantly as one—was as nobly born as Quenami. No matter what his god had done, there was no reason to bestir himself on Acatl’s behalf.

And indeed, he had apparently picked a busy day; when he arrived at Tezcatlipoca’s temple, they were doing a fine impression of an overturned anthill. He waited by the gate, watching the chaos, and tried to regulate his breathing.

It was harder than he thought. The Smoking Mirror’s magic wasn’t especially inimical to his—no more than Huitzilpochtli’s or Tlaloc’s was, at any rate—but this was a god who’d decided to hate him personally, and some of that seething animosity was reflected in the gray-black magic that clung to His priests and temple. His chest was too tight; when he moved his head too quickly, black spots danced at the edges of his vision. He was sure he’d had a speech prepared—he’d thought it up during the walk from the Duality House, after taking his leave of Teomitl and Mihmatini—but he couldn’t quite remember what he was going to say.

He half wondered if retracing his steps might help, but that would require straying near the Duality House again. He wasn’t sure he quite trusted himself not to go right back inside. He and Teomitl had kissed until Teomitl’s eyelids had fluttered shut, until he’d breathed Go on, Acatl, you have work to do, and even though his lover was sleeping now it was a terrible temptation just to watch him. And Mihmatini…

His dear, beloved, favorite sister had clasped his hands in hers, beaming, and wished him luck. Right before telling him, so casually, that if he could deal with Teomitl’s sleeping habits he was a far stronger and more patient person than she was. He hadn’t stopped blushing until the entire Duality House compound was out of sight.

“Acatl-tzin?!”

Tezcatlipoca’s Fire Priest bustled up to him. Underneath the black stripes of his paint, the older man looked exhausted. Acatl couldn’t remember his name offhand, but he bowed and hoped that politeness would make up for his lapse of memory. “Good afternoon. I have somewhat pressing questions for your high priest.”

The man didn’t exactly wince, but he nevertheless managed to give the impression that Acatl had asked for something much more difficult than a meeting. “Ah. Wait—wait right here and I’ll fetch him, shall I?”

As he bustled off, Acatl leaned against the gatepost to wait. The stone that should have been warmed by the sun bit into his skin; the logical course would have been to remain upright, but in truth he was glad of the excuse to lean against something. Being with Teomitl, even when the man was recovering from such severe injuries, took an unexpected amount of energy. He wondered, briefly, what he would be like on the mat—and then he flushed, shaking his head as though that would clear out such thoughts, because this was absolutely not the right time or place for him to be imagining that. Focus. Southern Hummingbird blind me, am I so desperate for him that I can’t even focus on the safety of the Fifth World now that I have him?

He didn’t have much time to castigate himself. He’d barely had enough time to scuff some of the dust of the Sacred Precinct off his sandals before he made out Tezcatlipoca’s High Priest nearly running down the steps of the temple. The black and yellow stripes on his face didn’t quite hide the stress in his eyes; even when he slowed down to a stately pace and bowed to the precise degree necessary, his hands twitched as though he’d quite like to clench them into fists.

“Acatl-tzin.”

Acatl bowed back, keeping his eyes on him. “Cozcatototl-tzin. Might we speak privately?”

Was it his imagination, or did Cozacatototl flinch at that? “Of course.”

Then he was turning on his heel and striding off, and Acatl found himself hard-pressed to match his pace as he wove around his scurrying priests and led the way to a richly appointed meeting room. The murals depicted Tezcatlipoca in all His glory; He covered the walls as both the jaguar and the chilling night wind, tearing at the flesh of His sacrifices. The wall opposite the door was almost entirely taken up by a fresco of Him seated between His consorts, all four of His wives greeting Him as supplicants no matter that they were powerful goddesses in Their own rights. Acatl felt vaguely uncomfortable looking at it.

Not that he had much time to study it, because Cozcatototl was calling for refreshments and gesturing for him to be seated on a thick reed mat laid over a black ocelot pelt, so courtesy demanded he at least nod to his host. “Thank you.”

Cozcatototl definitely flinched at that. “It is the least I could do.”

As they sat, Acatl took a moment to study the man across from him. He was younger than him, with the sleek and well-fed look of a man who’d never gone hungry a day in his life. His hair had been matted with blood; amidst the tangles, he spotted the glint of gold and obsidian. Some priests of Tezcatlipoca slashed the backs of their own calves to imitate their patron’s limp; though he’d piously followed suit, he walked straight.

And he kept fidgeting, even when cold cups of maguey sap and a plate of roasted agave worms were set in front of them. It was a far cry from the snappish, offended young man that had insisted his priests had had nothing at all to do with the sorcerer’s knife.

At least the food was good. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. It took a moment—and the accidental demolishing of half the plate—before he realized they’d been sitting in silence, and he still had no idea how to bring up what he’d came for. “Mm.”

Cozcatototl took a breath and braced his hands on his thighs. “Acatl-tzin. I…”

That didn’t sound like the prelude to what in the Fifth World do you want. He set down his cup and frowned. “Yes?”

“I wish to apologize.” It looked like the words actually pained him; if he hadn’t been so clearly striving for dignity, Acatl was sure he’d be wincing.

Well. That was unexpected. “For what?”

“For—“ He made a frustrated stabbing motion with his hand. “I’ve heard you once stopped my patron from taking His place as the Sixth Sun ahead of His proper time. He can be vindictive and easily angered, but I had no idea He would take your previous encounter with Him so personally!”

Acatl blinked at him. Of all the possible reactions Cozcatototl could have to the news of his patron god’s defeat, he hadn’t expected guilt. The world would be a better place if Acamapichtli reacted the same when I faced Tlaloc, he thought sourly. “You…”

He sucked in a hard breath. “If I���d thought of it, I could have warned you. I didn’t—it didn’t even occur to me until after I heard how your little expedition went.”

Blood and carnage painted itself across the inside of his mind, and he suppressed a shudder. No. I left Teomitl safe and sleeping. He is recovering perfectly well, and soon it will be as though he was never wounded at all. “So you know why I’m here.”

Cozcatototl sat back and—for once—met his eyes. “My inaction could have gotten you and the Master of the House of Darts killed. I’m prepared to make whatever restitution you desire.”

From the set of his jaw, Acatl knew he was serious. I’ve misjudged him. The thought sat uneasily in his gut, and so to cover it he shook his head. “The Smoking Mirror has decided to hold a grudge. I came to inquire as to the likelihood of immediate retaliation.”

His face twisted. “We’re trying to appease Him as quickly as possible. But after what you did—I will not ask for details, I don’t want to know—He is...angry.”

“I gathered that,” he said dryly.

“Did you?” Cozcatototl eyed him skeptically, for a moment back to the arrogant noble-born priest Acatl had first met. “Because I feel you may have underestimated His anger somewhat. When Lord Death rages, does He scream in your head?”

He blinked. “...Lord Death does not rage.”

“How fortunate for you.” Cozcatototl sighed. “The Smoking Mirror is wroth, Acatl-tzin. We are doing what we can, but I suggest you ward yourself and your loved ones as well as possible—especially those who have been touched by His rage before.”

There was something in the man’s tone that struck a chord of dread within him. No. There were no witnesses—Mihmatini wouldn’t let anything slip. But Cozcatototl was looking at him as though he knew, and something cold and hard slithered through his stomach. He kept his voice even and willed his hands to remain steady. “I—suppose the Breath of the Precious Twin is what you recommend, at the very least.” His own god would be of no help; Mictlantecuhtli was no protection against anything, unless you really didn’t want to have a pulse anymore.

He wasn’t surprised when the man nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt. Do that, and surround yourselves with light. This is not yet over.”

Great. By force of will, he managed not to grimace. “Thank you for your warning.”

And then he rose and went to follow Cozcatototl’s advice.

&

The Breath of the Precious Twin turned out to be the easiest part. Expensive—even the knowledge that his temple could afford it made him wince to hand over so many quetzal feathers and cotton cloaks—but still the easiest. Setting up additional wards, on the other hand, turned out to be a trial. The Duality House was probably the best-warded complex in Tenochtitlan, but he refused to cower in his sister’s home while he waited for the all-clear from Cozcatototl. The palace, only slightly less protected, was right out. Nothing so commonplace as a threat to his life would induce him to share a roof with the likes of Tizoc and Quenami. To his  relief, nobody even suggested it.

That left his temple and his own house, both of which were...well. Nothing impregnated by so much of Mictlantecuhtli’s magic was much inclined to hold onto wards of any sort. They had to work in layers, and it was a long and arduous process. Mixcoatl was first, the blood of two wolves and a jaguar holding down copper-tinged shimmers of magic. It went well enough until one of them bit Ichtaca, laying his hand open to the bone. While he cursed viciously and bound it up, Acatl stepped forward to finish the ritual.

The ward tried to slip off.

I don’t think so.

He felt a bit like cursing himself, but applied himself to the words of the spell with renewed fervor. It took two repetitions, but eventually the magic stuck, and they had a scaffolding upon which to lay more. Xolotl was next; His spell, brief though it was, acted as a bridge for Quetzalcoatl’s clergy to do their work. They approached their rituals with a certain tinge of irritation he found oddly reassuring. At least he wasn’t the only one who objected to the Smoking Mirror’s ill-temper.

The priests of the Duality were the last to lend their strength, and Mihmatini led them. She was resplendent in her full regalia, the blue light of her magic rippling like water, and when it was finished she didn’t even stagger. Her priests looked mildly impressed; Acatl had to beat back a swell of absurd pride.

It took two days to finish all the rituals and clean up afterwards. When all the wards were in place—any more and they’d probably implode under their own weight—he found himself sharing a meal with Mihmatini and Teomitl in his courtyard. He knew not to look at the sky or the walls with his priest-senses; all the layered rituals overlapping would give him, at best, a terrible headache. He focused on his meal instead, acutely conscious of Teomitl by his side. He’d been cautious of taking the spot on the mat next to him, but then Teomitl had looked at him and his legs had folded almost automatically.

Mihmatini had the slightly unfocused look that said she was studying the wards with her own magical senses. She seemed to see something she approved of, because she nodded. “Alright, then.”

He recognized the signs of her gearing up for a fine rage—the furrowed brow, the narrowed eyes. He fought the well-honed urge to make himself as unobtrusive as possible in favor of taking another bite of his grilled frog. Teomitl’s fingers strayed lightly against his calf, and he felt his face go hot.

Finally, she set her own skewer down and took a breath. “Of course, the Smoking Mirror will one day take his place as the Sun. That’s how it should be. That’s what’s right.”

Teomitl lifted his head to study her. After a moment he commented, with the dry fondness of a man who lived with her every day, “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

Another slow, deep breath. Acatl saw her fists clench until her knuckles turned pale. “But I swear to you, if it were possible to wring the neck of a god…”

Teomitl’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you’d have to get in line.”

Against all laws of common sense and basic self-preservation, and while Acatl for his own part was trying very, very hard not to list any of the hundreds of reasons why they shouldn’t be talking like this, Teomitl’s words made her smile. She reached across the mat to pat his hand. “You’d leave me something, wouldn’t you?”

He huffed. “Of course I would.”

Acatl opened his mouth to protest—one did not talk so casually of taking down the vessels of gods, even if it had been done before and especially not if doing it had nearly killed you—but then Teomitl gave his hand a squeeze and what actually came out was a strangled “Gnrkh.”

This smile was softly radiant, and Teomitl’s voice held no hesitation whatsoever. “I don’t take kindly to anyone wishing harm on the people I love. You know that.”

He found his voice somewhere. “Teomitl.” Even if Mihmatini knew, to have it spoken aloud—in front of her—was enough to make him turn crimson. She can’t really—I know she said she was alright with it, that we had her blessing, but—

But then Mihmatini looked between them with fierce eyes and said “Good,” and he felt some of the tension drain away.

The rest of the meal was quiet. He and Mihmatini were drained from the spells they’d been casting, and he wasn’t really up to much conversation; Teomitl had indeed made a full recovery from his wounds with only some impressive new scars to show for it, but he ate with singleminded focus. Once or twice Acatl lifted his head to catch a sideways glance, only for him to quickly look away.

It wasn’t until Mihmatini left, claiming exhaustion, that Teomitl spoke up again. “Acatl?”

He was suddenly very aware that they were alone in his courtyard, that Teomitl was still just barely touching him. The night breeze stirring his hair reminded him viscerally of what it had felt like to have Teomitl’s hands in it. He swallowed, mouth dry; when he licked his lips, he saw Teomitl’s gaze dart towards the movement. “Yes?”

Teomitl drew in a long breath and very carefully did not look at him. It was hard to see in the flickering torchlight, but he thought he was blushing. “Do you want...should I…?”

His face burned, but he took Teomitl’s hand. “Stay with me.” I don’t want to be alone tonight. Not when I could spend it in your arms.

Teomitl nodded a little jerkily—he’s shy, Acatl realized, and bit back a smile at the thought that at least it made two of them—but when they made to rise he sprang to his feet. They stood together for a moment, and Acatl had just enough time to hope he wasn’t somehow going about this the wrong way—

And then he was being kissed, hot and hungry. It was like they’d been separated for months instead of mere days; Teomitl grabbed his hips, pulling him in, and when he caught his lower lip gently between his teeth Acatl let out an entirely involuntary moan.

“Gods, I missed you—“ Their lips were still barely touching, and Teomitl cut himself off with another kiss. The part of Acatl’s brain still capable of rational thought wondered if he, too, wanted to make up for lost time—but then that mouth left his and started to explore his throat, mapping out a sensitive spot just under his jaw, and the sizzling shock of pleasure that sent through him was a reminder that he wanted more.

He dug his fingers into Teomitl’s hair, pulling his head up. His lover’s eyes were wide and dark. “Inside,” he managed, and got another of those jerky nods in response.

They all but stumbled through the entrance curtain to the room where Acatl slept—there was a discordant jangle of bells, but he ignored it. Touching Teomitl was more important. Even their thin cloaks were entirely too much fabric separating him from bare skin; when he went for the knot holding Teomitl’s closed, he was rewarded with a breathless “Thank the gods, I wasn’t sure if you…”

“You didn’t think I’d want to do this?” This was smoothing a hand down the ridges of Teomitl’s spine; this was lowering his mouth to Teomitl’s throat to see whether the spot that had made his nerves sing would have the same effect on his lover. It pulled an intoxicating moan from him, vibrating against Acatl’s lips, and he trembled in return at the surge of desire through his own veins. Experimentally, he scraped his teeth over that same spot and was rewarded with a full-body jolt that pressed their hips together.

Oh. Teomitl was hard already, and the realization made him have to pull back just far enough to breathe. His own blood was racing through his veins straight to his cock, and for a moment he couldn’t think past how much he wanted him.

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.” Teomitl’s voice was ragged as he tore at the knot of Acatl’s cloak, sending it cascading to the floor. Then his hands were on Acatl’s shoulders, pressing him back and down, and they fell to the mat together.

And this was new, this was important, and he was suddenly intensely glad he’d followed Cozcatototl’s advice and lit every torch in his possession, because now he could see. Teomitl was all lean muscle and movement, roaming hands sliding over his skin as though he was determined to map every inch by feel. Scars caught the light, and he had a second to think wistfully I want to touch them before he remembered that he could.

So he did. The newest ones first, rough raised lines where the Smoking Mirror’s claws had laid his chest open, and the first brush of his fingers on skin made Teomitl shiver. These could have killed you.

Something in his face must have showed his thoughts, because Teomitl caught his wrist lightly. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, he brought Acatl’s hand up and pressed a kiss to his palm.

Acatl drew in a long breath. When Teomitl let his hand go, he curled his fingers lightly against soft skin for a moment before tracing down his jaw, over the side of his neck—and then, remembering what had gotten a reaction last time, he drew his nails down slowly over the skin. Teomitl swallowed, eyes sliding shut, and breathed his name.

Then he lunged forward to capture his mouth again. Acatl’s back hit the mat with a thump, but he barely noticed; the much more important thing was that Teomitl’s fingers were scrabbling through his hair until they untied the cord holding it back, that his free hand was sliding up the flat plane of his stomach, that when Acatl dug his fingers into the meat of his back it got an appreciative groan and a roll of his hips that left no question how much he was enjoying it.

He was viscerally aware of the heat bracketed between his thighs. All instinct said to wrap his legs around Teomitl’s waist and pull him closer, closer, but he made himself speak instead. “Nn—Teomitl.” Teomitl was mouthing wickedly down the side of his neck, and he bucked helplessly before remembering himself. “What do you want? Tonight?”

Teomitl drew back, eyes heated. He’d wrapped a lock of Acatl’s hair around his fist as though that would hold him in place, and the thought thrilled him. “You.”

He took one breath. Another. He thought fleetingly of all the times he’d dreamed of this—of Teomitl above him, looking down at him so hungrily, of the insistent press of their bodies together. Of how it would feel to have Teomitl inside him. “You can have me.”

“Oh gods.” It came out in a groan.

He must want this as badly as I do. It was a thought that was borne out as truth a moment later, when Teomitl’s hand slid down over his stomach and lower, to palm the bulge in his loincloth. The shock of it made him writhe, but Teomitl didn’t tease for long. He gave him a firm squeeze, and Acatl arched with a gasp. “Ah—“

“You sound so sweet.” His fingers rippled; when Acatl bucked, seeking more friction, he released his hold on his hair to grab for his hip instead, holding him in place. The look in his eyes was pure hunger. “Even better than I imagined.”

Acatl’s mouth went dry. “And how much have you imagined?”

“Everything.”

With that, nothing could have kept his hands from Teomitl’s skin. He flattened both palms against his back, feeling hard muscle ripple as Teomitl shivered, and ran a long and deliberate stroke all the way down his spine to settle at his hips. Teomitl went eagerly, rocking himself forward in a way that sent him rubbing up against Acatl’s cock and his own fingers; the coiling heat in his gut made him groan, and for a moment he thought Gods, I could get off from this alone, but then he remembered the heat in Teomitl’s voice and made himself still, trembling with anticipation, as Teomitl’s fingers went for the knot of his loincloth.

When he hesitated, Acatl wanted to strangle him. “Have you ever…?”

His blood was roaring so loudly in his veins that it was a miracle he could even hear himself speak. “You know I haven’t. And if you ask me if I’m sure, I swear—“

“I wasn’t going to.” There was a brief flicker of a smile, something with too many teeth to be called careless. “But if you want me to fuck you, we need oil or something and I didn’t bring any. I wasn’t expecting to be hauled onto your mat tonight.”

Biting back a spike of irritation, he propped himself up on one elbow only to realize he couldn’t possibly reach the wicker chest with its gourd of oil from this angle. I might have planned this better. “Over there.”

Teomitl’s smirk was wicked, but he was mercifully silent as he retrieved the oil and settled back between Acatl’s thighs. But then he was undoing his loincloth, and the silence took on a different flavor as his gaze slid over his hard cock. Acatl watched, face burning, as he licked his lips. “Oh.” His voice was rough, and Acatl realized with a hard jolt that he liked what he saw.

I’m not that impressive, he wanted to say. But Teomitl was shedding his own loincloth, and all words were failing him. Of course he’d imagined Teomitl naked—had spent a considerable amount of time imagining it, in fact—but the reality exceeded his most fevered dreams. Teomitl’s cock was a glory, flushed and dark and a little bit curved, maybe a little bit larger than his, and suddenly he was desperate to know how it would feel inside him.

He must have made a noise, because Teomitl locked eyes with him even as a hand slid up his thigh. “If there’s truth to the idea that your virginity grants you any magical protection—“

“There is not.” He drew a breath and mentally consigned whoever had come up with that rumor to the lowest, most agonizing depths of Mictlan. “And if there was, I can’t say that I’d care.” If either of us could die tomorrow—well. I’ll die having known this, and be happy.

For a moment, Teomitl looked surprised—but then he grinned, hot and bright, and uncorked the gourd to pour a generous helping of oil over his fingers. It dripped onto the floor and over Acatl’s sensitive flesh; when he trembled, Teomitl soothed him with a slow pet to his inner thigh. “Relax for me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I don’t mind if it hurts, he thought, but then Teomitl was sliding a finger in and he found himself unable to voice it. It was entirely different from this angle, had been so long since he’d even done it for himself that at first his body wasn’t sure if it approved—and then Teomitl’s finger curled against that spot that made him see stars, and he groaned. “I—nnh.”

“Was that good?” Teomitl paused infuriatingly, head tilted, but the question was clearly rhetorical because when Acatl rocked his hips he did it again, sending another spark up his spine.

He sucked in a hard breath. “Yes, gods, keep going—“ Teomitl didn’t need the encouragement; he grabbed Acatl’s knee to keep his legs spread, leaning over him, and worked his way in deeper. He wasn’t close enough to kiss, and that was a travesty, but when Acatl set a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed, the hitched moan that escaped was sweeter.

Gods, and like this he could feel the way Teomitl’s breathing shifted. “More?”

“Ah, please…” Teomitl didn’t make him wait, and he was grateful for that; a second finger slid in along the first, and now it was starting to be a proper stretch and he arched helplessly into it, all of his prior embarrassment gone in favor of chasing the building heat licking up his spine. He knew he was making desperate little noises with each thrust, but he didn’t care.

Teomitl rocked against him, grinding their cocks together. “Duality, I wish you could see yourself right now. You’re beautiful.”

“Baseless—hah—flattery—gods, don’t tease…” Because it was teasing; he knew he could come from this, and Teomitl had to know that too, and yet the slick slide of his fingers stayed just on one side of not enough. He bucked his hips and the pace didn’t alter at all.

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed appraisingly. “You think you’re ready for me?”

At any other time he might have been offended. Now, any such feeling was effectively drowned out by the need coursing through him. He spread his legs wider, arching to put himself on display. “Past ready.”

Teomitl shifted onto his knees to guide himself in, tension in every line of his body when he breached that ring of muscle. The first thrust had him halfway in; the second had him hilted, flush against Acatl’s hips, and for a moment he braced himself on the mat with his eyes squeezed shut. “Ah…”

Acatl trembled around him. “Don’t.” He’d never felt so full in his life; Teomitl was hot and hard in him, and he needed more like he needed to breathe. He was exquisitely conscious of each small shift of his cock. “Don’t be careful with me.”

Teomitl nodded. Drew his hips back.

And slammed back in hard.

“Oh, fuck.” The words were all but torn out of him; Teomitl was setting a ruthless pace, and there was no time for him to adjust. He didn’t want to adjust; all he wanted, all he needed, was to meet each thrust with a buck of his own hips. For all that, it took a moment until they established a rhythm that did more than frustrate him; it was only when Teomitl ground his hips forward in a rough circle that the stray sparks flashing through him coalesced into a blaze.

It was almost too much; he needed to do something to relieve the building pressure. When he clawed roughly down Teomitl’s back, his lover shuddered and fucked into him harder. “Gods—gods, you feel—ah!” His voice cracked as Acatl squeezed around him, and when Acatl buried a hand in his hair and yanked him down to take a bruising kiss he made an incoherent noise into it. “Mm...”

And he kept moving. Acatl had a fleeting half-thought that Teomitl fucked like the warrior he was, all steady discipline—but he was holding back. He was holding back, and Acatl could feel it in the tension of his back muscles, in the way he clawed at the mat below them instead of Acatl’s hair. Acatl was done with restraint. “Harder,” he panted between each savage thrust. “I want—nngh, I want to feel you tomorrow.”

Teomitl sucked in a noisy breath. “Make sure you feel it for a week—“ He moved to hike Acatl’s leg up over his shoulder, changing the angle, and Acatl’s whole body jolted on his next thrust.

“Ah!” His mind was blank; as Teomitl pounded into him, each push inward striking that spot that made him writhe and buck his hips for more, he became a thing of pure sensation. There was the mat under him, sticking to his sweat-damp skin; there was Teomitl’s hand finally grabbing a fistful of his hair and keening when Acatl did the same to him; there was the stretch of his thigh muscles and the impossible way he molded to fit Teomitl’s cock. He was so close he could almost cry. More—just a little more—

And then Teomitl was wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping him firmly, and he came so hard his legs shook. All else ceased to matter; there was only this bright, blinding ecstasy, only Teomitl snarling in triumph as he flung his head back with an incoherent sob and spilled himself all over their stomachs.

When the aftershocks faded, he realized Teomitl was still hard and making as if to pull out; before he could, Acatl grabbed for his hips to pull him closer. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.” In the face of his earthshattering orgasm, he knew it would overwhelm him. The thought only brought a bone-deep satisfaction. For once in my life—I want to be overwhelmed. “You said you’d make me feel it, didn’t you?!”

Teomitl bore down on him, teeth bared. He looked almost feral, which probably shouldn’t have thrilled him so much. “I’ll give you—what you want—“ Each thrust jolted already-overstimulated nerves, made him shudder and whine in a way that might have been deeply humiliating if he’d been able to think that far. But then Teomitl was coming with an inarticulate cry that might have been his name, and—

Duality, he could feel Teomitl’s cock pulse as he spent inside him. He let his legs fall open with a shaky moan, heart hammering away as he caught his breath. It seemed as though he should say something, but the only words that came to mind were varyingly obscene. Even when Teomitl finally pulled out with a sigh, all he could manage was a hitched breath.

It wasn’t until Teomitl was cleaning them up with the aid of a spare rag that he managed to make a sound. “Mm...”

His lover curled up against him, letting Acatl lay his head on his arm. He was still gloriously naked, but Acatl was too tired to appreciate the sight. When he finally broke the easy silence, the teasing edge of his voice was reflected in his eyes. “I hope nothing comes for us in the night. I think you wore me out.”

He tucked his burning face into Teomitl’s shoulder, which was no help whatsoever. As promised, he could still feel how hard he’d been fucked—and it was absurd to think he’d exhaust a trained warrior. “Teomitl.”

“You did!” Teomitl did a very good job of acting innocently outraged that Acatl would disbelieve him, but the note of suppressed amusement in his voice rang through clearly anyway.

It filled his chest with a ridiculous bubble of joy. This is the man I love. “And here I thought you would have a warrior’s stamina,” he huffed, and poked Teomitl’s side to show he didn’t mean it.

It must have worked, because his lover chuckled and nuzzled at his hair. “...I could be persuaded to another round.”

He felt himself flush. “I might need a moment.”

“Mm.” Teomitl’s smile was all sweetness. “Rest. I’ll be here.”

He closed his eyes. A moment’s rest sounded like a wonderful idea.

He woke to the distinct, horrible feeling of the wards snapping. No, not snapping—parting, like a hole in gauzy cotton, to let in what they had been made to stop. It made him nauseous, and when he sat up too quickly his head spun. He barely even noticed the lingering ache in his muscles.

“Something’s coming.” Teomitl was dressed already, tying his sandals one-handed and looking around for anything that would serve as a weapon. By the expression on his face, he was regretting not bringing his sword.

“I know.” He let his fingers rest on the floor for a moment, feeling the faint tinge of underworld magic that had long since permeated his home. It helped a little. Not much—he could still sense the twisting wrongness, the dancing vertigo at the edges of his sight—but a little. It was much darker outside than it had been.

Moving quickly and quietly, he dressed himself and crossed the room to where he kept his favorite knives. He wished he had a sword—or better yet a spear, for the reach it would afford—but knives would do. Three for him and the last two for Teomitl, who accepted them with a nod and a faint wince as he gripped their handles. They threw up faint sparks where they met Huitzilpochtli’s protective magic, but his lover didn’t so much as flinch.

Darker than the shadows cast by the flickering torches, something was moving. Teomitl murmured, “Is that—“ but Acatl held up a hand for silence; any second’s worth of preparation they had was valuable.

He slashed his earlobes and mouthed the words of a spell—not for protection, but to wrap the chill of the grave around his limbs. It was a sickening sensation, turning his skin loose and his bones heavy, leaching all the warmth from the air, but anything that touched him would at least be given pause.

It was all he had time for before the creature slipped into the room.

He supposed it had once been an ashen jaguar. Now it was blurred, almost insubstantial, and he could see the courtyard through its body—but its claws and fangs were razor-sharp obsidian, and those were entirely solid. And it was growling, a low rumble he could feel through the soles of his feet.

Teomitl lunged to meet it. For a moment Acatl thought he’d struck home, but then the jaguar flowed around his blades like smoke and reformed—no. It wasn’t reforming. It had split in half, and now there were two slightly smaller ones.

And the new one was bearing down on him. He met it with a slash of his knives, aiming for its throat, but its momentum carried it under his guard and the strike went wide of his target. Then there was an impact, and a burst of freezing wind threw him off his feet and into the wall. Something cracked, and through the blinding pain he prayed it wasn’t his skull.

I need to get up. I need to… But his body wouldn’t obey him, and all he could manage was a clumsy strike to where he desperately hoped its paw was. His blade passed through the smoke of its body, and the claws raked at his arm. He braced himself for pain—

It didn’t come.

Between one blink and the next, light flooded the room. Teomitl. He’d taken wounds, but as the first jaguar sprang at him he dropped to one knee and let slip his hold on Huitzilpochtli’s magic. By itself it might not have done much, but enough torches were still smoldering in their holders for the magic to feed on, and it eagerly amplified and looped back upon itself. For a moment Teomitl was flat on the ground and outlined in light with a jaguar trying to bite his face off, but then the baking heat of the sun flung it off him and sent it rolling head over tail. The one menacing Acatl froze, cowering, and Acatl heaved himself up for another try at its throat or the soft underside of its jaw.

The jaguar Teomitl had been facing made a noise. It took Acatl a horrified moment to realize that it was trying to speak. “...hhhyouuu…”

Teomitl pushed himself upright, blood streaming down his arm. Even wounded, he could not have looked more like an Emperor if he’d been wearing the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown; magic played over his skin like sunlight through water, and even his blood shimmered. “Silence.”

“You...my reign...”

His face was a mask of fury, eyes glazed over with gold. “How many times must we teach you to stay where you ought to be?”

And then he struck, and the light dripping down over his knives cleaved the head from its body. As both parts dissolved into mist, another step brought him to the one still frozen within range of Acatl. One more strike put an end to that one too.

Acatl made another try at gaining his feet. This time he made it to his knees, but Teomitl was suddenly by his side with a concerned hand at his shoulder, and he sank back down with a groan as the world spun. His head was a point of vicious agony, but it didn’t feel broken. I hope. Duality preserve me.

Huitzilpochtli’s magic had faded from Teomitl’s skin, but his hands were still wonderfully warm as they ran over his skull to check for injuries. “Acatl!”

“I’m.” He blinked. His vision blurred. “I’ll be alright. I think.”

“Don’t move.” Teomitl tilted his head up, frowning as their eyes met. “You might have a concussion. I’ll fetch—“ He cut himself off at the sound of footsteps, head swiveling towards the entrance curtain.

Oh, no. Acatl spared a moment to be thankful that they’d had enough warning to dress; true, neither of them were wearing cloaks, but surely it wasn’t too strange for Teomitl to spend the night at his brother-in-law’s house. They could come up with some explanation for this. No matter that he’d never been a very good liar; he could learn. He’d have to.

Then he saw who’d come to examine the damage to the wards, and he knew they were doomed.

“Ah,” Ichtaca said. “This explains a lot.”

...What? Teomitl’s expression was briefly a mirror of his own, but when Ichtaca asked him for an explanation of what had happened to the wards—no mention of why Teomitl was there, no mention of the marks on their throats or the scratches down Teomitl’s back—it settled into the severe calm of a warrior reporting to his commander. Yes, Tezcatlipoca’s creatures had attacked. Yes, they had dealt with them. No, neither of them seemed to be seriously injured but Acatl-tzin had a head wound that needed to be looked at.

It seemed to take no time at all to summon a priest of Patecatl, who arrived with a caged lizard and a bag of herbs to treat their wounds. Teomitl’s were easy, but then the priest was checking Acatl’s eyes and asking a few pointed questions before pronouncing a clear concussion, “And it was a good thing you summoned us, Teomitl-tzin.” He sighed down at Acatl. “Acatl-tzin, must we really keep meeting like this?”

It’s not as though I tried to get a concussion. But when he tried to speak the words, his tongue didn’t quite obey him.

The priest bowed to them both. “Wake him up every hour or so, Teomitl-tzin.”

“I will.” Teomitl didn’t smile, but when they were finally alone again, he took Acatl’s hand and twined their fingers together. In a voice so soft he almost didn’t hear it, his lover murmured, “I’ll protect you.”

I know you will. He drifted off.

&

Apparently, it had been the fault of the breeze. While he and Teomitl had been...occupied, the night wind had snuffed enough torches to allow passage to the weakest of Tezcatlipoca’s creatures. Such were the words of the priestess of Quetzalcoatl who ran up the steps of his temple the next morning, at any rate, bowing and apologizing profusely for not accounting for the weather.

“It’s hardly your fault, Tochton-tzin,” he said, and meant it.

She blushed, stammered something that he was sure was another apology, and retreated. He didn’t have long to savor his newfound return to the peace and quiet of the temple accounts, however; barely half an hour later, Ichtaca announced that the high priest of Tezcatlipoca wanted to see him, and he sighed as the man parted the curtain. The headache he thought he’d gotten rid of was trying very hard to come back.

“Acatl-tzin!”

There was dried blood under Cozcatototl’s fingernails; fresh wounds striped his shins and forearms. Acatl wondered what else he’d sacrificed. “What do you have for me?”

“Good news.” His smile was tired, but it reached his eyes. “The Smoking Mirror pronounces himself well satisfied with our obeisance. I don’t think he’ll be a problem for you anymore.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good. That’s—good.”

Cozcatototl cast a glance over the spread-out accounts around him. There was a brief, sympathetic wince—one high priest to another. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

That left him with Ichtaca, and now that they were alone together the atmosphere was almost too awkward for words. He waited uneasily for Ichtaca to break the silence, but all he did was carefully adjust the loose sheets of their accounts so that they were stacked evenly.

Finally, it was too much for him. “About last night.”

“Is there something about last night that should concern me, Acatl-tzin? Something related to the future of this temple?” Ichtaca looked up, fixing him with a searching gaze. “Unless we are due for some...unwanted Imperial attention, I don’t think there is.”

His face burned. “Ah. No—no, there isn’t. The temple is safe.” The absurd image of the temple sheathed in gold popped into his head, and he bit back an inappropriate smile before Ichtaca could question it. Teomitl probably would, if I didn’t stop him.

When he was finally alone—properly alone—he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. It was time to tell Teomitl the good news.

Of course, actually finding him wasn’t nearly so straightforward. He stopped by the Duality House first; after last night’s unexpected combat, Mihmatini had been apprised of the situation and needed to know they were reasonably safe again. As grateful as she was for the news—and as worried as she was about his health, making him sit and eat something before she let him go—she was less help in figuring out where her husband had gone off to. Acatl eventually tracked him down in his courtyard in the palace, eating lunch and glaring at a codex listing the tribute from one of their vassal cities.

He cleared his throat. “Teomitl?”

“Acatl!” His face lit up, all worries set aside with the carelessly discarded codex. “How are you feeling?”

He debated an edited version of the truth before deciding honesty would serve him better. “...A slight headache. Nothing serious.”

“Oh, good.” His fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach for him, but he visibly pulled himself back. In a softer voice, he added, “I missed you.”

Right. They didn’t dare touch here, not with eyes and ears everywhere. Even though he ached with the desire to wrap his arms around him, it would be suicide. And so he responded, in a voice just as soft, “I missed you too. I came to tell you that I had a visit from Cozcatototl-tzin.” At Teomitl’s blank look, he elaborated, “The high priest of Tezcatlipoca. He says he’s managed to propitiate his patron, and so we should be safe.”

“...So it’s over?”

“I think so,” he murmured. “For now.”

Teomitl bit his lip, casting his gaze to the floor. “And...Ichtaca.”

He blushed, and had to swallow before he could find the words—first to figure out what to say, and second to figure out how to say it in the event any spies overheard. “He is...only worried about the safety of our temple and our clergy. He has no other concerns.”

Teomitl visibly relaxed, swaying towards him. Again he looked for a moment as though he wanted to touch, but then he straightened up and smiled. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I did, but,”—but Teomitl looked mildly crestfallen, and that wouldn’t do—“but I could use a walk to remind myself that my legs still work, I was going over accounts all morning. Come with me?”

“Of course.”

Teomitl seemed thoughtful as they walked, but—by the grace of the Duality—he waited until they were well clear of the palace to lean over and growl, “If your legs still work, I must not have satisfied you properly last night.”

He froze midstride, hearing himself make a noise like a tortured parrot. “I—you—“ He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his face was bright red, and could only pray that nobody had noticed his reaction. The Sacred Precinct was always crowded, but there was anonymity in a crowd where everyone was intent on their own lives. When he regained control of his limbs, he stormed ahead without looking back. To say such things in public—I cannot believe…

Teomitl kept pace easily. They didn’t quite touch, but when his fingers hooked into a fold of Acatl’s robe, it arrested his stride. His voice stayed low, a purr meant for his ears only. “If you’re truly offended, you could pay me back in kind.”

The thought of it—of pinning Teomitl down, giving as good as he’d got—sent a rush of heat through him, and he grabbed Teomitl’s arm to haul him close. “You.” His voice shook. “You are a menace, bringing that up here—“ Teomitl flushed, looking like he was about to apologize, but Acatl didn’t give him the chance. Before he could change his mind, he added, “Come home with me.”

Teomitl’s grin was radiant. Wicked—oh, he knew that edge to it now—but radiant. “I’d love to.”

They went.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

Choo choo, the Sickfic Express has just arrived in Galar, straight from Oreburgh City! 

First fic of 2020 is a sickfic oneshot. How rivetting. I've very recently beaten Pokémon Sword and loved it! I found myself really loving the characters, what they are and what they've already become in my mind, so I couldn't help myself but type what I know best... A sickfic. Also, this fandom needs more of this stuff, so here. I'm providing. Is this story OOC? Chances they are. Was it absolutely a blast to write? You bet. I'm probably gonna look back on it later down the lane and be uncomfortable with how I depicted the characters; but you do need to discover the characters first, and what better opportunity for that than a little sickfic with some angst and pre-rel dramatic tension? Anyway, I hope you'll like this lil' thing I busted out in literally a couple hours. I forgot how fun it was to write without worrying yourself over continuity or already established elements like in Earth Never Stops... Btw, this fic was originally requested to me as a FE3H fill for Hubert, so I decided I'd most likely use another square on my card for him. Sorry Nonnie for this, my inspiration got the best of me yet again! 

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

Candles in the Rain

Summary: Is feverishly staggering through the damp streets of Hammerlocke under the rain with very little hope to feel warmth again and even less sense of direction a fitting end for a former Champion now that he's been defeated once? Scratch that: he doesn't have the time or brain power remaining to process such a question. Or: Leon witnesses a miracle in the form of a little dog and a childhood friend.

Fandom: Pokémon Sword and Shield (post-canon/game: beware for spoilers) Relationships: Pre-relationship Leon/Sonia

Wordcount: 3.1K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​

AO3 version available here.

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

The streets of Hammerlocke are covered by a thick layer of rainwater, typical early winter in Galar. Nobody dares going against the terrible weather, which isn’t unlike the flooding that almost ate Kabu’s region of origin, or rather how he once described it based on bedtime stories, a couple thousand years ago. Honestly, after what Galar just went through, he can believe the tale to have been real all along, no issue there…

As always, he’s lost in the grand city of his main rival, and that frustrates him. He’s cold from the water having filled his shoes and wet his hair for hours and hours on end, not even the fire of the camp being able to make him feel warmer. If it wasn’t for his partners’ demands, urging him to stop camping in the wilderness and find a Centre already, he’d have surely stayed in the Wild Area and biked to a better spot. Ah, he misses Postwick, now. At least, he can’t get lost in Postwick, there’d be Hop and his now-Champion best friend, if not Sonia paying them all a visit, and there’d be the warmth of his childhood home… Gods, perhaps he does miss the peaceful life of a ten-year-old whose only contact to the Gym Challenge is dreams of grandeur.

Ah, if it didn’t rain so badly, Charizard could be warming the both of them as he tried to make his way to the nearest Centre.

 Despite his best efforts to remain proud and confident, he ends up having to lean against a wall to stop a coughing fit from suddenly urging itself out of there. He must look pathetic and he does wish, deep down, that someone would get out of their house for a reason or another, recognize him like literally everybody in Galar; but his pride and brand would be on the line, and nobody is fighting against the terrible, terrible weather today. He’s all alone in the streets of the city, pushing himself from the wall with wobbly arms, trying his hardest to remember where to go with slow, hazy thoughts…

Even if he was cold merely moments before, his head now burns. He feels too hot under clothes that are wildly unfitting of such a muddy season, despite the hair rising on what is exposed of his arms. A Cramorant stole his jacket when he was training, a Linoone tried to steal his stuff, and he ended up having a Pokemon knocked out and losing most of his healing items in the kerfuffle. It really hasn’t been his day, lately…

 His chest hurts. Not from the outside, as if he had injured himself in one of the falls he endured trying to feel from the Wild Area with no Pokemon to battle with and the slippery grass constantly trying to get the best of him, but from the inside. He doesn’t doubt the possible existence of bruises under the shirt that sticks to his limbs like a second, drenched skin; but this isn’t it. It intensifies when he coughs and it rattles strangely. When he tries to ignore the excruciating weather wishing for his demise, he hears the strange sounds his breathing now makes. He doesn’t know them so, in a moment of out-of-character lack of reason, he gets scared of them and vaguely wonders about worst-case scenarios.

It isn’t just his chest either. It’s his throat, it’s his mouth, it’s his feet, it’s his legs. Everything in his body is tired and screaming for rest, but he cannot provide it for any of his own self at the moment, stuck trying to navigate with what little he can distinguish with almost-closed eyes from how much he has to squint. His eyes can’t focus anymore, this much he realizes with a bitter sense of resignation, so everything he sees is blurry, including the weird gooey stuff he keeps coughing out whenever he can’t breathe anymore and has to stop for who knows how long.

 He trips over his own unmade shoe tie, losing in one fell swoop what was left of his balance, and falls right into the rainwater that has accumulated on the ground. It sounds and looks and feels like it’s the end, that this is where his journey ends: in some damp street of a city that he has never been able to find his way in, alone, cold and hot at the same time, rain burying him with the rest of the pavement. Not that he even thinks he has the energy to go on… Not like that. Not when his strength, the only thing he thought he had left, has all but given up on him too. Truly alone in a time where, sitting against a giant wall, he realizes what has been going on and poisoning his breath. Hah, ironic.

Still, this isn’t how he should admit defeat. He’s been won over now, and recently at that, and it’d be more than a shame for him to all but give up now. He needs to bring his team to the Centre, he can’t not try taking his revenge on the new Champion, he can’t not at least prove his superior battle skills to Raihan yet again, he just can’t leave Hop, and Sonia, and everyone else like that…

So he rises up once again, on weak arms and unsteady legs, almost tripping over himself, shoulder stuck against the wall. He won’t let this be the end of him.

 Even with a new resolve, it still doesn’t make it much better for him. Unless there’s a miracle happening right before him, he’s stuck with his heavily weakened state trying to find a place whose location he has no idea. His phone doesn’t seem to be able to show a map, its signal disturbed after whatever happened to it while he was looking or doing the polar opposite, so he’s stuck with his truly inefficient sense of orientation.

But it’ll be okay. It’ll have to be okay, because he needs to see Hop become a Professor, to buy Sonia’s new book, to rematch the Champion and his Leader friends, to give his team at least one more chance to shine. It’ll be okay, surely it’ll be okay, of course it’ll be okay… It’ll be okay, because this is all a terrible nightmare he’s going to wake up from, where he isn’t stuck in the torrential rain with a fainted party and very little hope of finding way out.

It’ll be okay, oh so okay…

 He tumbles and falls over again, this time hitting the ground with no grace whatsoever, most likely scratching elbows and knees in the process. Even rising his head up as not to cough in water when a fit claws at his throat again takes most of the energy he has left, only for his blurry sight and cottoned-down hearing to spot the first good thing in who knows many hours: a familiar yelp and vague brown-and-yellow figure rushing towards him.

With a trembling and feeble hand, he tries reaching out to the Yamper who has guided him so many times out of dangerous situations, only for an oh so familiar voice to yell in his direction. Still, it’s hard to know if it’s real or just his imagination. Ah, well; he’ll have to see when he’ll have woken up. If he even wakes up from the darkness starting to invade his vision…

  “Yamper, where in the world are you running like that?!” This creature never stops running, doesn’t it? “Yamper, wait for me!”

If she’s used to her trusty furry assistant running around everywhere it goes and pursuing it, Sonia has to notice there’s something odd in the air. Yamper never goes this fast, especially not in a city where it could smash muzzle first into people. There’s an urgent feeling to its yelps as it runs in one precise direction.

 As suddenly as Yamper started running when she had just gone out of the vault to investigate a little bit more into the Galar mythos she had become a specialist of, it stops right in its tracks in a little street she’s frankly never seen nor noticed before. With how much it’s raining and how unlikely it is to stop pouring soon, she doesn’t want the both of them out for much longer than needed.

She stops to regain her breath, hands on her knees as she folds in two, wet red hair hanging from her head. Yamper stays in place, running around her in circles, then disappearing from her view into the old, little street covered in rain and shadows. It doesn’t seem to have any intent on leaving soon.

 --------

“Why did you… bring me here…? Seriously, it’s raining Growlithes and Purrloins…!”

Still, Sonia gets herself together and goes on to follow her “assistant”. There’s dread building in her chest and stomach that she can hardly ignore… She’s seen enough movies as a teenager to know where this is going. She’s going to end up tangled into some messed-up situation, isn’t she…?

 Her heart skips a beat when she notices a very familiar person lying face down on the pavement, drenched to the bone. A person who hasn’t given her any response or sign of life for a few days.

Someone who’s gotten lost in Hammerlocke again.

 -------

 When he wakes up, everything feels different than the last time he’s been awake. It’s all white, dry and soft. He stills feels too hot and too cold, breathing remains a chore and he wishes he wasn’t there anyway; but he supposes he’s now safe and, honestly, he can’t think of anything much worse than treading through the torrential rain with little strength left.

Now, if he knew what the thing on his face was, he’d be doing a bit better, but his arms feel like they’re made out of lead and he lacks the energy to rise them to his mouth and at least touch it…

 “Leon?”

The voice, even if it’s muffled, is undoubtedly Sonia’s. He can’t quite put a finger on why exactly, yet he feels like this confirms something. If his chest didn’t feel so heavy and full, he’d have sighed in relief. That doesn’t prevent him from coughing again when trying to respond to his own name.

“Let me do the talking, okay? I’m sure you have a metric ton of questions to ask, but for the love of Galar, spare your voice unless necessary.”

 Now that his vision is focusing again, he notices both the pipe inserted in his wrist and the frown on her face. She seems less than content with something. What, he doesn’t quite know, and thinking hurts his head even further than it already bothers him, heavy on his neck despite resting on a pillow. Speaking of which, where is his stuff? His clothes?

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sonia rises from her chair and puts her hands on his chest, putting him back into his mattress. “You stay here and don’t cause anyone any worry more than you’ve already done!”

 He’s confused as to why she’s so adamant on him not doing anything. No speaking, no moving… If he didn’t feel this drained and lethargic, he’d absolutely get back at her with playfulness. Well, that does kind of answer his own question, doesn’t it? Or, at least, it seems to make sense to his brain which has troubles keeping up with the situation…

Yet, he sees a small smirk contrast with her frowned eyebrows. She seems… pained. Pained by what, or who, he doesn’t know; he’s most likely at least partially responsible for it, because she wouldn’t be there otherwise.

 “I don’t know how you’ve ended up in that situation exactly, Leon, but you’ve managed to surpass yourself in terms of putting yourself in harm’s way. You’ve scared us before, but not to that extent!”

“I…” His voice sounds hoarse and it absolutely feels that way. “It’s complicated…”

“Your entire party was fainted, safe for Charizard who was about to follow; you somehow bricked your phone in the process and ended up catching more than a death of cold. Where were you during all that time?!”

Sonia sounds a bit too scared for someone who’s facing her childhood friend stuck in a bed.

“The Wild Area…”

“That’d explain why you were soaked to the bone when I found you lying in a puddle… You’ll have to excuse me for using that crude language, you scared everyone on that one!”

 It’s his turn to ask a little question, even if the state of his body makes him want to remain quiet. Still, no matter how intelligent she is, Sonia doesn’t read minds, so he’s somewhat forced to go through with it if he wants his answers.

“Where are we?”

“A clinic in Hammerlocke. I forgot to add you also scared the ER staff with how bad your breathing was.” Has to be that irritating wheezing sound he’s hearing since he’s woken up. “By the way, since I know you’re going to ask me about that, your team is safe and doing much better now. They’re all gently resting in their balls while you recover.”

He misses Charizard and everyone else already. He owes them a big apology, that’s for sure, but he’s also certain his brain can’t process much right now. Sometimes, you just need to admit yourself to have been defeated… even if it bothers you to no end.

 Sonia paces around for a little bit before sitting down on the chair next to the bed, arms still crossed. She sounds more than frustrated, and, well… He can’t really hold it against her, can he? He already can barely hold anything against her to begin with, considering how much they’ve lived through together; it’s not today, in these circumstances, that he’ll try finding a reason for her not to be frustrated. Who knows how long he’s been gone without giving news: he frankly, forgot how quickly or slowly time was passing while he was wandering through the Wild Area.

“At least, you’re still here and breathing with us. Just, if you could not do that ever again, it’d be better, you know? I can’t always be there worrying after you when I’m now a Prof! Arceus, I don’t even imagine what sequence of events has thrown you into such a state. You looked absolutely pitiful when Yamper found you.”

 He tries to puff at himself to ease the tension he feels rising, but all he ends up doing is coughing. And coughing. And coughing.

“What did I say about sparing your voice? Tch, you’ll never change, will you? You’ve always stubborn, after all, so there’s no reason that’ll change now. That’s part of your charm, I suppose.” She shrugs before suddenly darting her eyes away from him. “But you’re right, I shouldn’t have to worry! You were the Champion of Galar for more than ten years, why would I be afraid of you? That makes very little sense, haha!”

“S-Sonia…”

 He only now spots the dark rings under her eyes and the hair pulling out of her ponytail, one strand at a time. How long was he out for, and for how much of that time was she there, exactly? (Hey, he does work fairly well, for someone who can’t stop sweating and whose entire frame is shaken up by chills at irregular intervals!). Too many questions, too little available brain space, he guesses…

“Go for it, make fun of your good old friend who still hasn’t gotten the memo. I should have been like Hop and blindly believed you’d come back to us, as you’ve always done…”

Oh, right, Hop! How is he doing, has he advanced in his research, does he still worry for him? Well, sadly, it’s not the time to think about his brother: his childhood friend seems to have a meltdown right in front of him.

“Why?”

 Sonia stares at him, completely silent, eyes wide. Seems like she doesn’t have an answer to her own interrogation, until pain comes back on her face like the wave crashing on the shore.

“You don’t… think it’s ridiculous?”

“What?” His throat doesn’t take kindly to his attempts at having a conversation.

“Everything! We swore we’d trust each other, but look at me, worrying over you as if we were still kids running in the fields with the Wooloos… And I’m telling you all that while you’re cooking on the inside! Really, isn’t that ridiculous?”

 Gathering his breath and his strength, he rises up with shaky arms against the bedhead, pillow still preventing his head from entirely lulling over his shoulder from how heavy it is. Whatever he’s caught, it’s one hell of an affliction he’s found himself with. Still, if it’s for Sonia, if she’s this distraught over the situation (he did almost pass away), he can put up with the migraine, the difficult breathing, the mask over his mouth, the lethargy, the chills…

“I’m sorry, Sonia.”

He does cough immediately after apologizing, as expected. For once, she doesn’t reply immediately, doesn’t make a witty remark; instead, she looks confused and maybe embarrassed, considering the red he can see with the eyes that still refuse to entirely focus for more than a few seconds.

“Sorry for what? And, again, spare your voice, you…”

“For all of this.”

 Her expression softens, eyebrows drooping and eyes shining brighter. Even if it’s slight and his eyes almost miss it, she finally smiles.

“How long…?” He’s interrupted by a fit.

“How long you’ve been out?” He nods, still trying to calm his chest down. “Around half a day. You did wake up at some point but immediately passed out again. No wonder why you don’t remember that.”

He now points at her with an unsteady finger. “Why are you… Oh, how long I’ve been here?” He nods again. “Most of that time, I’d say. I’d also say I fell asleep at some point too…”

 She crosses her arms again, just as his vision starts weakening again. It’s back to sleep, right?

“I think we both need our rest. I’m also certain Hop is waiting at the door, so you’ll even have a guardian angel watching over you, isn’t that super cool? And if you attempt rising from that bed, you’re sure to be put back into it in mere seconds!”

He’d try laughing if it didn’t trigger such a massive reaction from his lungs, so he decides to just nod instead.

“See you later, Leon. Goodnight.”

He waves at her, the lethargy still reflecting in his slow and sloppy gestures, but that’s fine enough for now. Her smile is worth it, isn’t it?

 Absolutely worth trekking through the rain with full lungs and little energy left…

[naitiaclo960writings]

Day 14 - Fire

A rustle of blankets. A sigh in the dark. Dean slowly turned in his bed, entangled in the sheets to protect himself from the cold that was beginning to infiltrate the bunker this October. The man had taken a little nap in the afternoon in order to make up for his last nights of insomnia, it was not as if they had work to do anyway. The monsters and other psychopathic killers seemed to have decided to take a break and Dean had every intention of taking the opportunity to rest his sore body from the last hunt.

He couldn’t have slept more than a couple of hours, which meant he had to be around 5pm. Nevertheless, Dean had no plans to get up right away, with his sheets pleasantly warm against his skin and, for the first time in a long time, sleep finally being cooperative with him. He knelt more against his pillow and put up a piece of sheets on his shoulders. While he was finally getting ready to plunge back into a deep sleep, something came to disturb his tranquility.

He did not know immediately what had bothered him, so he frowned slightly without opening his eyes and pricked up his ears, the sleep gradually leaving him as he forced himself to become more alert. It was like a bad feeling slowly taking hold of him until he could no longer ignore this impression of wrongness. Dean tensed softly into his bed, but kept his eyes firmly closed. It was dark in the room anyway, what could he possibly have discerned? He relied on his other senses to inform him of what was going on, having learned to trust his instincts after all these years of hunting.

However, he opened wide panicked eyes when he finally understood what had brought him out of sleep. Fire. A smell of smoke was spreading through the bunker and had reached Dean.

Without thinking, Dean abruptly pushed the sheets and threw himself out of bed, his heartbeats accelerating singularly in his chest. The first thing he managed to get out of his throat was the most obvious thing.

- "SAM!" He shouted, rushing blindly to the door of his room.

The smell, however light in the air, seemed to take hold of him all and made him dizzy, as if he had already swallowed whole liters of smoke. He refused to surrender to the painful memories that were passing through his mind when he finally found the door handle. The smell of burnt flesh. Flames. Tears. Cries. Take your brother outside as you fast as you can. Don’t look back. Now, Dean, GO!

- "Sammy!" Dean called in the hallway, his eyes desperately looking for any clues that the bunker was indeed on fire, that they had to get out of here as quickly as possible.

He discerned a net of smoke building up in the corridor and wondered vaguely why the smoke detectors had not yet activated. You couldn’t trust a high-tech bunker that was over 60 years old. Dean coughed poorly although the smoke wasn’t even thick enough to crawl into his throat and burn his lungs. It was as if his whole body reacted automatically to the sight of the fumes and drove him back into the middle of a fire. Again.

The hunter desperately wanted to go in the opposite direction and run as far away as possible from this place, but not without Sam. Not without his baby brother. This mission, to protect his younger brother at all costs, was literally his reason for living — had always been— and he preferred to die in flames rather than abandon Sam in a damn underground furnace. As a result, Dean stopped breathing as if by reflex and ran towards the smoke, following the trail to the source.

There was a time when Dean wanted to be a firefighter. Saving people, preventing other families from experiencing what he had experienced… He would have loved it. However, he would have laughed at himself considering how traumatized he was when he smelled the slightest hint of smoke if he were not so busy shouting Sam’s name.

His footsteps led him into the kitchen. Here, his entire vision was blurred by the amount of smoke in the room, covering everything with a gray and smothering veil. He had seen no sign of flame in his frantic course, but nothing was able to silence the frantic beats of his heart. He allowed himself to release his breath only when he saw Sam crouching on the ground in front of what seemed to be the oven.

- "Sam! What the hell is going on?" Dean exclaimed, failing to mask his obvious panic and anxiety.

Sam immediately turned his head towards him, in the door frame, his face hidden in the hollow of his elbow to protect himself from the smoke that came out of the oven in large quantities. At the same time, Dean noticed more movement to the right in the kitchen and recognized Castiel, his eternal trench coat and costume jacket having left his shoulders and leaving him only in a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He tried as hard as he could to ignore the burning chills that rose up on his body, licking his ribs.

- "We have to get out of here." Dean says, categorical, and he stepped forward with determination towards the two other occupants of the room to help them advance to the exit.

- "No, it’s okay." Sam said immediately. "I reversed the air pumps, we’re safe, we just have to…"

He does not finish his sentence, concentrating completely on the contents of the oven. With one hand, he grabbed potholders and plunged into the furnace, coming out a few seconds later with the grate, burning and completely blackened. On it lay a large, formless, charred mass from which much of the smoke escaped. Without further ado, Sam got up and brought the grate into the sink, throwing it and its contents into the sink before turning on the cold water tap as much as possible.

Straight away, the thermal shock caused water vapor while the grate finally cooled to the bottom of the sink. Sam and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief.

- "What the hell is going on?" Dean asked, having followed all the action with panicked and lost eyes.

Immediately, his brother and the angel exchanged a guilty look before Castiel turned to him, his eyes avoiding his own.

- "I… believe I tried to cook. And I obviously forgot to come and get the chicken and potatoes before they burned to the ground." He admits in a very small voice. "I’m sorry, Dean…"

Dean frowned at me.

- "What?" he said because he was still having trouble getting the information into his brain.

- "Everything is fine, it just made a lot of smoke, but we managed to avoid the worst." Sam shrugged, looking at what was left of the chicken with a disgusted face. "Well, I think so…"

- "I swear to you that the recipe did not stipulate that the meal could try to kill us if we did not show it enough attention." Castiel lamented, shaking his head with a defeatist air.

Dean put one hand in his hair and turned his back on them. A freaking, motherfucker chicken. Holy shit. A goddamn chicken with potatoes. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down while Sam tried to reassure Castiel behind him. However, he remained silent long enough to draw attention to himself again, with Dean now pacing the kitchen to regain some semblance of control over himself.

- "Dean?" Called Sam, raising an eyebrow at him.

- "Don’t ever do that again!" Dean said, pointing an accusing finger at Castiel with a severe face.

The angel seemed wounded, but nodded in spite of everything, looking down again like a child being scolded.

Dean sighed and passed a hand on his face, clearly on edge. He softened slightly before resuming his speech.

- "Next time just… wait until I show you how to use the oven. Please."

Castiel looked at him and nodded again, observing him for a long time as if he were trying to understand something particularly difficult to get. He doesn’t say anything though.

Dean nodded as well and turned a blank look at the still smoking oven. Okay. All he had to do was find something else to eat for tonight. He wasn’t even hungry anyway, his stomach still too tied up in the idea of losing his little brother and his best friend in something as stupid as a house fire. Traumas suck…

* * *

@winchester-reload

Here you go :). I wasn’t very inspired with today’s word, so I’m not truly satisfied with this one, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway ^^. Also, thank you for all the kind comments on my other Suptober days, you are awesome! See you tomorrow ^^

You can check my masterlist for the Suptober 2019 here

Tagging peoples cause why not :

@echooz @aliceollormusic @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover@styggtroll@thanks-tacos@petrichoravellichor@iamcharliebradburylevelperfect@ladywaywarddsc@hellfire37 @didnt-survive-twist-and-shout @destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl@alexia-kline-winchester@destielhoneybee@mylifeisbrulette@dysfunctional-destiel@ozonecologne@doofcas@castielrisingabove@zoerayne2426@tibbinswrites@naomishamiga @vicmc624 @thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1 @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Deacon St. John || Ambush

A/n: By the way, I do have a Wattpad where you’ll find these stories, too. I literally just copy these from my drafts and post them here. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

***HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD! PLEASE NOTIFY ME OF ANY ERRORS!!!***

***** Prompt: You and Deacon have been happily married for five years. Even when all hell broke loose, your love for one another remained intact. One day while on a supply run, the two of you are ambushed by a group of marauders. *****

~3rd Person POV~

"So, what's the plan?" (Y/n) questioned, waiting patiently on Deacon's bike as he filled the tank with gas. 

"Get in, get out. It's just a normal supply run, (Y/n)," he said, placing the jerrycan down beside the barrels of gasoline.

"Remember what Tucker said the last time we visited the Hot Springs? Y'know, about all the marauder activity recently in Belknap and how all their supply routes were ambushed?"

Deacon took one of his wife's hands in his, entwining their fingers together. "You worry too much."

"You," she used her other hand to poke him on the cheek. "Don't worry enough. Someone's gotta make up for all your carelessness. And who would be a better candidate than the woman you married, huh? Even Boozer is as careless as you sometimes! I can't believe you both are still alive with all the crazy shit you've done in the past two years."

A smirk crept across Deacon's face as he released her hand and mounted the bike. "Pretty sure you're the reason why we're still alive. All that nagging keeps our asses in check."

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around his waist with a scoff. "Why does that sound like and insult and compliment combined?"

"'Cause it is." Deacon revved the engine of his motorcycle, his smile widening. "Better hold on tighter. We're not stopping until we reach Belknap."

"I just hope this place you have in mind hasn't been raided yet," (Y/n) said, tightening her grip on the front of his shirt.

"I hope so, too." Deacon took off down the dirt trail of O'Leary Mountain, leaving the safehouse and Boozer behind.

The beautiful scenery of the mountain was plagued with the occasional dead corpse on the side of the trail and the groans of Freaks echoing through the trees.

Through the dark tunnel connecting Cascade to Belknap, a few Swarmers had chased them as Deacon carefully weaved the motorcycle between the vehicles.

Safely through the tunnel, they passed a NERO checkpoint as they made their way to Marion Forks. (Y/n) looked around and spotted a small glint. Before she could question what it was, they both were knocked off the bike. The motorcycle scraped against the asphalt, creating sparks.

"Get 'em!" A man shouted. Several men and women emerged from the shrubbery aligned on the side of the highway with melee weapons raised in the air.

(Y/n) struggled as she tried to get to her feet and defend herself from the approaching marauders. A little ways down the road, she saw a truck heading straight for them. "Deacon," she called out weakly to her husband.

At the sound of her feeble voice, Deacon managed to get to his feet just as four marauders surrounded him. He whipped out his pistol, killing three of them in a flash. He turned to take out the last man, but a rush of pain in his gut knocked the air out of his lungs. Hunched over in pain and desperately gasping for air, he watched as the rustic truck pulled to a stop in between him and (Y/n).

Four more marauders jumped out of the rickety vehicle. (Y/n) grabbed the knife concealed in her boot and swung it, but one man grabbed her arm and knocked the blade out of her hand. She tried to punch him, but another adversary grabbed her other arm. She struggled against them as they dragged her to the truck while cackling at the top of their lungs. "Let go of me, you bastards!" Swinging her legs, (Y/n) desperately tried to kick them.

"Knock 'er out, Ben!" One of the men restraining her demanded.

A younger man walked over with a wooden bat in his grasp. He didn't hesitate to swing the weapon and knock (Y/n) unconscious. The two men hauled her body into the backseat of the truck with a victorious chant. The remaining marauders hopped into the vehicle, but one had managed to strike Deacon in the spine with a metal pipe before hopping into the bed.

The drifter's entire body ached and he could barely move from the abuse. He managed to lift his head from the ground as the man behind the wheel lowered the window and grinned down at him menacingly. "This is what you fucking get for killing my friends, drifter. You want your girl back? Just try. You'll be dead before you can set foot in our camp. Sayonara, ya bastard!"

Deacon helplessly watched the truck disappear in the same direction it came from. With slightly shaky limbs, he pushed himself off the ground and to his bike. The engine was smoking, but he had just enough scrap to repair it. "You sons of bitches just wait. I'll kill every last one of you," he growled under his breath as he hauled his aching body onto the motorcycle.

Not wasting a single minute, Deacon pursued the marauders. Once leaving Marion Forks, he easily spotted the fresh tire tracks in the dirt and followed as fast as his bike could go. Unfortunately, his pursuit was halted when he spotted a horde making its way down the road. Confused as to why the large group of Swarmers were out during the day, he turned his bike around and searched for a place to hide. He was ill-equipped to take down a horde and had no other choice but to wait until they passed by.

Deacon found some foliage to hide in and parked his bike on the side of the road. He hid in the shrubbery and watched as the horde slowly made its way past him.

It felt like an entire hour crawled by before every last Swarmer passed him and headed further down the road. With an annoyed sigh, Deacon returned to his bike and searched for the tire tracks. However, all traces of the vehicle had been cleansed from the ground by the footprints of the horde. Desperate to save his wife, he searched for anything that could help him track the marauders who took her. Morosely, there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Dammit!"

<————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It had been a few hours since (Y/n) was captured by marauders. She recognized the area as Bear Creek Hot Springs, which wasn't very far from Marion Forks, but it was hidden along the base of the northern mountain range. They had tossed her in a small, makeshift prison beside a house. She had regained consciousness a few minutes ago with a splitting headache and a thick, dried streak of blood down the side of her face where the bat made contact with her skull. Now, she was pacing around in circles like a caged tiger.

None of the marauders had come to check on (Y/n), which made her happy to some extent. By what she could hear from a few women chatting just a few feet from the prison, Deacon was the intended target. Their laughter filled the air before their voices grew distant.

Suddenly, the door to the prison was unlocked and a smirking man stood on the other side as it swung open. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His eyes raked across her body and a disgusted look appeared on (Y/n)'s face. She backed away from him, glaring sharply. "The hell do you want?"

"Nothing. Just sizing up the goods," he chuckled darkly. When his eyes spotted the diamond ring on her left hand, he guffawed in amusement. "You're married to that bastard? Ha! You're married to a murderer, you know that, sweetheart?"

"First of all," (Y/n) snarled. "Don't you fucking dare call me "sweetheart". And second, he's not a murderer. Last I checked, the only murderers here are you morons. Guess idiots of a feather really do flock together."

"You're the moron for not knowing the definition of murder," he scoffed. "Let me tell you about all the shit that fucking drifter has done."

(Y/n) patted the back of her head as she listened to the marauder insult Deacon. She discovered a hairpin in her (h/c) hair and gripped it between her fingers tightly. She waited for the perfect moment, pretending to listen to the man as he ranted. The second he stepped towards her with his hands resting by his sides, she lunges forward and plunges the hairpin into his eye. He let out a bloodcurdling scream before losing his balance and falling to the ground, curling up into a ball. "Look at the bright side—you can start wearing an eyepatch. Heard they kinda look badass."

(Y/n) stepped over the marauder's body and exited the prison. Fortunately for her, there were no men or women around to hear his painful wails. She snuck around the camp, searching for a way to escape. The dirt muffled her footsteps as she stealthily made her way out of the camp. Knowing exactly where she was, the woman headed back to Marion Forks in hopes to find some shelter from the approaching darkness of the night and a safe place away from Freakers. She even prayed she would reunite with Deacon, but she had no idea her husband was heading in the opposite direction.

<———————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"C'mon, Tuck. Someone must've seen something!" Deacon stalked after the old woman.

"Listen, Deek. I'm sorry for what happened to your wife, but no one knows where these assholes are camping out," Ada replied with a sigh. "You should know by now that people who are captured by marauders never return."

"If you think I'm gonna give up on (Y/n), you're fucking mistaken. She's my wife and I would do everything in my power to protect her. Someone in this damn camp must know something." Deacon left before Ada could respond and asked around the Hot Springs.

After stalking around the camp and asking around, Deacon stumbled upon Alkai. He placed his hands on the counter of the man's stall and leaned forward. "Problems aside, I know you've been on plenty of supply runs. And I know—"

Alkai interrupted the man before he could finish his sentence. "A few drifters arrived a couple days ago and reported spotting an ambush camp at Bear Creek Hot Springs. They said they were going to try and wipe them out, but they have yet to return."

"'Bout damn time someone told me something," Deacon sneered.

"You've got enough ammo to take down an entire camp of marauders?"

"Always do."

Deacon departed from the Hot Springs and headed north to Bear Creek as the moon rose into the sky, taking the place of the sun. It was dangerous at night, but the darkness would provide more cover for him to move through the ambush camp without being spotted.

Arriving at the camp, the drifter was shocked to find it was empty all except for two men. He crept closer to them, listening closely.

"Goddammit, Ben!" The man on the ground shouted as he covered his left eye.

"How the hell am I supposed to get it out?!" Ben yelled back. "Your eye is fucked!"

"No shit, Sherlock," the unnamed man grumbled.

Seeing as either man wasn't armed, Deacon grabbed his handgun and emerged from his hiding spot. He shoved the muzzle of the pistol into the back of Ben's head. "So you're Ben, huh? Heard your buddies shouting your name during the ambush."

Slowly, Ben stood up and stepped aside with his hands in the air. "H-Hey, listen, man. None of that shit was my idea! It was this asshole's plan!"

"I don't give a shit who's plan it was." Deacon pulled the trigger, a single bullet whizzing through the man's skull. "All I care about is killing you bunch of murderers and finding (Y/n)."

Stepping over the corpse, Deacon kneeled beside the man crumpled up on the ground. The object protruding from his eyes caused the drifter to smirk in amusement. "Pretty sure those don't go in your eye."

"Fuck off, drifter. That damn bitch of yours did this to me," he hissed.

"Never thought I would ever see someone use a hairpin as a weapon," Deacon guffawed. "(Y/n)'s just that resourceful."

The marauder on the ground grinned. "That fucking broad is gonna get what's coming to her. The entire camp went after her once they found out what she did."

Deacon's smirk morphed into a fierce glare. He grabbed the tip of the hairpin and tugged harshly, the marauder shrieking loudly form the rush of unbearable pain. "You gonna tell me where they went or am I gonna have to tear this hairpin out of your damn eye first?"

"M-Marion Forks!" The man wailed, his voice raspy from all the yelling.

The drifter released the hairpin and stood up. The man on the ground lifted his body slightly with a painful and confused expression. "You're not gonna shoot me?"

"No." Deacon holstered his firearm, stepping closer to the assailant. "I'm gonna slam that hairpin further into your skull." He stomped his foot directly on the hairpin, pushing it further into the marauder's eye. His shrill cries echoed throughout the camp, but he suddenly fell silent. The drifter didn't bother to check to see if the man was still alive, but he would succumb to his injury soon and perish.

When Deacon arrived in Marion Forks, he spotted the familiar white truck parked by the church. The center of town was crawling with marauders as they searched the buildings. He armed himself with his boot knife and crept around the town, taking down any marauders he could while searching for (Y/n).

"Come on out! We know you're here!" One woman yelled as she searched the gas station alongside a couple of her companions. Deacon circled around around the gas station, avoiding their line of sight and making his way across the street to Hungry Jim's. He jumped through a broken window and landed on the shards of glass. The small noise caused him to freeze and he heard something skittering behind the counter. Gripping his knife tightly, he snuck further into the restaurant, keeping his head low.

Rounding the counter, he spotted droplets of blood leading to the kitchen. Deacon followed the trail out the rear entrance of the restaurant and to a car located in the parking lot. Peering through the foggy window and into the backseat, he saw a figure laying down. Opening the door, he realized it was (Y/n). His heart raced as the sudden click of the door opening startled her and she bolted out the other door thinking he was a marauder. She fell out of the car and on the asphalt, small pebbles digging into her palms.

Deacon swiftly maneuvered to the other side of the vehicle to stop her from running. "Hey, hey, it's me." He squatted down in front of her, obscuring the only escape route she had. He grabbed her wrists in his hands and whispered gently to calm her down. "It's me, sweetheart."

(Y/n) inhaled a shaky breath as she registered Deacon's voice. "Oh, god, Deacon." The moment he released her wrists, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. "I thought you were one of them."

"You... stabbed a guy in the eye with a hairpin?" He questioned as he held her body flush against his his.

"Uh, yeah." (Y/n) pulled away slightly to meet Deacon's gaze. "A little gruesome, but it gave me the chance I needed to escape."

The sound of approaching footsteps startled the couple. Deacon was the first to act and dragged (Y/n) down to the ground to hide from the marauder. He held her in his arms, taking cover behind the car. They listened to the marauder approach the vehicle, but their footsteps suddenly stopped on the other side. "There's no one fucking here!" The marauder suddenly shouted.

"Keep lookin'! There's no way in hell she could've made it far," a woman yelled back.

The second the man turned and headed back towards the rear entrance of Hungry Jim's, (Y/n) wiggles out of Deacon's arms and pilfers the knife from his boot. She crept after the man and followed him into the kitchen where she rammed the blade into the enemy's back, causing him to scream out as he fell to the floor. He turned his head to look over his shoulder. "You bitch!"

(Y/n) leaned down and yanked the blade from his back with a smirk. "It's a shame I don't have another hairpin. Enjoy bleeding out."

The man screamed as loud as he could, luring all the marauders to the restaurant. The (h/c)-haired woman rushed back to where she left her husband. Deacon was still crouched behind the car, watching the marauders storm into Hungry Jim's. "Let's get the hell outta here," he mumbled to her.

"Lead the way."

<———————————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"You both look like shit," Boozer commented when they arrived back at the safehouse the next morning.

"Nice to see you, too, buddy," (Y/n) snorts with laughter.

"What happened out there? I thought you'd be back before nightfall."

"One word—marauders," Deacon replied. "Bastards ambushed us on the highway. Remind me to return later on this week to kill the rest of 'em."

"Do we have anything for a headache?" The woman inquired, placing a hand against her pulsating head.

"There's some in the watchtower," Boozer responds before turning towards his bike. "I'm heading out to trade with Cope. Maybe we can get our hands on some more fish."

"Alright, Boozeman. Be careful," Deacon said. He looked over his shoulder to ask (Y/n) a question, but he saw she was making her way up the watchtower and followed. At the top, he watched her scrounge around for the medicine.

A dizzy spell caused (Y/n) to lose her footing, but she managed to catch herself before she fell. "Ugh, dammit..." Lowering her hand from her forehead, the blood on her fingertips caused her to grimace. "Why did it have to be a baseball bat?"

Deacon quickly rushed to her aid and caught her before she fell to the floor. He supported her body and guided her towards the small bed they shared. "You need to sit down and relax." He placed her on the bed gently before bending down to examine the wound on her head. Blood trickled down the side of her face, adding to the blood that had dried hours ago. He searched for a clean rag, medicine, and water.

Dabbing the cut along her hairline, he gripped the bottle of pills tightly. The plastic bent in his grasp, the top threatening to pop off from the pressure. "What else did they do?"

(Y/n) couldn't help but smirk at the question she thought he would've asked her hours ago. "And here comes the worrywart." She placed a hand against his cheek once he was done cleaning the wound. Her smirk transformed into a gentle smile. "Besides a bat to the head, nothing." She dropped her hand and patted the space next to her. 

Deacon sat beside (Y/n) on the bed and handed over the medicine. "You're out of commission until I say you aren't."

She swallowed the pill with a raised brow. Once the medicine slid down her throat, she spoke. "We've been married for five years, Deek. Haven't you learned anything?"

"Even if you beg me with those damn puppy dog eyes, I'm not changing my mind," he declared.

"I've more control over you than you know. I can change your mind. It's like flipping a coin—easy and simple," (Y/n) grinned.

A smug grin etched across the man's face. "Whatever you say." When Deacon saw she was about to stand up, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She gasped in surprise when the world around her spun and when her vision steadied, she was laying beside him. "For now, we're gonna get some rest."

The bed was small, but it provided enough room for them both. (Y/n) rested her head on Deacon's chest, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. "Didn't realize how tired I was until now."

Deacon combed his fingers through her soft, (h/c) locks. He continued his ministrations, glancing down at her face and watching her blink tiredly. "We're taking the entire day off."

"Agreed," (Y/n) smiled, closing her eyes and welcoming slumber with open arms.

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

Picture Perfect (Alex Høgh Andersen x Reader) Oneshot

Synopsis: Sometimes, the view is too good not to snap a quick shot.

Word count: 7.8k

A/N: Yes I know I said I wouldn’t write for real people anymore but this was initially written for a good friend’s birthday, because she loves Alex, and I didn’t want to leave it sitting in my fanfics folder, collecting metaphorical dust.

MASTERLIST

The snow just kept getting on his lens, and the gods help him, he was slowly losing patience. Like every week-end he took a stroll around town, finding a reasonably deserted park or street and tried to capture a few moments. He should have known to bring his bigger camera today as it was snowing – not heavily but enough to be a nuisance.

He cleaned his lens for the umpteenth times and quickly placed the camera back in front of his face the second he heard footsteps approaching, the soft crunch of the snow under their boots betraying their presence.

First a little dog in a sweatshirt came into view, making him smile and snap a picture – just for laughs – then its owner entered the range. An old man, followed by a second dog. He was white haired, his face wearing the signs of time, and his jacket looked a bit large on him.

Alex snapped another picture just when the man reached for treats in his pockets and the two dogs immediately sat in front of him, waggling their tails in expectation of what was to come. He smiled as he tossed the treats, sending them both running after them.

Looking at the photograph he just took, Alex smiled to himself. Over time he had become good at capturing just the right moment, the exact expression he wanted. After that he went on the move again – this place was a bit too void of people for his taste. He usually liked to be able to pick his subject and not have to mind the crowd around him, that's why his preference leaned towards open spaces with  few people.

It was Sunday after all, he should have expected not many people would willingly brave the Danish Winter on a day off. So instead of his usual spots he decided to head for town until he found a place he deemed appropriate.

It was freezing today, but at least it wasn't too humid. Alex rubbed his hands together, cursing himself for wearing fingerless gloves – but it was necessary if he wanted to be able to whip out his camera and take a picture when the opportunity for a good shot arose. As he made his way towards the most lively part of Copenhagen he stopped at a coffee shop and ordered the first hot drink he saw on the menu, just so his fingers wouldn't fall off.

While he stood in the coffee shop he undid his bun, then put his beanie back on, in an attempt to warm up his ears too. He really picked the worst day to scout the streets of the city in hopes of finding the perfect subject. Well, he only had himself to blame, he should have gotten to work yesterday but instead chose to sit in front of a video game all day long.

With a discouraged sigh, he exited the warm premises. His feet took him to the small, narrow alleys perpendicular to the big shopping streets – he always marvelled at how few people strayed from the path and actually explored those streets with nothing but tiny stores, tattoo shops, not very well known coffee places, and art galleries.

He liked to hang out there in between classes instead of going back to his apartment, where it was lonely and silent. Here he had the background noise from the nearby shopping streets, and the tranquillity of half-empty cafés.

In the end he had to cut short his day because it was simply too cold and windy to spend the day outside without catching his own death. After the third hot drink of the day he deemed he was caffeinated enough, and when the effects of the last coffee wore off, he called it a day.

But it was just then, round a corner and sitting on a bench that he saw the perfect picture. A girl sat there, searching for something in her bag – and not finding it according to the frown on her face. A handful of seconds later, her whole face lit up and she pulled a glove out of her purse. She sighed in content as she put it on before rubbing her hands together, bringing them to her mouth and exhaling hot air on them, no doubt to bring her frozen fingers back to life.

The bench she was sitting on faced one of the city's numerous churches, and the street was nearly void of people short of the two of them. If Alex didn't start moving soon, she would notice him observing her.

He detailed her for a short while, taking in her appearance. Her hair was a bit of a mess, but that must be the wind's fault. She wore a thick beige winter coat that hugged her waist and reached her thighs, black tights and brown leather boots that went up to her knees, and a gigantic scarf.

Suddenly she took a book out of her bag and she opened it. Alex's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Who in their right mind would come out here in the cold to read a book? That's also when he realized it had stopped snowing – though it was still very windy.

She didn't seem to mind though, and a fond smile adorned her lips as her eyes scanned the page, as if she was amused by whatever she read.

Without thinking, Alex grabbed his camera and snapped a few shots, capturing the odd but dainty sight before his eyes.

Before the girl felt his eyes on her, Alex walked away, not even looking at the result of the pictures he took – he knew they were the best ones he took today, and by far.

*

It wasn't intentional at all  or at least that's what Alex told himself – but three days later, when he had two hours of free time in between classes, he ended up at the exact same spot he saw the mystery girl the week-end before. It was ridiculous, the chances of this girl hanging out at the exact same bench to read her book were so slim it border-lined on desperation to come here again.

He felt stupid now, standing here, staring at an empty bench as though she would appear out of thin air if he stared hard enough.

It wasn't hit fault, he just couldn't get her out of his mind. After returning to the warmth and comfort of his apartment he nearly jumped to his desk, immediately plugging his camera to his laptop to see how the photos turned out. They were incredible, he couldn't remember being so happy with his photographs in his life. Maybe he had found his perfect model, and he let her slip through his fingers because he didn't want to look like a creep taking pictures of strangers in the street.

Which he did. So perhaps he was. He chased that thought away. The point was: he needed to find her again, he needed more pictures, and if it meant coming here every fucking day of the week, then he would do it. Clearly she lived here – first off all it wasn't tourist season at all, and secondly, if she was only here to visit she wouldn't spent her days reading a book on a bench.

Granted Copenhagen was a big city, but he could hope, right? Fortune smiles upon the bold – or something like that. So Alex began to walk the surrounding streets, peeking inside every café he walked past, just in case, and ended up where he started.

Maybe fortune would smile on him tomorrow.

*

The doorbell rang when she stepped inside the small, darkly lit shop, and she smiled to the owner – she was a loyal customer and she knew her way around this little shop better than her own place. The owner, an old man with frame-less spectacles nodded as she walked past him, and gestured towards a freshly delivered pile of books.

She had the privilege of looking through the new stuff before he put it on the shelves for the other customers.

“Read them all already?” The man asked, sitting down behind the front desk.

“Not all of them,” she answered, already kneeling down to have a closer look. It was a small second hand books shop where all the books were piled onto each other, making the whole place look packed. “But I had some errands to ran around here, so I thought I'd come.”

“You're the first person to come today,” the man sighed. “People just don't read as much as they used to.”

“I know,” she said.

They fell into comfortable silence after that and half an hour later the girl had picked five books and paid for them. She left with a heartfelt goodbye and went on her way. She closed the door behind her, making the bell ring again, and when she turned around she nearly bumped into a passer-by and tripped on her feet when she tried to avoid them.

“Gotcha!” The person exclaimed when they caught her in extremis before she face planted on the cold hard ground, along with her bag of books. “You okay?”

She quickly regained her balance, and when the other person let go of her she blushed like nobody's business. Attracting this kind of attention was the worst – now she would forever be the girl who tripped on her own feet to this strange. An attractive stranger at that, which only made her lose more of her composure.

As far as first impressions go, she could do better.

“I- I'm sorry, I'm fine. I'm really sorry, I... wasn't looking,” she stammered out, not knowing what to do with herself – if she could just vanish on the spot that would be ideal. “Thank you,” she added when her last two brain cells caught up on the situation and reminded her of basic social rules.

She damn near ran away from this young, hot stranger with blue eyes before she could further embarrass herself and all of her ancestors by stuttering out some more basic nonsense. When would she learn how to speak? You'd figure a twenty-something cinema major who destined herself to be a screenwriter would know how to use words even in awkward situations, but she just didn't.

Granted this was a particularly cliché situation – she could literally name ten movies off the top of her head that used the girl-runs-into-hot-guy as a first meeting trope – but that only made it worse that she fled like a coward. She should know the dialogue by heart by now. She should be able to turn the tables and walk away with dignity.

But she didn't. She has always been more comfortable with writing than speaking, but this was a huge fail, even for her. She wasn't usually that socially impaired. She face palmed and walked on, hoping that this was the last she saw of the stranger.

*

He couldn't be a hundred percent sure, but Alex thought he bumped into his unknowing model last week in town. It all happened so fast he couldn't be certain it was her, but she was once again holding books and her hair was a mess, and she also wore a beige coat.

Then again this description matched a lot of girls. She scurried away so fast he didn't even get a chance to say anything to her, let alone ask her if she was his mystery girl.

This time around he didn't have his preferred camera, but his silver process camera that he used for softer pictures, and a more authentic finish result. Nonetheless, he snapped a quick picture of the girl while she walked away, her coat longer than he remember billowing slightly behind her as it caught the wind.

And now he waited. He waited because he only brought his camera to his local shop two days ago to have his photos developed, and he was told to come pick them up tomorrow. Talk about an impatient man, Alex couldn't wait to compare this new shot to the previous ones, to see if it was the same girl, despite the different angle and the fact that he couldn't see her face on the second one.

A lead was a lead, and if he somehow accidentally found a book store she shopped at, it would be the perfect setting for a meeting.

“Hey man, snap out of it!” Franz snapped his fingers in front of Alex's eyes to make him come back to earth. “You know it's freaky as hell when you zone out, you just stop blinking altogether.”

“Sorry,” Alex apologized and tried to bring his attention back on the lecture.

It wasn't his favourite kind of classes, lectures. He tended to get bored really quickly as he was a very energetic person – though some people might just say he has minor ADHD – and he liked it better when he could expand his knowledge through experience rather than boring lectures given by a teacher speaking in a monotonous voice.

“Still thinking about that girl, huh? It's a wild goose chase you're on. I'd let it go it I were you, there are literally hundreds of thousands of people living in this city, how the hell do you think you'll find her?”

“I'm counting on luck and fate,” Alex replied with a sly smirk, knowing it drove Franz crazy when he did that.

It was his thing to rely entirely on external influences to achieve his goals, and it was maddening to everyone around him that it worked - most of the time. It was indecent to be this lucky, but it wasn't magic either, and Alex had ended up in situations that ranged from awkward to severely bad because of this.

“Of course you are,” Franz grumbled, returning his attention to the teacher and leaving Alex to his delusions. “If you somehow find this girl and she agrees to go out with you, I'll even pay for your first date,” he snickered.

“Who said I wanted to go out with her? I just want her to model for me,” Alex replied, his eyebrows shooting up. “But you know what? I'll take it. A free dinner is a free dinner.”

“So where d'you plan on taking her? Do I need to make a student loan?” Franz continued to snicker, making fun of Alex's optimistic nature.

“Why do you insist I want to take her out?”

“Man, no one is obsessed with a girl just because she looks pretty on a picture,” he stated in a flat tone, as if he thought is was too obvious to even say out loud. “You have a bad case of love at first sight.”

“I do not,” Alex argued, cringing. “I'll prove it! I'll find her first, and then-”

“Then what?”

Damn Franz, he sounded so cocky what with his raised eyebrow and dumb grin.

“Then I'll take more pictures and nothing else, I'm not looking for a girlfriend,” he huffed, pointing his finger at his friend. “And you'll take back what you said!”

“And you'll pass up a good opportunity to take a pretty girl out at my expenses, so who's really winning in this situation?” Franz pointed out.

“I hate you,” Alex grumbled, short of having a good answer.

They became silent again and simply stared blankly at the board and the teacher. Alex mulled over what Franz said, and he eventually came to the conclusion that he was right. Whatever the outcome, he'll win. In both cases Alex would have a new model, and either prove a point to his friend or he'd get a date with a beautiful girl.

So why fret? All he needed to do now was find her. And get this damn photograph developed.

*

The paranoia became real after the fourth time she thought she heard the click of a camera while she was out in town. As a creature of habit, she spent a lot of her free time at the same places – the same local book-store, the same coffee shop that made her favourite drink, the same bench that was somehow always unoccupied, as if waiting for her.

But these days she felt like the bench wasn't the only one waiting for her. Which was an insane notion, because who on earth would watch her? Did she have a stalker now? Had she watched too many thrillers lately? A possibility.

So she waved off her worries and sat down to read as per usual, if the weather permitted it. Until another week later, when she walked down the stairs of the coffee shop that made the best chai tea in town, and she heard it again. This time there was no mistaking the sound, she didn't just hallucinate it, and there was someone, somewhere taking pictures – possibly of her.

So far her curiosity prevailed, and instead of running away and scream bloody murder, she decided to discreetly look around to find her stalker. If stalker there was. And she was not disappointed.

From a seat at the coffee house across the narrow street, Alex snapped a shot of the girl. He'd received his second photograph, the one of the girl from the book store, and established that it was indeed his mystery girl. From then on he just went to the book store again and again, day after day, in hopes of seeing her there – for a week straight.

She didn't come, but he saw her again by coincidence – though at this point one could argue they were past sheer coincidence. This was fate at work. He had to talk to her.

But every time an opportunity showed, he missed the window. Instead of manning up and introducing himself, Alex ended up taking a picture or two – or three – and left. Each shot was better than the previous one, each more stunning, more natural. It felt like the elements worked in her favour too, the wind blowing her hair just at the right time, the rain making her clothes heavier, the snow clinging to her, the sun shining on her brown hair and giving her a soft halo.

Alex was awestruck each time, and he hated it because it meant Franz was right, and Franz couldn't be right. He needed a model, he found a muse. He didn't dare think she could become anything more.

The thought itself was abstract and a bit of a stretch. To become anything else but the stranger he stalked on the streets, Alex would first need to get it together and introduce himself.

He almost did it today, he very, very nearly did it. She was walking down the flight of stairs leading to the door of this small café probably no one but her knew about, shielded herself from the elements with her umbrella while she sipped her drink.

He should buy her a coffee next time he spots her reading on her bench, and explain he's been taking pictures of her. Or maybe a cold drink, just in case she decided to throw it in his face. The more time he allowed to pass, the weirder it became to take these pictures – it didn't sit right on his stomach.

On the one hand it wasn't like he wore camouflage and hit in bushes, waiting for the right time to steal yet another pictures of this girl. He still took loads of other pictures, other people than her. She was simply the best, therefore he always came back. And then on the other hand, his folder of stolen pictures was growing, and he had to admit he would be weirded out if someone did to him what he did to her.

After another while, Alex stopped seeking her out on purpose, yet he still found himself in all the places where she hung out. He'd spent so much time walking around to find her that he got used to this part of town, he found some nice places he liked to go back to. And more often than he would like, he still ended up taking pictures.

Now she was everywhere. She was on his mind, in the streets, on the pictures. Maybe he was going crazy? Maybe she didn't even exist, and he'd lost it? Franz thought so anyway, even though Alex showed him some pictures. He agreed that they were good, great even, but he didn't understand Alex's fixation.

Clearly there was more to it than what he said. No matter how much he argued that he only wanted her as model, his friend didn't believe a word of it. He was smitten, and that was the end of it. This revelation felt like a cold shower, and from then on, Alex tried to keep his stalkerish ways to a minimum. Then again, it was easier said than done, especially when he spotted her casually walking by while he was out to finish an assignment at a café or something.

A lot of the time it actually felt like she was posing, just waiting for a photoshoot to start. If he didn't know any better he would think she knew he photographed her – but let's be real for a hot second, no girl in her right mind would let a stranger take pictures of her.

Because that's what he was: a complete and total stranger. She couldn't possibly remember him from the one time she bumped into him, and even if she did, it still didn't make him anything but a stranger to her, they didn't talk, they didn't exchange names.

Alex wished he knew her name.

*

She wanted to die. A few days of hyper awareness of her surroundings made her spot her mystery photographer, and when she recognized him she felt her soul depart her body and astral project into another plane of existence.

The hot guy with blue eyes. The guy she made a fool out of herself in front of. The guy to whom she apologized to several times despite doing nothing wrong, and then ran away from like he was a diseased.

Now that his identity wasn't a mystery anymore, she felt a little better. Her brain seemed to think that having a hot stranger take sneaky pictures of her was a lot better, a lot safer, than if it was an old disgusting creep. She didn't say anything to her friends because surely they would think her mad. Uhmm yes a really hot guy I ran into on the street is now obsessed with me and follows me around to take pictures. Have I mentioned that he's really cute? They would laugh in her face and tell her to stop watching American teen movies – her guilty pleasure.

Instead of allowing herself to properly freak out over this and run to the police station to report him, she willed herself to calm down and think about the situation. First she needed to determine if he was a mentally imbalanced creep and if her life was threatened. So far it didn't seem so, he stayed far away, didn't try to communicate. Maybe she was imagining things and he took pictures of a lot of different people around this part of town?

Yes, that was entirely possible, if not the most logical explanation of all. She wasn't stalker victim material, she was too boring for that. Nothing ever happened in her life. A tired groan fell from her lips at that thought.

Although he was very attractive, and she caught herself thinking it wouldn't be so bad to have become the reluctant object of desire of a cutie like him more than once. God, if only I didn't embarrass myself in front of him! I wish I'd met a guy like that under different circumstances, make a better first impression, get a chance to shine in a better light! A girl can dream.

Yet, as though the gods heard her wish, the very next day when she went to class, she saw him. At least she thought she saw him, maybe she had become more paranoid than she first thought and started seeing him everywhere. She stopped dead in her track, alarming her friends, and stared without an ounce of shame or care for being discreet. Her friends shook her out of her state of daze and she gathered her wits just in time to see him walk through a door, his signature camera around the neck.

“Hey!” She called him, but she knew she was too far away, and he wouldn't know she was calling him out of all the people in this hallway. “Hey wait!”

“Who are you talking to?” Her friend asked, frowning a bit in concern and tugging at her sleeve. “It's time, we have to go to class.”

She nodded, still trying to see where exactly he went, what room it was.

“Who was it anyway?” Her friend pressed her.

“I just... I thought I recognized someone,” she answered vaguely, but she was one hundred percent sure it was him. She knew what he looked like, she just knew.

Could she be any more lucky?

*

Could Alex be any more unlucky?

He sat at the park, leaning back on his elbows and soaking in some sun now that the days became warmer. He waited for a friend, and even left his camera at home, which he rarely ever did. Then, right there, he saw his mystery girl. He was far from her usual hangout spots, he wasn't looking for her, he wasn't expecting to see her – he actually hadn't seen her in over a week now.

He took the habit of going to town to take pictures now, despite not searching for her anymore – he had somewhat given up on ever talking to her. She was an ethereal being, surrounded by mystery, and he was scared that putting a name on her face was going to ruin what he found so captivating about her, so she would remain so.

Ridiculous. He just chickened out of chatting her up. As the days, then weeks went by, he realized that Franz had been right all along. Alex had developed feelings for someone he didn't even know, and he felt it was too late to introduce himself now.

There was no chance in the world this girl would agree to be anywhere near him. He spent weeks sneaking shots of her, and looking for her like a true creep in his own right. If he could rewind the tape of his life and go back to that first day when he saw her read in the cold, he would do it in a heartbeat. He would say hi, ask her if she wanted to go grab a coffee, even if he already had three at this point in time.

But he couldn't go back, and he couldn't wipe the slate clean, because the slate was full of photographs of her he took without her consent. He didn't do anything with them in the end, didn't turn them in for one of his assignments, didn't use them for any project. He didn't feel like he had the right to. They sat in a folder on his desktop, and he looked at them when he needed inspiration.

So he didn't move a muscle when she walked past him, oblivious to the fact that he knew her - to her he was just anther face in the crowd.

Then Alex's heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed thickly. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment – so brief he couldn't swear it actually happened. But he knew in his heart of hearts that she looked his way. No just his way, but straight in his eyes. Not in the way one roamed the crowd and locked eyes with a random person, no. She looked him in the eyes, on purpose, as if she recognized him.

It messed with his head a little bit, and Alex felt uneasy enough to get up and walk to another hill in the park once she was out of sight.

What a strange day. And stranger the rest of the week would be, unbeknownst to him.

*

The more time passed, the less worried she became.

The little voice in the back of her head told her she should be at least a little bit concerned that some guy she saw once outside a book store suddenly developed an obsession with her to the point where he stalked her and took pictures of her. The little voice even suggested she goes to the police.

But she did her own fair share of stalking in return, and the day she saw him in her building on campus was the day she stopped worrying altogether. The attractive boy from the book store was an Art student majoring in photography if she did her stalking right. Who else would go to class with a heavy camera bag and a tripod?

When she realized she became the accidental muse of a photographer in becoming, she relaxed. Now she was amused more than flustered or embarrassed at the thought, and reassured, in an odd way, by the notion that he might simply be too shy to ask her to pose. Who knew she would enjoy the attention? She caught herself playing along on more than one occasion, posing for her secret admirer, and putting more care in her choice of outfits.

She hoped it didn't show too much, but still looked the way he wanted it to.

What started worrying her was when he slowly stopped waiting for her at her reading bench, or by her coffee shop. She learned to spot him easily – his long brown hair, either falling free or tied in a bun, his big black framed glasses, his hooded sweaters layered with a jacket, his grey sweat pants.

Disappointment showed its ugly face when she realized he probably lost interest in her. Until that day at the park, when she saw him. He wasn't taking pictures for once – in fact it was the first time she saw him without his camera. And she got caught staring. For a second that lasted a lot longer than that in her mind, they couldn't tear their eyes off each other.

But luckily her feet kept walking, and when she exited the park she could breathe again. She felt reinvigorated, as though a new life was breathed into her. And she decided to stop being the girl on the pictures. Next time she saw him, she would talk to him.

She wasn't that shy once the ice was broken, but she needed to give herself a good pep talk before taking the oh so scary first step.

*

Like any girl would do when she was on a mission, she dressed in black, wore sunglasses even though there was no sun, and a beret. Because berets were so inconspicuous and so... so French. Al right, she had no idea what she was doing, but she was doing her best, it had to count for something.

She counted on the little episode at the park to spike his interest again, and hoped he would come out of his lair to find her today. It was Monday, which was the day she saw him most often, the day she usually read on the bench in between classes over lunch. She picked a café with tables outside, one that had a perfect view of her bench, and sat in a corner, next to a huge plant that would hopefully hide her.

And she waited with a coffee in hand, and a book in the other. He sometimes sat here to take her picture so chances were he would pick a table here too. Her plan was flawless on paper.

She finished the fifth chapter when she caught the familiar sight of him from the corner of her eye, and she closed her book abruptly. He ordered something, and when the waiter left, she took a deep breath, mentally braced herself, took off her sunglasses and beret, shoving them in her bag, and she stood up.

Her heart speed up like a race horse on the startling line. She closed her eyes, stopped breathing, and sat down across from him, to his visible astonishment. It was done.

“I wasn't sure you'd show up but I'm glad you did,” she told him, surprising herself with how smoothly it came out. Why was it so difficult to talk to pretty boys?

In the few seconds it took him to recognize her, understand what was happening, and decide on a course of action, she had the time to settle down and even her breathing.

“This conversation is long overdue, isn't it?” He eventually said, leaning back against his chair, a crooked smile dancing on his lips. God he was attractive.

She nodded, because she was momentarily struck dumb by how good he looked.

“I- uhm... I'm curious as to how you're going to explain why you've been following me around, taking sneaky pictures. You do realize I could have gone to the police?” She somehow managed to say, though not helping the little hesitation at the beginning.

“Why didn't you?” He replied, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows.

Oh, he wanted to play it like that? Fine. As hot as he was, she wasn't going to turn the other cheek. She came here to get answers to her questions.

“You first, smartass!” She snorted, mirroring his own stance.

He looked up, as if deciding whether or not to oblige her. In the end he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger, finally speaking up.

“I was just out, hunting for a good shot. I photograph people, that's what I do. But don't worry you can't even see your face on any of the shots I made of you, except one. The first one,” he told her. He said that as if it was supposed to reassure her in some way. “When I saw you reading your book on that bench I thought it was... picture perfect. Couldn't resist.”

“So when exactly did I become your Woman in Red?" She asked in a rare show of boldness and sarcasm.

She usually went about things with a dash of subtlety.

“My what?” He frowned.

“It's- it's just a movie,” she said, chasing away the thought. She was used to people not getting her references, but this guy seemed to wait for her to continue her explanation. “About a man who sees a beautiful woman dressed in red and becomes obsessed with her, he desperately wants to meet her, but he's already married.”

Alex thought about it, and let out a little interested 'huh', while staring at her. He nodded, approving her comparison and mentally taking note to watch that movie.

“I actually just wanted to find you to ask you to model for me, but things didn't go as planned,” he groaned, rubbing his face in frustration.

It was hard to process that the mystery girl was sitting across from him right now, fishing out information. And when he said things out loud they sounded ten times worse than in his head.

“Do elaborate, I'm all ears.”

She was so glad her voice and face didn't betray her today, because she wouldn't have survived another round of whatever the bell happened outside the book store weeks ago. “The book store.” This seemed to prompt a reaction from her even though she tried to keep it cool. “It was you, right? I knew it! But I wasn't sure when it happened, you ran away so fast!”

“Sorry about that,” she apologized with a faint blush.

“I took a quick picture of you that day just to compare it to the first one, to make sure it was really you. When I decided the resemblance couldn't just be a coincidence I thought 'great, now I know what book store she goes to'. I decided to hang out there so I could talk to you then, but you never showed up.”

He seemed to have finally decided to spill the beans and tell her everything.

“Every time I saw you it was like you were just waiting for me. Already posing for the perfect picture, so I took one. And another. And another. And the more time passed the less inclined I was to talk to you, because at this point I knew I'd have to admit I was taking pictures without your consent and I'd have to explain that I started hanging out here just in hopes to get a good shot of you. You do understand that I wasn't fond of the prospect? A girl with more common sense than you would obviously have gotten a restraining order against me.”

“Hey!” She protested. “I have my reasons for not going to the police I'll have you know. Just like you have your reasons for not just saying 'hi, can I take a picture of you?'”

“Touché. Anyway I thought it was too late to introduce myself now, so I settled for taking a picture when I saw you, and I stopped trying to force a meeting. Thought I'd leave you alone.”

“What made you change your mind?” She now asked out of sheer misplaced curiosity and no longer to get answers to her questions. He'd answered them all anyway.

“Hey, hey, hey, enough with the questions! First you answer mine and then I tell you all my secrets! Christ this is worse than a police questioning!”

“Oh you have experience in that department I see,” she teased him. “It's simple I knew you weren't some psycho who had an altar with a wall covered in blurry pictures of me, so I let you take pictures.”

She shrugged and Alex seriously put her sanity in question.

“You think you're good at taking pictures discreetly? You're not. You're the worst ninja photographer of all time. When I finally realized someone was watching me, I paid attention. I saw that it was you - the guy from the book store - and from then on I knew what you looked like and one day I saw you at uni. We have class in the same building by the way. I'm in cinema and I know you're in photography.”

“What a small world!” He said, his voice dripping in irony.

“So yeah. Not some creep with a voodoo doll that looks like me, just a student taking pictures of everyone he saw. No biggie. Though it is flattering that you kept coming back to take mine, I admit.” “This is so far from the reaction I expected in case you ever found out. I can't believe you spied on me like I spied on you. I feel weird...” Alex made a face and ran a hand over his chest as if he could better put a word on it by touching the source of the feeling directly.

“I'm sure you do. It's called getting a taste of your own medicine.”

“So you've known I was taking your picture for some time. Yet you let me do, and you say its flattering? Does this mean I wasn't imagining things when I saw you pose for me?”

“Couldn't help myself.” She shot him a mischievous smile. “What else was I supposed to do? You weren't asking me to model for you, and it was always better than freaking out.”

“My bad.”

“Now back to my question! You stopped coming here lately, what made you change your mind?”

Alex didn't answer and instead chose to focus on the empty coffee cup sitting on the table, his fingers spinning it around.

“Was it perhaps our little moment at the park yesterday?” She ventured. Alex flinched and the cup slipped from between his fingers, falling to the ground. “I take this as a yes.”

“So what? You've tricked me into coming back? You could have talked to me at the park,” he huffed, slightly offended that he got played so easily.

“There was no point in talking if you'd abandoned the idea of photographing me, I wanted to see if you were still interested.”

She now leaned on her elbows over the table.

“And instead of sitting on the bench I picked this coffee shop. Today's Monday, the day I see you most often. And I know you like this coffee shop best to sneak pictures, it has a good view of the bench. So I sat in the corner over there and I waited patiently,” she started explaining, pointing at the table she was sitting at earlier. “You're late, you know that? Made me wait over an hour. I was starting to think you'd stood me up.”

“It would need to be a date to stand you up,” he pointed out, trying to play smarty pants with her.

“Well there must be something you like about me given how many times I caught you looking at me.” She shrugged and he stared in shock. “Besides I think it's high time we introduce ourselves. We at least ought to get to know each other's names given how much mutual stalking has been going on between us.”

“Fair point, I'll give you that. You played your cards very well, I admit my defeat.”

“So in case you need to put a name on your stalker folder, I'm (Y/N)," she laughed. “And yes, I would love to go out with you.”

“Alex Høgh Andersen, full time photography student and stalker in training,” he said, holding out his hand for a very formal but sarcastic handshake. “And I don't remember asking you out,” he added with a sly smirk.

“Really? My bad, I must have heard wrong. I thought you said you were meaning to talk to me but chickened out, and that's why we're in this situation in the first place.”

“I said I wanted to ask you to model for me.”

“Isn't that art student code for 'i want to take her to a candle lit dinner, bring her home, ravish her against a wall, and in the morning when the first rays of sunlight hit her sleeping form I'll take an aesthetic nude of her with my Polaroid camera and hang it above my bed'.”

Alex looked like she'd just smacked him with a wet towel across the face. He felt like choking on thin air, and didn't know to say to that.

“I honestly am not aware of a code for such a specific thing,” he ended up saying. She was smiling a bit, mischief still glowing in her eyes, and despite the odd situation and the unlikelihood of it all, he smiled back and braced himself. “But I guess we can coin this code word if you want. My bedroom wall is in need of some tasteful decoration after all.”

“Do you want my number or is it already in your stalker folder?” (Y/N) asked, raising a reading brow.

Alex held out his pointer finger.

“I do not have a stalker folder. I'll let you see all the pictures if you want. I can guarantee they are all anonymous, no one can see your face.”

“Inviting me to your place already!” She laughed. “I can't wait to see your work.”

She winked playfully but she sounded sincere, and suddenly Alex wondered why he was so scared of talking to her. She was a lot funnier than he expected - she looked so serious and dignified when he looked at her through the camera lens.

He took his phone out of his pocket and let her dial in her number while he did the same with her phone. The exchange was quick though their conversation lasted longer than he suspected. They were soon asked to leave because the place was closing, and so they walked away.

“You're different from what I thought. After you almost bumped into me when you came out of the book store I thought you were one of those introverted bookworms with zero social skill and confidence. Another reason why I didn't talk to you, even after I established you were the girl from the bench. If I had asked you to be my muse and you had refused, I would have had to stop, of course. But as long as you didn't know, you couldn't say no.”

“Sketchy logic Alex! Very sketchy!” (Y/N) told him, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I know, but thank you for pointing it out,” he retorted, making her face and rolling his eyes.

“I also notice I got an upgrade from model to muse. This is getting better and better.”

If she wasn't smiling so big and bright and so genuinely Alex might have felt insulted, but he could only smile back.

“They're not the same thing. And they are not mutually inclusive either.”

“Oh I know, I'm just mentally ticking off all the titles you have for me,” she chuckled.

They had started walking aimlessly through the empting streets - neither of them lived in that direction (unbeknownst to each other), they only walked to get some more time together at this point.

“One more thing-” Alex began, gaining her full attention. “I have a friend, Franz. He was so sure you'd blow me off that he bet me a full date, dinner included, that you'd never go out with me even if I decided to talk to you.”

“Well I think I'm the one who talked to you, so...” Alex snorted and he bumped against her shoulder. “Are we going to be nice and do the classic movies and pizza date?”

“Absolutely not. We're gonna make him regret ever betting against me, name whichever fancy place you've ever wanted to go to,” Alex snickered and smiled in a twisted way.

(Y/N) had a strange thought that if they were in a cartoon he'd rub his hands together and do an evil laughter. It brought a grin to her face.

“I'll think about it. Before we go any further I have to tell you something though.” They stopped dead in their tracks, Alex tensed at the seriousness in her voice. “I... I actually live in the other direction.”

The confession first surprised him, then made him laugh, and she swatted him for laughing at her.

“Me too," he said, continuing to laugh. “Me too.”

Bonus “Oh wait!” Alex stopped walking to look inside a small printer shop, yanking (Y/N), who was holding onto his arm, back. “It's still open, great. I have a quick errand to run. Wait here.”

He didn't give her a chance to argue and simply ran inside. (Y/N) quietly stood there, studying the window of a galerie across the road, humming to herself like an elevator playing background music. A couple minutes later he came back with a small plastic bag in hand.

“What is it?” She asked out of curiosity.

“Polaroid film.” He smirked down at her.

If you like my work please consider buying me a coffee <3

[hazeltears94]

Loki convo with Reader

\Just a chapter in a fan fic I'm contemplating let me know if it intrests you/

FAST SUMMARY :

(You and loki have history since childhood , things happened and you were separated for awhile with hard feelings both ways. Youve been brought together again in attempt to work together. Loki wants to have you to himself but youve been tricked before. )

Determined to make it to my quarters before he could reach me proved to be more troublesome than I realized. I could hear his long determined strides behind me in the long narrow corridor that housed the bunk bays of the Quinjet. 

Just a little farther and I would be securely locked behind mine , safe and secure from.. 

“Oh for God’s sake I know you hear me (Y/N) !” he growled. I blew out a harsh breath and responded to the owner of the curt tone. 

“Just leave me be Loki” I pleaded still facing my bay door hoping to be in the small bed behind it in the next few minutes. This day from hell would just not end, I had been assigned to assist in the search and recovery mission of an unknown assassin the Avengers had failed to haul in. At Thor’s request for assistance I relented to travel along with his comrades which called themselves The Avengers in search of said danger.

 I had been no sooner introduced to the one whom calls himself Iron-Man when he questions Thor’s decision to bring me in on the mission. I decided to show him my worth of being here and ability to protect myself. I had pinned him down swiftly without a scratch but did not anticipate the reinforcements that came to his aid . All at once I was being thrown against the wall of the training hall. Though Iron-Man apologized for not un-syncing his robots to a distress call I could tell he was pleased I had been shown up a bit by his inventions. 

I tried to rush and push my way into my small quarters without further interruptions when a hand shot out and pulled it shut again. Ah Yes we could not end this day without a little more banter from the God of lies and Mischief;

 Loki Odinson ,Laufeyson? I wasn't sure which he was going by these days and at this moment I decided I didn't really care. Thor had left out the smallest detail that this certain person would also be on this planet, with this mission and in my hair apparently. He had been watching my spat with the Iron-Man and when I had been throttled to the other side of the training arena he was the one who had literally disarmed the sentry robot protecting its creator from harm. I still shook spots from my vision when I saw a dark figure rip the arms from the metal warrior. All the poor machine could do was whir down as it was ripped to shreds. Iron-Man was non too pleased to have one of his metal army destroyed. It was then I discovered my savior was Loki. 

“You are avoiding me (Y/N)”  he simply stated . 

Annoyed, I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and wondered why he couldn't leave well enough alone. He eyed me warily as he had in the training arena when he asked if I was alright. I stared up at him and tried to reason with myself as to what he was doing here and why Thor had omitted this . 

“You were always the clever one “ I replied ,sarcasm dripping heavily from my words. He had shown concern for my well-being , but I had not wanted to show weakness to any new or old acquaintances; least of all him. I dared a glare at him under my brows trying to look as displeased as I felt in that moment. He seemed utterly unfazed. 

“Just tell me , Are you hurt ?” he let loose the door and turned me towards him

Too soon to show bruising but I could feel the tender places in which I would never admit to out loud. 

“You don't need to concern yourself with me, I can manage on my own”  standing as tall as I could I still only managed to reach the bottom of his pointed chin. His hair was still raven black but he wore it longer than she remembered , it now brushed his shoulders and curled slightly more. He wore his battle armour with its thick black leather with forest green leather work woven through. A gold bangle graced its way across the span of his chest and touched his shoulders as more dark leather encompassed his arms. 

"No one is allowed to hurt you" he bit out

"Except you " she whispered

He drew back from her side studying her with a varying of emotions crossing his features; then he settled on a sleek smile that he knew infuriated her. So much looked different, hardened features where there was once only laughter but when he smiled, she recognized the boy she had grown up with 

"Yes except me" he smirked

"Because if im the only one to hurt you , it means I'm the only one you care enough to let that happen"

"Hmm.." You slowly drew away from him anger coursed through you. You steeled your gaze up at him crossed your arms across your chest and raised a brow at his cocky face. It looked like you had no other choice but to hash this out now in this small hallway where anyone would be privy to listen, Gods be with her. 

"You find pleasure when I am hurt by the person I allow " narrowing your eyes 

Loki huffs a laugh " It means you love me dear" seeming pleased with his logic he steps toward you and places a hand on your waist to drag you closer

Even angry with him and his wrong assumptions you cant stop the feeling this man stirs in you; God of mischief indeed. Trying to regain your composure internally you remain stoic outwardly. " No loki. .. " and you shove him back keeping your hand there at his chest almost bracing yourself for the next truth never meeting his gaze you stare at your hand; "it means you dont love me"

Lowering your hand you will it not to shake as you lower your head, but he catches your hand and squeezes it softly. You could feel it , the electricity , the excitement all the unused pent up emotions that never got to play out still lingered there between you. 

Sensing your intake of breath and if he couldnt already feel your racing pulse you'd swear he could hear it. You still refused to meet his eyes knowing the bit of pride you had left would vanish

He pulls you close again only a breath away from your face and he whispers "You still love me, there's little use in denying it little one" you're losing your battle at remembering why you're trying so hard to stop all this. Especially when he starts an electrifying trail of kisses from your cheek to your neck. Needing to stop this dangerous encounter fast before your will or knees give way

"Arent we smug " you breathe out but there's no harshness behind it. He's got you pinned against the wall hands at your sides finrly holding you in place while he sets you on fire with his lips . He leans back only far enough to look at your face before that same damnable smirk comes back

"Stop it (Y/N) . I want to hear you say it " he demands softly. His grip on your arms has tightened only slightly and its a good thing because if not for him holding you up you arent sure you wouldn't be in a puddle on the floor. You hate how defenseless you are. "Why" you cut out . you're still angry but now its mostly at how he still had this effect on you after all this time.

He lets go of your arm and brings your face to meet his. There it was , green eyes that you used to love watch sparkle with mischief. Your childhood friend who had turned into something more ,something innocent but strong. And you still felt it after eveything he had said and done you still loved him.

"I just need to hear you say it" he has a look of almost sadness as he's begging you to bear Your soul to him all over again.

You slightly shake your head "No"

His brows crease in annoyance now "Must you be so stubborn, I've told you there is no use in denying me, do you think I am immune to your glances when you think I am otherwise distracted" shock played across your face oh no you thought you had gotten away with just a few curious looks at him. " You think you can hide your desire from me , I can feel it (Y/N) and I want it , so why persist in rejecting me" he was now glowering down on you but it wasn't fear you felt sizzling low in your abdomen.

Your last attempt to stop this madness before you just gave up and took a flying leap from your common senses .

"Because it didn't change anything last time I said it " now you were challenging him daring him to remember that day, when everything changed.

Softening his glare he broke eye contact to look down at your lips. Giving you a moment to recover from the intensity and find whatever good sense you might have left .

"That was many years ago , things are different now" quietly he spoke and still had not met your gaze. Lies.. your mind shouted.

He was still demanding all and giving nothing he would regret losing .

Such as his heart.

Yes things were different now but not him.

"No they arent" Steeling yourself against what your words would bring from him. You pulled yourself free from his grip. "You're still selfish, arrogant, and hellbent on self destruction without a care of who you hurt "

This seemed to also snap him out of his course of action. He stepped back until he was out of reach. When he looked up at you , it was the coldest feeling , emotionless he said " So you deny you love me"

His lips that had just drove you crazy with his smile and kisses were pressed into a hard thin line. Those eyes which you got easily lost in moments ago were cold voids that seemed to stare right through you now. As if you mattered nothing to him.

Two could play this game of lies you thought .

"Like you said, it was many years ago. " and with that you straightened and turned on your heel to make your retreat.