#where would we be without a good glass disposal bin

[paging-possum]

If there is one thing I will always put in a lab drawing it is proper waste disposal bins

[neosartorya]

So i was thinking about the whole solarpunk chobani oatmilk ad (as depicted here) and a comment someone made in a different post (that I now can't find) where they said something along the lines of (paraphrasing) 'the marketing people at chobani being unable to imagine a future where their brand had ditched single-use containers in favor of a sustainable alternative'. And I started thinking how will food packaging look like in the solarpunk utopia?

Modern food packaging responds (mostly) to the needs of the globalized supply chain, where food products need to be moved great distances without being damaged and while taking up as little space and energy as possible. Packaging also needs to be made of the cheapest materials available, hence the preference for disposable containers made of light materials (cardboard, plastic, aluminium, paper, etc.). You don't want your package to be worth more than what it contains (although with some food products, that is close to being the case).

The comment I referenced earlier suggested using reusable glass containers as an example of a sustainable alternative to single-use containers. That makes sense, and there is historical (and current) precedent for such kinds of food containers. Just ask your parents (or grandparents, I guess) how milk used to be delivered to homes in the good ol' days.

In a more recent example, some places still use reusable (returnable) containers for products such as beer and (even!) Coca-cola, where you pay an initial fee for the container and get reimbursed once you return it, or you can exchange the empty container for a full one by paying the price of the product minus the container fee.

This solution, however, is still within the framework of the global supply chain of modern capitalism. In the solarpunk utopia, the goal would be to reduce (reuse, repair, recycle) the breadth of our current supply chain by prioritizing local consumption and disinsentivizing long-distance trade.

This train of thought led me to the question of wether processed, pre-packaged food would even be a thing in the solarpunk utopia. After all, if we are trying to consume only what is locally sourced, one of the main purposes of preserved (and thus packaged) food goes away. No need for bottled orange juice when you can just go to the commons bin and grab a kilo of fresh oranges to make your own.

Further, once there is no capitalism, the "convenience" angle of processed, packaged food also appears to go away. You don't have to work 9 hours a day, 6 days a week anymore. You have the time and resources necessary to make your own damn fresh orange juice, so why bother with the bottled stuff?

Well for one, not everything is as easy and convenient to do by yourself as orange juice. Fermented foods (cheese, wine, beer, soy sauce, even pickles and yogurt), bread and pastries and cakes, carbonated drinks, jams and marmalade, butter, mayonnaise, cured meats and fish, and (yes) almond milk are all tricky to make properly, take a long time to be made and/or are energy and resource intensive. The need for these kinds of foods will remain as long as we are human and find pleasure in eating and trying new things. Also, the need for mass-produced food does not go away with capitalism, after all we have a population of 10 billion humans with different dietary needs that need to be fed. Food safety standards must still be enforced and probably will be even more stringent when corporate profits are no longer standing in the way of progress.

To add to this, a localized supply chain will make food preservation even more important. After all, if you want your population to survive mostly on what can be produced in a 100 km radius, you will have to prepare for food scarcity. Droughts, floods, earthquakes, blizzards, accidents, and even just regular ol' winter (once we've rescued it from the clutches of climate change) don't care how solar your punk is. They will wreck your food supply and your utopia needs to be ready.

So the need for packaged food will remain. The need for food that can stay in a cupboard undisturbed for months (if not years) and remain edible (and reasonably palatable!) will continue to be there.

With all this in mind... what does food packaging look in our solarpunk utopia? Single-use plastics have gone the way of the dodo, as have single-use paper, cardboard, aluminium, glass, and steel. What has replaced them?

I have some ideas, but this post is already ridiculously long, so I'll save them for later. All I'll say for now is I think glass containers are not the way to go. Glass is heavy, fragile, a poor thermal conductor (so heating and cooling processes with glass containers are energy innefficient), and takes up a lot of space. It is also very resource and energy intensive to produce and recycle (so not the most environmentaly friendly in that regard either).

What does a reusable aluminium container look like? That'd be cool I think.

[luulapants]

“I don’t drink beer. How do I write characters that do?”

Beer has been an integral part of human society for about as long as we’ve had a human society. Some anthropologists now theorize that we fermented grain for beer before we used it for bread. It’s the most popular alcoholic drink worldwide, and everyone has their own regional variety. This will mostly focus on US beer culture, which is what I’m familiar with.

Who’s drinking beer?

Beer has a reputation as a “man’s drink,“ at least in Western cultures, but there are plenty of women that partake. Showing a woman drinking beer, though, might convey to readers that she’s “one of the boys” or down-to-earth.

The cheap stuff is really, really cheap, and therefore seen as a blue collar, “working man’s” drink, but the low price point also makes it good for events with lots of people. It has high water content, so it’ll keep people hydrated at an outdoor event better than other options. Most have a relatively low alcohol content by volume, making it a good choice if you want to keep drinking for a while without getting too drunk.

For beer snobs, the craft beer world can be a hobby or a lifestyle. They might brew beer at home or have a local brewery they hang out at. They’ll go to brewery events where new batches or special reserve bottles are released and sold. Some bottles can cost quite a lot!

You could reasonably expect someone to have a few beers in the fridge. Frequent drinkers would replenish the stock often. Less frequent drinkers might have a few they forgot about. It does go bad eventually, so it’s not like a hard liquor where you could have a bottle sitting around untouched for multiple years and offer it up to someone. When it goes bad, it gets a “skunky” taste.

How are they drinking it?

Most good beers are meant to be poured into a glass, and there are different glass shapes for different styles, all purported to enhance the beer in some way. The basic is going to be a 16-oz pint glass. You should pour slowly with the stream hitting the side of the glass, not the bottom, to avoid it all turning to foam and overflowing. The foam is called the ‘head,’ and if it gets too tall, you have to wait for it to go down before drinking or else get foam on your nose.

Pouring the beer into a glass allows it to breathe and means the drinker is smelling the aroma of the beer as they drink. A glass suggests your character is enjoying their beer for its taste.

Drinking straight from the can or bottle, then, suggests a character that doesn’t care about the flavor or a beer that isn’t worth savoring. An exception is Corona, a Mexican beer, which is best enjoyed by cramming a lime slice into the bottle’s opening. It drops into the beer, which fizzes in response.

Cans are cheaper than bottles, generally. Cans often need to be crushed before they go in the recycling bin, to save space. Some people have mechanical crushers, some will crush with their hands or under their boot. If you want to show that someone is a real meathead, they might crush it on their forehead.

Of course, an exception to the “dignity” of glasses is the iconic red Solo cup, a plastic disposable cup associated with binge drinking at parties.

Binge drinking and drinking gimmicks

A beer can only be chugged (drank quickly all in one motion) from a glass, due to a lack of air flow into a can or bottle. Chugging can be a great sexually suggestive shorthand, since it’s best done if the drinker can completely relax and open their throat, basically pouring the drink directly down their esophagus, and... well, you catch my drift.

To get around the air flow issue, cans can be shotgunned, a practice associated with binge drinking, party culture, college/frat behavior, etc. To shotgun a beer, the side of the can is stabbed with a knife. You then cover the knife hole with your mouth, tip your head sideways so the can is upright, and crack the tab. This allows air to flow into the top hole, causing the beer to flow quickly out of the knife hole and into your mouth. It requires you to chug the entire beer or risk getting soaked.

A beer bong involves a large funnel with a long plastic hose coming from the bottom. The drinker puts the end of the hose in their mouth while a second person stands above them, the higher the better (I once saw a beer bong from a 3rd floor balcony), and pours a beer into the funnel. The gravity pressure then carries the beer down the tube at high speed, forcing the person at the bottom to drink as quickly as they can.

Not to be confused with beer pong, a game played on a ping-pong or similar-sized table. A triangle of red solo cups is arranged on either end of the table, each filled with a small amount of cheap beer. It’s a two-on-two game, with each side taking turns throwing a ping-pong ball, trying to get it into one of the other team’s cups. If it lands in a cup, someone from the other team needs to drink that cup and remove it from the table. There are usually elaborate house rules. Most people claim there is a “sweet spot” of drunkness where they are best at the game.

A keg is a barrel-shaped pressurized vessel that holds a large quantity of beer. For parties, a keg can be the most economical option for serving so many people. The keg will be stored in a large ice-filled container, often a trash can or storage tote. The keg must be “primed,” a plunger on top pumped repeatedly to get the vessel properly pressurized. People use the attached hose, which has a button or nozzle on the end, to dispense beer into their cups. It has to be re-pumped regularly, and by the end of the keg, this becomes laborious and frustrating, often leaving you with nothing but a sad trickle of foam.

A keg stand involves doing a handstand with your hands on the rim of the keg, usually with someone holding your legs to stabilize you, and drinking from the keg hose while upside-down. It frequently results in beer going up your nose and can show that a character is a fun party person or a walking disaster.

Ordering at the bar

Yes, in movies, a man will sit at a bar and say “beer me” and a beer appears in front of him with no conversation. No, that’s not realistic. Bars have a wide variety of beers, and you need to tell the bartender what you want. If a character wants something cheap, they might say, “A Miller Light,” or maybe a sarcastic, “A can of your finest Coors, sir.” Otherwise, they might read the menu, either posted on the wall or on a sheet of paper at the bar. They could also ask the bartender, “What’s on tap?”

Most bars will have a stock of cans and bottles in a fridge. They might ask if you want a glass with it. Beers on tap are stored in kegs under the bar and attached to spigots, usually with decorative handles. Some may be mainstays of the bar that are always available, and others might rotate in and out.

No, your character doesn’t have to specifically name drop a brand. You can give a general description: a can of the cheapest beer they had. A stout a little too syrupy for his tastes. A local IPA. All of these choices will say something about who your character is as a person.

Cheap Beer

Most mass-produced are light lagers with a pale yellow color. Those who don’t like them describe them as watery or tasting “like piss.” If one is hitting the spot at the end of a long day, it might taste slightly tart, slightly bitter, but mostly refreshing. Worse ones are more bitter and have a sort of “funk” to them. The big names like Miller, Coors, Bud, Natty Light, or Mich will be instantly recognizable as a cheap beer, but if you really want to get regionally specific in the US, many places have a local one that is so, so much worse.

For home drinking, cheap beers can be bought in the traditional six-pack, but serious drinkers are more likely to buy a case, usually 24 beers. As for where you can buy them, that varies from state to state and county to county. Look up the local laws on whether beer can be bought in grocery stores or convenience stores.

Craft Beer

The craft beer industry has exploded in popularity in the US, with microbreweries churning out small batches of local beers with creative, complex flavors.There are a kajillion different variations, but I’ll try to hit the big categories:

Lagers are usually associated with cheap beer, but there are craft lagers such as bocks, dunkels, and schwarzbiers. They’re fermented at lower temperatures and usually have a lighter flavor and a low alcohol content.

Sours are, as the name says, sour! They are light, low alcohol content, and often fruit flavored. These are summery and the fruity ones are sometimes seen as “girly.”

IPAs (India Pale Ales) are usually light with heavy hops content. Those who don’t like them describe them as too bitter or tasting like grass. Those that like them describe them as floral and complex. IPAs had a “craze” in the early 2010s and were disparagingly described as “pumpkin spice for men.” Because they are light and easy-drinking, they’re less “butch” than others.

Stouts are the other side of the ale spectrum: heavy, black, and thick. It’s like drinking bread. They are often strongly and complexly flavored with things like coffee, chocolate, banana, peanut butter. They can be aged in whiskey barrels to give them a smoky flavor. They can be syrupy or bitter. It’s hard to drink too much of them because they are filling and calorie-heavy, but they usually have a very high alcohol content, two to four times as strong as a light beer. They’re seen as a beer for “serious” beer drinkers. Guinness is the most well-known commercially available stout, but most beer snobs will stick up their noses at it.

Porters are the less-heavy predecessor of the stout. They’re dark brown with lots of hops and a malty flavor. A good compromise if you want a strong, dark beer to show you’re A Man™ but don’t want a beer you practically have to chew.

In nonsense stereotypical terms, darker/heavier/higher alcohol content = more tough/butch, lighter/fruitier/lower alcohol content = more feminine. That said, I wouldn’t want to drink a heavy beer in the sun on a hot day, so context also matters.

Is there anything I missed? Let me know!

[cinimon01]

Week 5 blog log of living on a boat.

Sitting around the table of knowledge.

Saturday the 27th of April:

After our little mishap with the out board motor we had a day of R and R but we did go ashore to get a few supplies. At Russell, there is a large supermarket called '4 Square'. I thought the name was clever as it insinuates 4 square meals a day, where as most people only have 3. They stock most things, a small selection of fresh fruit and veg, some meats, plenty of dairy and a bottle shop with a good selection.

So our routine is to tie up the dinghy at the wharf, and take rubbish ashore and dispose in bins on the main drag. Then off to shop. Now this day we bought a few extra things and we had 3 full bags of groceries. We opt to push the trolley to the wharf and then unload into the boat and I push it back.....as I like to get as much walking in as possible when ashore. Zoom back to the boat, and I have mastered getting off with rope in hand to tie her up and then David hands me the shopping. Only this time as I lent over to get the bags, my reading glasses fell off my T shirt neck....where I wear them so I can read things on labels.

Our second donation to the water gods, the first being David's watch when tying up in Opua Marina, his watch band broke and fell into the abis. So now king Neptune can read small print and tell the time.

28th April 2024:

Back to Opua Marina today to meet with some friends, do some washing and buy a fishing rod. We have finally mastered getting into the Marina and into a berth safely and without too much stress. We go in on a slack tide, which is one hour either side of a high or low tide. Then there is nothing to push you around except wind and this day was calm and still. Steering with engines' only and not using the wheel is something the harbour master suggested last time and it works well. We got close and my nerves kicked in so I called out to our friend Jerry, in the berth next to ours and he came out to catch a line. So did 2 other friendly neighbours, so I was relieved when we safely tied up and no boats were hurt. Yay!

Table of knowledge, Opua Cruising club.

This group of fellows are our neighbours on wharf H at the marina. Bryce next to David has a 52ft Fountaine Pajot, then Duke in the yellow shirt has a 38 ft Lagoon, Tom has a 42 ft mono hull and Jerry has an Antares 45. So a wealth of experience and knowledge over dinner and a beer and a wine was so worthwhile. Tom and Jerry, ha ha and their partners and crew, Bryce and his family and Duke are all leaving soon to join a rally to Fiji. We will go next year but they have already helped us with small questions about battery storage and the electrical circuits on the boat. I think the boys get so excited as they all have the same toy, aka a boat, and they can chat and share and know exactly what you are explaining when you talk about an alarm going off, or the windlass not working. As I said, you meet a better type of bum at a marina.

At Burnsco, (same as BCF in Auz), David bought a you-bute fishing rod on special with all the bits and bobs and I got a $50 childrens rod that I was told I could catch a snapper with. That's all I wanted.

Next day we re fuelled at the Marina on a slack tide. It was our first time fuelling up in Mai Tai. She is so big and floaty, and any wind can blow her around. We had the harbour master Mark come and help and just as well as we were blown off the wharf while fuelling. All was OK and he helped pull us in.

4th May 2024: We were off on an adventure to Mosquito Bay where we were told there is an excellent chance of catching a fish. Gary, the owner of the fish and tackle shop in Russell told us to use this bait and you will catch a snapper. So I thought he would produce a small packet of prawns as bait, but no. He handed us 2 very large frozen mullet. Just chop a bit off and put the leathery skin piece on the hook and away you go.

So we found a beautiful spot on a calm, blue, forever sky day. We passed fairy penguins and lots of sea birds before we baited our hooks and let loose into the bay.

I never profess to be great at anything although I'm good at somethings and I would not have included fishing as one of my skills. But within 4 minutes of throwing my line in I caught a fish, then another and another. I caught a total of 6 fish on my $50 childrens rod and David caught ZERO. Ha Ha. Because of his injured finger, I un hooked the first 5 as they were Kahawai, which need to be bled before eating and we were told they are very messy. So I threw them all back and they swam away healthy but with a new piercing in their lip. Then I was out to catch a snapper. I said if we don't catch a snapper we would go and we will have sausages for dinner. Well well well. I caught the biggest snapper I have ever seen. 62cm.

I said thankyou for your life Sammy snapper and did the scaling, gutting and filleting all on my own. Then I froze half and we had fresh snapper for dinner, that I cooked. WOW talk about a first time day.

With my excitement overflowing, we motored to Army Bay and dropped the anchor and I went for a swim. The water was icy but refreshing after all that fish guts and scales flying everywhere. It was a great day and we really enjoyed the boat. This is what its all about. Finding out that you can do things you never thought you would. The thrill of a first time catch, clean and cook. I'm sure there will be plenty more.

Until next week.

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

------

Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

[jisungsmochi]

just one night - njm

summary: getting wasted at a random party wasn’t on your agenda for your saturday night. but when your best friend’s brother tends to you for the night, one thing leads to another...and suddenly he couldn’t leave your mind. 

genre / warnings: highschool!au, best friend’s brother (oops), slightly suggestive (there is a section where sex is mentioned but it is not detailed at all lmaooo), fluffy, lil angst, i think that’s it ! 

word count: 10.2k (uMMM wow i didn’t expect it to be that long but pls enjoy) 

mini playlist: 

long story short - taylor swift 

love somebody like you - joan 

take me on - joan 

photograph - ed sheeran 

//

your ears were ringing from the intense blasting of the speakers at lee haechan’s monthly ragers. you didn’t know him too well, but your best friend, and platonic soulmate, jisoo, insisted you attend. you assumed it was because she had a growing crush on the party host, despite her constantly opposing the idea.

after taking your first shot of the night, something ignited in you. it had been a while since you let loose and enjoyed yourself. you often placed immense pressure on yourself in your studies, blocking out the outside world when you were in your element. jisoo cheered you on, clinking your shot glasses together as you both consumed the horrid liquid.

as the night rolled by, you had lost jisoo, assuming she was with haechan and the rest of his friends. you started to feel faint, your head whirling, eyes ready to completely shut. you felt yourself land harshly on the nearby couch, the group of teenagers who were seated on said couch, laughed hysterically at your state. you continued to moan and groan, your head pounding along with the beat of the song blasting through the speakers.

you could barely hear anything else, only a soft voice whispering to you,

“stay with me alright? i’ll take care of you”

the voice sounded familiar but you were far too drunk to even bother asking. you felt yourself being picked up, the figure now dragging you out of the house.

“gosh, you two are such a pain” the voice grumbles once again. your eyes started to flutter open, the blurred features of your best friend’s twin brother, jaemin, came into focus. he was visibly annoyed at the sight of you and your better half completely wasted. you noticed that you had been buckled up in the back of his car.

“good, you’re awake, now stay put until we’re home” jaemin sighed, closing the driver’s side door, starting the engine.

you didn’t remember much of the ride home, all you could hear was jisoo ranting about how haechan rejected her moves on him, and jaemin endlessly teasing her. 

you were able to stand briefly as you exited the car, but jisoo on the other hand was utterly hammered. you helped jaemin pull her out of the car and to her bedroom. luckily their parents were away for the weekend, meaning they didn’t have to witness their daughter vomit on her bedroom carpet.

“oh my god, how much did you drink?” jaemin was practically pulling at his own hair. although you were tipsy, you were able to comprehend the situation at hand. you immediately ran to her bathroom, pulling out some cleaning supplies.

“you clean this up while i clean her up for the night”

“fine whatever” the boy rolls his eyes, holding his nose as he begins to scrub the carpet. you made your way over to jisoo, sitting close to her, starting to wipe off her makeup. she had practically passed out by now, only the sounds of jaemin furiously scrubbing and jisoo’s soft snores filled the room. you and jaemin had never really talked while you were over at their house. being jisoo’s day one, you found yourself basically living in her room, yet you couldn’t remember a time you properly hung out or even spoke to jaemin. you looked over at him, his face distorting with disgust at his sister’s mess. it made you chuckle slightly as you finished wiping off her makeup.

“what’s so funny?” he grumbled, walking to the bathroom to dispose of the garbage.

“i guess seeing you clean up your sister’s vomit was something i’d never thought i’d see you do” you shrugged, avoiding his glare.

“oh really? if anything, you two owe me big time” jaemin shuffled over to you, towering over both you and jisoo. your breath hitched once you realised how close he was to you.

“w-why do i owe you?” you muttered, looking up at him.

“because i saved you from embarrassment when others were laughing at how wasted you were” you blushed in embarrassment, attempting to hide your face from him.

“o-oh thanks for that then. i uh better get going” you stand up quickly, ready to leave the awkward situation at hand. but jaemin didn’t budge, he remained where he was, causing you to barge into his chest. he found your clumsiness amusing, holding you by your shoulders.

“you don’t seem too good to be walking home, just stay the night. i’m sure jisoo would want you here in the morning” he suggested, as you both gave the sleeping girl a solemn look.

“y-yeah, i guess so” your tired eyes meeting his. you had never been this close  to him before. he stared down at you with his deep brown eyes that were enough to make any girl immediately swoon. but this was totally cliche, falling for your best friend’s brother? please. 

besides, you’d never go for a guy like na jaemin. he was a loner, although he did have a tight knit group of friends, that you knew of. jisoo was the more outgoing and popular one between the pair, sometimes you couldn’t fathom that they were related.

“here, i’ll help you out” jaemin wrapped his hand around your wrist as he pulled you to the bathroom. he began wiping the makeup off your face, being careful to avoid being too harsh. you were practically holding your breath the entire time. why the hell was he being so nice to you? this had to be somewhat weird, right?

“all done, i’ll let you get changed” he threw the wipe in the bin before leaving the room without another word.

you changed into some of jisoo’s clothes, feeling yourself start to sober up a little. there was a soft knock on the door, in which you answered. you were met with jaemin holding two glasses of water. he gently pushed past you, handing you a glass before placing one on jisoo’s bedside table.

“you tired?” he practically whispered to you, eyes not leaving yours.

“uh not really to be honest” you replied, taking a large gulp of water. jaemin nodded, biting the inside of his cheek before suggesting,

“did you wanna hang out for a bit? i get it if it’s weird, i just thought it’d be nice” he mumbled, eyes breaking contact with yours. you had never seen him so nervous before, it was sort of endearing. you nodded, following him to his room. it had been the second, maybe third time you had been in his room. the first time was when jisoo attacked him on the morning of their birthday with some birthday punches. you observed the various decorations he had up on his walls. some random band posters and some photography portraits were scattered all over.

“did you take these?” you questioned, admiring a particular portrait right above his bed head.

“uh yeah, i dabble in photography” he shamelessly shrugs, sitting down on his bed. you look over at him, too nervous to sit down with him.

“so this is kind of strange huh? i mean, i’ve known jisoo for years but i feel like i barely know you at all” you started rambling, slowly moving to sit at the edge of his bed, keeping a generous distance between you both.

“well it’s not like we’ve made any efforts. you two are inseparable, it’s sometimes insufferable being in the same room as you both” he decided to rant, making you giggle slightly.

“i don’t really know much about you though, as an individual”

“ah well there’s not really much to me, all i do is sleep, eat, study and occasionally drink at parties, it’s just an endless cycle at this point” you sighed, feeling yourself inch closer to jaemin, your legs swinging onto the surface of his bed. your shoulders were briefly touching, but neither of you made the effort to move away.

“here i was, thinking you were actually interesting” jaemin smirked, nudging you softly. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, gently shoving him back.

“no but really, there’s gotta be more than that. i mean, i’ve seen you at school. everyone likes you, even the mean teachers. i’ve never seen anyone make Ms Kim light up, even if you were talking about some mathematical theory that no one else understood-“ he stopped himself, looking over at you. you couldn’t believe the words that were leaving his mouth. here you were, believing that he didn’t give a rats ass about your existence but you were wrong.

“so you seem to know me pretty well then” you teased, watching as heat slowly rose to his cheeks. he could barely look at you now.

“but i don’t know the real you” he softly muttered, pulling your eyes back to meet his own. you didn’t say anything back to him. instead you admired how gorgeous he looked under the dim lighting of his bedroom. you weren’t sure if the alcohol was making you act upon this or if you were just caught up in his words, but nothing was stopping you from locking lips with the dark haired boy. it took a moment for him to process what was happening, his hand immediately finding the side of your face, gently stroking it as he deepened the kiss. a voice in your head was telling you this was wrong (probably jisoo’s) but you ignored it. the next thing you knew, you were straddling him, your hands moving to his shoulder as you softly gripped onto his white shirt. he was the first one to pull away,

“should we even be doing this?” he muttered against your lips, pecking you one more time.

“probably not” you smugly smiled, pulling him into you once again. nothing more than a heavy make out sessions with some (possible) groping occurred that night. you didn’t say much to jaemin after, watching as he started to fall asleep. you had no idea what just happened,

did he like you?

did you like him?

you decided to sleep on it, hoping that in the morning, it would have all been some chaotic dream. you made your way back to jisoo’s room, sliding into bed next to her. as you rolled to your side, flashbacks of jaemin’s lips on yours and his hands wandering over you filled your mind.

you remember thinking to yourself, this cannot be happening.

//

the next morning, you were woken up by jisoo’s groaning. she started shuffling, pulling the shared blanket between you both, off of you completely. you decided it was a good time to get up and make your way home. you wrote a note for jisoo to wake up to:

‘hey there, drink this entire glass and take some aspirin okay? i spent the night and will return your clothes soon, rest well! - y/n ‘

you hurriedly grabbed all your belongings that were scattered all over her floor. once you were able to gently close her door without waking her up,

“rise and shine” you jumped at the deep voice behind you.

jaemin has a smug smile on his face, flashbacks of the previous night still lingering in his head. you just froze, your mouth unable to form a proper greeting. he was dressed in the same clothes as last night, a plain white tee and grey sweatpants. his hair was shaggy, random ends were sticking out all over the place. yet you still found him really attractive, wait what?

“i-i’m just gonna head home now, bye bye” you tried to push by him, but he stopped you almost instantly.

“do you wanna go get breakfast?” he suddenly asked, why the hell was he being so nice to you?

“i haven’t brushed my teeth yet, and i’m sure i reek of alcohol or something. maybe some other time” you weren’t sure why you were being so hesitant to spend more time with him. you knew that if jisoo ever found out something was happening between you two, she’d probably freak out and cause a massive scene. you wanted to avoid the theatrics of your best friend as much as possible. even if it meant rejecting one of the most attractive guys at your school.

“so you’re just going to pretend nothing happened?” he let out a soft scoff, in disbelief at your attitude.

“no, i’m not like that. i just- i don’t know what this is. it shouldn’t even be a thing. we shouldn’t even be talking right now” you groan slightly, beginning to walk to the front door. jaemin followed in suit, his figure standing right behind you as you reached the door.

“why are you being like this?” he furrowed his eyebrows, the tiredness in his voice still evident.

“it was my first kiss, jaemin. you were the first guy i’ve ever kissed. and i don’t want it to be weird when jisoo is around. can you understand that?” you explained, guilt rising in your stomach.

“i-i didn’t know it was your first kiss. but if you really care so much about what jisoo thinks of you, then that’s your problem. i’ll just pretend it didn’t happen either” he raised his hands in defeat, reaching over to open the door for you. he leaned closer into you, lips lingering by your ear,

“but i won’t forget about it, no matter how hard i try”

what the hell is this guy playing at?

you broke yourself away from him, rushing out the door, jogging to your house that was just across the road. it’s been a wild 24 hours, all you needed was a nice, hot shower, and to forget that you ever made out with na jaemin.

//

the following monday morning, jisoo came knocking on your bedroom door, waking you up for school. you shot out of your bed, your body thumping onto the ground. jisoo entered your room, and immediately bursted out in laughter.

“god you’re even clumsy when you’re asleep!” she giggled, pulling you up. you just groaned in response, shuffling over to your bathroom to brush your teeth.

“anyway, you are in big trouble” the energy in the room just dropped. you looked over at her, worried about the words that would leave her mouth.

“jaemin told me everything” she continued, making you want to shit your pants even more.

“w-what did he say?” you spat out the toothpaste that was in your mouth, eyes now focused on your sink.

“he said that he saw you wearing my new pink pajama bottoms!” you sighed in relief, thank god.

“i know that we have a bestie code and take eachother’s clothes a lot! but i just bought those and i hadn’t had a chance to even wear them yet” jisoo pouted, folding her arms before huffing. you shot her an apologetic smile, finally finishing washing up before you made your way over to her. you handed her the neatly folded clothes beside your bed,

“i’m sorry, they were the first thing i saw! i’ll buy you something from the canteen. can i be forgiven?” jisoo pretended to think, before pulling you into a short hug.

“ah of course! now get ready for school, i’m going to raid your pantry” she skipped her way out of your room. you let out another sigh of relief, not realising that your hands were shaking the entire time. why didn’t jaemin just expose you both to jisoo? maybe he was a man of his word.

you walked through the hallways, jisoo right by your side. your eyes were practically scanning for any sign of jaemin. according to jisoo, he hangs out with his ‘loser friends’ behind the science block. she always assumed they were doing something sketchy there, but you had never seen it for yourself.

“i-i gotta talk to Ms Kim about the quiz, i’ll see you during our free period” you lied through your teeth, but luckily jisoo thought nothing of it, you were always meeting with Ms Kim about your grades anyway.

you cautiously made your way to the science block, eyes still on the lookout for na jaemin. you saw one of his close friends, jeno (?) but there was no sign of him. maybe he didn’t even hang out here, you were about to give up and go back to your own friends, when you heard the familiar voice call out to you,

“y/n? what are you doing here?” jaemin made his way towards you, catching the attention of his entire friend group.

“i-i was looking for you” he immediately perked up. you knew he was about to say something cheesy, but he stopped himself.

“why didn’t you tell jisoo about what happened saturday night?” he pursed his lips for a moment, thinking of what to say.

“i didn’t feel like it was any of her business. it’s between us” he smirked at the last part, making you stomach feel uneasy, but sort of in a good way.

“i’m sorry for rushing out that morning. i just felt really awkward about everything. i don’t want you to think you’re like a bad kisser or anything like i actually quite enjoyed it” you stopped yourself from rambling any further once you saw how amused he looked. god he was gorgeous.

“you can keep going, i like hearing you talk about me” oh this was bad.

“s-so what? do you like me or is this all fun and games to you?” you tried to get to the bottom of this whole mess.

“i do have some interest in you, yes. i wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you more often and kissing you again” he shrugged, still showing off the same smug expression.

“same here” you blurred out. you brought your hands to cover your face, you couldn’t believe you just admitted that to him.

“then i guess i’ll see you around then. jisoo doesn’t have to know” jaemin slowly backed away from you, eyes still wandering over your figure. was he really checking you out right now? infront of his friends? you wondered how many other people saw you two.

to say that you didn’t think about jaemin for the rest of the day was a complete and utter lie. as soon as you got home, you couldn’t get him out of your head.  

//

you were finishing up the last bit of maths homework for the night, when you heard something tapping against your window. you assumed it was some bird that was pecking at the window sill like many others had before, but as you stepped closer, jaemin’s shaggy black hair came into view. you quickly opened your window, dragging the taller boy into your room, careful that your parents wouldn’t hear.

“are you insane or just dumb?” you scold the boy who was dressed in a baggy black hoodie and those same grey sweatpants from saturday.

“both? i couldn’t stop thinking about you” his lip cocked into a smirk as he stepped closer to you, hands now rested at your waist. you were caught up in how good he looked, especially at this time of day. you didn’t realise how strange it was that he literally just climbed through your window with no prior warning. you pulled away from him slightly, still reserved about whatever was going on between you both.

“look, i just wanted to hang out with you, i swear! i would invite you to mine but your bff would just hog you the entire time” jaemin let out a soft grunt, slipping off his shoes and making himself at home on your bed. you moved to the empty spot next to him, letting him pull you in by your waist as he smoothly linked his fingers with yours.

“this just seems like it’s going really fast. can we just slow down for a bit? i mean, we don’t really know eachother that well yet” you explain, resting your head back on your headboard. jaemin looked over at you, admiring how the loose strands of your messy hair were sticking in all sort of places. and how your glasses were slowly slipping down your nose but you were too lazy to push them all the way back up. you were wearing your classic plaid pajama set, which jaemin found absolutely adorable. he reached over to your face, pushing some hair strands aside before gently pushing your glasses back up.

“well what do you wanna know then?” he whispered, aware that your parents probably wouldn’t want to walk in on their daughter with a boy in her bed.

“have you always, like thought of being friends with me?” you thought it was a dumb question to say out loud but jaemin seemed to be hesitant to answer, only making you more curious.

“i- honestly, yeah i have. i actually remember the first time i met you. i was with jisoo and we saw you sitting on the swings on the playground at school. we were kids back then, all we wanted to do was make friends. i was the first one to suggest we go over together, but then jisoo beat me to it” he stopped momentarily, looking over at you once again to see if you were still listening. you gently squeezed his hand that rested so perfectly in yours, as he continued,

“as any other ten year old boy would do, i just shrugged it off and found my own little group. i know this doesn’t really answer your question as it was a long time ago. but since you and jisoo clicked, and you started hanging out more, i couldn’t help but think, what would happen if i went up to you first?” you nodded along at his words, finding his way of storytelling so compelling.

“even if you approached me first, we both know that jisoo would have tried to snatch me in an instant” you both let out soft chuckles, both agreeing that jisoo was quite a character. “but after all these years, you’ve barely acknowledged me. i actually thought you hated me at one point” jaemin’s mouth opened as if he was about to speak before closing it slowly. he thought hard about what he could say to impress you,

“i never hated you. i just never got a chance to speak to you personally. jisoo was always there, and if we start dating or liking eachother, it’s probably going to get worse” jaemin admitted. there was a certain degree in which you understood what he was saying. but if you both ended up having true feelings for eachother, who was jisoo to stop you?

“y-you think we might end up dating?” you couldn’t hide how giddy you felt, leaning in closer to him, your noses gently brushing against eachother. jaemin smiled widely, his heart beating erratically. sure, he’s kissed other girls and even dated some, but none of them could compete with how flustered you were making him right now.

“i-i mean yeah, i don’t see myself with anyone else at the moment” jaemin whispered against your lips, slowly closing the gap. you moved your hand to rest on his shoulder as he glided his own hands to cup the side of your face. everything was so natural with him. you didn’t have to be nervous, or second guess yourself around jaemin. he made you feel safe, comfortable, like you meant something to him. things started getting heated when jaemin started rubbing small circles on your thighs, his lips still attached to yours. you weren’t sure how far he was going to go tonight, but your mind was clouded with how good it felt to kiss him again. jaemin’s lips started trailing down your jaw, to your neck, before you interrupted,

“h-hey, taking it slow, remember?” he immediately stopped, eyes filled with list as he looked up at you.

“anything for you, baby” he mumbled, placing one last kiss to your cheek. you both ended up chatting the rest of the night, telling stories from your childhood to the horrors of puberty. despite the fact that you both had school the next morning, you didn’t want jaemin to leave, and neither did he.

//

“i have a proposition for you” jisoo exclaims, pulling you along as you walk through the local shopping mall, in need of some retail therapy from midterms approaching.

“what is it now?” you playfully roll your eyes as sip on your bubble tea.

“i’m going to set you up on a date!” she practically squeezed you so hard you almost choked on the boba.

“w-who? what? when? where? why?” you couldn’t believe her sometimes.

“it’s with renjun, you know, the guy in our bio class. anyways, he’s recently single, you’re just single. and i think he’d be a good match for you!” she explains further, as you both take a seat on a nearby bench in the middle of the mall.

“what makes you think he’ll even be interested in me? did you threaten him or something?” you give her a subtle glare, still recovering from your choking experience.

“well i saw him looking at you a few times during class, so he must think you’re pretty at least” her logic never failed to entertain you.

“i’m not interested in dating anyone at the moment, please don’t tell me you already set it up” she looked over at you with a soft smile, moving strands of her hair behind her ear.

“god you already did” you groan in frustration. jisoo saw how annoyed you were. you know she had good intentions but you were capable of getting a date...if you really wanted one.

“i’m sorry, i just thought it’d be cute, you know since he’s friends with haechan and you know i have a crush on him. so i thought we could all hang out together!” she started babbling, but somehow you understood it all. you were going to do this for her, and her only.

“okay fine, ONE date, and it’s a group one” you firm with your best friend as she nods in compliance.

here goes nothing.

//

the evening of the double date, you were getting ready in your room. what were you even supposed to wear? your thoughts were interrupted by repetitive taps on your window. you glance over, seeing jaemin’s fluffy hair peek through the glass. you giggle lightly at the sight, rushing to open your window to let the poor boy in.

“hey, you won’t believe what just happened, jisoo is freaking out beca- woah, you look, uh really nice” jaemin stops himself, taking a moment to admire your look for the night. you felt your cheeks heat up immediately, turning away from him to hide them as best you could.

“t-thanks, why was jisoo freaking out?” you tried to draw back to his sudden outburst.

“oh yeah, she was asking me what boys liked, and if i thought haechan would like her back. ahh it was hilarious, she’s a nutcase” jaemin chuckled lightly, flopping himself on your bed, eyeing you closely.

“she’s just nervous! we’re going on a double date” you didn’t get to continue, as jaemin practically leaped from your bed, over to stand infront of you again.

“a double date? who are you paired with?” jaemin furrows his eyebrows, a wave of worry just washing over him within the past ten seconds.

“don’t worry, it’s just with renjun, a guy in our bio class. i’m only going to calm down jisoo, i’m sure renjun is a nice guy but-“ you hesitate, taking in a short breath before continuing. jaemin has his eyes fixed on you, listening to ever word that strung from your mouth.

“but what?” he whispered, his face inching closer to yours.

“but he’s not you” you finally felt a weight lift off your shoulders. your words only made jaemin confirm for himself that he was so completely into you. without another word, he pulled you in for a warm embrace, placing small kisses on the crown of your head.

“that’s all i needed to hear, have fun tonight. let me know if an SOS situation occurs, jisoo can get full on with her crushes” jaemin pulls away from you, fixing bits of your hair that be accidentally messed up.

“you say that as if she isn’t my best friend” you roll your eyes, allowing him to pat down strands of your hair as gently as he could.

“well sometimes i forget. you’re just that amazing, jisoo needs someone like you. i need someone like you” jaemin finishes what he was doing, his hands now moving to cup your face, softly squishing your cheeks together.

“let me know when you get home, i’ll come over and we can uh, lock lips” he started making loud kissing sounds, only making you push him away from you in embarrassment.

jaemin seemed fine with the idea of you going on the double date. you would assume so, considering you indirectly confessed to liking him. you just had to get through tonight, and then you and jaemin could continue whatever, odd friends with benefits but not really, relationship you have.

//

“so y/n, how did you do on the last bio exam?” renjun tried to make small conversation with you, trying to avoid the constant chattering of your friends. you appreciated how considerate he was being, considering you barely knew him or haechan.

“i think i did okay! how about you?” you continued, taking a quick sip of your strawberry milkshake. you were all sitting in a random diner that haechan recommended. you’d think after one game of bowling, a walk through the local park, and dinner at this diner, that they’d all be tired. but no, you forgot how energetic your friend was, and renjun was slowly starting to realise the same thing.

“the last few questions were challenging, i’d be lucky to get one of them right” you both chuckled softly, your eyes diverting to jisoo and haechan who were too caught up in their own world.

“did you want a ride home? i’m 99% sure haechan is going to offer to walk jisoo home” renjun offered, reaching for his car keys. you hesitated for a moment, nudging jisoo softly as she just waved you off. you rolled your eyes, opting to interrupt her conversation.

“renjun’s taking me home, let me know once you’re home okay? and haechan, make sure she’s safe” you sternly point at the cheery boy, who just nodded. you walked with renjun to his car, hopping into the passenger side. the ride was fairly quiet, he didn’t try to force any awkward conversation into you, thank god. all you could think about was going home and seeing jaemin again.

as he reached your house, you quickly gathered your things, ready to bid him farewell.

“thanks for agreeing to go on this double date. i had fun, i hope you did to. maybe we can do this again sometime, but maybe just us...” renjun stooped you from leaving the car. you widened your eyes at his words, was the really asking you out right now?

sure you thought he was a nice guy, but the ‘date’ didn’t seem much like a date to you at all.

“i-uh i had fun tonight, but i’m....actually seeing someone, i’m sorry” you quickly blurred out, even more shocked at your own words. renjun’s mouth was slightly agape, not expecting that answer at all. he pulled himself together, shaking off the entire situation.

“it’s okay, i understand. have a nice night” he gave you a small smile, but you knew it was filled with shame. you didn’t know what else to do but signal him a small wave as you exited his car and walked to your front door. you felt guilty for lying to renjun, but it wasn’t a complete lie. you started replaying the whole scene through your head. as you entered your room, you were met with jaemin looking all cozied you in your bed. he had an oversized hoodie on, with some plain grey sweatpants.

“ah you’re home, i queued up some videos to watch!” jaemin made his way over to you, pulling you in a for a tight hug. and just like that, all thoughts of renjun just washed away. jaemin was your person, one day you’ll be able to tell the whole world. but right now, you were happy with keeping it your little secret.

//

“what’s this i hear about you telling renjun you’re seeing someone? who the hell is it? because surely they have to be able to top this perfect dude i found for you” jisoo starts ranting on your way to first period the following day. your mind was still foggy, memories of the night you spent with jaemin, floating through your head.

“i-i just wasn’t interested in him. or anyone for that matter, it was a little white lie” you shrugged, trying to drop the situation completely. but she wasn’t buying it at all.

“there has to be someone, the last thing you are, is a liar” jisoo furrowed her brows at you, giving you a playful stank glare. you broke eye contact with her, rushing ahead to get to your class so she couldn’t pester you anymore about this situation. unfortunately, you felt your barge against someone with a very hard chest, they didn’t even flinch. you looked up to apologise, the playful glare of jaemin meeting your eyes. you quickly stepped back, pulling yourself together from that embarrassing scenario. jisoo ran up to you, softly giggling, before you saw her face fall at the sight of her brother.

“ugh it’s you” she scoffs, making sure you were okay.

“oh don’t act so happy to see me” jaemin sarcastically responded, eyes only fixed on you as if he has tunnel vision.

“leave poor y/n alone, it’s bad enough she has to see you when she comes over, don’t make it hard on her here” jisoo teased, pulling you away from him slowly. but jaemin quickly caught onto your arm, leaning down to your ear,

“i’m very sorry, y/n”

he had a hint of mischief in his voice, that you hoped jisoo wouldn’t catch onto. all you could do was not a mumble that it was okay, before jisoo completely pulled you away from him. seeing him at school everyday, while keeping everything a secret, was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

why did he have to be so alluring? so enticing? all you wanted to do was sit with him and talk for hours on end. maybe share a few pecks here and there, but as days went by, jaemin would engage in lengthy conversations with you. he would tell you about how spoilt and bratty jisoo could get, and how their parents would push jaemin aside, and support jisoo in all her studies and other extracurriculars, but they couldn’t even attend one of his photography exhibitions at school. he confided in you deeply, telling you things that no other soul would know. you didn’t know why he just lets it all out to you, but who were you to oppose? you loved listening to him talk as he played with your hair. you loved his lame jokes and stories about detention. you loved when he talked about his photography, how passionate he was whenever he talked about capturing the most beautiful moments through his lens. everything about na jaemin was close to perfect. you just wished you could call him yours, officially.

//

jaemin: meet me out front in 20 mins, i wanna show you something

your face contorted into a mix of confusion and excitement. you pulled on your most puffy winter jacket and some black boots, before slowly creeping out your front door to meet jaemin across the road. he was leaning against his car, dressed in a white hoodie with a leather jacket over it and some plain black jeans. you embraced him in a warm hug, as he chuckled into your neck and how adorable you looked in your puffy jacket. he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before opening the door for you, you kindly accepted, hopping right in. you noticed he had a suspiciously packed duffel bag in the back of his car, what the hell was he planning?

“so you’re gonna tell me why we’re going out at 11:30 at night? if you wanted to make out, we could have just done it in my room, my parents aren’t home, we don’t have to be qu-“ you were interrupted with his lips on yours, like many times before. his cold hands reached to hold your face, causing you to jump at the sudden touch. he stops kissing you momentarily, shooting you a smirk before continuing. as much as you were enjoying it, you were still curious as to where he was taking you.

“jaem, seriously, where are we going?”

you pulled away, lips slightly swollen. jaemin wiped his thumb gently over your lips, looking at you with such adoration in his eyes.

“we’re going somewhere i like to go when i need to clear my head, or just be alone. i wanna share it with you” your heart swelled at his words. how was he this perfect?

as he started the car, his hands immediately found its way to hold yours. your fingers instantly linking.

your eyes switched between focusing on jaemin, to your window. you weren’t really used to going out so late at night, never having a reason to. being with jaemin, made you feel like you were finally able to escape from everything else, even if it was temporary. there was a stillness in him that no one else was able to give you. he made you feel like you were doing okay, that you were going at a steady pace in life. jaemin was comforting to you, you wanted nothing to disturb this peace.

jaemin parked the car, tugging on your hand that you had arrived. you observed your surrounding immediately, where the hell were you? all you could see were trees and shrubs, as well as a gravel trail leading up a fairly large hill.

“you’re not gonna like murder me or something, right?” you cautiously asked, pulling your jacket to wrap around you tighter. jaemin chuckled at your words, pulling his fully packed duffel bag over his shoulder as he made his way over to you.

“don’t worry, baby. you just gotta trust me” he placed his free arm around you, leading you both up the hill. as you reached the very top, jaemin set down his bag. he pulled out a small picnic blanket, along with his camera equipment. you took a moment to grasp the view. it was a mini aerial view of your small neighbourhood. although it wasn’t a view of the entire city or pretty bright lights, you understood why he liked to come here.

“so this is my spot. i usually sit, take some photos and uh write in my journal” he sits down on the blanket, signalling for you to join him. you plop down right next to him, leaving no space between you. he pulled you closer, if that was even possible, his arms linking around your waist.

“it’s really pretty up here, thank you for sharing it with me” you leaned your head against his shoulder.  as you were admiring the view, jaemin was admiring a view of his own. your hair was slightly messy, the soft breeze blowing your baby hairs in all sorts of places. your glistening eyes observing the view that jaemin sought for comfort. but he found his new comfort place. and it was with you. wherever he was, if he had you beside him, he knew everything would be okay.

“why aren’t you saying anything?” you gently nudge him,

“i just like the quiet” he pauses for a moment before suddenly reaching for his camera. he removed his arm from your waist, which made you feel slightly empty inside. but he made up for it when he started fiddling with his camera, pulling it up to face you.

“oh come on, stop it” you hid your face with your hands, pulling away from him. jaemin moved his camera down, revealing the most adorable pout you had ever seen. you couldn’t resist his charms.

“ugh fine” you slowly pulled your hands away, allowing your lips to form a small smile as jaemin snapped the picture.

“you look gorgeous, as always” he mumbled to himself, not thinking you would hear him, but you did. the rest of the night was spent taking as many photos as jaemin wanted.

he was attempting to take a selfie with his camera, claiming the quality was much better than your measly phones. he held the camera up slightly, fitting both your faces in the frame.

“okay, three, two, on-“ you leant closer to him, placing a quick peck on his cheek as the camera flashed. his eyes shot over to you, a mischievous smirk washing over his face.

“you think you’re slick?” he mumbled, capturing you in another kiss, carefully discarding his camera to the side as he slowly moved his lips against yours. you felt yourself lean back under his grip, your back now laying on the blanket completely. jaemin leant over you, pulling away for a short moment,

“i-i think i love you” your eyes widen at his confession. love?

you hadn’t put too much thought on how you really felt towards jaemin. you knew you had formed a crush on him since day one, but love? you weren’t even sure you knew what love was. jaemin noticed how nervous you were getting, immediately becoming concerned.

“i-i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have put that on you, i’m such an idiot”

“no, it’s okay, jaemin. i just don’t know what it’s like to love someone, like how you say you love me” you admitted, his face still inches from yours, you hands now rubbing over his arms. jaemin nodded, completely understanding how you felt.

“but loving you, isn’t something i see as impossible. i’m falling for you everyday, i’ll say it back when i know i’m ready” you assured him, watching as his eyes glided over you. he couldn’t believe how unbelievably incredible you were. how you were able to accept his confession. jaemin was confident that you would return his feelings. he couldn’t wait for the day you would confess your love for him.

“you’re amazing” you blushed at his words, pulling him down to lay next to you as you wrapped your arms around him.

“thankyou for tonight, this can be our thing” jaemin couldn’t argue against that. this was now officially your spot. that would never change.

//

at the na family home, jisoo was furiously searching for her usb drive that contained the video for her audition for the school’s upcoming musical. she pulled at her hair, letting out multiple huffs and grunts. her thoughts led her to her brother’s room. luckily he was currently out with his friends, doing who knows what, otherwise she would have been dead. she sorted through his desk, assuming he may have taken it by mistake when she left it on the dining table the previous night. there were stacks of random papers scattered on the boy’s desk, she was slightly appalled at how unorganised he was. after a solid minute of shuffling, the bright yellow usb stick came to view. before she picked it up, a sudden notification appeared on jaemin’s laptop, he must have forgotten to properly shut it off. jisoo ignored it at first, until she noticed the all too familiar contact name.

y/n?

why on earth were you texting jaemin?

jisoo felt sneaky, already snooping through her brother’s desk, only leading her to his precious laptop. if jaemin caught her right now, he’d be furious. but jisoo couldn’t get over her growing curiosity, moving her fingers on the trackpad to open your messages.

y/n: hey, could you send the photos from a few nights ago?

jisoo furrowed her brows for a moment, what photos were you talking about? she swiped over to his desktop, a folder titled ‘special moments’ already opened. it was mainly filled with jaemin’s photography assignments and other things he found intriguing, but the last thing she expected to find, were multiple photos of her best friend and her brother on a date. she scrolled further, eyes landing on the photo of you kissing jaemin’s cheek.

‘are you fucking kidding me?’ she whispered to herself. it all started making sense to her. jaemin constantly sneaking out of the house on numerous nights, you avoiding her nightly facetime calls. how awkward you two would act at school, how you rejected renjun, claiming you were seeing someone else. jaemin was that someone else.

“what the hell are you doing on my laptop? or in my room, for that matter” jaemin exclaimed, storming to his desk. jisoo glared at him, bringing her right hand to slap him harshly on the shoulder.

“how could you?” she gritted through her teeth, pointing to the laptop screen. jaemin held his arm in pain, looking over to what his sister was so mad about.

“we- i didn’t want you to find out like this, i swear” his voice softened,

“you mean you didn’t want me to find out at all, did you?” jisoo couldn’t hide the fact she felt betrayed by the two people she trusted most in the world.

“i thought we were closer than that, jaemin. you used to tell me everything. and out of every person in the world, you choose my best friend?” jisoo still couldn’t fathom the thought of you together. in her mind, you were her friend first before you were jaemin’s girlfriend.

“not everything revolves around you, you know? i’ve been going through shit and you haven’t noticed in years! y/n is the only person who listens to me and makes me feel like i actually matter” jaemin practically shouts back at his sister, causing her to tear up. “and if you hadn’t noticed, we’ve been together for a while, i even told her i loved her” jaemin’s delivery for the last line ended in a sudden whimper. jisoo couldn’t believe what she was hearing, was she really that naive?

“you love her? did she say it back?” was all she managed to say.

“she hasn’t said it back to me yet. she’s scared, i know she is. she’s scared of what you’ll think” jaemin shuffled over to sit on his bed, feeling himself cool down from the confrontation. jisoo softly sniffled, remaining completely still.

“i can’t do this, don’t hurt her, jaem. she’s never been inlove and i don’t want you ruining her first love experience, she deserves so much better” jisoo scoffs, grabbing her usb in a hurry before slamming the door behind her. jaemin couldn’t believe his own sister would presume such cruel things about him. but he knew it was only a matter of time before it was your turn to get the heat.

*incoming call from nana <3*

“oh hey! did you get my text?” you started the call, gently folding your clothes from the wash. jaemin coughed slightly, unsure of how to bring up the conversation. you halted your actions before asking,

“are you okay? do you want to come over?” you quickly became concerned.

“she knows, y/n. jisoo knows. she was snooping on my laptop and found the photos. i’m so sorry” your heart sank at his words. you felt like your whole world was turning upside down. of course you knew that she would find out one way or another. but at such a critical stage in yours and jaemin’s relationship, the timing was just not aligning. you knew that jisoo lived for the drama and theatrics of things, expecting her to blow up the entire situation.

“was she pissed?” you nervously gulped, not ready to face the fury of your best friend.

“yeah, she said some things to me, i-i’m fine though. i just wanted to give you a heads up. i didn’t mean for this to happen” jaemin groaned, pulling at his hair as he thought of ways to soothe the situation.

“i’ll try and talk to her, i guess the truth is finally coming out” you sighed, immediately worry washing over you. this wasn’t good.

//

you hadn’t heard from jisoo in almost a week. to say you were worried was an understatement.

nana <3: uh she wants us all to meet, preferably at our house. she doesn’t seem too mad?

y/n: fingers crossed, i’ll be there in 5

you wiped your palms over your leggings, feeling your hands shake in anticipation. the walk over to the na’s house seemed like a lifetime. you were greeted by jaemin, who avoided pulling you in for a warm embrace like he usually does when you see eachother. he led you to the living room, where jisoo stood, her arms crossed over her chest, an unreadable expression on her face. you cautiously took a seat on the opposite side of where jaemin sat on the couch. jisoo’s glares flickered between the both of you, unsure of how to begin.

“i have gathered you both here to discuss this little...relationship, between you both” she started,

“is it even a relationship?” you looked over at jaemin who was already looking over at you. you had never put any labels on whatever you and jaemin had.

“w-we’re not dating” you mutter, eyes avoiding those of your best friend.

“then what? friends with benefits? have you guys screwed eachother?” she continued to hound down on the details. jaemin noticed how uncomfortable you looked, he needed to just be honest.

“no we haven’t screwed. we made out on the night of haechan’s party, the one where you were knocked out drunk. we brought you home and we found ourselves hanging out together for the night and we kissed. it started from there and we’ve just been seeing eachother regularly ever since” jaemin summarised, hoping it would  bring ease to her mind. jisoo was stunned, so it had been months since it all started.

“but you told me you loved her. do you love him back, y/n?” jisoo’s voice suddenly softened, allowing you to finally look at her.

“i-i do” jaemin’s eyes shot towards you instantly, a soft smirk growing on his face. jisoo’s mouths slowly widened, this was the first time you had admitted you loved somebody in the entire time she had been friends with you. jisoo moves over to sit between you both on the couch, leaning back slowly.

“why couldn’t you guys just be honest with me?” she sounded hurt at the thought of you both not trusting her. you held her hand in yours, noticing how she seemed choked up about everything.

“we just didn’t know how to tell you. especially since we hadn’t made things official yet” you explained, signalling jaemin to jump in.

“we wanted you to know when we both knew that we loved eachother and it wasn’t going to change” jaemin assures his sister, practically pleading for her blessing and forgiveness.

“i-i’m sorry for blowing up at both of you. and i’m sorry for ignoring you, y/n. it’s just so weird, the idea of you kissing my brother” jisoo started fake gagging, causing jaemin to give her a stank glare. you laughed softly at her antics, pulling her in closer to you.

“we didn’t want to hurt you, or make you feel like we didn’t trust you. we just needed time together” you continued to explain, jaemin nodding along.

“y-you guys actually don’t seem too bad together. as long as you’re both happy, i guess i’ll be happy for you too. just, no making out infront of me, please?” after hearing those words, you and jaemin tackled jisoo in a fit of tickles and hugs. her giggles and pleas to stop echoed through the house. everything felt like it had been restored in the world. everything was aligning for you and jaemin to finally be together.

//

that night, you left their house with the biggest smile on your face. jisoo was already knocked out on the couch after you three decided to rewatch all the high school musical movies. jaemin slowly crept you out of the house, grabbing your hand in his. he offered to walk you home, despite it only being barely a minute away.

“tonight was really nice, thankyou” you whispered to him softly, pulling yourself closer to him as you both stood on your front porch.

“s-so you meant what you said? you love me?” jaemin’s eyes met yours as he nibbles on his lip anxiously. you held both his hands in yours,

“of course i do. i love you, jaemin” you finally said it out loud to him. jaemin immediately picked you up in his arms, swinging you around gently before placing endless kisses all over your face.

“does this finally mean you can be my girlfriend now?” he stopped kissing you, his lips only inches from your face. you felt his breath fan over your cheeks, letting out a soft giggle. you enthusiastically nodded, pulling his lips onto yours. jaemin was taken by surprise, but he surely wasn’t going to complain.

“can i spend the night?” jaemin muttered against your lips, your eyes slowly opening to see his pouty expression.

“finally, you can come through the door for once” you both started laughing, rushing you to your bedroom where jaemin helped you remove your jacket. he pulled you gently over to your bed, slowly kissing your lips as gently as he could. you found your arms wrapping around the back of his neck, playing with his hair. jaemin let out a short grunt,

“don’t do that” he mumbled, moving to kiss your cheeks.

“why not?” you whispered, continuing your actions,

“because you shouldn’t start something you can’t finish” he admitted, pulling away from you. you held your breath before you spoke. you hadn’t gone further than some heated make outs sessions with jaemin, you always stopped him when you felt uncomfortable. but right now, it felt right.

“i-i want to go further” you finally admitted, watching as jaemin widens his eyes. he did not expect that from you at all.

“i do too, but uh contrary to popular belief, i’ve never done...it before” jaemin confesses, pushing someone strands of hair from his own face, feeling his cheeks heat up.

you had always assumed he wasn’t a virgin due to a lot of baseless gossip from kids at school.

“really? that’s...great” he looked at you with the most confused expression you’d ever seen.

“i-i mean it’s great because i’m a virgin too” you started to giggle in order to diffuse the tension between you both. jaemin let out a sigh of relief, you truly were the most person person in the world for him.

“so you’re okay with this?” he wanted to affirm once again, earning another enthusiastic nod from you, “yes”

let’s say, the rest of the night took your relationship to the next level.

//

“come on, you two! we’re going to be late!” jisoo hurriedly scurried around the house, looking for her new boots. you all were heading to another one of haechan’s parties. his reasoning was for the ‘mid semester break’ which really was just a long weekend but no one bothered to question him. jaemin opted to be the designated driver, like he always was.

“so are you going to make a move on haechan or what? it’s been months” you slightly teased her as you all entered the car.

“n-no, i can’t flirt to save my life. after the double date, he and i barely talked” jisoo huffed, fixing up her makeup.

“i’ll just have to have a chat to him then” jaemin chimed in, cheekily grinning at the thought. you knew he was going to be up to something, but jisoo decided to ignore her brother’s words, too caught up in her own mind.

as the three of you entered the house, haechan shuffled to greet you all. jaemin met him first, giving him somewhat of a bro hug, followed by you who loosely wrapped your arm around him. once he got to jisoo, he paused, causing her to look up directly at him. he softly chuckled before pulling her into his chest, making you and jaemin snicker in delight. you agreed not to drink much tonight, not wanting a repeat of the last time you got drunk. but jisoo on the other hand, was a complete mess as per usual.

“i’m gonna get some water, want one?” you offered to jaemin as he slowly allowed you to pull away from his warm grip.

“sure, love” you blushed at the nickname he gave you, rushing to retrieve the drinks. as you were in the kitchen, you heard a familiar voice next to you,

“y/n? hey how are you?” renjun’s voice chimed through your ears. you greeted him with a bright smile, slowly fading as you remembered the last time you properly spoke to eachother.

“i’m doing well, and you?” you continued the conversation, sipping on your own cup.

“yeah i’ve been good. you here with anyone?” he asked cautiously, but before you could answer, jaemin cut in,

“she’s with me” you felt his arm wrap around your waist, leaning over to grab his cup. you weren’t sure of what else to say, only able to look at renjun who seemed dumbfounded and a little embarrassed.

“oh, i see. you’re with jaemin, i should have known. have a nice night” renjun scurried off to meet his own friends, wanting to avoid you at all costs.

“you didn’t have to say it in that tone, you know?” you turned to face your boyfriend who had a playful grin on his face.

“i know, it just came out that way, i promise” he brushed his fingertips over your cheeks, making your face slightly heat up.

“jaemin!! y/n!! there you are!!” jisoo ran up to you, grabbing you into some sort of side hug. you helped hold her up as jaemin analysed how drunk she was.

“are you alright?” you questioned, trying to find a seat for her to rest. jaemin followed in suit, watching over the both you closely.

“yes! i’m great! haechan kissed me, well i kissed him and he kissed me back!” she started giggling. you both weren’t sure if she was being delirious or not. until haechan came to meet you all, asking if she was okay.

“she’s had a crush on you like forever you know?” jaemin teases, causing jisoo to slap his chest. haechan started blushing, slowly nodding,

“i-i’m aware. she’s pretty cute” he smirked, watching as jisoo hid her face in your shoulder.

“we should actually get her home to rest, and stop her from embarrassing herself further infront of you. but call her in the morning, yeah?” jaemin shook hands with the other boy, hooking one of jisoo’s arms over his shoulders and you copied with her other arm. haechan led you to the front door, bidding you all a goodbye. jisoo was mumbling endless compliments towards haechan, too drunk to even care what she was saying.

“like i wanna kiss him so bad and run my hands through his fluffy hair” she giggled as jaemin started the car. you both found the entire situation entertaining, recording bits of her rambling for future blackmail. as you reached their house, you helped jaemin lead her to her bed, much like the first time. once jisoo was tucked safely in bed, finally fast asleep, you changed into more comfortable clothes before hopping into jaemin’s bed.

“i’m getting some massive déjà vu right now” he teased, jumping right next to you as he pulled you to his side. you softly played with his hands as you placed small kisses over his knuckles.

“i’m glad you were there to look after us that night. otherwise we’d never be where we are now” you muttered, feeling frostiness slowly taking over.

“i’m just glad you’re here right now. i’m too used to climbing through your window. maybe you should come through mine sometime” he joked,

“i think we should start getting used to front doors don’t you reckon?” you retorted, causing him to pull you on top of him.

“don’t be such a smart ass” he mumbled before placing a chaste kiss to your lips. the rest of your night consisted of endless rambling and chatter on the most random topics, before you both fell asleep.

being jaemin’s girlfriend was always a secret fantasy when you were kids. but now you were wrapped in his arms, all you could think about was how happy jaemin made you. you were grateful to find someone who understood you, someone who cared for you, someone who gave you comfort. being inlove with na jaemin made you feel on top of the world. And if you’re lucky, if you’re the luckiest person on this entire planet, the person you love decides to love you back.

a/n: not the one tree hill quote as my finishing sentence oops 

[janekfan]

You need to back off + Please come home for some angsty Jmart?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29122362

Prompts are getting filled! Slowly but surely! :D

I hope you like it ^^

Jon woke himself coughing with the realization that what he’d hoped were allergies the day before was now full blown body aches, chills and a productive hacking cough. Reaching out for comfort, he encountered only cold sheets and he shut his throbbing eyes tightly against sudden tears, too emotional. Needy. Sick. Not that he wasn’t needy when he was well either, but.

Martin wasn’t here.

Jon gripped a handful of bedclothes, curling on his side in the space where Martin should be and wasn’t. He thought of warm hands and soft kisses testing his temperature and gentle tutting. Martin would fuss over him terribly, plying him with medicine and perfectly steeped tea with honey and lemon for his sore throat. He would want for nothing, of that he was certain, but.

Martin wasn’t here.

And it was Jon’s fault.

No. Not entirely. He was away for the long weekend for an international conference.

But the shouting match they’d had before he left was very much Jon’s fault.

It figured that he would chase him away. Jon was miserable and ungrateful on his best days and like a dog with a bone on his worst. Why couldn’t he just let things go? Why did he have to push and question and needle Martin like that when he knew his partner needed time to think? Was already anxious about being away for so long? Jon certainly knew how to pick the best time for a row. Impeccable timing as usual, god damn him. Another fit crept its way through his tight chest, up his throat, painfully forcing itself free, and he stifled himself in a pillow.

He wanted Martin.

He had no right to, but he wanted him just the same.

After allowing himself just a few moments to wallow in misery, he forced himself up, driving the heels of both hands against his eyelids. It was a cold. It’d been going around the university and he was always early to catch whatever pathogens his students carried with them. He’d been run down and tired the last week and not from finals apparently. He shuffled awkwardly to the bathroom, limping heavily on his bad leg, absently trying to massage the deep ache left over from the worms all those years ago. He let the water run for a moment, get as hot as he could stand it, and with Martin’s voice in the back of his head, resigned himself to the use of the shower stool he’d insisted on. Sagging forward, Jon let the pounding pressure beat heavy against his back, breathing in the steam in the hopes it would loosen the knots tied thick and rigid around his lungs. Washing up took everything he had left and he wanted nothing more than to collapse back into bed and curl up around Martin’s pillow. Instead he slipped on his favorite of Martin’s jumpers over his pyjamas and took up his cane and made himself tea with honey and lemon and forced himself to drink it even though it tasted wrong. Struggling through the foil of the blister pack exhausted him further but he dutifully downed the tablets with the dregs of his cold cup of subpar tea. Dizzy, nauseated, the room spun around him wildly and he swallowed it down with a sob, laying his hot face against the cool surface of the dining table.

He wanted Martin.

Martin asked him to please not call unless there was an emergency. This wasn’t that. This was some sort of bug and Jon was an adult and he could take care of himself. He shivered. Teeth chattering in his skull and against his better judgement he fumbled for his cell with numb fingers. He thumbed it awake, blinking at the blinding glare. Recents. Martin. Messages. Jon scrolled through them, lingering on his responses. It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough and Martin had asked him. Asked him not to contact him. For emergencies only. This wasn’t an emergency. It wasn’t. The screen went dark. The tears slipped over the bridge of his nose, tracing the faint scar there left by some fear or another so long ago and Jon chose to be selfish.

What else was new?

“Jon.” Measured, but not cold like he feared so much it would be but focused enough to cut him off before he could even think to apologize. “You need to back off. I’ve asked for some space and I would appreciate it if you would let me focus on this conference. I’ll be back soon. We can talk then.” He paused and with it, so did Jon’s heart. “I love you.”

“I, I love you.” But he’d already hung up and Jon didn’t blame him.

Shivering with chills, Jon dragged his sorry self back into bed, curling into the duvet and closing his eyes against the woozy rolling of his stomach. The tea wasn’t sitting well and Jon found himself panting, shallow and fast, concentrating on keeping himself together and willing himself to sleep though that plan didn’t seem to be working. Salt flooded his tongue and he lurched for the bin beside the bedside, dry heaving painfully. Sweat poured down his face, dripped off his chin.

It wasn’t an emergency.

It wasn’t.

He coughed, wincing and lifting a trembling hand to his throat and pressing against Daisy’s remnant souvenir, imagining the hurt there. A mewling whimper carried on an uneven breath escaped the cage of his fingers. Restless sleep crashed over him, was dragged away from him, uncomfortable, hot and cold somehow simultaneously. Jon picked up his phone repeatedly to call, to text. But he needed to let Martin have this. He wasn’t like him. He needed time and Jon needed to be patient no matter how ill he was feeling, no matter how much he wanted Martin’s reassuring voice. And it was his fault he couldn’t have it.

Jon couldn’t remember a time in his life where he felt this poorly; not even starved for statements, or scarred by numerous fears. Sleep hadn’t been forthcoming after he lurched awake to be sick again and he hadn’t had the forethought to put anything he might need on the bedside table. Objectively, he knew when he ran fevers they had a tendency to spike at night and that if he could just get up to fetch some medicine he would feel better. Subjectively, he was convinced his legs wouldn’t hold him, that he was dying here alone and when Martin returned for his things he would find his body. Panic built and built and built in his chest, cutting off his ability to breathe, stealing the air around him as surely as Crew had when he dropped him effortlessly, eternally through the void and before he knew it his fingers were acting without express permission.

Insistent buzzing next to his ear dragged Martin up from the depths and he groaned in irritation when the rectangle of light blinded him momentarily. He sighed when he could finally see the caller and he supposed Jon had waited as long as he could before giving in and ringing him again. The man was not known for his patience, after all. Martin glanced at his still sleeping roommate, a paramedic out of Brussels, and slipped out of bed to take the call in the hallway.

“Jon.” The frustration was warranted but melted away into concern when his only answer was a strangled, hitching gasp.

“I, I’m s’sorry.”

“Jon, darling, what’s wrong?”

“Y’you want space and, and m’sorry, but I--” A sudden explosive cough caught him off guard; it sounded painful and tight.

“Jon, I need you to listen to me.”

“I’m sorry.” His hoarse whisper didn’t hide the wheeze on his breath. “Shouldn’have called, m’sorry.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong.” Martin clutched his phone, voice calm and steady, hundreds of miles away from where Jon was falling apart.

“P’please?”

“What, Jon?” He was openly crying; big, ugly sobs in between each shuddering syllable, and Martin was almost at a total loss, murmuring sweet things through the line in an attempt to calm him, until his hiccuping slowed and he asked again and he answered, sad and small.

“Please? Come h’home?”

“Jon?” Tim let himself into the flat, speaking soft and low, lest Jon was asleep. “Martin told me you aren’t feeling so hot.” He pushed forward to the bedroom, sympathy welling up at the sight of Jon curled up so small, face hidden in his sweat-damp pillow. “Hey, bud.”

“Tim.” Raspy and rough, like he’d been chewing on rocks, he finished his identification on a weak cough.

“The one, the only.” When he laid the backs of his fingers against his temple, Tim hissed through his teeth at the blazing, dry heat of his skin.

“M’sorry…” the ghost of an exhale, shaky and slurred, and Jon managed somehow to pry heavy lashes apart to reveal unfocused eyes glassy with fever. Tim stroked messy curls away from his face, heart clenching when he groaned low in his throat, before deep brown rolled back and dislodged more tears.

“Let’s get you taken care of, okay?” But first, a quick status update for Martin, who had called him nearly in tears himself.

“How is he? Are you taking him to A&E?” Tim could almost see the way he was clinging to his phone.

“I don’t think so. Gonna get some water and medicine into him and see how that goes.”

“Tim? Is he okay?”

“He’s sick, looks like the flu and he’s likely been down with it a couple of days.”

“God, he tried to call me and I--”

“Gonna cut you off right there, Marto. This isn’t anyone’s fault. It just happens.”

“I was so upset with him--”

“And I’m sure he earned it. When he’s well again you can talk it out.”

“Tim.” Trembling,

“I’ll make certain he’s alright until you get home. I’ve got him, Martin.” While on the phone, Tim gathered up supplies, thankful that Jon lived with someone with brains enough to keep a stocked medicine cabinet complete with a fancy ear thermometer with disposable covers. Because Martin. Jon didn’t so much as twitch this time. 39.4. “Okay, buddy. Up you come now.”

“Nng…”

“Mhm,” Tim hummed good naturedly, holding the glass of water to chapped lips and going slow. “Good?” He took the unintelligible noise as a yes, allowing him a few more careful sips before slipping the capsules onto his tongue. “There we go. We’ll see how that sits.” He divested Jon of the wash worn wool keeping in all the heat, soothing him wordlessly when he tried in vain to keep it. A clean set of pyjamas would make him feel better and he let the relatively cool air of the room wick away the moisture left from a cursory damp flannel.

“...Tim?”

“Hey, sleeping beauty.”

“Why’m’I in...in my pants…?”

“Did your best to sweat through the last set, here.” Tim helped guide loose limbs through the appropriate holes.

“S’cold…” punctuating his statement with a full body shiver, Jon slumped forward into Tim’s chest. “M’Martin’s cross.” Nodding, Tim gathered him up to deposit him on the sofa so he could change the bedclothes. “S’my fault…”

“When he comes home, you can apologize. Get him his favorite takeaway, yeah?” Jon listened intently, watery gaze fixed to Tim’s. “Put up those books of yours he’s always tripping over.”

“He, he. He’s coming home?” Lower lip trembling, Jon sounded too hopeful for this to be the distance of a long weekend.

“Oh, you daft fool, of course he is, of course.” He let Jon cry himself out on his shoulder. “He loves you, just needed some space, you know he likes space to get his thoughts in order. Of course he’s coming back.” Gentle and soft, Tim kept up his reassurances and hoped he’d forget that particular fear. Jon was too used to abandonment and all too accepting that he was the cause of it. That he was unlovable. “Alright, dry your eyes now.” Tim thumbed away matching saltwater tracks after settling him back on the couch cushions. “There we are.” Lord, he looked exhausted, the very textbook image of a bad flu with sore, red rimmed eyes limned with bruises. “Back in a tick, love.”

Clean, cool sheets, Jon tucked between them, kettle cooling off the hob, Tim set himself up on Martin’s side of the bed, getting another read, 38.1, and sending a quick update text before tapping open his most recent gaming obsession. The conference ended tomorrow morning and Martin would be home the same evening. With the next day off, Tim could wait that long. Jon’s burn-scarred hand snaked from under the blankets to grip his joggers.

“Hullo.” Tim tugged his fingers through messy curls. “Feeling a little better, champ?”

“Yeah…” It was still early hours and Jon needed all the sleep he could get.

“Sip on this.” And fluids. Tim levered him up, helping him hold the lukewarm mug of tea in shaky hands and laying him in his lap where he could knead out the knots tying up his shoulder blades until he sank deep.

Familiar voices hummed around him like moths just out of reach, melting together, drifting apart, slipping through his fingers. A door opened, closed, and Jon thought for a moment the Distortion must have him until a familiar palm pressed itself against his forehead. Martin’s face materialized in front of him and blurred just as quickly when tears filled his eyes. Wildly, he dove for him, not thinking about the edge of the mattress and collapsing into him when his legs gave way.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, you’re alright, love.” Jon pushed his face into Martin’s neck, body numb with relief. “Shh, shh, shhh.”

“M’m’sorry, so sorry.”

“I know.” Martin curled around him, holding him firmly, tightly, running his hand up and down the shallow seam of his spine. Jon didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve how good Martin was to him. And he, he didn’t--

“I d’don’t unders’stand.”

“Understand what?” Jon couldn’t look at him for fear of what he might see, hiding instead in Martin’s jumper. He shouldn’t have said anything at all. “Why I came home?” He didn’t speak, shook harder, swallowed with difficulty past the cloying clot of emotion in his throat. “Oh, love. You’re not well and everything’s a little mixed up right now.” Lightly, softly, Martin kissed his temple. “I’ll always come home.” Jon felt needy and childish, choosing to believe Martin and taking comfort in it, in the chaste press of his lips against any skin he could reach. “Back in bed now, you’re burning up. Tea?” Nodding once, Jon couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth again, worried that he’d destroy this tentative peace and so, so grateful to have Martin home and the next time he opened his eyes it was to Martin climbing into bed in his pyjamas, tea already on the nightstand.

“Will you tell me about the conference?” Jon accepted the open arms as the offer they were, fitting himself like a puzzle piece against his side, sick and sweaty and lulled by the soothing rumble of Martin’s voice beneath his ear.

There were other things to talk about, but for now, the two of them, here and now, were enough.

[themusicplayedherlife]

To Love is the Greatest Gift

1. The Return

pairing: obi wan kenobi x f!reader (past!din djarn x f!reader) characters: f!reader, anakin amidala-skywalker, padmé amidala-skywalker, mentiones of din djarin, obi wan kenobi, others word count: 2.6k+ warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of rent: the musical (death, second chances) uh... I think that’s it? summary: au!it’s never been the right timing for you and obi wan kenobi; maybe this time will be different. a/n: i started working on this story so long ago it’s ridiculous, but I suddenly had a surge of motivation to continue this story after some tragic family news. this was also very much inspired by @martlands and their amazing obi wan stories, made me want to write my own and here it is

all || next

“You broke up?”

One would think that the immediate reaction to someone asking if you broke up with your significant other would be to cry or begin to ask them what could have possibly gone wrong. But that’s not the reaction you give. 

The reaction you give is just a shrug and a strong pop, as you spoon more gelato onto the little spoon his twins love collecting. “Yep.”

“After only three weeks of dating?” Anakin doesn’t know why he’s surprised, but he is. This is probably the shortest living relationship you’ve ever had. “Why?”

“Why not?” you answer easily, nonchalantly and you know it frustrates him. “It wasn’t working out, so we decided to call it quits.”

Not even a month ago, you had been genuinely excited about finally getting out there and meeting someone new, and even more excited when you were telling him all about this person you met while out with some old friends. You had said, word for word, “he might be the perfect contender!”

Where did all that excitement go?

You sigh, finally looking up at him and away from your white chocolate gelato that's just to die for. “Ani, it’s fine. It just didn’t work out. It happens.”

He grimaces. “What happened between you and Din—“

You bristle at the mention of your ex, narrowing your eyes and his widen in defense. You know what Anakin and Padmé think of him and it’s not entirely pleasant (particularly from Anakin’s part). It’s completely unfair. Din is lovely, sure a little socially awkward, but lovely nonetheless. “Has nothing to do with why Gar and I ended things.”

“But—“

“Nothing,” you reiterate with a bit more force and he sighs, lifting his hands in defeat while holding his own cup of gelato.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.” And then, like a light switching, he turns playful. “Was it his name that turned you off—Gar?”

You resist the urge to groan and roll your eyes. “Oh maker, you are annoying!”

You huff as you make the trek back to the trolley that’ll take you both up to the observatory. The rest of your conversation is forgotten as he navigates it towards continuing to tease you and the latest exhibit you had helped set up.

The Coruscant Observatory is one of the most popular attractions in the city aside from the Exotic Animal Sanctuary (where most zoologist work to help rehabilitate wild animals before reintroducing them back into the wild, only housing the ones that have been assessed to not be able to function in the wild on their own—which are unfortunately many).

Your place of work is known for its large, ground telescope; its monthly constellation exhibits; the multiple planetarium theater rooms that house lectures, activities, star projections, etc.; and its Astronomer Q&A program where visitors can ask astronomers questions and even get a tour of the space station.

However, most of your days are spent in your office, planning for the next exhibit or actually executing them with your team; meanwhile, Anakin spends them in tech, sometimes maintaining the telescope, other times helping with IT issues, but mostly making sure the theater rooms worked perfectly for their 4D immersion.

(You like to joke that out of the two of you, he has it easiest; sometimes he’ll run by your office to get to another part of the building while you’re doing something and you’ll yell out, “slacker” and he’ll respond with, “you just work too much”.)

“Are Padmé and the twins stopping by today?”

“Not today, maybe tomorrow,” he says as you both step out of the trolley along with a few tourists. “I think today they decided to stay for some school thing.”

“Shouldn’t you know what that school thing is?” you chide him out of jest.

He scowls, there’s hardly any heat in it and it makes you grin. “It’s a music performance that the CN Theater is putting on.”

“Ah, and we all know how much musicals bores you.”

“I just don’t understand them,” he murmurs defensively as you climb the few steps leading to the entrance. The two of you smiling and greeting Rex at his security post and bypassing the ticket gate with your IDs.

“You mean you don’t have any taste,” you tease.

“It’s weird! I mean, most of them are all about tragedies and betrayals. What happened to the good ol’ romance and happy endings?”

“Not all of them are tragedies, Casanova.”

The main rotunda lobby is full of people milling about, looking at maps or the foucault pendulum in the middle of the room. Low chatter fills the room, shoes clicking and clacking against the marble flooring.

“Name one.”

Spotting the trash can and recycle bin, Anakin holds his hand out for your disposable cup and spoon and throws them away in their proper bin.

“Rent.” There are probably better examples, but you had been listening to the original cast album the night before and have all the songs still stuck in your head.

“Don’t two characters die?”

“Angel and Mimi.” You nod. “But Mimi is brought back to life by Angel, and is given a second chance at life.”

“She may have been brought back to life, but that doesn’t take away from the fact she died.”

“I’m not arguing with you on that, I’m just saying the ending was hopeful—not necessarily a happy ending, but it left you thinking—maybe things can get better.”

“And that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for—“

“What you and Padmé have?” you ask him as you both reach the door of your office.

He pauses, mouth opening and closing before finally rubbing the back of his head sheepishly and saying, “Yeah.”

You smile, genuine and happy for your childhood friend. Who would’ve thought that years ago when you introduced them, they’d be here years later—married and with twins. You and Anakin sure as hell didn’t. For most of your childhood, you both believed you’d live out your life on Tatooine, hang with the same friends you’ve known since your pre-kinder days and eventually get married to each other—much to the dismay of your parents—because of benefits or whatever, until your parents decided they wanted to send you off to a private school in one of the major cities, derailing your and Anakin’s plan (for the better, if you’re being honest).

“You’re still coming over for dinner, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer, unlocking your office door with your key. “I have a meeting that might go over the expected time, but I should be able to make it on time.”

“Just let us know,” he says, rapping his knuckles against the door frame. “But you better be there! We have some planning to do!”

You roll your eyes and wave him away, promising he and his family will definitely see you at five. With a hearty chuckle he salutes you and leaves the door slightly ajar, just like you usually do. It’s your “you can come in to ask me questions, but knock first, please” visual telling.

With a soft exhale, you drop yourself into your creaking office chair, eyes landing on the first picture on your right—a younger you, only 18, fresh out of your uniform smiling wildly with a large bouquet of flowers that you can still distinctly remember the smell of.

“I am in love!” Padmé exclaimed, squealing in absolute delight at the flowers put in your hand.

Blue eyes crinkled with amusement, staring down at you. “Are you?” His voice was low, teasing and almost smug. He had obviously heard the gasp that escaped your lips when he presented you the colorful bouquet created with your favorite flowers that his father grew in their little garden.

“Irrevocably,” you answered, not able to hide your smile as you gently held it against your chest and smiled up at him. “They’re beautiful, Obi. Thank you.”

Obi Wan’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder, caught in the action of a booming laughter. He was always laughing in pictures. There isn’t a single picture you have of him that he isn't smiling.

Your finger gently trails over his smiling face. Maker, you miss him.

Is he still traveling? Or has he finally settled down again? Will he show up and spring some unexpected news on you again? Stars, you hope not. Shit didn’t go as planned last time and it probably wouldn’t again.

Your hand falls limply and you swivel in your seat, looking out the large glass window overlooking the majority of the city and sigh softly—an exhale of wary hope and sadness.

A bird soars by your window, it’s wings flapping effortlessly, diving before flying higher and away.

He’s not coming back. You know this. Coruscant just isn’t the same anymore. Not when he feels this city has taken everything from him.

One more year visiting Gui Gon without him.

The meeting runs longer than it usually would, just like you had expected. Checking the time, you let out a curse and quickly throw your belongings into your car.

Without wasting time, as soon as you switch on your engine, you place your phone on the dock and say, “Hey C-3PO, call Padmé.”

“Calling Padmé,” your phone’s AI answers through the speakers of your car.

“Are you outside?” Is how she greets you. There are loud noises in the background, children squabbling about something or another, and Anakin’s weary voice trying to rally them. 

You snort, pulling out of the undergroundparking lot. “Not yet, barely got out of my meeting and am on my way.”

“Please hurry, the twins really want to see you and are dying from hunger,” she says, amusement in her voice and not at all trying to hurry you. “They might start eating Anakin soon.”

“Hey, don’t bite that!” He yells from a distance.

“Hurry, please!” you hear over the phone—Luke. “I miss you,” he says, closer now. Which you immediately reply saying you miss him too, almost cutting off the next voice.

“And I’m hungry!” Leia’s voice follows his, practically yelling into the phone.

You laugh fondly, just imagining the childish glee on their faces at your scandalized gasps and your exaggerated “me too” answers.

“Leia, no yelling,” Padmé scolds her, gentle and kind. “Softer, please.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m hungry,” she repeats, softer, almost a whisper.

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there,” you promise. “If not, you have my permission to start eating your dad.”

Leia and Luke break into a fit of laughter, yelling something away from the phone to Anakin, who once again lets out a loud, “Hey!”

Padmé chuckles, moving away from the voices of the children tackling their father and their play fighting. “Take your time, we’re not in any hurry to start eating. The kids had a hearty lunch and a snack after school.”

“What about you and Anakin?”

“We’re fine, don’t worry. Just get here safely and we’ll see you soon.”

You end the call with one last reassurance from her and let out a loud sigh when your car comes to a stop behind a long line of glaring red lights—traffic. You hate traffic.

You might be surrounded by blinding lights and different models of vehicles, but it leaves you alone with your thoughts, the low hum of your engine and music from your stereo drowned out by the chattering in your head. 

It’s never just one thing that you think about. It can go from one thing to another, to all of them trying to climb over eachother and be the most present: your friends; your family; the dog next door; Din and Baby; cinnamon apple cookies; the beach house in Naboo; sneaking out of the prep dormitories at 2am with Padmé keeping an eye out and Obi Wan holding his arms out for you; rose gardens and peach tea; freckles on blushing skin; drunken singing in a small living room; 21st birthdays crying in a bathroom stall; that stupid movie quote about choosing life; death; but sometimes (most occurring) it’s Obi Wan that weaves into every thought.

He’s a constant plague in your mind, has been since the first time he left Coruscant in search of himself. 

Sometimes they’re pleasant thoughts, memories kept in a nostalgic trunk that you occasionally like to sift through. Other times, they’re not so pleasant; those are the ones you constantly struggle with, try to push into the recesses of your mind and keep them under lock and key. But for some stupid, strange reason, your mind only ever remembers the bad, even when there are better things to dwell on.

“I just—I just don’t understand why you have to leave—Obi. Obi!” you practically yelled, watching him move around his room, grabbing and throwing things he pulled out into his duffel bag. “Listen to me!” 

He didn’t stop, not until you reached for his duffel bag and plucked it out from his hands. He stared at you, his duffel bag carelessly thrown to the floor with his clothes spilling out. 

Your breathing was labored, a sick feeling swimming in your stomach, words stuck in your throat now that he wasn’t hiding his beautiful blue eyes from you—his devastatingly heartbroken eyes. “I have to,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I need to leave. This house—this city, it's suffocating me. I can’t—I can’t stay here anymore.”

“Obi… Obi, please.” You can’t leave me. You can’t! Please! Please, Obi.

“I need to do this for me, darling. I’m sorry.”

You should’ve fought harder that night, should’ve convinced him to stay, but instead you helped him pack again with tears obstructing your view and sobs escaping your lips. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have lost him.

No, your breath stutters as you lean back into your car seat, there was nothing you could’ve done. Either times. He had made up his mind long before that night.

A car honks their horn to your left and you jump, eyes focusing once more on the red lights of the car in front of you. You wipe at your face harshly and straighten your spine. 

That was years ago, little one. Shake it off. 

Sighing softly, you look up at the street name and make a turn onto the Skywalker residence street, your shoulders relaxing when their two story home comes into view.  

Shake it off.

Parking isn't easy to find in their neighborhood, not when it’s so close to the observatory and some of the most visited parks in the area, but you manage to find one just two cars away from their house. 

Gathering your things, you lock the door behind you and quickly make your way down the sidewalk, phone in your hand and typing out a message that you’re here.

It’s while you’re hitting send that you don’t notice the body in front of you, staring up at the house with an almost wary expression on his face, or how his eyes widen when they see you. It’s not until you collide into his body, soft with a fleece cardigan, that you notice him. Embarrassment begins to boil in your blood as you quickly apologize to him, berating yourself for not being more aware of your surroundings.

“Kriff, I’m so sorry—“ you start, but the apology catches in your throat when you look up.

“Hello, there.” Blue eyes, so soft and kind, like the ones you once used to dream of stare back at you—so unlike the pair of eyes you saw years ago. “It’s been a long time, darling.”

You can’t shake him off.

next

[gottaenjoythelittlethingzz]

Early Evening

Part 2 of the ongoing, loosely interconnected series Swellview has a New First Lady.

Summary: When Ray returns to the Man Cave after a particularly messy battle against a villain, we get to see the internal workings of Cheyanne's and Ray's flirty, romantic relationship. And Cheyanne reveals exactly how much sway she holds over Ray.

*Keep in this series can be read on AO3 & FF.*

~~~~~

Cheyanne had just finished closing up the store for the night. Another shift gone over without a hitch. The counters were wiped down, the junk was newly organized into bins and separated from any loose odds and ends, and the sign hanging on the glass entrance to Junk N’ Stuff read, ‘Sorry, we’re NOT in’. The cash register was emptied, and she carried the day’s meager profits in the elevator, counting bills as she rode down.

When she stepped into the Man Cave she noticed it vacant. This suited her well. It was nice when she could turn in for an early evening. A rare occurrence in these parts.

She was halfway to the sprocket which would lead her further into the expansive underground maze when a swooshing noise halted her footsteps. A single tube shot abruptly to the floor and a blue-and-red-suited superhero dropped in.

“Honey, I’m ho-hughhh.” Ray came tumbling out of the tube clutching his stomach and nose independently. His sarcastic comment lost behind a violent, extended wrenching noise. Since he’s so use to the tube ride it was clear his nausea was in response to the black soot smudged across him from head to toe. The gooey substance was largely crusted on and had entered ever crevice possible. It replaced his normal golden eye makeup with a smoky eye look. The smell it produced wafted across the Man Cave floor and Cheyanne smelt it herself before he approached her.

Cheyanne went to cover her own mouth and nose before smiling sardonically and using two fingers to trace a subtle path from her manicured brow to her peaked lips. She tapped them lightly when questioning, “So, how’d it go?”

“Terrible!” Ray roared. He further smudged the muck on his face and temporarily lost his balance when he could no longer see. Thankfully, he stopped with a few feet of flooring between himself and Cheyanne to correct his eye sight. “Professor Putrid had us chasing him all over down town and into the Swellview ‘Sludges and Slops’ disposal plant. I fell into a vat of tar trying to land a punch on him when he sprayed me with canned skunk spray.”

“That’s horrible.” Cheyanne made her voice sound soothing and sympathetic while simultaneously desiring to reach for a bottle of Febreze. “It should really be a more difficult place to break into. How did – hmph – how’d you catch him? I assume you did in the end.”

“You better believe we caught him!” Ray scraped at his skin with both his hands looking much like a kitten trying to cleanse itself without help until he opened one eye and then finally the other. “Henry used his super power to taunt Professor Putrid in a game of tag. Led the gross weirdo underneath a bucket of quick dry cementing mud. Done in by his own prototype. They’ll have to chisel his face free to get a clear mugshot of him.” Getting his first proper look at Cheyanne in what had been hours, Ray attempted to draw nearer to her while regaling his heroic tale. “The bucket was just dangling there. Suspended ten feet off the ground. Can you believe it?”

Cheyanne made a circular motion with her arms to raise them in question. A visual distraction as she took a sizeable step backwards at the same time. “Who would have thought?”

“You’re one to know, Chey. Anyone who would do half of something like this to the Man Mane is going to serve time.” He ran his hands over his hair trying his best to peel strands loose. The tar had plastered the locks to his scalp and refused to budge. He took another step forward. He hoped to be met with affirmation of his character. “Man, I’m going to have to do my most advanced hair care routine.” The process was designed to be grueling, employed numerous creams and gels, and was assured to undo most any damages.

“It sure is a good thing there’s a new suit in each gumball because that tar is never coming out.” Cheyanne tried to take a step forward to meet him halfway, but another wave of vile odor hit her nostrils, and she relaxed her arms by her sides. Least he think she was offering her hands. “Speaking of taking criminals to jail. Is that were Henry is now?”

An expression flitted across Ray’s face, one like he had not only forgotten his sidekick had been with him mere minutes ago, but it was as though he had forgotten the teenage apprentice existed entirely. “Yeah, yeah. Henry’s taking Professor ‘Pitiful’ to Swellview county prison. Should have dropped the mad scientist off by now.”

“What have I told you about making Henry go by himself?” Cheyanne’s voice shifts from playful to maternal.

“Henry knows where the prison is. He’s been enough times. He’s totally fine!” Ray manufactured excuses. “This was just an annoying level three villain who didn’t even have a superpower. It’s not like I asked the kid to take Arson Boy to jail by himself.”

Cheyanne shook her head with concern. Her brown eyes were always warm, deep pools of understanding but could turn stern all the same. “I don’t like Henry taking criminals to jail on his own. Some of the officers pick on him for his age. The criminals could escape from him. And besides, a crime isn’t solved until the perpetrator is put away. You should have to complete each job with him. I don’t care if Henry’s getting older and is able to handle more responsibilities. It simply isn’t fair to him that he ends up pulling more hours at work than his boss.”

Ray renewed his tactic with an equal level of enthusiasm that he carried with him down the tube. “But, what if I said I wanted to hurry home to spend more alone time with Mrs. Manchester?” His eye brows climbed his forehead. He reached for her again. This time planning to snake his arms around her curvaceous waist.

“No, no, no.” Cheyanne skipped around the couch, using the furniture as a barrier between herself and the immature man. “Not until you’ve thrown that suit out in a dumpster somewhere far, far away, and taken a long, long shower.”

“Come on,” Ray clasped his hands against the rim of the mobile amenity. He made quick crab walking steps to the left and right while verbally taunting her. “You know I like to fool around in uniform.”

“That’s fine, except we can’t actually see it underneath all that foul muck!” Cheyanne was able to expertly predict Ray’s movements. She herself was unable to bite back the adoring smile from creeping onto her face.

He pointed an accusing finger her way. “Don’t act like you don’t like it just a little bit when I come back sweaty and grimy from an epic battle. You know you’re the only person I can temporarily share my ability with, huh?” Ray’s face was completely overtaken by his perfect teeth shining through his victorious grin. He could easily be swayed by his own words even when they didn’t work on anyone else around him. “It’s kind of our ‘thing’, right?”

Cheyanne gasped playfully and brought a hand up to her chest, bracelets shifting noisily to follow the path through the air her arm created, suggesting she was offended by his lewd suggestion. “There’s a lot more going on with you than natural bodily fluids, okay?”

Before she could condemn him further Ray sprang into action. He catapulted his legs over the couch, slide across the table, and landed with his feet on the cushioned seat directly in front of Cheyanne. She was startled by his boisterous movements and leapt backwards straight into the monitors’ chair. She was able to narrowly dodge his sweeping arms.

“Ulch,” Ray complained. He collapsed against the backrest. His head and arms drooping over the edge. “You’re really not going to jump on this opportunity while there are no crimes in progress, and no one is down here to bug us?”

Cheyanne cocked her head and calmly stood from the seat. She spun it in her hands and walked behind the object to place it between them. “Maybe I will reconsider…” She tapped her nails rhythmically to call his eyes onto her. “But first you must get rid of that old suit. And you have to shower - twice.”

Ray smirked at the images his idea called to mind. “Or maybe you could join me in the –.”

“Shower twice!” In a flash, his face morphed with disgruntlement. Flopping dramatically onto his back and sliding off the couch feet first, he began begrudgingly heading towards the stairs. His feet stomping. He might have mumbled something under his breath.

“And darling,” Cheyanne called to his retreating form.

Ray stopped to look over his shoulder. Hope swelled upon hearing his pet name used.

“Put on one of the shirts I like.”

Ray rotated his shoulders to face her, his expression suddenly befuddled. “You mean, don’t put on one of the many loud button up shirts I wear?”

Cheyanne clicked her tongue and nodded assertively.

He brought his hands up to his chest where he tapped his fists together. “Th-the blue one or the purple one?”

Cheyanne gave him a once over before replying with a curt, “Surprise me.”

“And then, maybe…” his voice trailed. The back of his neck warm to the touch.

“I can be persuaded.”

With an emphatic nod, Ray stated, “I can do that.” He promptly headed towards the shower. A new sense of urgency in his steps.

~~~~

No edit this time, but maybe in the future. Feel free to let me know what you think of this couple so far!

[joonkorre]

its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared. 

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been. 

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up. 

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind. 

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two). 

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

[moonflowerlesbians]

count your blessings instead of sheep

Hello, friends! Back in November, I decided to partake in my first fandom Secret Santa exchange. I’m not much of an artist, so I opted for the holiday-themed fic route, and this one-shot was born. So, @satelitesprite I hope you enjoy, and Merry Christmas! Thank you so much to @damiesecretsanta​ for organizing. 

Read this work on AO3.

Title: count your blessings instead of sheep, Rated T, Word Count: 4763

Summary: In which Dani takes Jamie's White Christmas comment a bit too seriously. (But Jamie's absolutely not complaining.)

~~~

One day at a time, they’d said. Jamie had looked at her so earnestly, spoken with such conviction, as if by sheer force of will she would bend the world, stacked so vehemently against them, to her whims. And, Dani supposes, she may as well have succeeded. They’re still here, after all. Still together. Still alive.

Jamie had said something else, too, that same day. A confession she’d admitted almost shamefully. A film about honoring memories and protecting what matters. A sight she’d like to see.

Dani gets to thinking, planning, scheming, if one could call it that. She makes a silent promise, to Jamie and then herself.

If they make it until December, Vermont is as good a place to spend the holidays as anywhere, she thinks.

Dani can’t seem to stop moving. The cuticle on her thumb is raw and bitten; her legs, one crossed over the other, bounce, bumping the tray table in front of her on occasion and nearly sending her drink toppling into her lap. She all but leaps out of her seat when Jamie places a hand on her knee.

“Easy, there,” Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Tremble any more and you’ll disrupt radio frequencies.”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, but Dani appreciates it nonetheless. The little notebook in her breast pocket burns a hole in her blouse, stuffed full of ideas and anticipatory hope.

“Might be able to help if you told me where we’re headed.”

She’s been trying for weeks to nose her way into Dani’s plans, to glean some inkling of direction since Dani first hinted, one quiet evening in early November, that maybe thinking about Christmas isn’t such a bad idea.

“Yeah?” Jamie had said, soft, not quite believing. The future, their future, had been a taboo topic, danced around like an active bomb.

“Yeah,” Dani confirmed, “trust me?”

“‘Course.”

Then it had been library visits and guidebooks and scribbling telephone numbers on lined pages and Jamie-don’t-you-dare-open-that-box.

Dani rocks with the gentle movement of the train beneath her as it rounds a bend in the tracks.

“Whatever happened to the fun of not knowing?” Dani tries for a tease but falls somewhere just short of playground wedding jitters. A little confused and perhaps regretting her choices. She clears her throat. “I just,” she sighs, “I want you to have a good time.”

Jamie scoffs. “Ah, well, you know how difficult I am to please. Such high standards and all.” She gestures to the tray table between them, littered with snack-sized pretzel packets and a can of seltzer to share.

Dani rolls her eyes. “The picture of refinement.” Jamie pops her shirt collar with a huff and a wry smile that earn her a playful kick to the shin, and she pouts. “Still not telling you.”

Jamie retracts her lower lip, her ploy failed. “Should’ve known I wouldn’t get you to crack on the last day. A steel trap, you are.”

Dani snorts at the obvious exaggeration. They both know just a lingering stare from Jamie has her weak at the knees.

She can’t say she’s complaining.

On the subject of their trip, though, she has managed to keep impressively silent, offering only such vague clues as, “Thoughts on the desert?” and “D’you suppose four thousand is too much if it’s a room with a balcony?” At latter of which, Jamie had gone slightly pale, but she had declared, albeit shakily, something along the lines of, “whatever makes you happy,” as she blanched.

And, oh, how Dani had loved her for it.

As the temperate trees outside their window turn to evergreens and the cold trickles in from the mountains, it becomes abundantly clear that Dani has not brought them to the desert. Just one more stop until theirs, and Dani can’t help the flash of worry that streaks through her like lightning.

She’s a perfectionist by nature. Or, at least, she was. Likes her ducks in a row, likes her trains on time and her schedules stuck to. These past months have been agony, each day a guessing game, no way to be sure what will come next. She understands the necessity, has tried to embrace it, even, but when the opportunity presented itself for her to plan something concrete, she leapt at it.

Jamie had stepped back, understanding how badly Dani needed this. A part of her, she told Dani, late in the night, wrapped in blankets and sweet embraces, was simply glad Dani could bear to think of the future, even short term.

When they left Bly, Dani would not allow herself to entertain the thought of next week, much less next year. But, as time slid past with no sign of her co-inhabitant, she relaxed, millimeter by millimeter, drop by drop, the tension slipped from her body. The paranoia, the jolt of terror upon rounding a corner, looking into a mirror, faded gradually each time she saw only herself, one eye brown, one blue.

Each day with Jamie pervaded her idea of “normal” until that is what their life became. Normal. Waking up together, seeking out breakfast, exchanging quips before setting about their adventure of the day felt...normal. A remarkable concept for the woman whose notion of normal shattered with a pair of glasses.

She sits across from the woman she thinks of as her best friend and marvels at how different her life was, even just a year ago, when the sentiment of a Christmas with someone she loves was unfathomable. She can only hope Jamie doesn’t hate it.

Jamie, who is folding the tray up and sweeping crumbs into her palm to dispose of, only to realize she has nowhere to put them. She looks around for a moment, mumbles a shit to herself, and stands to toss them in the bin in the restroom, while Dani watches affectionately.

“What?” Jamie says, when she returns, gathering her things.

“Didn’t think that one all the way through, did you?” Dani says, a little smug. It’s not really a question.

“You said one more stop, yeah? Thought we should be ready.”

“Eager?”

“You’re having a go at me,” she rags, “Been building this up for a month. Can’t blame a woman for being a wee bit curious.”

A conductor wanders past, loudly announcing the next stop.

“Vermont, eh?” Jamie wraps the strap of her bag around her hand once, twice. She’s nervous, too, Dani realizes. The unpredictability has taken a toll on her, as well. Jamie, who woke up at five-thirty like clockwork, who tended to the same plants on the same grounds with the same tools, who saw the same five people each day. She likes routine, just as Dani does.

Perhaps, should they make it to the new year, it’s time to find a place to plant themselves. A place to call their own, if Jamie will have her. Somewhere to land. The thought sends a thrill through her.

Dani nods. “Trust me?”

Jamie studies her. “Always.”

Dani collects her belongings from the overhead as the train slows to a creaking stop at the platform. They appear to be the only two disembarking. Unsurprising, really. From Dani’s research, the town’s population is in the low thousands. The station, a one-story, low building, is rustic, all exposed wood and lantern lighting fixtures.

“Clayton?” An older man calls as they step off the train. He leans against the hood of a town car emblazoned with the logo of his proprietor.

Holiday Inn, Est. 1942

“That’s me,” Dani chirps, meeting him halfway from the tracks, where he takes the bags from her arms with an amiable nod. Jamie follows him to the trunk -- boot, as she insists it’s called -- and drops her rucksack next to Dani’s, while Dani, herself, opens the door with a grand flourish. “M’lady.”

Jamie sends the driver a sidelong glance, but he slides into the front seat without a word. She accepts Dani’s invitation and turns to her once they settle a respectable distance apart on the back bench. The driver, Wallace, as he introduces himself, turns the key in the ignition.

“So, the Holiday Inn?” Jamie prods. “Wasn’t aware the big hotels did shuttle services now.”

“Not a hotel,” Dani corrects.

“No?”

“An inn.”

“Ah, thanks, love, that clears it right up,” Jamie deadpans, but there’s no bite to her words.

“Hold your horses,” Dani placates, “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Can’t feel my bloody hands, been holding these damn horses so long.”

Dani swats her across the stomach. “Quiet, you.”

“Oi, ‘s no way to start a holiday, is it?”

“So, what brings you across the pond?” Wallace cuts in, the car rounding a bend on its climb up the mountain. “We don’t get many Brits around here.”

Jamie looks to Dani, a smirk curling upon her lips. “Not entirely sure, actually. You want to take this one, Poppins?”

“She hasn’t been stateside since we were kids,” Dani supplies. “I thought it might be a nice change of pace to spend the holidays with my cousin since it’s been so long.” Then, muttering to only Jamie, “She’s more sarcastic than I remember.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. You know, I haven’t been overseas since the war. Can’t bring myself to fly these days.” He continues to regale them with stories of his time in France, and they allow his tales to fill the silence for the duration of the ride, Dani offering polite interjections wherever appropriate. This is, in part, a way to keep Jamie from asking questions and spoiling the surprise mere moments from its fulfillment.

They turn onto a narrow road lined with towering fir trees. Undisturbed snow from a recent bout of winter weather bows the branches. Jamie watches out the window, transfixed by the changing landscape. Dani cannot see her face.

“Here we are,” Wallace says, with a note of pride. “She needs a little work, but she’s home.”

A house comes into sight as the car crests a hill, a three-story colonial with a broad front porch and white trim. Rocking chairs perch near the railings, and pale blue shutters frame tall windows. An old barn stands a little ways down, weather-worn, but charming.

Dani hears a quick inhalation from beside her. Jamie’s gaze is fixed straight ahead. Dani’s stomach flips.

Their car pulls up in front of the lodge, and Wallace grabs their bags from the rear.

“We’ll be just a sec,” Dani says.

Jamie’s back is to her as she turns in a slow circle, absorbing the scenery, until her eyes come to rest on Dani, who fidgets with the nail on her index finger.

“So,” she begins, “I, um, I know we said we’d take it slow. But, you said snow could be nice, and you’ve done so much for me, and I just wanted to give you this one thing, but I get it if it’s too much or too cold. I just thought, you know, it might be nice since you said you saw White Christmas as a kid that one time, and I know it was probably a joke, but--”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, with a saccharine laugh and the most gentle smile, “love, not to interrupt what was shaping up to be quite the eloquent speech, but this,” she gestures at the picturesque cabin and the trees and the mountainside, “this, you didn’t have to do all of this.” She looks around hesitantly, then takes one of Dani’s hands in her own. “I almost forgot I mentioned that story, but, apparently, you didn’t.”

Dani grins sheepishly.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jamie assures, “this is stunning. Everything I could’ve imagined. But, and I’m sure I’m starting to sound like a broken record, I would be just as happy spending Christmas in a shack under a bridge, so long as I’m sharing that shack with you.”

“I’d like to think this is at least a few steps up from a shack.”

“Oh, it most certainly is. Can’t say I’m mad about it, either. Quite fond of being warm, you know.”

“Speaking of,” Dani segues, “inside?”

“Please.”  

Dani drops her hand and leads Jamie up the porch steps, the old wood groaning underfoot.

“Dani Clayton?” A portly woman steps out from behind a counter.

“Present,” Dani says brightly.

“Anne,” the woman replies merrily, “I believe we spoke on the phone. Welcome, the both of you, to the Holiday Inn. Such a pleasure to host this little family reunion.”

Jamie appears perplexed for only a moment. “Jamie,” she greets, accepting the proffered handshake, “lovely to meet you.”

“Right, well, your room is up the stairs to the right, third door in.” Anne smooths her apron and passes Dani a key. “Wallace, my husband, should’ve dropped off any luggage, and please join us and the other guests for Christmas Eve dinner tonight, won’t you?”

“We’ll be there,” Dani promises.

“So, cousins, then?” Jamie prompts once Dani has inserted the key into their lock.

“I figured it was the easiest way to get around two women sleeping in the same room,” Dani says apologetically. “Family bonding, and all.”

“S’pose sisters wouldn’t have made sense with the accent.”

“We look nothing alike.” Dani shuts the door behind them. “Wouldn’t have been believable.” She flops unceremoniously onto one of the two double beds. The pale pink quilt wrinkles as Jamie sits, leaning back against the oak headboard. The windows are shut, but the off-white, lavender-printed curtains sway in an unfelt breeze, and a small fire crackles in the brick hearth. The sun is just beginning to set over the treetops, casting the room in a golden haze.

“‘S nice here,” Jamie remarks. “Feels familiar.”

“I, um, I may have picked this place because it looks like the one in the movie. Had them fax me images of the rooms to find one--”

“That looks like the one Betty and Judy shared in White Christmas,” Jamie finishes, noting the white doors and gleaming brass knobs.

“And, the inn, too. I tried to find out if we could go to the real one where they filmed, but turns out it was a set on a soundstage in California.”

“You mean to tell me the painted backdrops were just,” she gasps for dramatic effect, causing Dani to laugh, “painted backdrops?”

Dani groans. “In hindsight, it should’ve been more obvious, but at least I tried?”

“And an admirable effort it was,” Jamie chuckles, tugging Dani’s sleeve until she moves up the bed to lay her head on Jamie’s shoulder. “Looks just like the real thing, right down to my very own Judy.” She presses a kiss to the top of Dani’s head.

“Mm, I think you might just have a thing for blondes in turtlenecks.”

“Seven-year-old Jamie might’ve been a wee bit taken with Vera-Ellen,” Jamie shrugs. “Who’s to say?” She continues, “Not a lot of pretty blondes for me to fall for back in those days.”

“Oh, well, as long as she’s pretty,” Dani teases.

“Happen to like my version much better, thank you. Terribly sorry, Vera, may you rest in peace; can’t hold a candle to Dani Clayton.”

“It’s because I made one of your childhood dreams come true, isn’t it.”

“Hm,” Jamie muses, “proud of that one, are you?”

“Just a little.”

“It’s wonderful, love,” Jamie speaks softly, raking easy fingers through Dani’s hair. “Promise.” A pause. Her hand freezes for a moment, then resumes its steady path. “No one…ah, no one’s done anything like this for me before.”

Jamie’s life thus far has been far from perfect, as Dani knows from the pieces Jamie has shared. Bouncing from home to home as a child and landing in with the wrong crowd. A life in which stability and consistency did not exist, in which Jamie came to learn that companionship--love--is conditional and hinges upon her ability to provide. At the first sign that she could not be serviceable, in some way or another, she was cast aside.

She learned to work with her hands. Plants cannot reject you, after all, and there are always cracks to be patched, leaky faucets to be repaired. To some, the work might feel tedious, but to Jamie, the monotony feels safe, providing her a sense of immutability in an otherwise turbulent life.

And, as Jamie tells it, three years into her residence at Bly, a goddamn American started traipsing about the garden, and everything went to shit.

More or less.

Dani thoroughly wraps herself around Jamie’s middle, eliminating any space that existed between them. Words fail her, but she hopes her message resonates all the same.

Things are different, now.

***

When they eventually untangle themselves, it’s in favor of washing away the grime of travel with a hot shower. Dani unpacks as Jamie steps under the spray, rejecting the proposal to join, on account of one of them should make sure they’re on time for dinner.

They’re still almost late, though, neither realizing that the barn they’d seen that afternoon doubled as the formal dining room, and they stumble in just in time to settle at a small table in the back of the packed hall.

“Didn’t realize this was dinner and a show,” Jamie comments, observing the raised platform at the front of the room.

“So, there may have been another reason I picked this place,” Dani explains in a whisper, so as not to irk the other patrons seated nearby. “They have this Christmas Eve tradition I read about in one of the travel books and--”

Music echoes through the space from a small pit orchestra set up to the side, and a spotlight illuminates the stage, where two figures are hidden by pale blue fans.

“They may, or may not,” Dani winces, face screwing up into a weak grimace, “kind of, invite local performance groups to do songs from the movie?” She bites her lip, peering at Jamie through one eye.

Jamie, for her part, appears equal parts enthralled and perturbed. “Gotta hand it to you, Poppins,” she says, mouth slightly agape, “You know how to keep to a theme.”

Dani likes to think she hadn’t been chair of the prom committee in high school for nothing. “I really hope you don’t absolutely hate this movie, or this will be a very awkward dinner.”

“Wasn’t one of my favorites,” Jamie admits, leaning in, “but it certainly is now.” Under the cover of the tablecloth, she grips Dani’s hand and gives a discrete squeeze, Dani relaxing at her touch. “It’s very sweet,” Jamie murmurs, amused. The silver chain resting around her neck reflects the stage light as she turns her head. The number draws to a close, met with enthusiastic whooping from the jovially intoxicated crowd.

A server delivers two plates, starter salads, to their table, jotting down polite requests for main courses and alcoholic beverages.

By the finale number, Dani is warm and a bit wine-drunk. Her chair has migrated, over the course of the evening, to perch mere inches from Jamie’s. The gardener’s fingers move with the melody, eyes closed, an easy smile on her lips. She hums under her breath to match the vocalist crooning into the microphone. Dani commits the sight to memory. Jamie, here, draped in flickering shadows, untroubled by good intentions, chores that ought to be done, single-sided debts to be paid to no one and everyone. She is utterly beautiful. And Dani is utterly smitten.

Perhaps it is the wine. Perhaps it is the security provided conveniently by the position of their tucked-away table. Dani parts the tablecloth and traces down Jamie’s slender wrist, their fingers slotting together like a key in a lock. She presses the briefest of kisses to Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie’s thumb runs over Dani’s knuckle.

The antique oil lamps lining the walls glimmer warmly, and the final verse of the reimagined Irving Berlin classic fades into applause.

It is snowing lightly when they wander back to the main building and into their room, faces flushed from the chill. Dani giggles, squirming away from Jamie pushing a cold nose into her neck. Jamie chases her, pins her to the door with a sound kiss. Dani cups the nape of her neck, holding her close. The flurries melted into her hair are cool against Dani’s palm.

“Good night?” Dani asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“Mm,” Jamie puffs against her lips, nuzzling closer “was perfectly splendid.”

“Was it, now?” Dani ribs coyly.

Jamie pulls back just far enough to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. “Dani,” her voice is insistent, sincere, “thank you.”

Dani feels herself blush under the intensity of Jamie’s stare.

“I mean it.” Jamie’s index finger curls pointedly under Dani’s chin, tilting her head up, and something pulls low in Dani’s gut. “Thank you.”

Her lips are soft, pliant beneath Dani’s, speaking volumes in the silence. The snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the earth in mysticism the way only a new snow can. In here, though, the air burns.

They break apart at their lungs’ insistence, chests heaving in unison, but they do not stray far, choosing instead to stay, wrapped up in each other, neither willing to allow the moment to pass. Jamie smells faintly of smoke and the inn’s shampoo. Her sweater stretches slightly in Dani’s insistent hands.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any mince pie and whiskey stashed away?” Jamie nods to the fireplace, lips kiss-swollen and hair mussed.

Dani pauses, a little taken aback, and feeling a bit like someone’s just doused her in icy water. “Do I have...what?”

“Have you got any mince pie and whiskey?”

A flash of panic shoots through her, and she runs through a mental checklist. Is there something she missed? Something Jamie had said?

“Um, should I?”

“What else are you supposed to leave Father Christmas?”

“Milk and cookies?”

“Milk and cookies,” Jamie scoffs in a poor imitation of Dani’s Midwestern accent, “how’s that going to keep a person going all night? Blimey, man’s got to travel ‘round the world, you know.”

“Blimey, must’ve left them in my other suitcase,” Dani laments, outlining the fair curve of Jamie’s collarbone, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin.

“A real shame.” Jamie’s exhale is a note heavier.

Dani hums, “Bet I can make up for it.”

Jamie’s brows rise. “Oh, can you, now?”

“Mhm,” Dani affirms, with a sigh. Before she can go any further, though, her face splits into a yawn, and any semblance of seduction is instantly dashed.

Jamie laughs, stepping away and checking the grandfather clock that stands in the corner of the room. “Half eleven. Ought to get you to bed.” She leans in, with a wink, “Santa won’t come if you’re not asleep.”

“Oh, come on,” Dani says reproachfully, rolling her eyes in a manner not dissimilar to chiding Owen’s god-awful puns. She tugs Jamie toward the wardrobe.

They slip between the sheets a short while later, lying close in the double bed, a perfect mess of legs and arms and contentment.

“‘S after midnight,” Jamie whispers, long after Dani thought her breathing had evened out. “Happy Christmas, love.”

Dani’s heart swells. “Merry Christmas, Jamie.”

***

Pale sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, coating the wallpaper in a serene glow. It’s rather poetic, Dani thinks, the way the light falls across Jamie’s sleeping face, highlighting the graceful tilt of her cheekbones, the button of her nose. Jamie looks ethereal in the morning, something Dani cannot truthfully claim about herself.

She traces the high arch of Jamie’s brow with her thumb, and the woman’s eyes flutter open. She blinks, adjusting to the feeling of being awake, until her gaze settles upon Dani, propped up on her elbow.

“G’morning, sleepyhead,” Dani coos.

“Been up long?” Jamie asks, voice low and sleep-rough.

“Not long,” Dani replies. “Was getting hungry, though. Thought you might like to see what Santa brought you before breakfast.”

Jamie sits up slowly, a cheeky grin turning up the corners of her lips. “As though waking up next to you isn’t enough?”

“Sweet-talker,” Dani says, nudging her, “It’s small, I promise.” She rolls out of bed, grimacing when her bare feet make contact with chilly wood. She rummages through her backpack, the one Jamie knows not to investigate, and emerges with a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. A red bow is stuck to the top, a little squished, but thankfully still intact. Dani crosses her legs on the bed.

“Now, hold on.” Jamie reaches for her rucksack, pulling out a newspaper-covered object. She sets it on the bed. If Dani didn’t know any better, she would think Jamie seems, almost, embarrassed. “Not much experience by way of gift-giving, I’m afraid.” She wrings her hands in her lap.

“Hey,” Dani soothes, “like you said. I’m happy just being with you, okay?”

Jamie gives her a small smile. She huffs, “Look at me, being all gloomy on Christmas morning. C’mon then, open it up.”

Dani picks at the newsprint, unfolding each section delicately, deliberately. As she peels away the final layer, in her hands, she holds a small camera and a few rolls of film. She looks to Jamie, who studies her carefully, gauging Dani’s reaction.

“Might be silly, but I thought, you know, all this traveling, might be nice to collect a few momentos. Have something to look back on a few years down the line.”

Years. Years. Years. Dani allows herself to imagine them, together, somewhere, anywhere, on a couch, years from now, turning the pages of a photo album.

Yes, she decides, years.

She must have some kind of expression on her face, because Jamie speaks. “Alright, there?” She says it casually, lightly, but underlying the words is a pool of worry. Worry that Jamie has overstepped, that she’s made a mistake, that Dani will cast her aside.

“Years,” Dani says. “Years,” she repeats, high-pitched and carefree. She captures Jamie’s lips in a kiss, a celebration of time gone by, a promise of time yet to come.

“Take it you like it, then?”

Yes, Dani wants to scream, God, yes. You’ve given me the future and there are not enough words in the world to explain how I feel about you.

She settles, instead, for inserting a roll of film and bringing the viewfinder to eye level, the lens pointed at Jamie, who still wears a small smile. She is illuminated by a halo of sunlight, catching wayward hairs in its rays. The shutter clicks, and it’s loud in the stillness of the morning.

At the confused tilt of Jamie’s head, Dani attempts to clarify. “I wanted,” she explains, sounding only a little strangled, “the first memory to be of you, and me, here. In this moment.” She sighs, “Just us.”

Jamie’s face softens as she understands. Her hand snakes around Dani’s head, and she pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright, your turn,” Dani decrees, when they separate, and Jamie accepts the offered gift. “Not as exciting as a camera, but I hope you like it.”

“Poppins,” Jamie breathes, staring at the unwrapped item on the bed as if afraid to touch it, “it’s beautiful.”

Dani had found the journal at a craft fair they visited in Chicago. The man said he’d been working with leather for twenty years. The book is bound in green leather, with shimmering gold trim around its border. On the front cover, a leaf, also covered in thin gold foil, is stamped into the material. Dani had been immediately drawn to it.

“I think we had similar ideas,” Dani jokes. “I thought, since you’re always talking to yourself and coming up with new ideas, you might like a place to put everything in that brilliant brain of yours.”

“Feels like I’m saying this a lot lately,” Jamie chuckles, “but thank you, Dani. I love it.”

As if on cue, Dani’s stomach makes itself known, and she cringes.

“Right, how about breakfast?” Jamie inquires.

“I can wait,” Dani says, “The dining room closes at ten.” She glances at the clock. “We’ve got time.”

“For what?”

Jamie catches the mischievous glint in her eye. “Pretty sure I still have to atone for my grievous crime of depriving Santa of whiskey and mince pie. Unless, that is, you’ve decided to let me off the hook?” She gingerly places Jamie’s journal on the bedside table next to her camera.

“Oh, you, my dear,” Jamie all but purrs, punctuating each word with a kiss, “are still very much on the hook.”

***

Breakfast has all but ended by the time they make it downstairs.

Dani decides that cold pancakes have never tasted so good.

[giuliafc]

Visiting Hours

Read it at Ao3 || Read it at Fanfiction.net

'Gutta Cavat Lapidem' said the Ancient Romans. Constant dripping wears the rock away. This is the story of a stubborn man’s path to recovery and of the stubborn girl who wore his shell away. (Adrienette/Lovesquare)

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The redhead nurse looked at the older man sitting on an armchair, reading a big tome. “She’s here again, Monsieur Agreste.”

“She?” asked the man, his grey eyes training to the face of the young woman, a cold smile curling his lips.

“Yes, sir. The girl with pigtails who keeps asking about you. She asked today, too. What should I tell her?” Her frown showed her hopefulness, and so did the light blush that dusted her cheeks.

“No.”

The nurse’s eyes widened. “But, sir. She’s been coming for a long time and you keep refusing to see her.”

“I have my reasons. You’re dismissed.”

The young nurse sighed and went out of the room. Gabriel stared at the emptiness in front of him. He was in a small room with walls covered in shiny birch wood. There was only a double bed, a bedside table, a desk and desk chair, a small bookshelf with just a few books resting on it, a coffee table and the armchair he was sitting on. The floor was tiled with shiny bright marble, a brown rug protecting the floor under the coffee table and armchair. A big triple window adorned one of the walls of the room, filling it with bright light coming from outside. It was comfortable and had everything that he needed, but it certainly was nothing compared with what he had at the Manor.

Eventually, Gabriel stood up, put the book he was reading on the coffee table in front of the armchair and moved across the room, stopping behind the door that separated him from the waiting room, adorned with big glass squares that allowed him to see through into the corridor outside.

She was still there, sitting down on a hard seat out of his room. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. What did she want? Why did she keep on coming, stubbornly wanting to see him? Hadn’t she done enough to ruin his life?

The sudden sound of the bell signaling the end of visiting time tore the silence of the room like a wound. He looked at Marinette sighing, getting up and starting to walk towards the Reception. She was holding an envelope in her hand and Gabriel wondered what it could contain. He looked at the young woman talking to the receptionist, giving her the envelope, then turning towards the door he was standing next to, sighing and walking out.

It didn’t take long before the nurse came back. But by then, Gabriel was again sitting at his armchair, his cold gaze contemplating thoughtfully on the birchwood wall in front of him, his chin resting on the back of his hands, his elbows perched on his thighs.

“I thought I said that you were dismissed.”

The nurse paled, but she walked towards him and put the envelope on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, sir. The girl with pigtails left this for you at the Reception. She asked me to give it to you.”

“I don’t want it. Burn it.” He looked almost amused at the horror in the nurse’s eyes.

“I couldn’t possibly do that, sir. I’ll leave it there. If you don't want it, you can dispose of it yourself.” That said, she bowed her head slightly and rushed out of the room.

A hard smile curled the lips of the designer. He rested his back to the armchair and opened his book once more, ignoring the envelope on the coffee table. It was only when he had finished reading the book that Gabriel stood up from his armchair and picked up the envelope that Marinette had sent. He walked decisively towards the bin underneath his desk and made to throw it in there. Yet, he eventually refrained from doing it and his fingers moved to the top of the envelope, lifting up the top fold. He had a look inside and frowned. It was a letter.

He sighed. Before dumping it, he may as well see what the girl wanted. He picked up the paper inside the envelope and started to read.

“Monsieur Agreste,

I know that probably you won’t read this. I know that you will dump this letter in the bin without even a second thought,”

Gabriel smirked. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng was a clever girl. He had to give her that. If he hadn’t already respected her designer qualities, he would have appreciated her at least for the acumen of her brain.

“...however, I couldn’t leave this room without getting through to you. Not again.

Monsieur Agreste, it’s been eight months now. I know that you’re hurting. There’s no possibility that you’re not hurting. As wicked and wrong as your methods had been, as wrong as your desire to call on the Wish was, you were doing it out of love, and that feeling was true and strong. I can’t blame you for that.”

Gabriel winced. How dare the stupid girl to call his methods and his ways wrong? He glared at the letter, but carried on reading.

“I can blame you, and I will blame you, Monsieur Agreste, for the way that you have tried to achieve your aim, though. But that is beyond the point now that the Miraculouses are back where they belong. I know that you’re hurting. I can also see that Adrien is hurting, every single day too. As much as you have neglected him and denied to him any semblance of the love that a father should give to his son, he still loves you. But he can’t forgive you. You hurt him one time too many. He tries to stop me every day from coming to the clinic. But I come anyway, because I know it’s the right thing to do. You’re both hurting and you both need closure. Please talk to me. We can try to move forward all together.

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

Gabriel’s gaze hardened as he read the few lines. He put the paper back into the envelope and made to throw it in the bin. He actually did throw it in the bin. But a couple of minutes later, he picked it back up and moved to his desk. He opened a drawer, putting the envelope inside.

The following day, the nurse came back in at the beginning of the visiting time.

“Monsieur Agreste, she’s here again.”

“She?” he asked once more.

“Yes, Monsieur Agreste, the girl with the pigtails. She’s back and is waiting to see if you wanted to meet her today.”

“No.”

More days passed. Marinette was always coming back at the same time, and leaving at the same time when the bell signalled the end of visiting hours. She was indeed stubborn. That was a good quality in a leader and definitely a good quality in a designer that could take his place at the head of the Agreste brand. Gabriel found himself smirking at the possibility. That wasn’t going to happen while he was alive.

Unless… but he didn't want to even consider that option yet.

— Eight months earlier —

He still remembered it as if it was yesterday, even if several months had passed by now. Shadow Moth had developed a plan. He and Nathalie went to Tibet and found a very powerful blade that was supposed to pass through the suits of Miraculous holders, and he was going to use it to get rid of those kids once and for all and make the Wish to bring his beloved Emilie back.

Nathalie hadn’t been convinced, though. Very uncharacteristically of her, she had tried to argue her point.

“They’re only kids, sir. You don't really want to dirt your hands with the blood of two teenagers.”

He had given her a curt look. “Enough, Nathalie. Don’t contradict me; make sure that Adrien is looked after. I’m feeling a strong emotion and it’s time for my plan to unfold. This time, I shall be victorious!”

That said, he placed his fingers carefully in the holes of Emilie’s portrait and quickly disappeared inside the floor, out of the room.

The fight had been long and exhausting at both ends. Using Monsieur le Rat yet again as an akuma but powering him up with the help of a sentimonster, he managed to corner the two heroes at the Eiffel Tower. And eventually, Ladybug had been locked inside a human-sized hamster’s cage and he had been able to concentrate on Chat Noir, cornering him and making him end up pinned to the ground underneath him, the sharp Tibetan blade pointing at his throat.

“Give me only one reason,” he had hissed in the disrespectful boy’s face. The boy, who evidently didn’t know when it was proper to admit defeat, had tried to wriggle under his weight but hadn’t been able to even move. So he had spat on his face.

“ Connard !” had shouted Chat Noir. “I will never give you my Miraculous. You will have to take it off my dead body!”

Gabriel had smirked and he had seen the flash of fear in the boy’s eyes. “This, my boy, can be easily arranged.” That said, the older man grabbed Chat Noir by his wrists and pulled him up with ease, slamming him against the cold metal structure of the tower and making him scream in pain. He held the boy’s arms over his head with one hand, while with the other he picked up a rope from his pocket and then wrapped it firmly around the boy’s wrists.

“Chat Noir!” shouted the voice of Ladybug in the hamster’s cage. “Don’t you dare touch him, Hawkmoth! Don’t you dare!”

“Stupid girl,” was his curt reply, his gaze briefly losing track of the boy underneath him to glance in her direction. “Your turn will come soon enough.”

He felt the boy wriggle even more strongly under his firm grip and gave one last pull to the rope, ensuring it was secure. “You won’t harm M’lady!” he shouted, but Gabriel’s grip moved firmly to his throat, nearly choking him.

“If you hadn’t been so stubborn, we wouldn’t have come to this. Now, prepare to die!”

Gabriel raised his sharp blade and saw Chat Noir panic. The boy gave himself a limb push and kicked the elder man blindly with his legs and feet, causing Gabriel to make some distance between him and the black-clad superhero and stagger. But nothing was going to take victory away from him, not this time. He was going to win. Gabriel took a step back, closed his eyes and stabbed Chat Noir straight in the chest.

Or so he thought. Because as he did that, he felt a movement in the air, as if something was getting between his body and the body of the hero in black. He heard Chat Noir gasping loudly and when he opened his eyes, he was met with a sight that he would never, ever have thought he’d see.

Nathalie was laying between him and the boy, the blade firmly stuck in her chest.

“Nathalie? What…? What are you doing here?” asked Chat Noir, as Gabriel just stood there, utterly stunned.

“Nathalie? What have you done?” Gabriel’s heart for once was pounding in his chest. Why had that stupid woman put herself between him and his enemy? Why was she putting herself between him and his dream of getting Emilie back?

“I c-couldn’t let you, sir,” whispered Nathalie. She winced as she fell on the ground on her back right underneath Chat Noir, a small stream of blood dripping out of the corner of her mouth. Gabriel saw Nathalie’s face getting wet and raised his gaze to look at Chat Noir, noticing with surprise the tears in the boy’s eyes. The boy managed to detangle his hands from the rope and crouched down on his legs, grabbing Nathalie and resting her head on his thighs. Then, he grabbed the elder woman’s hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it.

“Nathalie… why? What are you doing here?” said Chat Noir in between sobs. She moved her hand and cupped it at the side of his face.

“I couldn’t let him kill you. It wouldn’t have been right. Not after I had discov—” She coughed and spat blood. Chat Noir gasped, but didn’t lose his grip on Nathalie and on her hand. She disangled it from the boy’s grip and used the knuckles to stroke his wet cheeks gently. “I-I loved you like my own, Adrien . Pl—” She coughed some more and Chat Noir held her stronger, too busy crying to notice the loud gasp that his enemy had uttered.

“ADRIEN?” shouted Gabriel, his masked face as white as a sheet, his eyes as wide as saucers. From the cage, he heard Ladybug gasping too.

“Gabriel?” Nathalie’s voice was only a mere whisper, but Chat Noir heard it. His choked “What?” resounded loudly in the emptiness of the tower.

“Yes, Nathalie?” He grabbed the hand that Chat Noir wasn’t holding and looked at her, the coldness of his gaze completely gone as tears filled his eyes.

“I walked in on him as he transformed in his room earlier on. You’re better than this, Gabriel.” She coughed again. “You’re not a monster who kills his own son. Or any child for that matter. Emilie wouldn’t have wanted it and you know that.” She detangled her hand from Adrien’s and cupped it to Gabriel’s face. “I love y—”

She couldn’t finish. Her hand fell listlessly to her side and her eyes stared into emptiness.

“NATHALIE!!!!!” screamed Gabriel. He grabbed her limp body forcefully from Adrien’s lap and squeezed it into a strong hug, rocking back and forth and letting out the sobs that he had been holding for too long. “Nooroo, Duusu, Divide. Dark wings fall,” he eventually hissed.

Nooroo and Duusu appeared in a twirl of light and opened their eyes wide. Nooroo’s little mouth gaped open but didn’t utter any sound. Duusu started weeping loudly the second she saw the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. As Hawkmoth’s transformation fell, the cage that kept Ladybug captive disappeared and the girl moved tentatively towards them.

Gabriel picked the two brooches from underneath his white and red cravat and handed them to Ladybug. The girl looked at him stunned, but tentatively moved her hand and picked up the brooches, storing them safely inside her yoyo.

“Do your thing. Bring her back.” His tone was firm, but Ladybug heard how shaky his voice was. His bottom lip was quivering. Never had she seen Gabriel Agreste in such a vulnerable state.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Agreste. My Miraculous Cure can only repair the damage inflicted by a very specific Akuma. The Akuma didn’t kill Nathalie. You did. I can’t bring her back.” She fell on her knees and wrapped her arm around Adrien’s shoulder. As if he had been waiting for that moment all his life, Adrien literally pounced on her and wrapped her in a massive hug, as deep sobs shook his frame. “I’m not even sure if my Miraculous Cure could bring people back from death anyway, even if the damage had been caused by an Akuma.”

Gabriel’s gaze hardened. “USELESS!” He spat. “You’re a bunch of useless, incompetent losers!” He glared at the young woman with pigtails, and she sustained his glare with her sad but strong gaze. They looked at each other for a long time, until Gabriel moved his eyes towards his son.

“And you,” he nearly roared. “You don’t deserve to be called my son. You don’t deserve Nathalie to die for you. Going against your own family. What a filthy tr—”

“ENOUGH!” shouted Ladybug. Gabriel glared back at her, but her angry gaze didn’t bulge at all. “Monsieur Agreste. You’re upset now, but nothing gives you the right to talk to Adrien like this.”

“He’s my SON. I can talk to him however I want and I don’t need to ask a pathetic girl like you for permission in this matter!” He stood, keeping hold of Nathalie’s limp body in his arms. “Follow me, Adrien,” he added, starting to walk away. When he had walked half the distance to reach the lift that would take him down to the ground floor, he turned around and glared at the boy still sobbing in his partner’s arms. His voice was harsh and cold as he concluded, “You have made your choice.”

At the words, the boy gasped and detangled himself from Ladybug’s grip to look at his father with surprise, but Gabriel had already turned around and entered the lift without a backward glance.

— End of Flashback —

The following day the nurse came into his room once more.

“The girl is here even today, sir.”

Gabriel didn’t even move his gaze from the book he was reading. “No,” he said. The nurse sighed and went out of the room. After the bell signaling the end of the visiting hours rang, the nurse came back in with another envelope.

“She has left this for you,” she said simply, put the envelope on the coffee table next to him and left without another word.

Gabriel looked at the envelope with a raised eyebrow. What did she want now? He stood up and made himself a cup of tea. As he stirred thoughtfully the hot liquid and sugared it to his taste, he sat down again on his arm chair and made to pick up once more his book. He stopped with his hand on the book and eyed the envelope.

Then he sighed and picked up the envelope. Another letter. And a picture of Adrien in his school's hall, standing in front of what looked like a wall with names and numbers completely covering it. Gabriel took the picture out of the envelope and gave a long look to his son. He appeared happy, or at least he was smiling. One of those smiles that lit up his whole face, like those that had made Gabriel fall in love with his mother. Not one of the fake smiles that Gabriel had seen too many times plastered on his face during photoshoots. Yes, he was indeed happy. He scrutinised Adrien’s face. He hadn’t seen him for a while and could notice small little changes in the angle of his jaw and in the shape of his build. Adrien was growing and he could see that very easily even just in a picture.

“Monsieur Agreste,

I know that you keep refusing to talk to me, but I thought I’d drop this picture for you to look at. Yesterday we received the grades for our Baccalauréat. Adrien got 19/20 as a moyenne generale and a ‘mention très bien’. I’m very proud of him. Nobody else in the entire school got that. I bet that it’s the best Baccalauréat result that anyone in the country got this year. Maybe in the last several years. I thought you may have wanted to know.

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

Gabriel’s lips pursed. Good. His son had done as he was expected to do. At least all the turmoil hadn’t interfered with his grades. Gabriel folded the letter again and carefully put it back into the envelope, along with Adrien’s picture. He stood up and stored the letter with the previous one, in the drawer of his desk. Then, he returned to reading his book.

Marinette kept on coming back. Gabriel looked at her day in and day out, sitting at the usual chair. Once, around a week after the previous letter about Adrien’s graduation, she brought in a box with her and stopped at the reception desk before going to sit down. Based on the reaction of the nurses, Gabriel supposed that it must have been a box of pastries from Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie. That day, the nurse came into his room with a huge smile on her face. Gabriel looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Sir, the girl was here again.”

Gabriel sighed and kept reading his book. “I saw.”

“She brought another envelope for you, sir. She just dropped it at the Reception before going.” She put the envelope again on the coffee table and made to get out. Then she turned around and looked at Gabriel again.

“What now?” he asked, not even moving his gaze from his book.

“She’s a nice girl, sir. I hope that one day you will talk to her.”

Now Gabriel tore his gaze from his book and gave the woman a cold stare. “Nobody asked for your opinion.”

The nurse glared at him and left.

Gabriel kept reading his book for a while, then he closed it, put it on the table and picked up the envelope. Again, a letter. And another picture. Gabriel looked at the picture and cringed.

“Monsieur Agreste,

“I thought you may have wanted to know that last night Adrien proposed to me. We still don’t know when, but we will get married very soon. Probably we will wait for my eighteenth birthday, which will be in the end of July. It doesn’t give us a lot of time, but we don’t want anything big and majestic. Probably we will just go to the mayor and get married in front of our closest friends and my family. No pompous ceremonies.

Adrien also received confirmation of having successfully changed his name to Graham de Vanily. Now that he’s graduated and is eighteen, the lawyers who are looking after the Agreste firm on your behalf have approached him asking him to take over from you, since you have shut yourself in the clinic and refuse to have any contact with the external world. Adrien said that he’d consider it, but he wants to undertake a Business degree before he takes on this responsibility.

Today I dropped in some pastries at the Reception desk to celebrate our engagement. Probably you won’t even want to hear about it, but I told the nurses that the pistachio croissant should be for you. Adrien said you like it.

Until the next letter,

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

Gabriel looked at the picture, showing what he supposed was Marinette’s left hand and ring finger. He scrutinised the ring carefully. A classic gold ring with a diamond solitaire on top. Maybe three carats. Princess cut. Gabriel sighed. At least his son had picked a ring that was worthy of the Agreste household. Then his brows furrowed in an annoyed frown. Or the Graham de Vanily one, since he had decided to give him the deepest insult and take on his mother’s name. How dare he .

Gabriel put the letter away with the others in annoyance. So his son had taken the big step. He hadn’t even waited a week after graduating, and according to Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, he didn’t seem to want to wait any time at all. Gabriel huffed. His son had always been too impulsive in his decisions. This time was no different. He stood up to grab the remote of the television and turned the news channel on. As expected, the news was already a big hit and Nadja Chamack was showing pictures of the two, wondering whether Mlle. Dupain-Cheng would take over the designing role of the Agreste brand. Gabriel turned off the TV and picked up the phone.

A few more days passed. The TV kept talking about his son and the Dupain-Cheng girl, analysing their relationship to death. Luckily, they didn't know that the two were Ladybug and Chat Noir, or Gabriel was sure they would have made an even bigger deal about it.

If it was possible to make a bigger deal about it, considering the news was reported in every single news bulletin, and every time with new pictures and speculations.

Gabriel switched the TV off after the latest news bulletin and rested his back more comfortably on his armchair. He took his glasses off and wiped the lenses clean before putting them back on his nose, and closed his eyes.

He still remembered very clearly the day he found out that Mlle. Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug. It was just a day after Nathalie’s funeral. He saw Adrien at the funeral, but his son hadn’t set foot in the Manor since she had died. That day, though, Adrien came specifically to see him.

“Why are you here, Adrien?” he asked. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng was with him. He gestured to both to take a seat, but both shook their heads.

“No, thank you,” said Marinette. Adrien didn’t even say that, he kept glaring at Gabriel in silence.

Gabriel sat down at his desk and rested his chin on the back of his hands, his elbows firmly pinned to the wooden surface of the desk. “I hate repeating myself, Adrien. Why are you here?”

Adrien pursed his lips and moved closer to the desk, banging his hands on it. “I want to know why you did it,” he said, his voice firm.

Gabriel put his hands down and reciprocated the glare. “That can be arranged.” He stood up and looked at Marinette. “Are you sure that you want her to know too?”

“Of course I do,” hissed Adrien. “She’s my girlfriend, I trust her totally.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “I won’t allow—” he started, but Adrien banged his fists on the desk again and interrupted him.

“It’s not about what you will allow, Father. It’s my life, I live it as I want!” His face tinged pink as he struggled to breathe. Marinette put a hand on his shoulder and whispered something into his ear.

“I’m surprised,” retorted Gabriel, “at how quickly your devotion for your precious Lady has faltered away. Or have you been keeping your foot in two shoes all this time?” He moved his gaze from Adrien’s seething one and scanned Marinette quickly, his eyes darting from her pigtails to her eyes and body frame. “Unless…” he added.

Marinette sighed. “I’m Ladybug,” she said simply, her hand clenching on Adrien’s shoulder and forcing him to stay next to her.

“I should have guessed.” Gabriel smirked as his cold grey eyes met her fiery bluebell ones. Then he moved and walked past Adrien, stopping in front of Emilie’s portrait that towered near the entrance of his office. He put his fingers in the small holes that stood in strategically placed points of the portrait. Before pushing in, he said, “Come closer, one at my left and one at my right.”

They both did as they were told and as soon as Gabriel pushed firmly, they felt the ground falling and they found themselves going down into the ground on a lift, until their surroundings stopped moving and a door sweeped open in front of them. They found themselves in a big cave full of white butterflies, very much like the ones that Hawkmoth sent off to become akumas.

“Wh—where are we?” asked Adrien, all his decisiveness instantly lost as he looked around himself with his mouth wide open.

Gabriel’s stern look didn’t lose his son’s face. “Follow me and you will know.”

They walked solemnly out of the lift and towards the bridge, and then on the bridge, Gabriel in front, his hands clasped behind his back. It nearly felt like climbing the gallows. When they had walked already three quarters of the bridge, as expected, Adrien gasped loudly and then sprinted forward, ending up on his knees in front of Emilie’s coffin.

“What is she doing here? What’s going on?” he asked, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the cave. A couple of bats that must have been sleeping somewhere, probably on the ceiling of the cave, started uttering some clicking sounds and then flying around. In a mad frenzy, Adrien started touching the border of the coffin, tears pouring out of his eyes.

Gabriel sighed and moved to the front of the coffin, pushing the button that opened the glass, which was undoubtedly what Adrien was looking for. The boy grabbed his mother’s body, reverentially, and started sobbing onto her shoulder.

“She’s so cold!” he muttered in between sobs. “Why is she so cold? Why is she in a coffin? What’s happened?”

“The Peacock Miraculous was broken. She used it too much and fell into this magically induced coma. That’s why I wanted the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous,” he said simply.

Adrien stopped crying and moved his face from his mother’s shoulder, his eyes seething with hate as they glared at Gabriel. He carefully placed his mother’s body back inside the coffin and gave her a long look before glaring at Gabriel again. “She’s been here all along and you didn’t tell me?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Based on your reaction now, I’ve done the right thing.”

Adrien roared. “Evil, rotten son of a—” He pounced towards him and would have probably reached him if Mlle. Dupain-Cheng hadn’t grabbed him from behind and wrapped her hands around his waist to stop him.

“Adrien!” she shouted but he tried to detangle from her hold so she said it clear and loud, “Tikki, spots on!” and in a flash of pink, she became the polka dotted heroine and took better hold of his waist to stop him. “Calm down!” she warned him.

“Let me go! I want to…”

“Don’t!”

They whispered to each other for a while and finally Adrien found again some composure.

“Seems that she’s got more sense than you,” said Gabriel. Ladybug again grabbed hold of Adrien by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him from running towards him. “Behave, Adrien. Even your precious Lady is ashamed of you. You’re in front of your mother!” Ladybug’s hold on Adrien’s shoulders became visibly stronger.

“There was no need to tell you. My Wish would have fixed everything,” continued Gabriel calmly.

Adrien, however, was renewed in his anger. “Your Wish, your Wish. You keep mentioning that bloody Wish as if it was the solution to everything!”

“Adrien!” scolded Gabriel, but Adrien moved closer to him and glared straight into his eyes.

“Don’t you ‘Adrien’ me. Didn’t Nooroo tell you that there are consequences to making that Wish? That in order for you to obtain what you wanted and restore the balance in the Universe, something had to happen to counteract your choice? Maybe somebody would’ve had to die. Maybe even me!” Gabriel gasped, but Adrien only smirked and continued, “How do you think Mother would have felt had she woken up and found out that not only had her loving husband been a terrorist for the last few years, terrifying the town she so much loved, but he had also fought teenagers to steal jewellery from them and killed her own son?”

“Adrien! All I wanted was to bring your mother back and us be happy as a family again. Whatever the consequences would have been, I would have been ready to pay them, just to get your mother back. Look at her!” He pointed a finger at the sleeping figure in the glass coffin. “LOOK AT HER I SAID!” Adrien moved his gaze to look at his mother briefly, but his eyes were still stern when they returned glaring at him. “Wouldn’t YOU have done the same?”

Adrien’s face got a grimace that he had never seen on him. “Of course not. As much as I want Mother back, I don’t want her back at the cost of someone else’s life! At the cost of someone else suffering. Our family’s happiness would have come at the expense of the destruction of another family. At the cost of someone else’s happiness. But you didn’t think about that, right? You didn’t care. You’re nothing more than a MURDERER!”

“Adr—” Gabriel began, but the vehemence in Adrien’s anger left him aghast.

“In fact, the other day you DID attempt to kill me. And you DID kill Nathalie. You ARE a murderer, Father! You’re a heartless piece of shit!”

“ADRIEN!” boomed Gabriel angrily. “LANGUAGE! I don’t accept my own son disrespecting me in such a way. I raised you better than this. You’re an AGRESTE, not a tramp off of the street.”

This time, Adrien managed to detangle from Ladybug’s hold and marched towards his father, standing up tall in front of the elder man and grabbing his jacket while glaring straight into his eyes. He didn’t need to lift himself up on the balls of his feet to look straight into him anymore. When had he grown that tall? Gabriel hadn't noticed that he'd grown that much.

“Respect needs to be earned . Having contributed in making me doesn’t automatically imply that I should respect you. You’re no father to me. I’ll start the legal procedure to change my name into Graham de Vanily. I don’t want to be associated with you any longer.”

“What a load of nonsense!” said Gabriel. “You will go to your room as soon as we get out of here and will stay there until I will decide what your punishment is going to be.”

Adrien’s eyes didn’t lower. In fact, they hardened and kept sustaining Gabriel’s cold gaze.

“No,” he said with a calm that he didn’t seem to feel. “I won’t. I will go live on my own, I’m old enough and I have the money I earned with my photoshoots.”

Gabriel laughed. “You’re not even able to tie your own shoelaces, Adrien, and you want to go live by yourself!”

Adrien’s glare didn’t falter. “And whose fault is that, GABRIEL?” Gabriel gasped at the evident and intentional tone of disrespect in his son’s voice. “I won’t obey you any more. I’m ashamed of what you have done. I know that Mother would be ashamed of what you have done, too. Especially having tried to kill your own son!”

Gabriel shot Adrien a look that, by itself, in the past would have frightened Adrien to death. But not today. Today he sustained it. “Ungrateful little brat,” he hissed. “I had no idea that you were Chat Noir. I wouldn’t have tried to kill you otherwise.”

Adrien smirked, a gleam of pure hatred shining in his eyes. “I didn’t know you were Hawkmoth either, but it didn’t stop you from calling me a ‘traitor to my family’ the other day.”

Gabriel paled. He had never thought that his son would look at him like that. Those were Emilie’s eyes. Emilie’s eyes that were looking at him with hate. And disgust. For once, he was at loss for words. For once, he couldn’t bear the lingering hate in those green eyes and had to look down.

But Adrien dug the knife deeper. “Also, when you akumatised the Gorilla and told him to drop me off Montparnasse Tower, you knew damn well that it was me.”

“I—” Gabriel’s mouth felt dry. He remembered that day. He remembered it well. “I freed Ladybug so she could save you.”

Adrien looked oblivious to Gabriel’s turmoil. Or enjoying it maybe, because he was smirking. “Only when you were satisfied that I wasn't going to transform, so I wasn't Chat Noir. You never cared about me, you just used me all along. Put me on display to be the pretty face of your stupid company. Only THAT mattered to you.”

No, he wasn’t enjoying it. Definitely not. He was crying.

Gabriel put his two hands on Adrien’s shoulders and saw him wincing, as if wanting to shrug them off, but eventually he didn’t do it and just looked at him with a serious gleam in his eyes. “Adrien, son,” said Gabriel with a softness that had been alien from him in the last few years. Adrien’s eyes widened at the sound. “The Wish would have taken care of that. I wasn’t only going to ask for Emilie back, I was going to ask for my family back. I didn’t just want back my wife, but also my son. I wanted us to be happy again. I do love you, Adrien.”

Now Adrien shrugged Gabriel’s hands from his shoulders, his eyes hardening again as he looked at Gabriel as if he was the filthiest scum on Earth. That look at that very moment was like a knife stabbing Gabriel straight to his heart.

“You don’t. The Gorilla was more a father to me than you have ever been,” hissed Adrien, causing the flame that had cooled down in Gabriel’s chest to be renewed in its vigor.

“How can you say that,” said Gabriel in a choked whisper. Then his eyes hardened and he raised his hand to hit Adrien in the face—but then he didn’t. He balled his hand in a fist and lowered his arm, closing his eyes briefly to calm down the mad beating of his heart as he chose carefully the next few words. “The Go…” he started, but then corrected himself, “ Gérard only looked after you because he was paid to do so. How can you compare your father to a mere subordinate?”

“Gérard did more than look after me because you paid him. In fact, yesterday he told me that I was welcome to go stay with him if I needed a place to live, and you’re not paying him any longer.”

Anger shot through Gabriel’s core. He clenched his fists and glared at Adrien, a twisted grimace on his face. He felt his body shaking. “Then go on and live with him,” he hissed to Adrien’s face. “You know what? Since you want to change your name so badly, take his, for all I care.”

Adrien moved his face closer. So close that Gabriel could feel his breath tickling the skin near his nose. “Had I not loved and respected Mother, that's exactly what I would have done.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened. He pushed Adrien hard and spat, “Get out of my sight. Out of my house. Don’t you dare come back in front of me ever again!”

Adrien staggered, but didn’t fall. “It will be my pleasure.” He gave him an icy glare, then turned towards the coffin and his gaze softened as he said, “Please forgive me, Mother.” But his eyes were again hard and icy when he turned towards Gabriel, moved closer, clenched his fist and hit him straight on the jaw, probably with all his strength, because Gabriel staggered badly and fell. He looked up at his son, eyes wide, a hand on the reddening side of his face.

“That’s for Nathalie,” stated Adrien simply. “Duusu told us what happened in the last few years. You didn’t deserve her and you certainly don’t deserve that she died for you.” His left hand was holding strongly the right hand that had hit Gabriel. Adrien was shaking like a leaf. “Goodbye, Monsieur Agreste ,” he hissed before walking away. Mlle. Dupain-Cheng immediately followed.

After the argument with Adrien, the Agreste Manor had felt overpowering, almost like a cell to Gabriel; he had decided that he couldn’t stay there any more. Just a few days later, he had left the Manor and had moved to his current location, la Clinique du Papillon Blanc. Supposedly, it was to undertake psychological treatment (although he still hadn’t come to terms with it and hadn’t yet accepted to start seeing a psychologist). To this date Gabriel still smirked at the irony of the clinic’s name.

If there was something that Gabriel had to say about Marinette Dupain-Cheng is that she was indeed stubborn. Not letting herself get discouraged by the constant rejection of her requests to see him, she kept coming back. Every day at the same time, one hour before the end of the Visiting Hours. Gabriel could easily set his clock to it. At five o’clock, she would enter the hall of the clinic, greet the nurses warmly, go at the Reception and ask for him. Then she would walk through the hall towards his room and would sit just outside it, keeping herself busy by scanning through her phone.

Gabriel watched her coming in every day that week and sitting down for the same length of time and then standing up when the bell rang signaling the end of the visiting hours, and walking out. Until one day she stopped at the Reception again before going home and gave another envelope to the nurses. That day, the redhead nurse came into his room again and deposited the envelope on his coffee table. She didn’t even say anything and left.

Gabriel sighed and put away his book, picking the envelope up curiously.

“Monsieur Agreste,

I would like to thank you for the beautiful wedding gown that you have commissioned especially for me from your top stylist. It’s a beautiful piece and I am indeed very flattered. However, I have returned it to your offices. I can’t accept it, I’m afraid.

First of all, it’s too elegant and classy for the simple ceremony that we’re planning to have. Second, I have already designed and made up my own gown for the day. I’m putting the finishing touches on it this week. Don’t misunderstand me, I love the gown you created. It’s exquisite and perfect in every single way. But it’s too perfect and too exquisite. It’s not me.

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and put the letter back into its envelope with an annoyed gesture. What an impudent little brat that Dupain-Cheng girl was. She dared refuse his gift and send it back. Who did she think she was?

But after the first pang of resentment, he found himself taking the letter out of the envelope and scanning it once more. Then, he let out a big sigh, and folded the letter again, storing it back into the envelope and into the usual drawer.

Marinette kept coming back, but didn’t write to him again for some time. Every day he moved to his door at five o’clock and watched as the young pigtailed woman walked through the hall and sat down near his door. Why was she that stubborn? Why did she want to talk to him that badly? Why didn’t she just leave him alone?

Then, about a week before the end of July, another envelope was put on the coffee table beside him as soon as Marinette left. He decided to discard all pretenses and put his book down instantly, grabbing the envelope even before the nurse left. He repented of it, though, because the little smirk on the nurse’s face was like a slap as she closed the door behind her.

“Monsieur Agreste,

I have some news that you may be interested about. I daresay a news that will be most important to you, in fact.

Tikki and Plagg told me some time ago about a very ancient magical spell that could maybe help Mme. Agreste to wake up from her magical induced coma. I haven’t told you anything about it before because I didn’t want to raise false hopes in your heart already hurting for it, but today I have had a final conversation with the Great Guardian, after having met him a few times in the last few months and arguing my point.

From what Tikki and Plagg said, once already in history a holder had used a broken Miraculous and had fallen into a coma very similar to the one your wife is in now. That time it had been the Miraculous of the Tiger, but it doesn’t change the outcome of the overuse of the broken Miraculous, nor the solution.

The Great Guardian didn’t want to help you. He said that you had gone to see him a couple of times since the temple had returned to life and he hadn’t liked your ways. He said that he didn’t want to have anything to do with you. But I explained the situation and eventually he decided to help us.

It’s a very dangerous and powerful spell and I warn you, Monsieur Agreste, before you get your hopes up. The Great Guardian advised us that it will take years for Mme. Agreste to gain enough of her strength to wake up. Also, she might never wake up, if she has debilitated herself too much. But the mere fact that the Great Guardian will try has brought back some happiness in Adrien’s soul. I thought it may help you too.

Last night I used the Horse Miraculous and Chat Noir and I brought Mme. Agreste’s body to the temple in Tibet. She will stay there under the Great Guardian’s spell until she will, hopefully, wake up one day. The Great Guardian promised to keep us informed.

I hope this will bring some joy to your sorrow.

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

Gabriel stared at the letter into his hands, in shock. So the Great Guardian had finally given in. He couldn’t believe it. He had read the story of the broken Tiger Miraculous in the translation of the Grimoire, and he had travelled to Tibet twice after that to talk to the Guardian and ask for his help. The man had always refused. Gabriel’s eyes fixed on specific words in Marinette’s letter. ‘He hadn’t liked your ways’. As if that was a good enough reason for leaving a woman in a magically induced coma. Who was the villain here?

Gabriel felt a surge of anger run through his core and clenched his fists around the letter, balling it up in his shaky hands. After a while, his hands distended again and he carefully fixed the creases on the paper, folded the letter again and replaced it into the envelope. He stood up and placed the envelope with the others, staring at the growing pile of correspondence in his drawer.

His days kept passing, set up in his comforting routine. He kept watching the clock nowadays, waiting for five in the evening to see the slender figure of the young pigtailed woman walk through the automatic door. She didn’t attempt to contact him again for a while, until an evening towards the end of August. She left another note for him, which was promptly brought in by the nurse, who again had a massive smile on her face. Gabriel suspected that more T&S pastries had accompanied the missive to justify such enthusiasm.

“Monsieur Agreste,

I’m writing to you to inform you that I won’t come to visit you for a couple of weeks.”

The sudden pang in Gabriel’s heart as he read the words caught him unprepared. He didn’t expect to actually care.

“Tomorrow, Adrien and I will get married in front of the Mayor. As have I told you previously, we won’t do anything pompous, only a simple civil ceremony and a meal with family and intimate friends at the boulangerie. We’ll leave for our honeymoon the next morning. We’re going to New York. You may be surprised about it, but we have our reasons to go there.

I will be back in a couple of weeks. I asked my mother to visit you during our trip to drop off a few photographs from the wedding, as soon as they’re printed.

Yours truly,

Marinette.

PS: The ceremony will take place at the City hall, at 3 pm.”

Gabriel folded the letter and placed it back into its envelope, and the envelope into the drawer with the others. So that was it. His son was tying the knot. Gabriel wondered why Mlle. Dupain-Cheng had informed him of the time and place of the ceremony. Did she want him to go? Why? Gabriel sat down on his armchair again and picked up his book, engrossing himself in its pages.

As Mlle—oh, not Mlle. any longer. What should he call her? Mme. Graham de Vanily? No, maybe he would stick with Marinette. Marinette sounded better. Anyway, as Marinette had stated, the following day and for the following two weeks the young woman didn’t come to the clinic. Gabriel found himself looking out of his room at five o’clock, almost expecting the girl with black pigtails to walk through the door. When he didn’t see her, the melancholic feeling in his gut and the painful clamp that took hold of his heart surprised him.

Around ten days after Marinette’s last letter, an older Chinese woman, even shorter than Marinette, walked through the automatic door of the clinic at the usual time. The petite woman with short jet black hair and piercing grey eyes must be Marinette’s mother, Gabriel thought. Yes, he remembered having seen her once, when Marinette had won his derby hat fashion competition. Sabine Cheng, if he recalled correctly. Mme. Cheng walked to the Reception desk and spoke to the receptionist, leaving a big envelope behind before hurrying away.

When the nurse entered his room, Gabriel was looking out of the window at the city lights slowly turning on in the dusk.

“Put it on my desk,” he said, without even looking at the red-haired woman, who just sighed, did as she was told and walked away. Gabriel looked at the light of the setting sun fading into dusk for some time, as darkness took the place of light. When he walked to the light switch and turned it on, his eyes nearly hurt from the sudden change. He eyed the large envelope warily. It looked quite heavy and full. Gabriel picked it up and opened it, revealing a large collection of pictures inside.

He sat on his armchair and started reviewing what he had been given. Adrien wore a black tux with thin satin lapels, a dark green 4 button waistcoat and bow, and a similarly dark green pocket square adorned with two little pins, a ladybug pin and a black pin with a green paw print. The suit looked well fitted and Gabriel had a feeling that it may have been created especially for him by his new wife. Adrien looked happy; at least in every picture he could see that his smile reached his eyes, eyes trained in permanent adoration on the face of the girl next to him.

Gabriel took a good look at his son. His chin and upper lips were adorned with a short stubble that took away from his trademark baby boyish look that Gabriel had worked so hard to create for him. He had cut his hair shorter at the sides but left it longer on the top and the whole ensemble gave him a more mature look that clashed with what Gabriel thought was proper. Gabriel pursed his lips. He knew that Adrien had done it just to annoy him to no end. He put away the photos of Adrien and concentrated on the girl next to him.

As soon as he saw her dress, he understood what Marinette had meant about the dress he had commissioned for her not being ‘her’. He had sent her a classic mermaid style wedding gown with a long trail and a long veil, all embroidered with lace and white pearls. It was delicate, elegant and tasteful and had been the most sold item of his wedding line since the Prince of Achu had chosen it for his bride a couple of years before.

What instead Marinette was wearing was a cocktail length dress in white silk and tulle with lace decoration and green and red accents. The neck was Chinese style in see-through lace up to her bosom, with a black and green cat paw print pin on the centre of her breasts. A double green and red ribbon closed the back of her dress, ending in a Ladybug shaped pin at the small of her waist. Gabriel nodded his approval. It was an exquisite creation, and it suited her body shape and her frame really well. Like Adrien’s suit, it also hinted at their secret identities but in a tasteful manner and ensuring that it wouldn’t draw too much attention to the detail.

He flicked through the pictures and stopped looking at one in particular. It showed in detail the lace decoration of Marinette’s dress; he left it on the side, unsure as to why he found it interesting. He would look at it later. But it was when he caught a glimpse of Marinette’s hairdo that his eyes widened and his heart paced faster in his chest. Because there, among the pink roses and red polka dotted ladybugs on her hair pin, was a butterfly . And not just any butterfly. Gabriel would recognise out of thousands the brown coloured insect with orange and yellow bands and the two black ocellis on each wing.

That was an Agreste butterfly. Something inside Gabriel broke.

He picked up the picture he had put aside, of the decoration embroidered in lace on the wedding gown, and looked at it carefully, widening his eyes in surprise once more. There it was again. The decorations that adorned her entire dress were yet more butterflies. With two ocellis on each wing. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The fact that Marinette had selected a close up picture of her hairdo and a closeup of the lace decoration of her dress told Gabriel that it had been deliberate . She wanted him to see it. It was a subtle message of peace.

He put the photo down and took off his glasses, squeezing the bridge of his nose and his eyes with his hand, as a single tear fell down his cheek. She had included him. Even after all he'd done. Even after Adrien had taken the surname Graham de Vanily. Even after all the months of him not wanting to see her; she had still included him.

The following day, Gabriel started attending therapy with a psychologist and a psychiatrist. And he placed a couple of phone calls.

A few days later, the girl with pigtails returned to the clinic, again at five o’ clock sharp. The shadow of a smile curved Gabriel’s lips when he saw her. Yet, he still didn’t accept to talk to her. He did spend much longer looking at her, though, through the glass of his room’s door. She would be sitting at the chair closer to his room, her face fully buried into her phone, scrolling through it, typing on it and occasionally smiling or laughing at it.

It was a couple of weeks after she had returned to the clinic that Gabriel saw her stopping at the Reception again on her way out. She looked at his door briefly before going and left. Once more, the nurse came in and left the envelope on his desk.

“This is for you again, sir,” she said. Gabriel waited for her to get out to pick up the envelope and read the message inside.

“Monsieur Agreste,

To say that I’m surprised is an understatement. I’m shocked, in fact. I don’t know why you constantly refuse to see me, but nevertheless, I would like to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Adrien told me that you never had a 'Deputy Head Fashion Designer' role at Gabriel . That you probably created the role for me. Of course I accepted. I will start on Monday.

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

“Good,” said Gabriel, his voice echoing in the silence of the room before putting the letter back into its envelope and the envelope into the usual drawer.

Marinette’s envelopes started getting more frequent from then on, the girl showing him sketches that she had created for the upcoming spring collection of the brand, or corrections that she had made to the work of other designers. Her eagerness was seeping through the pages and this warmed Gabriel’s heart. He could see his younger, passionate self in her enthusiasm. And he was definitely impressed with her work. He received quite a few phone calls from the businessman he had put in charge of the financial running of Gabriel to inform him that, since she had been hired, the profits of the company had gone straight up.

Gabriel sat on his armchair again, arms folded on his chest, a soft smile curling his lips.

A couple of months later, Gabriel opened one of the envelopes that Marinette had left for him but, instead than finding more sketches and projects for his brand, he found a new letter. And the picture of a scan.

“Monsieur Agreste,

I’m thrilled to inform you that Adrien and I will soon become parents. We have been to the hospital today for my twelve week scan. The baby is healthy. We heard his or her heartbeat today and watched as it somersaulted on the screen. I enclose in this letter a picture from the scan.

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

Gabriel picked up the picture and held it in the fingers of one hand, looking at it for a long time. The little figure on the screen was showing its profile, the sharp line of the nose already recognisable and defined. He could clearly see the arms and the legs already showing. onography had certainly improved a lot since Emilie had been pregnant with Adrien. The scan picture they got when she was expecting had been nowhere as clear as that.

Almost reluctantly, Gabriel placed the picture and the letter back in the envelope and the envelope in the usual drawer. He did return to the drawer a few times in the following weeks though, and the softness in his gaze as he stared at the black and white picture was one that had been alien to his face for a very, very long time.

Marinette kept sharing any kind of news from her work and her life. Gabriel learned that she was getting really sick in the morning and that she found it always more difficult to wake up early (he rang his Head Designer and demanded that they would agree with his daughter-in-law for reduced hours, only to be scolded in a following letter by Marinette herself who thought she didn’t need to slow down).

A few weeks later, right before Christmas, he opened the usual envelope to see another picture of a scan and a letter.

“Monsieur Agreste,

Today we went for my twenty week scan. The baby is healthy and all measurements are perfect. I’m pleased to inform you that we will have a girl, Emma. She will be born in May. I take this opportunity to wish you a lovely Christmas and a happy new year.

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

Gabriel picked up the picture from the envelope and gave a fond look to the black and white sonogram. The profile of the little baby was starting to get fuller, with a little button nose and chunky cheeks. Her body wouldn’t all fit in one picture anymore and the detail in the picture was amazing.

Emma. That was a lovely name. The only sting on the warm feeling he felt into his heart was that she would have the Graham de Vanily surname. She wouldn’t be an Agreste. Gabriel sighed.

The days melted into months. Gabriel could see the slender figure of the black haired girl with pigtails getting bigger and bigger. As the letters that she sent him started talking more and more of the upcoming summer and then autumn collection and containing pictures of baby clothes among the sketches and prototypes of future lines, Gabriel saw Marinette starting to waddle. The nurses would ask her to sit down on the sofa rather than on a hard chair by his door, and he would have agreed with their advice, but Marinette was indeed stubborn and kept sitting in the same spot.

On a fine evening towards the end of May, as the shades of red and gold stained the blueness of the cloudless sky and the first citylights started twinkling on in the upcoming dusk, Gabriel opened yet one more envelope from Marinette.

“Monsieur Agreste,

“I’m at 41 weeks and two days. My little princess is definitely cooked and ready to see the world. The ob-gyn who follows me said she will perform a sweep of the membranes tomorrow, if nothing happens overnight. She’s hopeful that it could, because she said that my cervix is quite soft and already 2 cm dilated.

In case Emma will decide that it’s time to see the world, I may not be able to come to see you in the next few days. This is a picture of the latest scan, a 4d one, that we performed last week.

Yours truly,

Marinette. ”

Marinette didn’t come the following day. The day after, once again Sabine Cheng came through the door of the clinic at five o’clock sharp. She left a box of pastries (Gabriel was sure that it must have been pastries, due to the loud squeal that came from the reception desk). She also let another envelope and the words of congratulations resounded loud and clear even with the barrier of the closed door.

When Sabine left, the nurse came through the door with the envelope the elder Chinese woman had left.

“I expect to get my pistachio croissant this time,” muttered Gabriel as the woman was on her way out. She looked at him with surprise, and she rushed out to get back a short while after, a croissant laying on a saucer plate, which she placed near the envelope on the coffee table.

“Congratulations, sir!” she said before heading out again.

Gabriel filled his kettle with water and switched it on. Then, he sat on his armchair and picked up the envelope, peeking inside curiously.

“Monsieur Agreste,

Emma Nathalie Graham de Vanily was born on the 22nd of May at 10 am. She weighed nearly four kgs and her childbirth wasn’t too painful. I had a full natural birth. I have enclosed a few pictures that were taken at her birth and after a few hours. If everything is good, I will be allowed to go home today and will come to see you soon.

Please, Monsieur Agreste. Please accept to see me. I want Emma to know both her grandfathers. I want her, and you, to build happy memories. She’s going to be a baby only once.

Yours truly,

Marinette.”

She did have a button nose, exactly like the scan pictures showed. And a very dark mop of hair on her head. Emma Nathalie. Gabriel smiled — she had done it, again. She (or maybe they —Gabriel wasn’t sure if gestures like the agreste butterfly in Marinette’s hairdo and dress, and the mention of the time and place of the ceremony, were coming only from Marinette or also from Adrien, but he was quite certain that this time even his son had had a say in this) had included Nathalie too.

Gabriel looked with amazed interest at the pictures Marinette had placed in the envelope. One especially he looked at for a very long time. Adrien was holding baby Emma, the softest look in his forest green eyes. His gaze looked so similar to Emilie’s on the day he was born that a painful thorn struck in Gabriel’s heart. He hungrily scanned Adrien’s face for details. He could see black marks under his eyes (welcome to parenthood, son!), and the stubble on his cheeks was a bit longer and less orderly than on the day of his wedding. But he looked so happy that staring at the sun in the sky would have blinded Gabriel less. The elder man put everything except that picture back into the envelope and again in the drawer of his desk, which was now almost over-bulging with envelopes and papers. Gabriel thought he may soon need to find a different home for those letters.

He made his tea, poured it into a mug and sat on his armchair to eat his croissant and have his drink. After his snack, he again picked up the photograph of Adrien and Emma. He stared at it for a very long time.

Less than a week later, at five o’clock sharp, the young woman with dark pigtails came through the door again. She wasn’t back to her pre-pregnancy slenderness, but she wasn’t waddling any more. She was pushing a carrycot and the squeal the receptionists and nurses uttered when she approached the Reception desk told Gabriel that the carrycot must not have been empty.

Marinette pushed the carrycot to his door and again sat on the chair next to his room. She looked a bit paler than usual and even she displayed dark marks under her eyes. She couldn’t play with her phone much, because after a few minutes that she sat down, a little cry resounded in the hall, loud enough for Gabriel to hear it from the other side of the door. She picked up the little baby and started feeding her on her breast, rocking back and forth on the chair.

Gabriel opened his door and stepped out.

The look of surprise in Marinette’s eyes was worth the gesture by itself. He walked to the left of the feeding mother and sat at the seat right next to her, waiting patiently and staring into the emptiness in front of him. After quite a few minutes, Marinette covered herself and kept rocking her baby back and forth, trying to lull her into sleep. As she did that, Gabriel dared moving his gaze towards the little bundle in the woman’s arms.

“I’ve never seen such a look on your face, Monsieur Agreste,” she said softly.

Emma didn’t look very happy, she was a little red in the face and was crying quietly. Despite Marinette’s best efforts to try to put her to sleep, her eyes were wide open as she stared at her mother’s face, like in a daze.

“She has dark hair,” said Gabriel. Marinette nodded in between rocking movements. “But those are Adrien’s eyes,” he concluded.

Marinette smiled brightly. “Do you reckon?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling back. “There’s no mistaking them. They’re Adrien’s and Emilie’s eyes. I would recognise them among thousands.” He still remembered the day he had first seen Adrien. Despite the dark hair, the little girl looked the image of him. There was no need for a DNA test. Not that it would ever have been necessary.

“Would you like to hold her?” asked Marinette. Gabriel’s eyes widened.

“You wouldn't mind?”

She stood up and cautiously placed the little bundle in his arms. She was so light. And warm.

Gabriel sighed. He couldn’t remember Adrien being so light, ever. But maybe he was thinking back with tinted lenses at those first few days, a long time ago. For some reason, as soon as she was settled into his arms, baby Emma calmed down and after a few minutes she was fast asleep.

Gabriel watched as she put her little fist into her mouth and sucked for comfort. She still smelled the sweet smell of a newborn baby. He looked at her for a long time, trying to carve her soft features in his memory and taking in her sweet scent. Marinette sat down again next to him and waited, just giving him some time for himself.

“Emilie…?” he asked eventually.

“The Great Guardian told me recently that she’s still asleep, but her vitals are getting healthier and stronger. I hope that Emma will be able to see both her grandmothers, some day.”

Gabriel stroked gently the cheek of the sleeping baby in his arms. “Hopefully.”

“Nathalie’s grave?” he inquired after a little while. He had sent in the last few years some of his assistants to look after the grave, and had ordered flowers for it on special occasions, but it had been a while since he had done anything for it and the thought was always at the back of his head.

“I visit it regularly, and Adrien visits it too. It has been well looked after.”

Gabriel gave her a poignant look. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Not only for looking after Nathalie’s grave, Marinette. Thank you for being so stubborn. I don’t know why you chose to fight so tirelessly to reach me. I have never done anything to justify your persistence. But thank you for doing so.” He stared at the sleeping baby for a long time before locking his gaze into hers and continuing, not breaking eye contact even for a second, “I’m sorry . I know that it’s just a word and that it won’t put right my wrongdoing. But I am truly sorry. And grateful.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at Gabriel's words. “Come home with us, Monsieur Agreste. You’ve been in this clinic way too long.” She was looking at him with a gleam of hope and Gabriel’s gaze fell.

“Will Adrien—” he started, but Marinette interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “He wants to see you too. He told me that he does, but he’s too stubborn to come.” Gabriel stood up and Marinette looked at him worriedly.

He moved to the large window of the hall, and looked out for some time, staring at the cars stuck in the rushing hour traffic, his free hand patting gently the baby's back.

“Monsieur Agreste?” asked Marinette, as she stood up and walked next to him.

He walked back to the carrycot and placed the sleeping baby carefully inside.

“My name is Gabriel , Marinette,” he said in a tone of voice Marinette had never heard coming out of him. “Let’s go home, if you’ll still take me.”

He looked at Marinette with anticipation and his grey eyes lit up behind his glasses when he saw her nod. Then, under the amazed gaze of the nurses and receptionists in the hall, he started pushing the buggy slowly towards the door. Marinette followed him outside, a soft smile on her lips. He saw her looking at the clinic one last time and heard her whispering, in a very low tone of voice, " Bye bye, little butterfly ."

His lips curled also in a smile as he left the clinic behind. He would send someone to collect his stuff and settle the last formalities later.

The road to recovery would still be steep, and bumpy, Gabriel knew that very well. He was under no illusion that it would be easy from now on. Especially his relationship with Adrien would need a lot of time (and a lot of hard work) to rebuild, let alone improve. But it was the time to leave the hate, and the past behind. It was time to open a new page in his life.

And who knows, maybe thanks to Marinette, one day Emilie would be with him again. Hope was the last to die.

Fin

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

Author’s Note:

*WAVES* Hello! ^_^

Yes, I know… this story is VERY different from anything I’ve written before. It was a very hard story to write, being all from Gabriel’s POV (although I did cheat with the letters from Marinette!). But when I saw the prompt from the Easter Advent Calendar in my h/c group I just had this flash in my head of Marinette sitting down in a waiting room and Gabriel looking at her through the door… and I couldn’t NOT write it. I just think that it would be something that Marinette would DEFINITELY do. And it shows the Ladybug in her: symbolically, she purifies the last butterfly without needing magical powers, only her stubbornness and her big heart.

Hope you liked to read it and that you will leave me a comment with your thoughts. I love to read what you think about my stories and this one especially, because of how emotional I was when I wrote it, makes me even more looking forward to feedback.

Once again, thank you for reading my works, and for any comment, kudos or bookmark you decide to grace this story with!

Love you all!

Last but not least, if you read this and you’re not part of our wonderful Discord server already, but you enjoy reading, writing and talking about Miraculous, please join our Discord server, Miraculous Fanworks (for people on FFN or wattpad, discord dot gg slash mlfanworks). See you there soon!

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

Coffee Shop au part four

(Segment one of three)

If I forget to tag something important please tell me.

(Present day)

(Small warning Acylius does use those he tortures for food for other demons and non mortal creatures to consume so if you have a problem with that then um just keep scrolling I guess ^^; )

What was this…that strange feeling of disappointment at seeing Black Hats chair being vacant; after all he’d only been there twice so it was not as if he was a regular customer, especially as they’d only been open for two days.

Why should the old demon stay until closing time anyway, just because he did it on the first day didn’t mean he’d do it again today, he had no reason to stay…Black Hat had been rather forward though, kissing him like that, not that he was complaining but , he wasn’t one to just play around and be used.

Friends with benefits was one thing, at least you knew where you both stood, and yet still, why did it feel so familiar, an old dream perhaps, after all who didn’t at least have one wet dream about the great Black Hat doing sordid things to your body right.

Especially with tentacles, while wearing priest robes.

Yes he had his kinks, but damn you if you tried to shame him for them.

He huffed, shoulders going slump, no this was ridiculous , feeling sad just because that idiot of a Gremlin just upped and left without so much as a good bye, Hat didn’t owe him anything and he didn’t owe Hat anything either.

Clearly he was crazy, he had finally fucking lost it, thinking of The Great Lord Black Hat owing him a good bye and a kiss on the cheek as if they were lovers, he’d just met the bastard.

No he needed to either relax or worry if the destroyer of worlds was going to ruin his café that’d he’d always wanted with his mischievous downright evil antics.

Acylius was currently grinding up their latest victim, a man who’d been abusing Nicodemus’s workers (don’t worry if you don’t know who that is I won’t be bringing him into this unless I need him for like filler scenes)

Body parts in neat piles on the counter top, ‘pork’ pies were on the menu tomorrow, this was Black Hat’s island so even the people knew some places the menu would cater to demons so if they saw the chalk was in red they knew it was demon cuisine, though of course there was always the daring person who’d ask for it anyway in which a waiver definitely had to be signed.

Hey, wasn’t going to be Acylius’s problem if they decided to off themselves on food that probably wasn’t for human consumption.

This particular man had been a pig and he was serving sow next week.

Vile beings needed to meet a vile end.

This was going to be a long night, he could manage though, at best he could manage on two nights of sleep during the week.

Currently the head of the meat sack was animated and still alive, the man was so far gone he’d reached that point of acceptance that this was happening and nothing could be done, so seeing his body being prepped for pastries and such was more amusing than anything.

“I’m a Legion demon Jake, that’s your name right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, anyway as I was saying I’m a Legion demon in this day and age that means nothing to most unless you are perhaps ancient or still follow the old ways, I have nothing to offer thee Great Lord Black Hat.”

Jake watched as the demon deboned, removed a hand and of his shaved one of his arms before washing it down to make sure all the hair was gone before slapping it into the mince meat maker.

“Last I heard your kind was like some kinda lucky charm right dude?”

“Yes, but he does not need that from me, if we did anything he would be interested in me for all of five minutes and bail, he is all shadows and darkness, I will literally spend weekends in my boxers eating cheese puffs if the week has been hard enough, hardly a turn on for someone like Black Hat.”

Acylius snapped while working on another piece.

“I dunno, some beings like to see their partners being able to feel that chill around them, but hey that’s just my jam you know, anyway stop whining, this guy is old as shit right, you don’t know, your Legion demon shit might actually put a huge boner in his pants.”

Jake taunted, smirking as he watched his killer bristle up, oooo hooo sensitive much.

You know those scenes in anime’s where the other character suddenly gets really tall, shadows where their eyes should be and their hair seems to just be blowing in the wind and there’s that broken glass sound sometimes.

That’s Acylius’s reaction as his mouth turns into a ground out grin that’s splitting wider and wider along where the scars are, ironically that injury is the reason he can smile this wide now when the demon in him starts to show.

Jake was going to die, he was already he dead he knew it so why not torment him just a little more and get it over with

“Awww no I know what it is baby demon, you want a daddy you can suckle on and-

Acylius brought the meat tenderiser down on Jake’s head repeatedly until there was only pulp left, brain matter and blood were splattered across his apron with a few deep scarlet streaks going across his cheek, how brightly the red stood out against the snow white skin.

He was staring at the mess he’d made, panting softly, pupils thin and biting his lip, alright maybe he’d enjoyed that a little too much, he frowned though when he saw the pies had been covered to, well perhaps they would still be salvageable.

Scraping the remains of the head into the bin marked biohazard he pulled the bag out and set it down getting rid of other pieces he no longer required, tomorrow non human waste disposal would be picking up the remains anyway.

Demencia had caught the show and was leaning on the door.

“Looks like you got a little too into that Lulu, sure you don’t want to tenderise me on the surface.”

(NOTE, Acylius’s nick name Lulu was made last year in November 2019 because my friend had trouble pronouncing his name, so I tried to think of a name that he’d only let close friends and loved ones call him and that’s where that comes from, not Helluva boss, just thought I’d point that out as there’s a Lulu world and Loo Loo land)

“Not now Demencia, I’m not in the mood for your jokes.”

Acylius ran his fingers through his hair, regretting it once he remembered oh yeah covered in blood; a shower would definitely be needed before bed.

“Ah I see, so the head got sassy huh?”

Flug, because yes reminder Acylius is Doctor Flug, paused at the backdoor and pouted

“Might have, he also said some very offensive words that I did not appreciate.”

Demmy folded her arms, shaking her head and smiling

“Well you showed that head who’s boss, now hurry up binch I want my cookies and hot chocolate, it’s late.”

Flug lovingly gave her the finger as he walked out the door while telling her she had two hands she could do it herself.

The back alley was dimly lit, not that he couldn’t see or choose to focus his vision to see clearer but sometimes it was nice just to appreciate light that softly glowed and curled around corners to take in the world in all different ways and settings…oh he missed rain, there hadn’t been any in nearly two months now, he missed how things glowed, street lamps became brighter and car lights so red and vibrant against the grey trailing along winding roads of shimmering black.

Perhaps it would soon when the snow had melted, he’d go for a long drive and listen to the rain hitting the roof of his car, patting against the windows, listening to the quiet tick, tick, tick of the vehicle when he switched on the indicator.

Yeah just drive out the middle of nowhere, strip down and run in the rain or just let it soak into his clothes as his breath streamed out in wispy clouds…

Ears twitching he heard a late party of drunks making their way home, he watched them pass by, they were completely unaware of him, if he were perhaps a rabid sort of demon they would be easy pickings, but that was not his game, at least not tonight, there was no scent that told him a wrong doing had been done, just a group of friends heading home for bed.

Snow had fallen in the tracks left by the bustling day life of the people around here and now in the silence he wondered was he lonely, Demencia’s offers had sometimes had been all too tempting simply out of need for comfort and to be close to someone, sometimes it seemed she needed it just as much as he did when they’d just lean on each other and complain about their day.

Looking up he found someone watching him from the shadows, well more saw a pair of eyes, completely yellow, no white to be seen, oranges and reds, as if he were looking at the sun, shivering as a breeze rolled through he pulled down his sleeves, goose bumps rising, a tingling down his spine, just the little things that reminded him he was alive, he was not afraid of what lingered in the shadows, there was no sense of danger.

Perhaps they were a Legion fan , someone caught off guard by his appearance, after all Flug knew his scars could be quiet unsettling to some people…though come to think of it he did sense an air of fear about this being, still they were wide and unmoving.

Really the sensible thing to do would be to just go inside and ignore this creature, yet something kept him there a longing to talk to it, placing the garbage into the bins he smiled just a little

“You know stranger, you remind me of someone…someone I feel like I should know.”

Acylius’s ears lay flat as he heard them softly whimper, it sounded so sad.

“I am sorry, I was not being offensive I assure you, this person I speak of was very kind, at least he was in the dream, I dreamt when I was little , funnily enough a night like this, Mother had locked me out…”

He held one hand in the other looking at them, fingers curling around his thumb

“My fingers were so cold and red I could barely feel them, or the rest of myself to be honest…heh you probably do not want to hear the tired ramblings of an out of date demon.”

“No, please continue.”

There was silence again, that whispered voice, it comforted him, made him feel at ease, this indeed truly was a strange day.

“Mother had locked me out, I didn’t cry or beg her to let me back in, I knew she would not open the door, so I laid down cheek to the snow, despite being almost numb my face burned, my face…”

Tracing along his scars as he recalled the moment could not help but wince

“I had to be careful still they had barely healed by that point, but I remember how good the cold felt on them, red and angry they seemed to only be satisfied when pressed to the freezing earth, I knew that night or at least believed I was going to die and…I was alright with that until I saw a pair of eyes just like yours.”

Acylius took a step forward only stopping when he saw this being step back

“They were gold, I thought they were so beautiful , I thought maybe the angels we were told about were not so bad if they could come for something like me, his claws hands reached down for me but I didn’t see his face, all I heard was that I was coming home with him and his name…his name was…”

Acylius held his head in his hands, scrubbing them down his face

“His name was Cruentus.”

When he looked back at where the eyes had been there was only darkness, the demon in the dark had disappeared so quickly he wondered for a moment if they’d even been there.

No, nope, nope, that dream was not real, that being was not Cruentus, it was all coincidence and he was just exhausted, yes that was it, perhaps he should sleep tonight, or maybe he’d snacked on too much of Jake while he was working, or had too many sugary treats either way, it was pies in the fridge and off to bed.

Opening the back door he locked it behind him, ignoring the fact Demencia was chomping on one of the pies, after all she knew what was in them if she wanted to eat it that was up to her, his mind was elsewhere.

“Mmmm you tenderized this one good, Legs, nice and juicy.”

Usually her friend would react to that name, at least grunt or gently nudge her and tell her not to call him that, something was clearly bothering Acylius.

“Legs?”

Demencia asked gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, only for him to turn and pick her up by the front of her shirt, snarling as he did so

“Do not call me that name!”

Looking down at him, Demencia could really see something wasn’t right here, was he remembering something to do with that name, like it had always annoyed him, but that glare, the disheveled hair and fangs all bared …honestly in another situation he would be hot as fuck…alright she was already thinking he looked hot as fuck but this was not the time or place.

Touching Acylius’s face lightly, she watched as his ears flicked, his breathing was ragged, his eyes returning from being solid blue to having pupils and irises again, her hands were warm and comforting and he found himself leaning into them, lips pressed against her palm…she was there to ground him in his bad moments and he could never thank his friend enough for that.

“You mind setting me down you tree.”

Demencia laughed softly.

He carefully set her back down and pulled her in for a hug

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I would never hurt you, never.”

Nuzzling against his chest and wrapping her arms around him, patting his back

“Hey, hey now, none of that you dumb tree, I know you have gaps in your memory, did you remember why do you don’t like that name?”

“Hate, I don’t just dislike that name, I hate it…all I can hear is someone called Vincent and they make me curl up and die, I have no face only a voice, if I ever heard it…I would know…”

Flug was quiet, taking in just how small she was against him, reminding him how small most were against him like this, his talons formed, slowly stroking her hair, playing with the fuchsia overlay, down to her neck where it faded to lime green, such an interesting choice of colours to wear in ones hair.

“You already know I just appeared back into existence, as if the world itself birthed me, I was somewhere forgotten…and seeing Black Hat today, I think…no it is a stupid notion to think he could see me as anything.”

He kissed the top of her head, thankful that she had not let go, Demencia was the one being who never seemed to be afraid of him, who he knew he could trust and rely on in these moments where memories were trying to break through the surface and suffocated when they could not make it.

“I am a Legion demon, no more than a trinket in the end, I am a nothing in his world and I am okay with that, I have a nice peaceful life and a coffee shop just like I always wanted…”

He sat with her on the counter, as she sat on one of his thighs

“This is just a hug, you don’t need more right?”

Demmy enquired, slightly hopeful because who didn’t want to climb him, honestly, he was an idiot for not seeing he didn’t need to be some grand demon to be wonderful.

“Yes, just a hug…I wish I could say I grew up in a loving home with Christmases like in the movies, that I could tell you my life’s story, talk about a time I scraped my knee when I was small and had a mother who put cute cat plasters on me just because I like cats.”

She listened and let him stroke her hair, it’d always calmed him to pet soft things, so perhaps she might use shampoos that were just a little pricier than she’d usually buy simply to make sure her hair was soft for these broken moments no one else saw.

Even though he was not sobbing, made no notion he was crying, the damp warmth on her shoulder told her otherwise.

“I want to tell you the times my Father took me for ice cream, my first kiss with the person I fell in love with, something…anything, but there’s nothing there.”

She listened attentively until he had nothing left to say, carefully taking his hand from her scalp; Demencia held his face and looked at him

“Damn Sillyus, they really did send you back with nothing more than a leaflet.”

“I suppose, but I have so much to thank you for, when you found me on that street, I only remembered enough to get by, to survive, but you helped me to settle into this time and be a part of the modern world.”

Acylius kissed her forehead before pressing his to hers, eyes closed as he whispered

“I’m so tired of being lost, of being unsure of what I am, who I am, I just want to bake, make coffee and kill people in my basement, I think fortune smiled on me for a moment when you found me, I think I might just give you the world if you asked.”

“Awww come on dude, sounds like a love confession here, I have bills to pay off and knew there was a darker side in me, you’re the Sweeny to my Lovett.”

She teased fondly, lightly smacking the back of his head, smiling as he managed a laugh

“I guess I could agree platonically with that.”

“But honestly Slender Man, babe if you wanted to plant your tentacles and leave your seed in me I wouldn’t say no.”

Acylius rolled his eyes and shook his head, using a tea towel to wipe his face

“Honestly woman you are bloody hopeless.”

“Yeah but you love me all the more for it.”

She grinned punching him playfully on the shoulder

“Perhaps I do, but I am not as hot as you like to say I am, I hide my face, I hate when people look at my scars and pity me.”

Demmy raised a brow and climbed off of his leg, flicking his forehead

“I know you like to hide your face behind glamour and tricks but you’re beautiful even if you don’t see it dumbass, I’m starting to wonder what the fuck happened outside that had you coming back in as if someone stole your last apple crown and there’ll never be another one again on the face of the planet.”

She put the kettle on and took out the upside down pineapple cake; this was definitely a cake and tea situation

“First of all, do not say such blasphemous things, life would not be worth living without apple crowns, second of all…I think, I know I said there’s nothing there but I think I might have had a memory about my childhood involving Cruentus.”

Demencia nearly dropped the mug she was holding, setting it down she turned to face him

“Holy fucking shit, you mean thee fucking Cruentus, Hellhound butler, Hell Knight, works for the brooding clearly wants you to nail his ass Black Hat, that Cruentus…ahh I hear he has eyes like the fucking sun.”

Acylius gave her a deadpan look, hands on hips as he stood, looming over her, trying to look seriously only for it to falter

“You Demmy are just horny on main.”

“So what if I am? Gonna call me a slut like my last partner?”

She swatted away his playfully prodding hand.

“No, I never understood why it’s perfectly fine for men to have as many partners as they wish but seen as something terrible when a woman just wants to enjoy her life the same way, society is mad…also no more jokes on Black Hat you wicked beastie.”

Demencia would be lying if she didn’t admit his ability to shift from one mood to the other sometimes made her head spin, but it was clear he’d needed that moment to talk, shrugging she turned back to the kettle

“Alright, alright I’ll behave at least for now, I mean it’s clear the big bad doesn’t want you, how could he possibly want you…even though anyone with eyes could see he kept checking you out and every single coffee you brought him in hopes your stupid number was on it somewhere.”

Demencia couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at his sounds of huffing and frustration and heard him sit at the table, she did know there was stories, legends really by this point of Cruentus having a son, but you literally had to pour through footnotes and any books that might have had more information had been removed from shelves and privatized under the order of Black Hat himself.

End of segment one

(I'll try and type up segment two tomorrow)

[vegetacide]

TaG: Bloodlines (Part 8.. )

Veg • notables: Any errors in this are strictly my own

Ty to @gumnut-logic and @scribbles97 for the brainstorming help and the encouragement.

Previous:

Part 1 | Part 2 Bit 1 & Bit 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Rating and General warning: Mature content head. If you are not a fan of medical issues of a female nature in relation to pregnancy please proceed with caution.

Characters: Virgil, Kayo, (V/K) 

Location: TaG-verse AU | Tracy Island

E N J O Y

8-8-8

Part 8 -  Susulan

Lady Penelope being true to her word found a wonderful woman who was well liked and sought after and she was one of several that Doctor Coxley had recommended to their Grandmother.  

The tall Haitian by the name of Cecilia had credentials as long as Kayo’s arm and had worked in some of the best kitchens in the world. Several of which had Michelin star ratings due to her amazing contributions and somehow they’d managed to scoop her. 

She was a true marvel and the whole family took advantage of her skills. 

The boys were in heaven and so well fed that often they found themselves all camped out in the living room  or out by the pool in various states of full bellied contended lethargy. Happily stuffed and satiated after a mind blowing meals.  Before long it was like Cecilia had always been there and things in the house seemed to settle down back into some form of normalcy.  

The two weeks following her arrival just seemed to coast by and as previously arranged the date of Doctor Coxley follow-up had come and gone with barely a hitch.. 

His trip had been a simple affair, the boys having been out on a call at the time.  One of their security operatives had shuttled the doc to the island with little fanfare.  

Kayo, though frustrated at being basically bed bound the last few weeks, found herself decidedly nervous.   She was eager to know if the improvement of her condition would be enough to appease the doctor. She’d done research herself as she’d had plenty of time on her hands but she was by no means an expert.

Her pressure was down,  bleeding tampering off to the odd bout of spotting. Energy levels were increasing daily and her appetite was healthy.  She felt better now then she had in a while despite the lingering morning sickness and she was twitching to do something other than staring at the walls all day.    

Grandma had been happy with the results as the forced rest seemed to have helped but there was no telling if she was going to be able to return to some form of duty or not.

Upon the Doctor’s arrival Grandma had shown him to their infirmary where Kayo had been waiting as patiently as she could.     

After a quick but thorough exam her doctor had snapped off his gloves and tossed them in a bin before making a quick note on his data pad.   When he’d turned back,  he’d handed Kayo a towel and given her a hand up from the awkward position she’d had to sit in.

The island medical facilities were top notch for basic injuries but for things of this nature,  not so much.   

“Well, “  He’s begun pushing his glasses up his nose.  “Things are looking good.  The bleeding has for the most part stopped through you may still experience a bit of spotting.  Typical of placenta previa.   

“Baby’s heart rate sounds strong and your weight gain is all within acceptable levels for your age and fitness level.”  

He’d paused as he’d looked over his note.  “I’m pleased to see you’ve taken appropriate measures the last couple of weeks and I do see a marked improvement in your BP but,” he stopped for emphasis.  “It’s still higher than I would like to see it. 

I know you’ve been eager to get back to some sort of normal activity level but I would have to recommend that for the time being you refrain from anything too strenuous.  At this stage of your pregnancy we don’t want to mess around as you still have some twenty odd weeks to go.”

Kayo had been disappointed by the results but she would do whatever needed to be done.  

“Additionally,”  He added, setting the data pad down to make sure he had her full attention. “Going forward I would like to be able to monitor you personally.  Allowing you to come home was the best course of action given the situation at the time but I have my reservation about you not being within east travel distance of a hospital.  It’s quite a hike out here even with access to the type transportation you have at your disposal but given the nature of your pregnancy I strongly recommend you relocate to the mainland.” 

That certainly hadn’t been what she expected and her hand automatically settled on her middle.  “Is there a problem?”  

Doctor Coxley gave her knee a pat.  “Just call me being overly precautious. I would rather have the necessary staff and equipment and not need it than need it and not have it.”  

He’d smiled at her then,  turning to gather up the equipment he’d brought with him. “I’ll advise Doctor Tracy of what we’ve discussed so arrangements can be made sooner rather than later. And I would highly recommend you make the move in the very near future as traveling any later could have detrimental effects that we would like to avoid.”  

He’d left shortly after with directions to call him if she had any further questions.  

It was definitely not what she’d been expecting to hear and her anxiety kicked up a notch. 

The island was a secure haven but the outside world was a different story.  If the media got wind that she was on the mainland and pregnant there would be no way to stop that shit storm that would follow. Their family privacy would be out the window in an instant and the vultures would start circling like that carrion loving garbage eaters they were. 

She’d cursed as she dropped her face into her hands 

“So, “ Virgil said,  stepping from the bathroom with a towel slung low around his hips.  “He wants you to be closer to medical help if need be.”

His wife gave a nod and he leaned a heavy shoulder against the door frame, arms crossing tight over his chest.  

It wasn’t idle that was for sure, security wise it was a nightmare and as for call out the logistics were .. well to say it wasn’t the best was putting it lightly. 

“We’ll talk to Scott and Dad in the morning.  We’ll figure it out somehow.”

Fiddling with the end of her hair, Kayo looked off out the darkened window.  “It’s not going to work with both of us being there.  Two isn’t something you can just park anywhere without it being noticed.  Even on a GDF base eventually it’s going to get noticed.  And what about the pods?”

Brows dipping, Virgil pushed off the door frame.  “What are you saying?”  

She braided and unbraided the end of her hair,  eyes distant and when she flicked her gaze up to him he caught on to her train of thought.   Shaking his head he walked the short distance over to her and crouched at her feet.  

“That is not an option and you know it.”

“Virgil,  we don’t have much of a choice here.  You’re needed here and we can’t just up and move Two and all her gear to the mainland for the next four months.  It’s not logical or safe.  It would be easier to set up a secure location for me.  I can take a small security detail with me. Logistically its a sound option”

Virgil shook his head, taking her hands in his.  “No,  that is not a viable option, Tan. It’s too risky.  Not with us having no idea where your uncle is or what he’s up to.”

“It’s been months since there’s been any sightings or news on him.. Maybe it’s time we stop hiding..”

Shocked, Virgil blinked at her.  Five months earlier she’d thought that not having the baby was a better option than having it because of the Hood and now she was doing a complete about face.  

“Kay, stop.” He gave her hands a squeeze running his thumb over the back of her knuckles. ‘What’s really going on here?” 

She pulled away and got to her feet to walk across the room.  Taking his shirt off the back of a chair she tugged it over her shoulder,  her small frame dwarfed by it and Virgil got a flashback of a morning so many months ago.. One he didn’t care to be reminded of when there had been a real possibility of them not being in the position they were in now.  Like having to make this sort of decision. 

He would take this though over any other option as difficult as things were at the moment the alternative was not something he even wanted to fathom. 

Her shoulders shrugged and she turned back to face him.  “I’m just trying to not.. I don’t know...”  Her shoulders slumped.  “It’s just that things are so complicated and having to worry about ‘him’ all the time is exhausting.”  

Going to her,  he wrapped her in his arms.  “We’ll figure it out. Let’s just not do anything rash before we’ve exhausted all the alternatives.”

Her slender arms slipped around his waist and she burrowed into his chest. When they were along like this was the only time he ever got to see this side of her.  The vulnerable one that she tried hard to hide from the others. 

Her confidence was always such a striking thing about her.  Standing out and making her bigger than life but in the closed confines of their space the masks peeled away.  Her guard came down and he got to see the woman underneath the warrior.  

Pulling back,  he took her chin in his hand and tipped her head up so he could see her face. Brushing his thumb over her pulse point, he kissed her brow and then each check reverently before skimming his lips over hers.  

She sank into him easily,  having long ago given up her internal battle against the feelings she’d hidden so well from him.  

He caught himself though as her fingers pressed into his back. It was late and he could tell by the shadows under her eyes that Kayo needed sleep desperately.  The emotional toil of the day having cost her considerably.    

Her breath ghosted across his lips as she sighed,  knowing like he did that stopping before things got out of hand was for the best right now. 

“Come on, we can discuss this in the morning when we both aren’t dead on our feet.”

Her nod in agreement was singular and concise.  A flicker of her confidence with the simple gesture returning behind the verdant green of her eyes.

She stood back, took his hand and tugged him towards the bed.  

8-8-8

TBC

NEXT

[celestias-right-hoof-mas-au]

WARNING: As I mentioned in the previous chapter, this story is based on an adult parody of MLP called The Mentally Advanced Series. I would encourage that if you had not watched it to do so to get a grasp of the world in which this takes place. Many of the jokes, lore, and otherwise are in reference to MAS, not just simply My Little Pony. I have also made a supercut that includes every reference and appearance of Celestia in the series. In case watching the entire MAS series maybe too time consuming. If you find Celestia, or other canon characters, used in crude and unpleasant depictions offensive, this is your warning. However, I would appreciate that you take a look anyway with an open mind.

Celestia Supercut Link

< Previous ☼ Next >

  Days passed with bootcamp still on the horizon. Valiance’s mind was evermore focused on the possibility of becoming one of Celestia’s finest. In preparation for her big day, and to calm her nerves, Valiance exercised vigorously. Not a morning passed where she didn’t run, strength trained, or practice the little amount of spells she knew.

   A blaring ringing stirred Valiance awake from her slumber. She groggily reached her hoof to tap the all too familiar alarm clock before rubbing the sleepiness away from her eyes. With a deep breath, and a small rocking of herself, she was up and out of bed in a jiffy. Any residual tiredness she might’ve felt was quickly washed away with an ice cold splash of water and the freshness one gets from brushing their teeth.  

   As Valiance stretched about her stiff muscles before her daily morning run, she halted to a stop. Her ears flicked back and forth when met with a low rumbling noise in the distance. The once peaceful silence of the cool early morning was violently shattered as a loud explosion rang between the buildings. The birds outside screeched and scattered away as the sky blackened with an ominous cloud. Valiance rushed towards the window and peered out to see what was happening.

   "What in Equestria was that?!" Valiance gasped. Had something gone wrong with the weather production? That thought was immediately thrown out the window when the storm cloud began to speed towards the castle, appearing sentient in nature. Squinting her eyes, Valiance's jaw dropped at her revelation.

   It wasn’t a cloud at all, it was a swarm made of thousands of invaders. Their porous chiton and glass wings left no room for doubt.

   “Changelings?! I thought Celestia had them all eradicated?!” Valiance exclaimed as she grabbed her helmet. After a brief moment to change into her armor, Valiance unsheathed her weapon, an ornamented halberd, and rushed outside. Chaos flooded the streets of Canterlot as ponies desperately attempted to evade the parasitic menace. The empty husks of what was once the good ponies of Canterlot were scattered in the streets.

   Valiance shuddered and cut through an alleyway. There, she witnessed the horror of the changeling's feeding habits. The creature huddled over an unconscious pony with its tongue like proboscis sucking the fluids out of its victim's neck. It has been said that the changelings could survive solely off of the emotion of love. However, there was no evidence of that as far as Valiance saw, and she had no intentions of finding out such rumors.  

   The amber glow of her magic slowly powered up and took possession of her halberd. The creature’s unblinking eyes snapped onto Valiance’s position, before the changeling soldier could even react, the long piercing thorn of Valiance’s weapon ripped into its skull like a hot fork stabbing into butter. Its back leg and wings twitched as the rest of its body slumped over and detached itself from the pony beneath it. Valiance rushed over towards the victim, who she could now see was a stallion, and looked him over to inspect the severity of his injuries.

    The pony wore heavy darkened bags underneath his eyes, protruding cheekbones and colorless cracked lips. Despite his gaunt appearance, Valiance noted his pulse was still relatively steady and his breathing wasn’t too faint. She concluded that the stallion would survive and hid him behind some trash bins so no other changeling would find him before he woke.

   In no time at all, Valiance had reached the castle grounds. The front gates were left open and unattended. The quietness in that moment was eerily contrasted by the screams in the distance. Without hesitation, Valiance sprinted into the grounds with a burning spirit and a molten heart.

   "Help! Anypony, please!" Shrieked a pink and raspberry pony as she was being roughly carried away by a pair of changelings.

   Higher and higher they climbed into the sky when suddenly, one of the changelings let out a guttural screech. Valiance's halberd embedded into the stomach of the changeling with a sickening crunch.

   With its comrade dead, the remaining changeling released the little unicorn from its weakened grip. The unicorn screamed and shut her eyes as she plummeted towards the ground, but instead of crashing to her death, her body came to a sudden stop. Slowly peeking through her glasses with persian blue eyes, she found herself encased in amber magic.

   But to her surprise, her gaze was not met by another carapaced equine, instead, she was met by an enormous pale mare. The stranger's body and face was obscured by a strikingly unique set of armor she had never seen from any of the castle staff, or Canterlot for that matter, and although intimidating, she felt comfort from the mysterious horse who was protectively holding her away from the monster with glazed compound eyes. Gently, the pony found her footing on the cool grass and the magic slowly faded away.

   “Go, I’ll keep him busy while you escape.” Valiance ordered.

   “W-well what about you?!” the pink unicorn replied in desperation.

   “There’s no time, get somewhere safe. I can handle this.” Valiance implored with a more stern tone. The small pony hesitated momentarily and adjusted her glasses. Then, she made a break for it, ashamed of abandoning her savior.

   The remaining changeling, knowingly outmatched, let out a piercing shriek. The familiar buzzing of changeling wings came from all directions as reinforcements surrounded Valiance. It did not matter, however, as Valiance made short work of them all.

   Once her adversaries had been disposed of, Valiance made her way to the front of the castle. Though she had no idea how the changelings accomplished it, they had blown a massive hole where the entrance to the castle would be. Inside wasn’t much better, with the changelings’ filthy webbing covering the walls and ceiling. Before she could continue onwards she noticed very subtle movement coming from the larger mountains of webbing. Using the spear tip of her weapon, she carefully cut open one of the mounds. When suddenly, a guard’s head popped out from inside. The royal guard let out a choking gasp, desperately coughing for air as he violently wriggled from the grotesque wrapping.

   “Oh thank Celestia, you found me! I couldn’t imagine the meal they’d make out of me if you hadn’t come!” The grey stallion cheered profusely as his body was hauled out of its confines by Valiance’s magic.

   “Are you alright? Can you stand on your own?” Valiance asked, offering a shoulder to lean on.

   The pony patted himself lightly and clicked his hooves on the floor, “Seems like I’m good to go!”

   “Great. Help me get everypony else out of these pods.” Valiance urged, pointing to the other pods in the room. With a quick nod, the stallion rushed over and began peeling his comrades out of their wrapping. Free from their binds, the soldiers pawed the ground aggressively, eager for a second chance against the parasites who had hit the heart of their home.

   “Thanks for saving our hides, soldier. Did you just roll into town?” asked the chief officer of the group.

   “Just signed up the other day, sir.” Valiance saluted, straightening her posture.

   “Well, hells bells, sorry to hear that, private. But at this point we need all the hooves we can get. Head over to the west wing where the castle staff have holed up. That’s where the rest of the new recruits are as well. The rest of us are gonna go exterminate these bugs, ain’t that right, boys?!” the officer commanded, his band cheering and war ready. No sooner did Valiance break apart from the team did she gallop away towards her destination. The further she headed west, the dimmer and more rotten the castle became. It was as if everything the changelings touched became corrupted. Eventually she came to a hall where the doors had been sealed shut. So corroded and splintered were the doors, that Valiance believed she had found what she was looking for. She pried the remains of the doors open, hoping some survivors were still within.

   However, there were none. Valiance’s heart dropped at what she found instead. Like flies on a rotting carcass, the room was full of changelings and podded victims lay scattered on every surface.

   The freshly made pods glowed with a luminescent green and were just bright enough to see what lay inside. Within them were ponies in various forms of digestion. Some had their innards pouring out of themselves and others were torn apart by changeling grubs who feasted upon them. Nopony was spared, for in the farthest corner of the room lay a much smaller pod than the rest. Inside, floated the curled up body of a filly. Just as Valiance had made her horrific discovery, so too did the changelings take notice of her presence.

   With barely enough time to draw her weapon, Valiance was bombarded by insectoid bodies. She cleaved her halbert into their shells and slashed at their soft underbellies. Yet even still, they kept coming and piling onto her. Her vision blurred from the shifting bodies and she felt them crawling everywhere attempting to pry her armor off. Desperately, Valiance stomped and kicked, but to no avail. Her legs began to buckle from their biting and stabbing, so much so, that the pain kept her from using any advanced spells to get away. Even teleportation was useless as the growing cloudiness in her mind prevented her from deciding on a direction.

   The changelings began to drag her into the ground. Valiance was exhausted and her vision tunneled to a pinpoint. Just when all hope was lost, a blinding light pierced through the skittering changelings, in the blink of an eye, their forms evaporated into dust. Through her helmet and darkening vision, she could faintly make out the silhouette of an ethereal equine. The large pony slowly came closer and closer before Valiance’s world went completely black.

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV, so i’m going to put the second person POV under the cut here, and make a separate post with the other version so folks can read which they prefer. nothing is different between the two besides the POV !

------

Contrary to what the four crazy people you spent your time risking your life for nowadays thought, you didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to your jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made your ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. You were an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-you, or perhaps the you-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard you had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of your mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, you didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, you could get out of bed. Your head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in your best interests to swing your twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push yourself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to your best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let you forget it and the scar on your hip that put a hitch in your giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those you sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today your hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to your mid-forearm, settled into you all familiar-like and made its home in you.

In the bathroom, you used your wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck your mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. Your morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for your post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took you longer to shimmy on the sweats you knew you wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made you appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until you were face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, you put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing your grip. A light flex had you drawing it back like the metal had burned you, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. You took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge your hand between the handle and the door so you could open the fridge with your elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind your collarbone faded quickly as you scanned its contents and realized there was nothing you wanted to eat, or at least nothing you wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to your throat, and you slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw yourself down, cradling your hands in your lap.

You knew the drill: in an hour, you would grit your teeth and get to up to try and fumble open your bottle of painkillers, and if you succeeded, you would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so you could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone you had left on your nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as your ringtone and you hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so you ignored it. Your ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from your clenched teeth as you levered yourself up to get to it as fast as you could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between your shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

You rubbed your eyes with your wrist, frustrated that you had forgotten you were supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in your mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

You snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before you could open your mouth, your doorbell rang, drawing a groan from you. If you were correct about who the “we” was, it seemed stupid to even ring it. Your suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. You had already moved back to the couch, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” you growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” you muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through your snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. You made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When you next opened your eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on your coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in your lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Your first instinct was to deflect. You trusted your team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that you had these days. That you weren’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before you could tell him just what you thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of your face, the thief reaching down to poke one of your hands faster than you could stop her.

By the time you were able to refocus and pull yourself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at you with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. You think you may have howled; you weren’t sure. Both your hands were clenched tightly to your chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. You felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on you. You summoned the anger from your throat, the only weapon at your disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at you, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” You turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

You looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on you and let you wallow by yourself. You wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den you had accidentally put your foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning you an earful of hissing that scared the hell out of you. You wonder if you seemed as belligerent now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in your space to let you feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

You didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of you. It was yours to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at your hands. He hummed at your slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” you mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at your growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

You looked him in the eye for the sincerity you already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of your favorite traits of his. Hesitantly, you extended your hands, rolling your eyes at him scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, you took the medication from her fingers with your teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to your lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” you managed, once you had your breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while you were distracted trying to find the right response to that, that you wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted you to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to your forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. You froze, and he did too, meeting your eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At your tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on your arm, rubbing circles so lightly that you almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down your forearm. When he got to your wrist, you couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through your nose, high and strained. He moved away from it immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” you grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before you could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of your forearm. You breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” he said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Your thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that you didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of you that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over your head until your pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. You didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, it might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of you murmured. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been offered something like this, let alone the last time you had taken the person up. If there was anyone you trusted to do it, if there was anyone you wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could you refuse them even when your heart hoped so badly for what they were offering?

“Sure, just…” you said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on you. You licked your lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will be,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under your hands, resting on his knees. You tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above your head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in your hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to your forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through your hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. You winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” you grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed your scalp. Your breath stuttered again as Hardison hands started working towards the sore meat of your wrist. Your hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. You cracked open an eye to see him looking between your hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” you gritted out, doing a poor job of masking your genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

He tapped his index finger against your arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through your hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts you had, your mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, you insistently pushed your head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in your chest, leaving you longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left your throat as Hardison probed the bottom of your palm, the ache drawing you back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry, you still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to yours again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in your hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching your scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on your hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. You don’t know how long you sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched you, fixated on the single task of caring for you. The thought made the tender space behind your breastbone twinge. When you surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. You grunted, lifting your head from the couch to look at them sitting beside you, grinning at your movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in yours, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

You looked down to your hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other you tightened your fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving your thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” you simply said back, a real smile rising to your lips.