#woke up and it feels like my throat is freaking swollen shut

[tallymali]

hehe..i am ill

[peace-for-levi]

Isabel [Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader]

N.B: heya! if you're scrolling through the tags and thinking, "hey, i have read this before..." chances are you probably have! don't worry, this is not plagiarism. you read that on a - now - deleted blog (i had to restart for reasons i won't go into.) so i am reposting everything now!

synopsis: when levi's wife goes into labour, he has to drop the crude, cold façade he normally holds and be there in their time of need.

tw: possible inaccuracies as i have never been pregnant before LOL, reader is labouring, occasional use of she/her throughout, levi being soft ASF (self-indulgent all the way.)

--

You turned your head at the sound of the door and almost immediately, you felt the wintery gust flood through the narrow hallway of your house. You sucked in a breath, but you quickly smiled. After all, your husband had returned to your cosy cottage.

He shut the door behind him, and you saw him lean his head against it, heaving a great sigh. You frowned at how he almost always needed those few seconds to just process everything in his head before turning to face you. You instinctively brought a hand down to your swollen tummy - was this a good decision after all? Having a baby in these troubling, turbulent times?

But then he turned around again to face you and his face was illuminated by the amber-coloured light of the oil lamp. He saw you stirring the steaming pot of stew and his steely gaze softened immediately.

He smiled.

Don’t be silly, you chastised yourself for such thoughts, he’s happy with us.

Of course he was. He could calm down instantly looking at you. He walked over and shrugged off his forest green cloak and placed it on the counter next to you. War-torn hands reaching out and cupping your cheeks, he pressed his lips to your forehead. You felt his calloused thumbs rub against your temples and you leaned into his touch. Immediately his hands fell to your tummy and rubbed in circles.

“Dinner smells good,” he whispers softly against your lips, “how was your day?”

Dinner did smell good; nothing could beat some beef stew after a long day with your cast iron kettle hanging over the fire, right? He couldn’t wait until your bellies were filled and he could cosy up with you in front of the fire with a cup of black tea in his hand.

Your smile grew wider when he sank to his knees and nuzzled against your tummy. You were probably going to give birth in the next week or two. You lowered your right hand and allowed it to tread through his raven locks, your other hand still stirring to prevent any sticking to your pot.

“Eh…” you huffed out.

Levi pulled back for a bit. “Had an ‘eh’ day myself… What’s troubling you?”

“Just very crampy today and my back is killing me. Why did you have an ‘eh’ day?”

You almost laughed when you heard Levi’s heavy sigh, and it was a long sigh too. He closed his eyes as he recounted the disaster at HQ but… what with the amount of grief Levi had been through, there was very little that could faze him now.

Still, when he recounted to you that Hange accidentally launched one of their new projects - a thunder spear - into HQ and close to his office at that - while he was drinking his tea! - obviously he would be pretty livid. All that was destroyed in the fires of the aftermath were two bedrooms and a storage room, and thankfully no lives were lost, but he wasn’t going to forgive Hange for a while after this. You had to give him credit for his composure.

“I miss Hange, even in spite of these incidents.” You spoke.

You hadn’t seen Hange since you were discharged by Erwin at three months. Well, you had waved at her in the streets when you did your shopping for you and Levi and you might converse briefly, but she was always too busy to stop by for a chat. She did, however, say she’d be present for the birth.

“I bet he’d get along with Hange.”

“Still sure we’re having a boy?” your husband asked.

You yawned as exhaustion began to consume you more and more. “Yeah, he is giving me a lot of trouble like how his father used to.” You teased.

Levi only muttered something under his breath, and you weren’t quite sure what it was. He leaned back a bit and extended his index finger. “Oi, stop giving your mother a hard time. She’s tired.”

Another yawn. “I am, actually. I might pass on dinner tonight and just head to bed.”

Levi stood up again and eyed you curiously; wasn’t like you to skip dinner but he thought nothing of it. He mentioned he’d save some for you and with a chaste kiss to your lips, you made your way upstairs.

You opened the creaky, wooden door to your shared bedroom and when you disrobed, you rooted around for a clean nightgown in your drawers. You groaned as another sharp pain radiated around your lower back and pelvic area. You held onto the edge of the drawers with a white-knuckle grip. You had gotten cramps here and there before throughout your pregnancy, but these were just all-consuming. A few more whimpers and a few deep breaths though, and they subsided.

Hmm, weird, there’s no way it’s time already? I’m still a week or two early, you said to yourself. If he wants to come now, what will happen… would he be healthy?

You shook your head and made your way over to the bed, propping yourself up with a few pillows. It wasn’t long before Levi came into the room too with a candle in his hand before placing it down on his desk. As he removed his shirt, the dull light illuminated and highlighted his defined body. You smiled dozily at him and you were fast asleep before he could even climb into bed.

.

.

.

Awaking in the middle of the night with your husband’s arms wrapped around you was always a treat. He didn’t always sleep, and when he did, it was poor. But whenever his arms snaked around your chest with one hand resting on your tummy, you knew he was sleeping well. It gave you a chance to look at his unguarded and peaceful countenance.

You woke up with a feeling of heartburn that was hard to ignore so you decided a drink of water might be a good idea. You made your way downstairs, careful not to wake your sleeping husband. Leaning against the countertop once you reached the kitchen, you fetched yourself a glass of water and began to sip slowly.

Gulping the last bit down, you placed the glass in a sink and walked towards the stairs again… until you felt a gush of warm liquid flow down your legs.

Oh, crap!

You peered down at the pool of fluid between your legs that was now pooling in your hallway. Your mind froze and all you could do was stare for a few seconds.

“U-uh… Levi?!” you shrieked.

You heard a large thud from upstairs when he landed less than gracefully - unceremoniously, even - after jumping from your bed and he was quick to scurry down the stairs at the yell.

“What the hell?! Are you ok--?”

He stopped when his bare feet splashed against the pool of fluids between you both.

“Oh, my?” he questioned and peered down. “Is it that time already?”

You only blinked at his calmness at the situation. How was he not freaking out?! Your fingers moved to clench your soaking gown. He reached for your hands and walked you towards the front door. He stopped for a few seconds as he scratched his head in thought.

“Levi?!” you screeched at his silence.

He had to stay as calm as possible. It was something he was well used to, being a good captain and all. But it was so different in this situation. Seeing you panic like this and the gravity of the situation made him almost lose his composure. He was able to keep everything well hidden beneath his steely exterior and this was all because he was good at analysing typically abnormal situations.

This wasn’t a situation like this. All he had to do was be a supportive husband for you.

As he hurried down the stairs again, the realization dawned on him again.

Was this actually happening? Were you two going to be parents? Could you two do this?

Well, it was not like you had a choice now.

“Come, let’s get moving.” He said, holding you with one hand by the small of your back.

He assisted you back up the stairs as fast as your body would allow, but once you got to the bathroom just a few metres shy of your bedroom, that’s when you felt everything tighten and your breath became lodged in your throat. Your legs buckled as your hands gripped onto the architrave. Levi was quick to descend with you and hold your hand. A pained groan escaped your lips and you heard deep breaths beside you.

“Deep breaths, you can do it, [F/n]...” he said as he rubbed your back in circles. He tried to do deep breathing with you, taking long, exaggerated breaths. All to feel you a little less alone or too lost in your own pain.

It wasn’t the worst pain you had experienced - you were a former veteran of the Scouts after all - but that didn’t make the feeling pleasant either.

He propped up all the pillows to give you ample support and he placed a hand on your shin, gesturing you to keep your legs open. It seemed that the next contraction seemed to be taking its time, so he made the decision to alert the neighbours. This was a plan Levi had made with them a few months ago, that he’d call next door and ask them to go rush to the nurses and for Hange. Luckily for you two, HQ was no more than a five-minute walk away.

After slipping into a dress shirt and black slacks, he ran down the stairs and hopped over the wall to your neighbour. It was close to midnight now, but hopefully they’d be awake… If not, he’d have to leave you alone by yourself and that was not an option.

He rapped on the door and even called out to them, before knocking again. Thankfully, the middle-aged man and his wife seemed to be up and were quick to open the door.

Perhaps Levi looked a bit more flustered than he thought he did. Then again, as someone so composed all the time, any change in composure screamed out.

“Captain Levi? Is everything alright?” the wife asked.

Levi inhaled sharply. Damn, he was getting stressed already. If they were to shine the oil lamp up to his face, they would be able to see the sweat beading at his brows and how his pupils had narrowed from the intensity of the situation. “[F/n] has gone into labour, earlier than we expected. She needs the nurses a-and Hange--” Fuck, was he stuttering from it all? “I can’t leave her alone to get them and-”

The wife who was probably a good three inches shorter than him looked up at him and passed him a soft smile; a reassuring smile. She had been through all this before. She knew the chaos involved but knew the best thing he could be was a pillar of support for you. She placed her hands on his shoulders and got her to look at him. Normally he’d shrug off any physical contact from anyone that wasn’t you, but his mind was spiralling, and he was doing his best to hide it.

“Levi, it’s okay. Dear, you go get the nursing staff and Hange, okay?” she called out to her husband who had already saddled up in the meantime and taken off. “My husband will be back soon. Let me get you a few things.”

Levi tapped his foot impatiently as she pattered around the house for a bit. She came back with a bag of rags, towels and some knitted clothes.

“It’s important you stay calm, okay? What do you think you’ll have?”

Levi shrugged as he nodded his thanks. “I don’t know, of course, but [F/n] reckons we’ll have a boy.”

“Hmm… I think you’ll have a daughter!” she beamed.

Levi began to head out the door again. “Look, thank you so much for everything.”

“Best of luck, Levi,” she wished with a gleeful smile, “and congratulations.”

Levi nodded with the bag and headed back up the stairs of his home. He burst through the door of your bedroom and was immediately at your side again. He dropped the bag down at your bedside and reached for your hand. He caught you just in time for another contraction. You tried to steady yourself, but you cried out once more and gripped onto the blankets as another contraction overwhelmed you. You hastily grabbed a pillow and cried into it, trying to muffle your cries. Okay, it was official, this was the worst pain you had felt thus far, and all Levi could do was stare helplessly.

It’s not like he could do much. He couldn’t take away the pain from you, but by god, he wished he could. He’d deliver the child if biologically possible, anything to not see you in so much agony. But every time a contraction died away, you would re-emerge and tackle this again with an ungodly amount of strength.

And he couldn’t be prouder of you in these agonizing yet awe-inspiring moments.

You lowered your pillow when you vaguely heard the crowd of nurses patter into the room and everything kicked off. The lead nurse stated she’d be the main overseer to everything. At times, Levi’s mind flitted in and out of the conversation at hand from the nurses. His stare glossed over occasionally, and you couldn’t exactly decipher what it was he was feeling. Whatever it was he was feeling, he hid it well. He absent-mindedly rubbed the small of your back hoping you’d relax as the nurse checked your cervix. His ears perked up once he heard the number ‘three.’

“Three centimetres, seven to go, I reckon.”

“OOH, SEVEN?! HOW EXCITING!” a voice from outside screeched and Levi’s face fell flat. The bespectacled brunette burst through the door. “THAT’S SO FEW!”

“Hange.” Levi barked. He said nothing but his gaze said, be quiet now. “If you’re not gonna be helpful to [F/n], you can leave out the door you came in.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she aired as she rushed over to the other side of your bed and sat on top. “How are you doing, [f/n]? Anything I can do?” she asked. At first you shook your head, but when she mentioned that she brought a few scented candles to help soothe you - or at the very least, keep a gentle ambiance going - you perked up. “Okay, I’ll go light them. Levi, do you have any matches?”

“In the high cupboard left to the sink.” He said and she scurried down.

“Fuck… Levi, it’s happening again…” you groaned as you tossed your head back.

“I have you.” He reminded. He loosened his hand so you could squeeze it. With each contraction came a pain that dominated your entire being. In those moments, for those seconds that stretched into infinity, there was nothing else. Every contraction seemed to hurt more than before, and you would be left panting and almost delirious for a few seconds. Everything melted into the background when a contraction came; the nurses melted to nothing as did their encouraging cries.

But you remained grounded to Levi. He held your hand with every contraction and his lips were pressed to your sweaty temple. While you could only vaguely hear his encouraging words, he was still there and encouraging you to breathe deeply through it all, even if it hardly did anything to alleviate the pain.

“How much longer will this take?”

“She progressed quickly enough to get to the three so it may not take too long. Though it could just as easily be another few hours, or even well into tomorrow. I’m sorry, there’s no way of knowing.” The nurse replied.

Levi only nodded. He just wanted you to be okay and to make this as pain-free as possible. Hange came back in with the matches and began to light a few candles.

As time passed, your head fell. The contractions kept coming but you weren’t progressing as fast as you thought. By the time the second hour rolled by, you had only made it to four centimetres. You were reminded that you’d know when to push.

Levi couldn’t stand to see you in so much pain.

“Is there anything we can do?” he asked, now getting slightly panicked.

The nurse smiled sadly, knowing there was only so much they could do. “[F/n], how about a walk out in the fresh air?” she offered.

Levi peered over at you. Within the past two hours, he had acquired a basin and wet cloth, and was dabbing it occasionally on your forehead. “How about it?” he asked, repeating the motion of it as you lifted your head up again to receive his touch.

“If I walk down those stairs, I don’t think I’ll make it back up…” you huffed.

Hange had taken to holding your other hand too. Levi’s initial glare at her excitement seemed to do the trick and she was very helpful. Perhaps more proactive than the nurses. Then again, she was your best friend; she probably wanted to do everything under the sun.

“A bath may help?” Hange perked up. “Warm water and all?” to which you nodded.

Levi stood and pulled you up. Before you may have walked upright and with your back straight, but now you walked totally hunched over. He ordered for someone - anyone who could get there fastest - to draw a bath. A few stayed behind in the bedroom, taking turns supervising you.

Levi walked you towards the bathroom and unbuttoned your nightgown. With an ‘arms up’ command, he had it off you quickly and you were left in just your bra. He lowered you into the bath and you sat in the middle of the tub. He questioned why you weren’t going to lean back and that was when you asked him to come into the bath with you. He wasn’t going to fight you in the moment and rushed back to the bedroom and put on a pair of (swimming) shorts… or shorts he had no issue getting wet. Within mere seconds, he lowered himself into the bath and wrapped his legs loosely around your waist, his chest firm against your back. He began to rub your arms up and down and leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re doing so well.” He said. His tone lowered to a whisper when he heard you begin to weep. “Hey, hey, hey… What’s wrong? Ah-- Hange, can you go get us a basin?” he asked. Your face paled a little and he shouted for the Titan scientist to hurry as another contraction washed over you.

“L-Levi, I don’t feel right…”

“Hange!” he barked for the third time.

You brought a hand up to your mouth and expelled whatever food had been inside you from before. The pain of this contraction was so intense you had thrown up. Levi swept a thumb across your chin and Hange came in with a basin, and you spilled the rest into it. In fact, you threw up twice more. The bitter taste in your mouth left you feeling all disgusting and ‘icky’, and you let out a choked sob of frustration. Your body had you rocking back and forth on its own accord, trying to move with the pain so to speak, letting out pained groans through gnashed teeth.

Levi leaned you forward and began to rub your lower back. “Breathe. You gotta breathe, [f/n], come on.”

You shook your head as you wailed, almost sounding like you were giving in. “I can’t! It’s too much, Levi!”

“Hey,” he called gently. “Sniff the flowers,” he commanded and paused to breathe in, “and blow out the candles” and he exhaled. “You can do that for me?”

You weren’t sure about how the silly visual cue helped you at all, but you also knew Levi wasn’t going to quit saying it until you did what he told you to do. After a few deep breaths, you calmed down and your contraction died away. Levi continued to rub your lower back, offering whispered words of encouragement.

“Gosh, Shorty, aren’t you such a sweetie?” Hange jeered.

“Go away, Four Eyes.”

The contractions came and went, growing more and more intense. Levi sometimes opted to swish the water down and forth or turn on the tap, to give you something else to focus on. You weren’t sure how long you two stayed in the bath, but Levi helped lift you out once the water had gotten cold. Hange went to relight the candles, pillows were propped back up and you were moved back to your bedroom, to do the whole thing all over again.

And frankly, you weren’t sure how long you could hold on for. It was unbearable. As the hours ticked by until the wee morning, you were losing your strength.

“I’m sorry.” Levi mumbled as he kissed your matted hair.

“It hurts so much. I’m so tired.” You whispered, your voice dry and hoarse.

Levi looked up at the nurse and then over at the small clock on your bedside lock. Seven in the morning, so you had been labouring for seven hours, if not more if you were experiencing smaller contractions before your water broke.

How he ached to take all your pain away from you; to shoulder it all and save you from this agony. You both knew it would be worth it at the end, but the process of getting there was no doubt painful.

“You’re doing well. It’ll all be over soon, won’t it?” he asked and looked at the nurse.

“I’ll go see how far you are,” she said, softly. You let your legs widen as she did another cervical exam. You flinched a bit as you felt her gloved fingers inside. She gasped. “My, you’re almost there. Easily nine centimetres!”

For the first time in a couple hours, you felt genuine relief amidst all the chaos and pain.

.

.

.

Levi had sent the nurses and Hange downstairs an hour later, telling them they were free to help themselves to food stored in your cupboards. They had been crowding around you both for over eight hours now, they deserved a break too. You were fine with your husband sitting through your contractions with you, especially when you only had a centimetre or two left.

That was when you felt an excruciating pain down below, unlike anything you had felt all evening. Levi was at your side in seconds.

“What is it?”

“Hnnn!” you groaned out. This was it. This had to be it, the feeling the nurses told you about. An overwhelming amount of pressure was building between your legs and you let out a guttural noise. “Get Hange and the nurses.”

“Wait, is time? Now-”

“Get the fucking nurse, Levi!” you yelled, and he ran down to fetch them.

The pressure had your hips swaying into position, it was almost unbearable to refrain from pushing. The pain had your whole body trembling. Levi arrived back in with the nurses and you opened your legs at the lead nurse’s command. Your husband was sitting by your side once more, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I see a head! And plenty of hair too! The baby has moved into the birth canal. I need you to push on the next contraction.” She explained.

You heaved in massive strokes, starting to lose your breath. You were completely worn out now, body and mind. You all waited with bated breaths for the next contraction to hit. You took in a massive breath when you felt that familiar pain come back again. Your stomach tightened - everything tightened - as a scream ripped out from your throat.

“You have got to push harder, [f/n].” The nurse urged. Hange came in, sitting on the bed and shuffled onto the bed to hold your other hand.

You shook your head. There was no way you could, you were so depleted of energy.

“You can do this.” Your husband said.

“I can’t! You have to do it for me!” you wept into his arms.

“I would if I could.” He assured you.

The nurse called for your attention. “The next time you push, tuck your chin into your chest and push as though you got to do a number two. But push very hard.”

You blinked frantically. “Wait, what if I do poop?”

“That means you’re pushing right!” Hange cheered.

This entire conversation made Levi grimace, and it took every ounce of self-control to not cringe.

The final contraction hit and with whatever strength you could muster, you pushed through with a shrill cry. The baby began to crown, the hot stretching of flesh almost making you want to stop but you had to keep pushing through. You felt the head leave your body and you pushed through the rest of your contraction. You held onto Levi’s hand with such force he was pretty sure you could have broken it. And he would have taken it.

And then the pain left your body finally.

Tiny cries pierced the air.

Levi tilted your head back and his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that carried so many emotions with it; love, adoration, pride, elation and gratitude. He kissed you again and once more while your baby was being wrapped up. One of the extra nurses moved to clean you up and help deliver the placenta.

“A girl, congratulations.” The nurse whispered. Hange cracked a toothy grin, but she knew to step back and leave you two to have your moment.

You looked down at your wrapped-up little miracle, falling in-love instantly. Had her father’s hair and gunmetal eyes, but your eye shape and complexion. She also had your chin too. Your index finger rubbed against her plump cheeks and almost began to whimper again but with a few gentle hushes from you, she settled down once more. She was probably hungry too.

“She looks so much like you…” you whispered, looking up at your husband. The nurses and Hange took this as their cue to leave. Levi’s eyes had completely glossed over with a newfound vulnerable expression that you had never seen before. You could tell he was just itching to hold her, so as gently as you could, you shuffled over to the side to allow Levi to relax into the headrest. “Here, Levi.”

Your little girl was placed into his arms and a calloused thumb immediately went to trace under her eyes and around her cheeks, her forehead; everywhere. A swell of emotions overcame him like a tsunami crashing against the shoreline and he shut his eyes, tears flowing down his pallid cheeks and he made no effort to stop them. His lower lips trembled, and minute whimpers escaped his lips, but he was desperately clawing at whatever composure he had left to try to piece himself back together.

But he could cry, his daughter was here. He was a father now; he could be as emotional as he liked, and no one would care.

“Isabel.” You said, gently, and Levi nodded at the suggestion.

Levi’s thumb moved to his daughter’s fist and her fingers latched around it instantly, bringing his thumb to her mouth and began to suck. He let out a soft chuckle. “I think she’s hungry.”

“I bet she is.” You said, reaching out and taking a hold of her once more. The baby began to wriggle, and her arms broke free from the blanket, beginning to fuss. You lowered one side of your nightgown and held your daughter against your breast. She latched after a few seconds and by god was it uncomfortable. The feeling had you biting your lower lip in discomfort, but you just had to grin and bear it.

The three of you sat in silence for another half hour or so as you nursed your baby when you heard a knock on the door. Hange peeked her head around and smiled widely at you both.

“Shhh.” Levi was quick to say.

Hange tiptoed in. “I may have bought a few visitors…”

The raven-haired man’s face fell flat. “How many?”

And in came all of Levi’s newest squad and Erwin. He face-palmed at the noise and shrugged off his blazer to cover you and your daughter.

“Is this a bad time, Levi?”

“Yes, it’s a bad time. She’s barely been born a half hour and--”

“I KNEW IT WOULD BE A GIRL! TAKE THAT, MISTER DEATH WISH!” you heard come from outside the room. You only sighed softly.

“I tried to keep those two out of this,” Erwin mentioned as he walked over to the two of you. You removed your baby from your breast and buttoned up your nightgown again. The blonde smiled in pure adoration. “She’s so precious. Congratulations, Levi, [F/n].”

“Thank you, Erwin.” He replied and you nodded your thanks.

In your half-asleep state, you began to nurse again in front of everyone, not bothering to cover up. Levi sighed heavily and moved to cover you up again before you came through.

“Sir, we can call back later if you want.” Eren piped up, walking over to stand by his superior.

“It’s okay, Eren, this is natural. I don’t mind, provided you don’t stare too much.”

“I mind?!” Levi cried. With your free hand, you rested it on his hand. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Fine. You can stay, Jaeger. All of you can.”

Sasha and Connie were next to try to squeeze onto your too small bed for nine extra people.

“I brought her some potatoes!” she chimed and handed one to you. You had to politely explain that babies probably won’t eat until four months at the earliest. And even then, it would only be baby gloop and mushy foods. Not steamed potatoes.

Connie peaked over Levi’s shoulder. “Do you mind?” Levi asked him rhetorically.

“Nope,” he answered swiftly and saluted. On the wrong side. “Sir, why does it look squishy and ugly?”

And then ensued a fiery debate from everyone in the room (apart from Erwin) on why you shouldn’t call babies squishy and ugly, especially in front of their parents. Especially if one of those parents was one Levi Ackerman. But amidst all the commotion, both you and your baby were tuckered out. Levi was surprised that he saw you dozing off in spite of all the ruckus and that your baby was suckling away on nothing.

The short man may have had his doubts before Isabel was born but looking at everyone around here right now - being so chaotic and noisy, but so full of happiness and pride for you both - made all those negative thoughts wash away.

It took a bit of shuffling and squeaking of military boots, but eventually everyone was kicked out by Levi. He looked back fondly at you two, both of you sound asleep.

He would promise you both a normal, peaceful, family life one day. Even if he had to lay down his life doing it.

Because every doubt, struggle, emotional outburst, hormonal-fuelled argument led you both to this, and he would not trade it for the world.

This was his purpose; protect his beautiful wife and precious daughter.

And maybe one day, in the distant future, he would be able to spend more time with you two. In a world without Titans. In a world that was peaceful.

But for now, he had a small serving - a slice - of peace at home and he couldn’t wait to navigate this new chapter of his life with you.

[aylinaliens]

will you share your life with me (for the next ten lifetimes)— chapter 1

Fandom: Cherry Magic

Pairings: Kurosawa/Adachi

Summary: Kurosawa likes to watch his fiancé sleep, simply because he wanted to make up for the seven years he had to spend pining from afar. Adachi likes it when Kurosawa watches him sleep—so he decides to make it crystal clear one morning. 

Word Count: 1450

Notes: kurosawa literally spends this whole entire one shot freaking out over how cute his fiancé is. seriously. that’s it. that’s the plot. just kurosawa going on one monologue after another about how much he ~loves~ adachi. he also has a lil insecure spiral because !!! our boy is a mess. anyways, i decided to post just one big fic for all my one shots and drabbles about Kurosawa, Adachi, and the rest of the Cherry Magic crew because i have so many just chilling in my drafts. Feel free to send in any request for prompts if you so desire!   

Read it on Ao3 or down below!

Before they started to date, back when Adachi only saw Kurosawa as just a coworker, this particular image would frequently show up in his dreams. He always fantasized about waking up next to Adachi. It was so mundane and so simple, yet Kurosawa found himself aching with desire for it.

Now that they were living together, Kurosawa had the pleasure of waking up next to his lover every morning. He thought that after a year or so the giddiness he felt would dissipate but it never did. In fact, it only grew stronger. 

Kurosawa was so used to waking up at the crack of dawn that even if he were to set off the alarm, he would still naturally wake up before the sun had even risen. But instead of getting out of bed to do something productive, Kurosawa would stay in bed, staring at his boyfriend. Every day without he would discover yet another reason to fall helplessly in love with Adachi.

Seven years. That was how long Kurosawa spent staring at Adachi from afar, that was how long he spent pining. He was so used to averting his gaze those seven years in fear of being discovered that he was almost overwhelmed when they started dating. Now, Kurosawa could stare at his boyfriend, fiancé, as long as he wanted to. If he wanted to spend twenty minutes straight tracing the wrinkles that had developed on Adachi’s forehead due to his inability of not using his whole entire face to express every little emotion he was feeling. Kurosawa very well could.

Today Kurosawa found himself drawn to the delicate curve of Adachi’s lips and then his eyelashes. He made sure to keep his touches feather light and gentle, silently hoping that this would not rouse him from his deep slumber. Kurosawa doubted that that Adachi would wake up from this, though. He was a heavy sleeper by nature. One time while Kurosawa was making breakfast, he accidentally dropped a glass pitcher to the ground in his haste to turn off the stove before his Tamagoyaki burns. He thought for sure that the loud noise would wake Adachi up, but he remained knocked out cold. 

Besides, even if Adachi were to wake up and catch Kurosawa in the act of tracing every little freckle on his face, he would have not been surprised. Kurosawa did this so often that by now Adachi was used to it. When he did happen to wake up and see what Kurosawa was doing, he would just flush pink before letting his eyes flutter shut, feigning sleepiness. Sometimes Adachi would stare at Kurosawa while he slept too, except when he was caught he would practically bolt from the bed in embarrassment.

Cute, Kurosawa would think to himself. Adachi was the cutest person that Kurosawa has ever had the pleasure of encountering in his thirty-three years on this earth.

He was perhaps just a tad bit biased, seeing as Kurosawa was so indescribably overcome with love for his fiancé that he even thought Adachi drooling in his sleep was adorable. 

Kurosawa brushed one of his fingertips over Adachi’s top lip before doing the same to his bottom. They were still a bit red and swollen from their little impromptu make out session before bed. Adachi was the one who initiated it last night, much to Kurosawa’s delight. Even if he was exhausted from a long day of work he was not about to pass up Adachi when he was like this. He was being clingy.  

Kurosawa was unsurprisingly the clingy one in their relationship but that did not mean that Adachi was not affectionate. Kurosawa felt as if he always had to touch Adachi. Most of the time, the touches were casual and definitely not tinged with anything sexual in nature. He just liked touching Adachi—simple as that. 

He liked it when they curled up on the touch reading Ragna Crimson together, fingers interlocked, and limbs tangled up together. 

He liked pressing a kiss against Adachi’s forehead mid conversation for no apparent reason.

He liked sneaking up behind Adachi as he was washing dishes and hugging him behind. He would prop his head against Adachi’s shoulder and whisper sweet nothings that were full of cheesy and mushy declarations of love.

He liked accidentally brushing his fingertips against Adachi’s own as they passed each other in the office. They were still not out to anyone besides Fujisaki and Rokkaku in the office, but no one seemed to care enough to decipher why the grins they had on their face afterwards. 

He liked it when Adachi would slip his hand into Kurosawa as they were walking home from work or out doing various errands.

He liked coming home from a long day of work and flopping down on the bed next to Adachi. Sometimes they were too tired to change out of their suits so they would just lay next to each other in silence, so comfortable in each other’s presence that they could communicate with the simplest of touches.

Even when they were old and grey Kurosawa knew that he would still feel like this. He hoped that Adachi would too.

Kurosawa turned his attention to Adachi’s eyelashes instead. He used to think that Adachi must have had extensions or something because no one in real life has eyelashes that long and soft.

Well, except Adachi apparently.

As he softly touched Adachi’s eyelashes, Kurosawa fought the urge to lean over and kiss him. On his lips. On his cheeks. On the tip of his nose. On his eyelids. On his forehead. Everywhere.

And that is exactly what he said out loud.

“Kiyoshi.” Kurosawa let out a sigh. “My angel. Hurry and wake up so I can kiss you.” 

Kurosawa was just about to touch Adachi’s soft lips again but before he could they began to move.

“I am awake.” Adachi croaked out, voice dry from disuse and thick with sleep. “And you can. Kiss me.” Adachi kept his eyes shut but it was clear that he was awake.

Kurosawa let his own eyes flutter shut as he tried to calm the pounding in his chest. He nibbled on his lip for a few seconds before replying. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since your alarm—” Adachi broke off mid-sentence to yawn. “—went off.”

“That was nearly an hour ago!” Kurosawa gaped in surprise. “You were awake this whole time? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wanted to see how long you were going to do this.” 

Normally Kurosawa was rarely embarrassed by being caught in the act but for some reason he was downright flustered right now. He did not understand why he was so shy about this, but he eventually chalked it up due to the fact that this was perhaps the longest amount of time he had spent staring at Adachi while he was sleeping.

Even though their relationship was stable and strong, sometimes that insecure voice in Kurosawa’s head would make him fearful that everything would soon come crumbing down. What if Adachi realized just how much of a fool Kurosawa was? What if he woke up one day and discovered that maybe, possibly, Kurosawa was not worth it—not worth the hassle? That was partially why Kurosawa spent so much time looking at Adachi. He wanted to memorize every single line and spot on Adachi’s face in case they would have to part one day. He wanted to sear Adachi’s image into his brain so that he would never forget anything.

“Still.” Kurosawa nibbled down on his lips again. “You should have said something.”  

The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence for a few moments until Adachi cleared his throat, popped open his eyes, and rolled over to the side. He stared at Kurosawa for a few seconds before scooting close enough so that he could wrap his fiancé in a hug. “I like when you watch me, Kurosawa.” Adachi’s face was pressed against the fabric of Kurosawa’s shirt, so his voice was muffled as he spoke. 

Was it possible that Adachi could somehow tell that Kurosawa was spiraling right now? Adachi was so terrified about losing his mind reading abilities but clearly he was worried for nothing. He was even better than Kurosawa at picking up subtle shifts in expression and body language. Sometimes he was wrong, but Kurosawa was far from perfect too. It was okay that they had the occasional mess up, those mess ups is what made them real and human. “I’m not leaving you, okay?”

“Promise?” Kurosawa whispered. 

Instead of verbally replying, Adachi just kissed Kurosawa’s chest, right against where his heart was thump, thump, thumping. 

Promise. 

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (Part 9)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, mentions of injury etc.

--------

What she thought would be a small nap turned into sleeping until the next morning. When Daphne woke up, she didn't move as her eyes fluttered open. Every inch of her hurt like a bitch and her shock had turned to anger. She could hear a whispering coming from behind her in the kitchen area and she stayed completely still as she listened.

"Jesus christ, Matt. When you told me what happened I didn't expect for her to look like she was mauled by a goddamn bear!" Foggy hissed frantically, trying to keep his voice low. 

"I told you she was attacked," Matt started, his voice quieter and calmer than his friends.

"I know you did, but have you seen her? What did that asshole do to her?" Foggy honestly sounded like he was about to have an aneurism. She heard a sigh that came from Matt.

"Look, Foggy-" he tried, only to be interrupted again.

"Don't 'look Foggy' me. This shit is insane! And you said Brett hasn't even found the dude yet!" Foggy hissed again. Her heart dropped at that news. He must have left before the cops got there.

"I know but there isn't much we can do-" he was once again cut off by a panicked Foggy.

"There's a knife-wielding dad killer out there, Matt! He's insane. This whole thing is just… she could have died!" If she was honest, it touched her a little by how upset Foggy was by all of this. He seemed to be taking this friend thing seriously. 

"I'm well aware," Matt stated plainly. He sounded like he was starting to get irritated.

"Oh, you're well aware. How great. Are you even concerned at all? I'm over here having a damn panic attack and you're just chill! Were you not even worried when she turned up here half dead?!" Foggy glowered accusingly. 

"Of course I was worried, Foggy! I didn't even know how bad it was or if I'd be able to help her! I didn't sleep at all last night just to make sure she was breathing!" She didn't know how to feel about him watching over her like that. She hadn't expected that kindness. She hadn't even done that for him when he got shot.

"Quit your goddamn lecture because now isn't the time to talk about this!" Matt hissed harshly. 

"Why the hell not?!" Foggy demanded.

"Because she's awake," Matt answered tensely. 

Busted. She didn't know what tipped him off. She wondered if it was how her breathing changed when she woke and throughout their whispered argument or her heartbeat. Either way was creepy. She opted not to say anything and she honestly didn't think she could sit up unassisted with the pain she was in. She heard footsteps coming to the living area and Foggy plonked down in the chair. She was expecting a fake smile on his face with a cheerful greeting but she was met by a worried glance and silence. She didn't like it. 

"Here. Coffee, toast and some pain meds," Matt murmured softly as he set the things on the coffee table. Then without her even having to ask, he helped her to sit. She groaned, gripping her wound on her lower abdomen as the stitches jolted.

"Motherfucker," she moaned with a frown. She didn't think she'd ever been this banged up before.

"Sorry. Try not to move too much. It'll be easier once you've had the pills," Matt said carefully. She nodded, grabbing the pills and washing them down with the coffee that was still kind of hot. She didn't know how Matt knew she liked cream and sugar but she couldn't care less right then.

"Brett didn't find him?" She bit out. It only caused her anger to swell. This asshole murdered his own father, a good man that didn't deserve this. She didn't even care about her attack in the grand scheme of things. She needed justice for Mr Lee. Matt sighed heavily, wiping a hand over his face. Foggy finally decided to speak.

"When they got to the scene, he was gone. But they're processing it which is good and they've got people looking for him. With your evidence and statement, once they catch him he's as good as locked up," Foggy stated sounding confident. More confident than the frantic whispering from the kitchen. She just nodded again. She really hoped they'd find the asshole.

"You need to eat. You lost a lot of blood and you need to heal," Matt uttered as he pushed the plate of toast towards her more. She felt sick and she really wasn't hungry. But she refused to lay about feeling sorry for herself. She wanted to heal ASAP so she reluctantly ate a few pieces of the toast. The silence as she ate was unbearable, like no one knew what to say as the heaviness weighed on them. Weirdly enough she found herself somewhat happy she wasn't on her own right then.

"I need to get to the station, drop my shit off and give my statement," she sighed once she was done, wiping the crumbs from her hands.

"Might wanna get changed first," Foggy teased weakly. She glanced down for the first time and blanched. Her shirt was ripped to shreds and was soaked in blood. She didn't know how she was even functioning with how much blood she must have lost. Her jeans were also blood stained although the brunt of it was taken by her shirt.

"You can have something of mine," Matt said softly as he stood. She watched him as he opened the door to his room. She'd be impressed by how easy he navigated his home but she'd seen him fight. The stick was just an act for everyone else's benefit. He might not see like everyone else but he saw things in his own way. 

He came back a moment later with some black sweat pants and a black t-shirt. They'd be big but she'd cope. She just wanted to see Brett. 

"Thanks," she shot him a weary smile that he returned as she took them. When she went to stand, she made a pained noise, squeezing her eyes shut. This would be hard. Foggy jumped up though, she wondered if he just felt like he needed to do something. To be helpful. 

"Come on, I'll walk you to the bathroom," he smiled. He helped her stand and she was unsteady to her feet. With his help she managed to make it to the bathroom. She closed the door once she got in and listened to Foggy retreat back to Matt in the living room. 

She gasped when she saw her reflection. She knew it would be bad but this wasn't what she expected. The left side of her face was a giant bruise, her cheekbone swollen. She had a split lip and hand prints around her throat. Her arms had numerous small slices and she knew her chest had a couple too as well as the deep gash on her stomach. She looked like she stepped right off the set of a horror movie. She wasn't surprised that Foggy freaked out when he saw her. At first she felt sad. Knowing she would scar, that Mr Lee's psycho spawn had marked her forever. A reminder of how she'd failed him because she was a self absorbed bitch. But then her anger flared. Matt’s words from the day before were on a loop in her brain like a mantra. Even if she had told Mr Lee, this would have happened. And she held the evidence to help put the prick away. Maybe the only reason she crossed paths with Mr Lee was so she could make sure he got justice. 

After gathering herself, she realised she had a problem. She could barely function, let alone undress and get changed. She loathed asking anyone for help but she wasn't stubborn enough to hurt herself more by trying. Heaving a sigh, she shuffled over and opened the door.

"Uh… I need some help," she murmured with a grimace. She felt so awkward. Foggy was a new friend that she was trying to adjust to and Matt was… well he was Matt. But she was grateful for everything he'd done for her. And now they were even and she could close that chapter and hoped neither of them would need the other’s help after this.

"What do you need?" Foggy asked as he came into view, Matt trailing behind him.

"I can't… I can't get undressed. Or dressed," she snorted ruefully, gesturing to the bundle of clothes in her arms. Foggy's eyes widened and he glanced from her to Matt.

"I-I can help… if you need me to-" he started looking uncomfortable but she shook her head to stop him.

"At the risk of sounding like a bitch, Matt’s blind so… I'd kinda feel better if he helped me," she said carefully. 

Matt swallowed thickly with a nod as Foggy looked relieved. 

"Great! I mean… okay. I'll just…" he scurried off back to the living area and she snorted softly at him. Matt stayed silent as he walked inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him for privacy. It still wasn't ideal. He couldn't see with his eyes but he wasn't a typical blind person. But it was better than nothing. 

"I'll try to be careful but this might hurt a little," he muttered apologetically. She nodded as he took the clothes from her and set them by the sink. 

He made good on his promise to be careful as he expertly manoeuvred her shirt over her head with minimal pain. She was starting to feel uncomfortable with the weird silence dangling over them as he worked on her jeans.

"What's the mirror for? I mean you can't see so…" it came out much worse than it sounded in her head and she mentally facepalmed. She didn't know why it was so hard to just be civil with him. It was much easier being a bitch. She was caught off guard when he let out a surprised laugh.

"That sounded better in my head. I promise I'm not actually trying to be a bitch," she huffed a laugh of her own. 

"It's fine. It's a valid question. Foggy made me get it, he's always trying to get me to put stuff in here for when he visits. He's been trying to get me to get a TV," he grinned up at her as he tugged her jeans down her legs.

"I think he just wants you to buy it so he doesn't have to," she mused playfully. 

"That's what I said," he chuckled. 

She was suddenly aware she was standing in her underwear and she was grateful he couldn't see her blush. When did she blush? She wasn't shy of the opposite sex. She rolled her eyes at herself as Matt helped her step into his sweatpants. She at least was capable of tightening the drawstrings so they didn't slip off. She winced a little as he manoeuvred the shirt over her head. It was a little big but it was way better than her now ruined one. Next he helped her with her boots.

"There you go," he gave her a hesitant smile and she swallowed thickly.

"Thanks… for this and… saving my life," she murmured sincerely. He nodded, pursing his lips a little.

"Like you said last night, now we're even," he smirked. 

"Yeah, except I didn't keep vigil when you slept," she pointed out. Maybe she was feeling more like herself today since she noticed he looked down, seemingly caught off guard. He probably hoped she hadn't heard that part.

"You were in pretty bad shape. I couldn't sleep and I figured I'd just make sure you were still breathing," he shrugged as he opened the door 

"Careful, Devilboy. It's starting to sound like you care. What do you think we are? Friends?" She asked with a sly smirk. He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her to help her walk into the living area.

"Something like that," he replied quietly.

"You look a lot better. More 'wearing my boyfriends clothes' than 'murder scene chic'," Foggy beamed at her. She snorted and rolled her eyes. She knew she still probably looked weird wearing Matt’s clothes and her boots but they were comfy honestly. Besides, nothing would stick out as much as her injuries. She watched as Foggy slung her backpack over his shoulder so she didn't have to carry it and she almost jumped when a hoodie was suddenly presented to her by Matt. He helped her into it but she left it unzipped. It was cozy and soft. 

She was anxious now to see Brett and she watched with little patience as the boys got ready to leave. She didn't remember when Matt changed from his own sweats to his lawyer suit. It was Sunday and this wasn't really work and she wondered if he always wore a suit when he wasn't at home or if we just worked all the time. Matt slipped his glasses on and grabbed his cane before walking over. He linked his arm with her and she wondered how funny it would look when they went outside. Both of them were patient as they went down the stairs with her and she was grateful as they took turns to help her. She hated feeling so dependent on anyone and she couldn't wait to hurry up and heal. 

"Thank Jesus," she breathed once they got outside. It felt like it took ten hours to get down the stairs. 

"I prefer to go by Foggy most days. But it's Sunday so I'll allow it," Foggy grinned teasingly. She let out an elegant snort.

"Blasphemous," Matt tutted with a wry smirk. She wasn't sure now what the plan was. She struggled to walk on her own completely but knew Matt usually held Foggy's arm. She just stood there waiting for a cue on what to do. She watched as Matt readied his cane and then he glanced at her, extending his arm for her to link her own. She smiled gratefully, linking her arm and using him as an anchor to steady herself. 

"Alright, off to the station we go. I should've brought snacks, this'll take a while," Foggy murmured thoughtfully. 

She wasn't sure how long it took them to walk to the station but it was longer than she'd like. But once again they were patient and Matt had been steady as he walked beside her, guiding her which she found ironic. Foggy held open the door for them as they got there. 

"Ladies first," he shot Matt a sly smirk and Matt scoffed as he shot his head. 

"I'm sorry, please tell us what your favourite show is again?" Matt retorted. Foggy squinted at him as they walked through the door.

"The real housewives of Beverly Hills is interesting and entertaining!" Foggy defended firmly. She had to purse her lips to stop herself from laughing. 

"Holy shit, D! What in the fresh hell?" the voice snapped her out of the surprisingly chill moment she was having with the wonder twins as Brett stormed over. He was looking at every inch of her with concern etched on his features and she gave him a careful smile.

"Asshole really did a number on me," she replied ruefully. She didn't want it made into a bigger deal than it was. The focus wasn't about her but Mr Lee instead.

"You're telling me," he muttered, raking his teeth over his lower lip.

"Any word?" Matt asked firmly. His no nonsense lawyer voice on. The heaving sigh that left Brett's lips told her no.

"No yet but we got eyes out looking for him. Don’t worry, we'll get him," he gave her a meaningful look and she nodded gratefully. 

"I've got all the pictures in my bag. You want me to give my statement now?" She asked softly. Foggy passed the backpack to Brett who called another cop over to take it. 

"Yeah. Get it done now and then you can rest while we find this asshole," he affirmed. She took a shaky step forward on her own and Matt hovered over her like he was ready to catch her. Brett moved over and linked his arm with hers.

"I got it from here. You boys can go on home, I'll drive her home when we're done," Brett said as he started walking with her.

"Thanks guys," she smiled over her shoulder. Foggy grinned at her and Matt just sent her a solemn nod. They'd actually had decent interactions for once. Maybe it was because she was injured. She wasn't on top form to be such a bitch and maybe he felt bad. She did appreciate him saving her ass even if it was to pay her back. 

[sunkissedspider]

Just Kiss Me | Peter Parker

MASTERLIST

***taglist is open!!! just send an ask or message me and i’ll add you :)***

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

summary: you and Peter sneak out and finally admit your feelings

warnings: smut (first time), unprotected sex (pleasepleaseplease wrap it before you tap it), fluff, making out, language, etc.

listen to: Golden - Harry Styles

word count: 1.8k+

a/n: i- fuck... sorry for any spelling and/or grammar errors!!

    It was around 3 am when Peter woke up to you tapping on his window. You, being his crazy best friend, did stuff like this all the time. You saw him sit up from his bed with a worried look on his face before he realized that it was you, causing him to roll his eyes and laugh.

    "What, Y/N? It's, like, four in the morning." He says quietly after opening his window, you crawling through it.

    "Actually," You pull out your phone, checking the time. "It's 3:17." You laugh, causing Peter to roll his eyes again.

    "So, what do you want at 3:17 in the morning?" He asks, laughing under his breath.

    "Have you seen the moon tonight? It's fucking huge! I figured we could go up to the roof and look at it like we used to a few years ago. I know it's kinda silly, and I can leave so you can sleep, bu-" You start, rambling before Peter stops you.

    "No, no. That- that sounds good. Just let me get some clothes on." He motions for you to sit down before going to his closet to get dressed.

    You take a seat on his bed, pulling your phone out, trying desperately not to look at him. You had liked him for years, you just never thought about him liking you back.

    "Okay, let's go." He laughs when he looks over at you curled up in the blankets on his bed, phone in hand. To be honest, he know he would do the same thing if he was at your house. That's just how comfortable you two were with each other.

    He opens the window again, you going first up the fire escape to the roof, Peter following close behind. A few minutes later you two are up on the roof together, snuggled up underneath a blanket, looking up at the moon and the stars.

    After a while, Peter's the first to talk;

    "Do you ever find it sad that we've never dated anybody?" He asks, still looking up at the stars.

    It takes a while for you to answer, so long that Peter's not even sure if you heard him until you answer. "Sometimes. Other times I'm just glad that I'm not a whore. If I were to date someone, it'd probably be a guy like you."

"L-like me?" Peter stutters, his eyes blown wide, both of you still looking up at the stars.

    "You're the nicest person I know, Pete. You're also cute, and funny, and smart..." You let your own words fade out, turning to look at Peter.

    "T-thanks," He chuckled, trying not to freak out at the fact that you just called him cute. The way he was feeling reminded him of when someone would say that they liked him back in elementary school. "I'd want to date someone like you too. You're beautiful, you have a such a dark sense of humor, and you're a genius." He breathed out, causing you both to laugh.

    "You ever kiss anyone?" You questioned, causing Peter to look at you, both of you making eye contact.

    "No. Never really had anyone that would want to kiss me. What about you?" You were both blushing like crazy, and if it were any lighter outside, you two would look sick.

    "Almost, back when Aaron La Salle and I really liked each other in eighth grade. Nothing ever happened though, he was never even officially my boyfriend." You were still looking at him, seeing how his dark brown curls fell across his forehead, how his eyes were blown wide.

    "I have to tell you something." Peter says, sitting up, grabbing your hands to have you sit up with him. "I, uhm... I like you. A lot. I've actually liked you ever since we were kid. And my feelings for you have grown so much stronger lately and I've never felt this way about anyone before and I don't know what to do." He breathed out, finally looking relaxed, right before he tensed up again, realizing what he had just told you.

    "Kiss me," You said simply, your eyes blown wide in surprise and want.

    "W-what?" He asked, shocked at your reaction.

    "Just kiss me, Peter." You said again. And that was all Peter needed.

    He leaned forward, his lips connecting to yours. His were soft and tasted like Coke. You leaned forward more, deepening the kiss, wanting more. You disconnected your lips for just a second, moving to lay down, Peter moving to lay in between your legs. When your lips connected again, you allowed yourself to relax and enjoy what was happening, both of you moaning into the kiss when you began to feel Peter grind his hips against yours. You two took the time to explore each other's bodies. Your hands smoothing over his shoulder one minute, then grasping at his chest another.

    You both pulled away again to lift Peter's shirt off of him. He kneeled between your legs when the top half of his body was bare, watching you as you stared at him in awe. Obviously you've seen him shirtless before, but this was different. A slightly pink tint covered all of his body, his chest muscular and smooth. Without thinking, you reached out and grazed the soft skin that was hot to the touch, a sharp contrast to your cold hands, causing goosebumps to form on his chest.

    But when you looked back up at him with the most innocent eyes ever, he lost it. He lifted your Midtown hoodie (technically his that you stole forever ago) before he connected your lips together again, trailing kisses to your neck before starting to suck lightly at the sensitive skin, causing you to moan quietly.

    He just smirked against your skin, helping you to unclasp your bra and pull the straps down your arms. You shivered when the cold air fully met your bare skin, Peter chuckling at how sweet and innocent you look, being a complete contrast to your actions. You needily pull him down to you, pressing your lips together, the kiss eventually turning into another heated makeup session.

    "You're so beautiful." He breathes out, smiling against your lips, his body pressed firmly against yours.

    Peter moves away again to pull his sweatpants and boxers up, you lifting your hips up for him to take your bottoms and underwear off too. He stands above you, his chest littered with hickeys, his hard cock in his hand, his lips red and swollen, matching yours.

    He leans down again to connect your lips, his tongue licking a long stripe on your neck, nipping lightly at the already purple skin.

    "Peter," You said breathlessly, pulling away only for a second. "I've... I've never done anything like this. I wasn't lying earlier."

    "I-I haven't ever done anything like this either. We don't have to though! I-I can just go back to my apartment and we can pretend that this never happened. And-" He was visibly nervous, breathing a little harder than you were until you interrupted him, stopping him from rambling on and on.

    "Peter, stop. Calm down. I want to." He almost blacked out when you said the last part, making sure that you were as clear as possible.

    "J-just tell me if I'm hurting you. Okay?" He says, a little calmer than before, but still nervous.

    "Never have." You laugh slightly, tears falling from your eyes when you looked up at him.

    You weren't sad. You were the opposite, actually. You couldn't believe that you were about to have sex with the guy that you had been in love with for years, and that had been in love with you for longer. And before you knew it, you felt tears falling onto your cheeks from above. Peter knew exactly how you were feeling, and he loved you more than anything.

    He leaned down to kiss the tears away on your right cheek, then your left, and then his lips connected with yours again as he slid into you slowly, allowing you to try your best and adjust to the size of him. He let out a groan as bottomed out inside of you, trying his best not to completely collapse on top of you. Your eyes squeezed shut tightly at the feeling, a sharp pain in your lower belly.

    "F-fuck!" He groaned out, trying his best not to move. If it hadn't been for the self control that his Spidey powers came with, he wouldn't have been able to control himself.

    After a few moments of making out to distract Peter, you finally spoke up;

    "You can move now, Peter." You said quietly, a little nervous.

    Peter continued kissing you before he pulled his hips back for the first time, slowly snapping them forward, causing you both to let out moans, glad that no one was around you two. He slowly built up a faster pace, pounding in and out of you softly, his head in the crook of your neck, your hands tangled in his loose curls. A small layer of sweat covered your bodies, causing your hair to stick to your forehead, and Peter's to stick to his. You moaned loudly when his lower stomach grazed your clit, the pain slowly turning into pleasure.

    Peter noticed how you reacted when he repeated the same movement, so he reached a hand down in between your bodies, finding the spot almost immediately, causing a choked out sob of pleasure to leave your throat. Peter was close, he knew that. Hell, he's jerked off to the thought of you every night for months, he's more than familiar with how it feels to get close. But he was determined to make you cum first, so he doubled his efforts, doubling the speed and pressure he was putting on your clit, pounding into you a little harder and a little faster with each thrust.

    "P-Peter!" You quietly screamed out, the sound slightly muffled by the crook of Peter's neck. "I'm gonna cum, Pete!"

    "M-me too. Just," He paused to groan loudly into your neck. "Just let go."

    And with his words of encouragement, the feeling of him inside of you, and his face when he looked down at you, you let go, Peter cumming shortly after you, both of you moaning loudly at the feeling of Peter coating your walls. He thrusted into you a few more times to work you both through your orgasms before finally collapsing on top of you.

    You both laid like that for a while, panting, Peter's head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his slightly damp hair to help calm him down. After a few minutes, he slid out of you, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over you both. You immediately snuggled up into his embrace, your head on his chest, his arms around your body.

    "God," He breathed out against your head, smiling at the smell of your shampoo. "I am so in love with you."

    "I'm so in love with you too, Peter." You both giggled slightly, Peter kissing your forehead, both of you looking up at the stars.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 15)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 14 (Link)

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Mornings with Geralt especially after a night full of bliss can keep your face burning hot from the discernment that he'd finally bed you. He was insatiable and also salty from dodging his subtle gestures---which can be quite entertaining to experience and also upsetting when it took him three days of keeping his distance. But, the witcher made up his absence by giving a gift that surely warmed your heart.

Warnings: Mention of Bucky, X-men and the Avengers. (Weird, I know. HAHA!) Suggestive content. Cheeky Geralt. Nudity. Salty Geralt. (LMAO XD) Shy reader. Kinda sweet Geralt? There's floof in this! Geralt unfamiliar with the feeling of holding hands. Heehee! Mention of bulge, nipples and punani? Also, a cunning reader. HA!

Words: 8.9k (It's a lot. I know. Sorry. The next chapter is actually smut again. Damn. It's also 10k words. I AM UTTERLY SHOOKTH. XD)

A/N: Chapter 15.1 will be smut. No plot shift for the rest 2-3 chapters. (Just relationship development for the reader and our white wolf) Let's just be happy with these type of chapters before I drop bombs, bb's! Also, let's just appreciate that Geralt is feeling happy (still being how he is tho) before shit goes down again and he's all brooding. XD Geralt deserves this! XD I don’t want the characters to just revolve around the idea and pleasure of lust because I know it is more than that. 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi (GIF credits: witches-ground, white-wolf-of-rivia, demivampirew)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

ONE HABIT OF YOURS THAT YOU WERE USED TO DOING IN THE MORNING IS TO STRETCH ALL THOSE KNOTS THAT HAPPENED TO BE ACHING WHILE YOU'VE SLEPT LIKE A BABY. The ravens that tweeted on the window side never seem to wake you up, but your body clock did.

No blinding sunlight has woken you up from your slumber this time. A lazy whine gurgled at the back of your throat; shifting on your side of the bed as you've turned sideways to sluggishly haul your arm on an expected empty space to surprisingly feel solid, chiseled, warm, valley of muscles that laid upon your palms.

You've swallowed your saliva, your throat feeling scratchy and drier than usual. A subtle clearing of your throat as you narrowed your eyes to presume that the white wolf was already out and about before you even were.

Well-knit arms and sturdy shoulders that were precisely sized like your thighs, crinite chest that you somehow managed to goggle once your half-lidded eyes blinked to straighten the blurry gaze of yours, eyesight now sharp as a cheetah. Perspective concentrated on the beefy man who had his blankets treacherously meeting the ends of his torso, mantling the parts he needed to cover for the sake of your stability.

You didn't even know your palms were already caressing Geralt's prominent abs when you've raked his body at a snail's time. Glowing, soft and amused amber eyes already focusing on your groggy state of mind.

"Good morning," the scarred hunk of a man huskily greeted, his timbre lacing with an unused pliant tone that certainly left your thoughts unprocessed as your hand cease its freedom from feeling his abs brushing beneath your fingers.

You've taken a dry gulp, impulsively carrying your weight with the help of your elbow, gaping at the witcher who had a stoic face but with unfathomable emotions filled within his eyes.

"I wasn't fondling with your abs, I swear! I was...caring and caressing your scars!" an arm was raised, like you've been caught by the police for creating a crime. The other supporting your weight against the mattress as Geralt seemed to be in a sustained position. Back wholly laying down with his face turned to your looming ones as he rested below you.

He sluggishly blinked, eyes slightly seeing something more worth to admire at as he looked down on your wonderful unclad chest before cocking a brow to skeptically admit with his eyes now focused on you, "That...didn't felt like there were any scars on that part,"

You could tell his mind was preoccupied as he licked his lips, taking a glance of what he was been looking at when you've seen breasts out in the open that made you emit a tiny shriek which got the witcher grinning a little. The blankets on you were hurriedly raised till your chest was covered; though, it probably had no use already from how you've seen the hickeys that were left all around you chest; convincing you that having a nipple slip wasn't the only thing uncouth.

A mortified look on your face had Geralt entertained first thing in the morning. A weird expression you pull whenever you're in the midst of feeling petrified for every new stuff that you experience in their world; never having to experience it back in your earth.

For all one knows, you were probably a reserved child or simply a staid that you haven't gotten a real man throughout your lifetime.

Geralt kept his mouth shut; as he always does and waited for you to vent and clear out your horrified burst of emotions. He knew you would calm down a little after saying what you needed to honestly tell, and so; he silently listened.

"Please tell me you've taken my clothes off because I needed a bath and because of whatever I was feeling last night---because, because---I'm so freaking redundant, I apologize--- Also, I gotta' say and ask you an intriguing question that you surely don't mind based on how you are lacking clothes right now---but, are you NAKED UNDER THE COVERS, Geralt?"

You couldn't believe you've taken drastic measures last night.

Face began to twist in embarrassment, it was like the morning wanted you to take the recording device and press the playback button. The horrible thread of wanton moans and utterances in the middle of being riled chimed in your head like your dignity was laughing at how you promised never to give in to the witcher because he was a fuck boy in their dimension.

Who's cackling now?

Right. Your strength of character was, because you didn't seem to be quite strong for lewdly moaning out his name like a prayer in the middle of the night. Those raunchy ugh's and oh's will continue to haunt you down.

Geralt's expressions seemed to be unreadable still, until you've seen his lips pucker a little, slightly tilting his head as he tried to sit up, "I'm taking the blankets off."

You tried to stop him and held onto his shoulders, softly clawing at the back of his disheveled, chalky white hair as the touch wasn't making you feel any discomfort for the first time; would you even feel uncomfortable after being bonked all night? you probably hugged him when he had rode you off to wonderland for a couple of times already.

"Wait---no!"

His unkempt head fell on his pillow with a soft thud, vaguely turning his head till you were within an ace of breathing each other's oxygen.

The witcher kept still and hushed. His gaze falling on your semi-dry lips as he quietly listened to all your questions; ceasing from saying anything less than his breathing, "It happened, didn't it?" he became more blasè when you've thrown your queries at him in a hurried pace, not giving him a chance to answer, "---I didn't have a wet dream or something?"

As more as you talk, letting the panic rise to your head because of the shame you felt that maybe he would feel used after being so in need for such a passionate impaling; the sex being done out of help or because there was no other choice for the pain to stop, those sly fidgety fingers of yours topped off his thatch of hair that laid upon his chest, tracing the notch of his medallion as you heard him lowly hum in delight.

Geralt only answered you with a lazy blink of his eyes, heedful of your fingers mindlessly caressing his skin because you were anxiety-filled as of the moment. He let you, always will; with eyebrows tightly furrowed together as he was trying to retain the image of your sweet, seraph face, scruffy hair and painted skin that was filled by witcher bites.

You pouted. Your lightly swollen, grouchy morning face go on about how your core felt sore from how it has been penetrated hours after hours end, "I'm sore. You sure I didn't just got prank by Jaskier and somehow stupidly sat on a pole that stabbed my reproductive organ?"

The sexy, hot, and stark naked white wolf subtly shook his head, his palm retracting from behind his head as he moved his thick arm, slipping beneath the white covers. Determined for his listless touches; strong fingers gliding behind to rest his palm against the small of your back.

His touchy-feely gestures made you swallow the collywobbles, rapidly blinking back as you hardly believed he was actually touching you back. Far as you remembered, when you hugged him while his hair was being braided, Geralt went stiff and still, never knowing what to do with your sudden, impulsive actions.

Your words stumbled after each other, slightly stuttering at the perfervid gaze he opted to give out of his wits, "Great! No...no more sacrifices of virgin women to witches now?"

Geralt was still voiceless as he remained speechless. Your image in the morning placing him in a trance. You awkwardly cleared your dry throat, wincing because of how stupefied he appeared to be. Your hand quickly came to cover your mouth, stifling the embarrassment because of how he seemed to be blown away by particular things you didn't know about. One of your guesses was that he was dumbfounded by your morning breath, "Oh, my morning breath. Explains why you're not talking, Rivia."

You've warily stuck your head in between the crook of Geralt's neck and clavicle after being forthright. The touch of your skin against his knocking him out of his reverie as he tried to turn his head to see your face, but failed to do so; your face thoroughly hidden in his peripheral vision.

"No. That's never happening." he hoarsely murmured; answering your 'sacrificing a virgin' question. His timbre awfully deeper and rougher than most of the time. This was his morning voice then, and you were sure your heart began to wildly flutter because of his fingers behind the small of your back; absentmindedly brushing his calloused palms against your delicate skin.

You mumbled against his shoulder, speaking tone more sotto voce and inaudible. But, the white wolf heard everything. Your tone turning pocket-sized because of how scandalous the question have been.

"I'm not a virgin anymore then?"

He granted your question with an affirmative hum, his answer felt like you were tickled under your palm as you were still being a scatterbrain.

"We'd really...?" you trailed off dubiously. The train of thought left like a scattered path that had an arrow as to what you really wanted to mean. You've felt his chest exhale a sigh before he lowly spoke and frankly continued the sentence for you, "Bed you?" the witcher grouched like he wanted to scoff from how beyond belief you sounded, "---Yes, midget. I did. We did."

Geralt felt your shoulders shaking, your mouth exhaling stifled, mirthful giggles as your face went flushed from the reality of your virginity being taken by the witcher.

A dashing mutated human who came from a different world. He was like a character that existed in a game or movie. The type of television series that you would love to watch despite of having many seasons for it based on how interesting his world have been. Less frightening through a gadget rather than experiencing it in real life though.

Your first experience with sex and it had to thankfully be with Geralt of Rivia.

"Oh..Ohohoho," you expressed your faint simpers, feeling Geralt's fingers turned still as he waited for you to continue like he always does, "---You're not serious."

He sensed the slight snigger in your tone, the disbelief somewhat dripping in strong because of the thought. Though, there was also a bit of worry to it because you were probably agitated of what would happen after this; like it was just the start of something bigger and you knew it wasn't just the girth that has piped you in like a broken faucet which is needed to be fixed all night.

"Geralt of...Mmmhia and me," you mused before feeling his fingers brush up your sides; the butterflies in your stomach tickling your insides making you partly squirm from his touch. Your body oblivious of the modest shiver of your body that has automatically responded to the witcher's touches.

A pair of soft, pillowy lips rested upon your shoulder, pecking your silky skin that somehow had a purplish bite and the witcher tried soothing it with a kiss.

"It happened. Even more than once."

You've tried hard to suppress your exhilaration from how the witcher has been acting. Staying in bed with you, saying good morning and most of all, boldly kissing you or in every parts of your body whenever you're together. It was an obvious notification that he was a lot more brazen with you alone, by preference; Geralt appeared to be like a person who lets his walls down when you're the only person he's with.

A deep, baritone chuckle was heard after your toned down squealing. You swiftly lifted your head to meet the diablerie eyes of the white wolf, his mouth in a tight-thin line before winding his long fingers around your nape, pulling your face close until his lips met yours, his vermillion avid to give you a passionate one when he planned to only give you a soft peck that would make his gluttonous cravings contented.

Nevertheless, he knew it wouldn't based on how he wanted to rile you up again, all day. Just those naive, coy innocence of yours was enough reason to continue his corrupting.

You've held a hand on his chest when he tried to deepen the kiss, lifting himself up with an elbow while he continued to connect your lips to his; smoothly molding as one before you've felt his hoary hair frame your face, paving the way till you were laid flat upon your back; Geralt's heavy, muscular weight starting to crush you. His soft kisses that turned choleric had a hidden agenda when he tried placing you under him, and you knew what strategy he was playing.

Your warm palms stopped his ministrations with a hand on his bewhiskered, chiseled chest. The look in your eyes savvy for what he was planning for; feebly doing it so as you were puny with just one aflamed kiss from the witcher. His spirited kisses were cut-short, a coquettish look within those glowing amber eyes that gave you the tingles when you were trying to grasp how you've fantasized to have his weight crushing you as he laid on top; then now it wasn't just a fantasy of yours as it turned into a reality.

"We actually did the birds and the bees then, if you're that comfortable with kissing me, Geralt."

His features appeared to be like he couldn't-care-less, until such time his taciturn self had slipped a small smile or two making you raise a skeptical brow. Geralt tried to put his lips back to where it came from before you've tutted with frisk.

The latter deeply groaned to himself, cocking his head to the side when you've received an unusual balk from a man who rarely expresses himself. He dejectedly rolled off you, seeing him raise a skeptical brow. Geralt's cynicism catching you off guard like he was an adult who has never been given what he wanted.

"I had you all night," he claimed, sounding totally point-blank as he sat his ripped back against the wooden headboard. The covers just below his torso as a trail of trimmed hair was hiking down a path that had your fingers cursory signing the cross like you were being whispered by the devil on your shoulders.

He didn't seem to mind showing you his sculpted body that was carved by the gods, after screwing with him, he became pretty much as bold as brass unlike you who was still sheepish about your naked self hidden beneath the covers. Well, if you had a chiseled body like Geralt of Rivia; you wouldn't be shy of it at all.

Geralt's lips were slightly curled up in a sneer as he sat beside your laying, timid form. You shifted across the bed, rolling off to the other side till you weren't facing the goading, ghost-voiced witcher---who sounded so hot nevertheless---and you saucily concluded, "It was just...a wet dream of me being one horny woman. Not real."

You can sense that he wanted to scoff, feeling his eyes tickling your back because you knew he was still staring.

"You begged for it," he spoke as a matter of fact.

Oh, he's wanting a debate in this one. You thought in the back of your mind. Discomfited by the truth that was set free. Much to your chagrin, his frank discussion made you jump on the bed, sitting upright with the blankets covering your chest as you let out an incredulous gasp, feigning the whole act that you didn't know the veracity held within his facts.

His gaze was entirely pooling with mischief and a little bit of pride as well. He was close-lipped when his features began to endearingly soften, ushering your heart to turn mushy from how evocative his gaze held; tinting your face with a blush that certainly couldn't be seen through the naked eye.

"It--It was the scar's fault! You didn't need to be so blunt about it!---also stop looking at me like that!"

Your heart was on edge like it was standing on the ends of the cliff, waiting for the catapult to just be done with Geralt probably standing below you with open arms. You've given him a faltering glare that consists of ambivalent emotions soaring high.

You didn't know where to look, eyes shun away from the man. Briefly shifting from the windows behind him; lately realizing that his wide ranging built actually had him covering the sunlight for you as you slept. A hand clutched the blankets tightly in front of your chest while the other hand had you fidgeting over the disarranged bed covers; tapping and tapping till it ceased when you've felt Geralt's fingers grazing along your chin, turning to look him in the eye and you swore breakfast was already served before you even know it.

"That wasn't the issue when you've left me alone in my chambers---trying to upset me when you've braided my hair,"

He deeply mocked as you feigned another gasp. It galled you that he was accusing you that you've left him upset yesterday. He wasn't just the only one who was aggrieved from the whole situation.

"Excuse me---?! What are you actually trying to point out here? Now, you think of me like I'm some...some woman who planned this all along and--and---!!" your train of thought was cut off midway, forbearing what you wanted to say as the witcher raised a brow in understanding; knowing what you meant.

A promiscuous woman. Geralt never thought of you that way last night when you were caught in the heat of the moment especially experiencing the effects of the Cicatrix. He found it definitely onerous mostly that he also could feel what you felt; happiness, sadness, fear, anxiety, vexation and a lot more that could vary. Though, the witcher would know what you felt when the emotions were already clouding up your mind; filling them until it was the only thing that runs in your heart before sensing it.

The whole intuition about sensing each other's feelings still had no answer. Though, both of you knew it was also because of that bizarre mark that was carved in between your breast; knowing full well that the hunger you had for each other causes it at the same damn time.

Geralt's lips curled into a faint, kindly beam that had his eyes glowing in odd compassion.

"I don't. You're still my midget,"

You tightly blinked, words jumbled all together with a disbelieving stammer, "Your---midget? Yours?" and subtly pointing a finger at him as you were entirely gobsmacked from his sudden admission and roundabout claiming towards the whole midget thing.

Does this mean he was your witcher then?

He averted his beautiful cat-eyes away, lowly humming beneath his chest and fleetingly shut his peepers, the isolation of being with you overwhelming him a lot. The solitude of being alone as much as possible; away from people except for Jaskier and Cirilla sounded calming. But, when you came along; your happy-go-lucky and naivity of yours swept himself off his feet no matter how emotionless he appeared to be.

Your sweet, bashful and intriguing presence was beyond overwhelming to his withdrawn behavior.

After hearing a hum from the witcher himself, you've hardly scooted away---thinking better to have breakfast in bed, no kidding---but chose to be practical and avoid a slip of your flushing face, turning your bare back away from Geralt; feet falling flat on the wooden floors as you straightened your back, lazily stretching as you softly mewled---that got the witcher burning holes on your back and also feeling himself twitch under the covers because he heard it so well.

You've felt his thick, long, calloused fingers brush against the small of your back, gliding along like he was insinuating at something.

"Another?"

He actually didn't mean...that, right? you silently talked to yourself, clearing your throat, ceasing your actions; gaze fixated at Geralt's used black buttoned tunic that was tossed to the floor.

"What do you mean, another?!"

Your tiny squeaks echoed around his chambers, chary of what he was hinting at that made your eyeballs pop out of your eye sockets from how he still wanted sex after having at least just two hours of nap. You were blissfully spent last night, utterly drained and here he was, the witcher was wanting more.

Was this one of his perks in being mutated?

His fingers gave you a slight tickle, rough voice turning velvety like silk, trying to scrub that determined but utmost wobbly state of mind when it came to your witcher. Geralt's fingers brushed along your spine, languidly tracing till the periphery of your shoulder blades that emitted a breathless exhale of your breath from his mere touch, "When I told you I would indulge your curiosity all night long and days thereafter, I wasn't lying."

Your skin felt so supple and satiny; the way he coveted all night wasn't enough to keep him sated. Satisfied. No. If it was possible to have you in a week of constant ravishing; he would delightfully do so. But, no. You didn't have his stamina nor do you probably feel comfortable by the sensitive feeling you were experiencing as of this morning.

Yes, you were sore. Very. But, the soreness was worth it in your perspective.

You hastily grabbed onto the used tunic, slipping your arms over the huge shirt in which Geralt loved seeing on you but he definitely wouldn't admit, "Oh! As much as I remembered, you never wanted this coochie in the first place! Telling me it was the Djinn effects or some sort!"

"---Midget," you've began your mockery, parodying his baritone timbre like a loser, trying hard type and Geralt couldn't help but place you under his scrutiny, his succulent lips curling into an amused smile as he silently watched you make a fool out of yourself, "---I don't deserve it. I'm guessing it's the Djinn's work that is talking---who's the liar now, huh?"

The witcher exhaled a long sigh, drowsily blinking as he added nonchalantly, "A shame." he stifled the amusement in his tone as you turned to see him slightly imploring to persuade that dead set decision of yours. Your reactions were priceless, even so; he kept his bulge twitching in anticipation for another wave of bliss because every breath he hears surprisingly makes him go gaga over you.

"---Spare me five minutes."

You looked at him like he has grown three heads. Unblinking from his risquè intimations of having your fantasies ticked down. It only needed a 'yes' from you and breakfast will immediately be served right thing in the morning.

Geralt of Mmmhia licked his lips, gaze narrowed as he was seeing the unwavering look within your eyes.

"Ten." he bluntly proposed, stifling a chuckle that made you want to just throw yourself at the witcher but you were a strong woman---though, your eyes have been a huge traitor against the strong will; raking along Geralt's body maybe more than once to admire him in the flesh. Yet, also the tragic experiences that his scars held.

You would ask him about it someday; deciding that you wouldn't want to ruin this rare mood of his.

"Must it be half an hour?" skeptically, he mumbled and blurted out in the open with a hum that snapped you out of your reverie.

"A liar indeed. You don't just take five minutes. Your five minutes consists of six hours or more! Probably even days!" you shook your head knowingly, subtly pointing down below as you sheepishly batted your eyelashes back to the staring witcher who was intensely doing it; with you who was gesturing to what he wanted, "---You're not having this,"

With a simple wiggle of your fingers he knew you wouldn't budge, nor was the white wolf even serious. Geralt was just sending a jest or maybe it also held a little bit of real talk if you would allow him for his wishes.

He'd feast ones eyes as you slid your feet off the bed, with bewilderment in his golden peepers. He opened both palms on either side, gesturing with his hands in astonishment  from how you've curved him away, giving the morning bonking a miss. Geralt raked you from head to foot, having a thing about wearing his gigantic clothes that obviously didn't fit like a glove.

With the tousled hair, abnormally painted skin and body ache you were feeling, it was enough to get his agitating hunger firing up.

You heard him grouch as the bed squeaked, warning you that the witcher has stood up on his feet; unintentionally giving his exposed body a once over as the bare-assed witcher grabbed onto his leather pants, fumbling with the hem of it; looking out of the window as the sunshine hit his body in a staggering way. His derriere was phenomenal, the swell of his ass was remarkable; out of this world and you couldn't believe that he'd actually...finally...let you have him.

Pulling out an all nighter didn't kept your curiosity still; even then, you planned and wanted to have another soon when you weren't sore enough, if he'd let you.

"Yeah," he stated in point of fact, receiving a panicking yelp from you when he'd turn around; his disrobed nature never disturbing him despite with you in the room, a daring gesture that he certainly didn't mind if you would stare because you were free to do so. Your reaction got his lips curled into a small grin, the sun making your bruised skin glow in ways that got him complimenting his work of art.

"---Until that weird Cicatrix of yours starts giving effects, the domineering lady would waver,"

Alas, the cicatrix was not giving you effects. But, just seeing him standing buck naked; had your will shaking from the time out you opted to happen. It was probably a bad idea to even suggest a short suspension of the activities he wanted to receive.

Three days have passed. After your nightly penetrating with the witcher and the morning after when you've hushed his off-colored ideas, you didn't know he would be so salty about it.

Geralt was still Geralt; silent, unobtrusive and basking in his own solitude with his horse at all times. Regardless of his normal behavior for wanting to be alone, you understood that it was already a part of his personality that you've known since the day you've arrived.

When you meant that you wanted a timeout, three days wasn't what you tried to point out. The burning coil stirring and pooling below your stomach calmed down in some way or another when you've given in to the desires it wanted. Hence, after that carnal desires it controlled; it wanted another thing as well. Though, this time around; no Cicatrix was controlling you to feel this way.

You wanted Geralt's attention after spending most of his time with Roach rather than his midget.

He wasn't entirely avoiding you at all costs, pushing you off the side or something like that but his gestures were minimal especially with Jaskier and Cirilla hanging around. No hugs, no kisses or no touches when you both were surrounded with his family's presence especially that they had guesses about what happened that night.

Jaskier knew it all and heard what happened. With all the grunts and hushed moans in the middle of that particular night, he blamed himself for telling Geralt to just give in when he would've realized that his room was beside his. The constant whump of Geralt's headboard hitting the adjoined walls that he had with his made the bard grab all his pillows, deciding that it was better to sleep on the hallways instead.

Geralt's withdrawn behavior was a run-of-the-mill habits of him. You were beginning to ask yourself if it has ever been a dream; the nightly ravish and torrid kisses that has happened, but you were wrong because you've woken up one time in the middle of the night with the witcher behind you as you slept on his bed, feeling his burly arm surround your waist, and unexpectedly spooning you to sleep.

You knew it was him because you've jerked from his sudden touch; in the midst of a nightmare that got your heart palpitating as you turned in your sleep. He heard your troubled whimper, taking a peek from behind your back to see if you were deep in your slumber. You were, but he'd heard your heart beat abnormally thumping louder like you were being chased and the latter knew you were caught up in a nightmare.

He gently pulled you around, turning you to face him as you've unconsciously flutter your eyes open, seeing burnt out glowing amber eyes which made you thoughtlessly cuddle closer to his neck. Humane, baritone shushes rocked you to sleep, feeling more protected that you wouldn't have a nightmare of being chased by monsters anymore now that Geralt was beside you.

Be that as it may, his actions were baffling you because after that nightly cuddle session, he was out of doors; never telling you where he went as he came back home at around nightfall without anyone telling you where he went; not that Jaskier and Cirilla knew because they also had no idea where the he went.

Here you thought, witchers can't be petty over such a little thing.

Surprisingly, Geralt was going to be the living proof that they knew how to act like one. It was like he was having a manly period and acting complicated was one of the effects; would chocolates simmer his pettiness down? you doubt.

"Hmm." The witcher was crouched beside his horse; giving her a look before scanning through a half ripped parchment paper that had an awful sketch of his face and yours; one he had retrieved from the guards that tried to forcefully take him when he was away to hunt a Bruxa.

He heard your soft padded footsteps coming down the stairs. Geralt knew it was yours because you had your own pattern; like it was a pebble being thrown in the water. Faint, gentle patters that only you can do in the perimeters of his household. Thusly, he kept the paper close to him, slipping it through the band of his pants as he rose to his feet; the sound of your feet taking a hesitant step close once he'd felt you nearby. You were hesitating, shy or probably thinking too deeply again.

Hence, your bashful company has lifted a suppressed smile on the witcher's face before it fell in just a hot second.

"My...sweetheart of a witcher," You coyly poked through his silence, taking heedful steps close. Your boots lightly scraping along the pastureland, trudging to where you could see Geralt and his broad shoulders.

The endearment you had for him struck an involuntary cringe. He swiftly turned on his heel, facing you with his eyebrows tightly scrunched together like he didn't know what to truthfully feel about the whole pet name. You gave him an unimpressed fall of your forced smile, completely nonplussed that he seemed to be peeved.

"What's with that face? You don't like it? Is it that too cringey? you looked like you've seen Barney and realized he was an awful, scary dinosaur for the children!"

Geralt exhaled a breath out of his mouth before peering down at you; disregarding your modern references for now because he knew it was a banter, his eyes doing that beautiful narrowed smolder that made you want to smack his face...with your lips.

"You're doing it too."

You snobbishly crossed your arms across your chest, shrugging off the timidness as you held your head up high. Literally. The compelling sarcasm drizzling out of your mouth as you declared, drawling out your words like it sounded seething and with emphasis as Geralt couldn't help but tilt his head to the side, considering the snark that you wanted him to be aware of.

"Fine. I'm ticking that out. Honey, then? Cause you're as sweet as honey then became too salty and tried spending more time with Roach rather than your midget."

Who was petty about being subtly ignored now?

Y-O-U.

Geralt shifted his weight on both feet, the glint in his eyes telling you that he was finding the topic rather amusing when you're all riled up for being out of his reach. He'd done that for you. Isn't that what you wanted? space? a timeout? yet, why were you being mad about it then?

"My darling witcher," you started again with a pinch of sugar; the endearment sounding like a threat when you've seen his eyes subtly scanning your clothes. He'd given you a scowl. His gaze felt heavily dragging as he bore in mind at the image of your taut, hardening nipples that was poking through the tube part of your dress.

The crisp breeze of the wind passed through the air, licking up your spine that ignited a reflex from your perky breasts, your dress more see-through as Geralt inspected such a modest outfit which you never worn ever.

Nevertheless, its effects that you wanted to portray through the outfit got him eager for what plans you hold; appearing to be so innocent, demure and sweet with that princess-like sleeveless dress. You had plans. Cunning plans for the witcher, indeed. Sometimes, that naivity running in your veins contradicts with the threatening tone that somehow slips through your mouth; like a bane from a baby snake because of how innocuous you wanted it to be told.

Your innocence somehow had ulterior motives and dark shadows behind your cherub face and small height.

"Stop it." Geralt lowly grumbled in protest, the sight of your nipples stirring the heat inside his pants. You've caught a glimpse of his eyes rolling in disbelief, making you exclaim out loud, "I'm squeezing so hard for your sweetness to come out, Geralt. Pay heed for my effort, will ya'?"

The latter loudly sighed, turning on his booted heel to brush through Roach's mane; he tried to ignore your get-up. But, the dress was doing magnificent effects to your whole being. You were as pretty as a picture, captivating on its finest because of how effeminate its design was decorating your body.

Geralt gave you another once over, probably staring a little bit too long for his 'self-control' to shake.

"You're wearing a dress." he uttered a little bit dull for you to accept. Words frothing with lethargy as he continued to give his attention more to his horse that made you withhold a huff because of how you were feeling disregarded.

You went all the way out; wearing a pretty dress just for the witcher and here he was, brushing off your presence like he didn't like what he was seeing. You were sure you were dolled up from head to foot; even had Cirilla helping you tie the strings behind your back to keep your stomach in tact.

Jaskier even had a good start of the day to send compliments when all you've receive from him was insults; his words noting that you were looking rather feminine and pretty with the dress you've bought back in the marketplace and the witcher here couldn't even look straight into your eyes nor give you the attention you've been hoping for?

Your face fell from his lackadaisical response, eyeing Geralt in dismay who still had his back face-front. You were thoroughly disheartened, shoulders slumping while you stood beside the towering white wolf; voice sounding nasally from how dispirited you've felt.

"You sound like you're telling me I look like a whale in this pretty cute dress with that scowl on your face---Thank you for your kind honesty, my lord."

Geralt sauntered around Roach where his bag has been strapped to his horse, you've tailed behind him like a puppy. He rummaged through his leather bag, mumbling his reply in his most sluggish tone like a wiseacre.

"You want something from me. Obviously." he bluntly commented, digging in his bag for a thing he bought from Babeth.

You cocked your head to the side, shrugging your shoulders when you've heard Roach neigh through your honest confession induced with sheer sarcasm.

"Your attention.It’s what I only need! What else? It's like begging to a rock, I swear. You don't even hold my hand, give me back hugs, kiss me on my forehead like in the movies or those sweet gestures that men usually do. Roses! Daisies! Love letters! But, does your world have roses though?---What? you screw me all night in one day---wrecking my punani then ignore me the next? excuse me, Mr. Casanova---"

He briefly ceased his ransack, sparing you a glimpse of his impervious amber eyes; silently asking if you were actually serious with this complaining of yours before quickly revoking the admission with a snort.

"---Pfft. Okay. I'm shutting up."

Geralt went back on digging through his bag pockets, his thick fingers seeming to give him a difficult time as he couldn't help but deeply groan to himself, the scowl etching on his face growing tighter when he couldn't seem to find it. In the midst of searching through his bag, he could hear your toes softly tapping on the ground alongside with your fingers lacing behind your back and tapping against each other while you get a hold of what you were about to actually ask; like a child asking permission from her guardian.

"Jaskier and Cirilla will be visiting Cuthbert," you quietly started, uncertain of what his answer would because the last time you've tried jumping out of their household, he came home entirely maddened over the fact that you were wandering around the woods at night. However, today you would dawdle through the woods in the morning.

"---Can I come with?"

He talked under his breath, "No. Stay."

You slightly turned your head, jutting your ear his way because it sounded like an incoherent rumble of his voice that you didn't quite believed to hear and so, you repeated; much clearer and with emphasis.

"Jaskier told me they'll be bringing Kolby with them so he could wander around a little bit. If a Hirikka can come with them. Then, I suppose I can---"

Geralt cut you off in a curt manner, "Stay." he repeated his word more gruffly than the rest.

You instantly pouted from the dismissal of your request, glowering back at the witcher who was turning a deaf ear; still going through his stuff as he kept silent which caused you to sulk because of how he couldn't seem to get the bottom of why you were being petty like him.

"I thought you needed to do some monster hunting again?"

A strand of silvery hair fell from the side of Geralt's temple as he simply turned to give you an indescribable look in his eyes, tight-lipped but not much of a scowl and close enough towards a frown as he gruffly asked.

"Do you want me to leave?"

An immediate answer was sent to him; a hasty shake of your head as your features turned rigid while you quickly didn't hesitate to answer, "N-No! Of course, not!"

"Then, no. I'm not leaving you." he nonchalantly aforementioned. Finger brushing off a metal string he was finding for.

Geralt decided to stay a little longer before he went out and about to search for the Bloedzuiger he needed to annihilate for the town. He'd given Durriken a two week deadline before he finds the beast in the swamps. Though, the witcher didn't expect to actually take him a week before going on his way to kill this monster because he'd estimated his hunt to only be four days tops. Howbeit, he was stalling and chose to hunt for the bruxa that Jaskier lately mentioned near the ruins and close enough for him to go home when he wants to.

The white haired witcher never puts a brake with his job because he knew that this was the lives of people they were talking about. Yet, when he has encountered the chevaliers of Kaedwen, hunting for the Bloedzuiger that his old friend has requested somehow took him more than a week before actually starting his pursuit.

The day after tomorrow. Geralt would start to find this monster in the south swamps.

"You're not really going to let me go?" you utter so suddenly, huffing out a frustrated breath because you felt like you were being quarantined after the whole incident. It was fine if Geralt was thoughtful enough to entertain you; giving you a little slip of what was running inside his mind, talking to you instead of his horse and a lot more that could serve as entertainment for you.

There were no television, wifi, computers or places you know that were safe to jog in without being eaten by their monsters.

He clipped his bag shut, his fist closed as you tried peeking to what he was holding but his big hands made it difficult to snoop around. Geralt was tightly clutching onto the thing he was holding that made you cross your arms for the second time around, your eyes giving him a glare that didn't move him because he knew you weren't actually mad; just annoyed.

"Fine! I've wasted using a dress then. You know I never like wearing this type of clothes!"

"You're also wearing that because you have other things in your mind,"

Yes, it was to keep Geralt's eyes only on you and not his horse; trying to stir whatever you could for him to never leave your sight.

You rolled your eyes; trying not to appear like you were caught like a deer in headlights, "Great, now you're wanting to be adopted by the x-men or avengers," pause. "---You read minds now too?"

The latter softly exhaled a breath out of his nose. His muscles straining against the black under tunic he wore; sleeves folded till the ends of his elbows that accentuated those protruding veins in his forearms that looked so powerful and strong. You cleared your throat when he'd crossed his arms, the ends of his lips faintly curling when he'd lean his head to the side, quietly watching you fret.

You gave him a nod, misunderstanding his silence that he was trying to shoo you away, anxiously biting the insides of your cheeks, looking straight into his eyes as you thought out loud, "Alright, I'm not going to leave the house. I'll...try and find ways to spend the time,"

Turning around your heel, you were ceased from doing so as strong, thick and warm fingers held onto your shoulder; halting you from leaving him alone. Your heart skipped a beat as he did, his touch sending a bolt towards your stomach, electrifying the butterflies living inside to wake up.

"Wait." Geralt suddenly rasped.

"Did you change your mind now---"

You've tried to turn around, eyes hopeful that he wanted you to stay. His strong hand held you still. Silver met silver as it chimed from behind, a tiny grinding of metals faintly crashing against each other before you heard another grumble of curse words from the witcher who towered from behind.

As blasphemy left his lips, a string of metal looped around your neck followed after. His incoherent babbles quite fathomable as you could hear and comprehend that he doesn't do this kind of shit, complaining why did he even bought such a thing. Another low rumble of the word 'fuck' was all it took for Geralt to impatiently clasp onto the lock with his patience running low, taking him five tries before successfully connecting the hook; his thick fingers awfully difficult for the small jewelry to hold onto.

"Geralt," you were stunned, looking down to see the necklace that has caught your eye back at the marketplace.

It was still glowing like it used to, the coral green color beautifully twinkling against the sunlight. With an excited turn of your heel, you were feet close with the witcher; peering down with a compassionate haze in his eyes that made you grab onto the stone that lay before the valley of your breasts. His fingers still clasped on your shoulder, "This is---this was the fae necklace from Babeth. How did you know?"

Geralt avoided the question with a lick of his lips, taking a glimpse down at the necklace before staring back onto your face. The stone complimenting your glow that only you could radiate, "It'll suit you." Pause. "---The necklace also serves as an amulet to keep you out of harms way,"

"How did you know I liked this?"

You were dumbfounded; peepers quizzical and gaping at the colossal hunk of a witcher. He looked around the field as he breathed, trying to form words that he wanted to say but chose the savory answer of what he actually meant.

"I....just know," he trailed off, warmth trying to embrace you in solace when he let his words flow like a boat sailing in the ocean, smooth and steady; also direct to the point.

"---Your wishes for a man who could offer you a lavish life will never be granted. I can never be the man in your fantasies, midget. I'm not what you think I am; a prince or some nobleman in this world. I’m the least you expect or hope for,"

His jaw ticked as he continued to speak, amber eyes downcast as his face turned impassive; words turning slower than the usual, "I try not to be what they say I am after years end," pause. "---I am not entirely evil nor am I good. I've done things far more worse than any kind person would wail about. People have considered me as a monster for relevant reasons because I've killed their kind with my sword---specifically, fiendish people as I see fit,"

"---But, If I could choose one evil or another, I prefer not to choose at all."

Geralt never broke his gaze away, nor did you find any lies beneath the windows of his soul. Every word he say was the truth as he tries to truly explain what he was in their world, sending a message that he was the boogeyman living inside your closet or a monster haunting you under your bed. The horrible type of personification of what he actually was. Yet, you never see him as one.

With all words that has been said, you couldn't learn to despise him because you knew he was beyond more than that. Important. Valuable and also needed to be shown that ill will and animosity aren't the only sarcastic good that every world can offer. There was kindness; in which he shows no matter how he didn't seem to be aware of. Care. Love. Hope. Eternal happiness.

You knew your heart was screaming it; silently shouting back at the witcher that there was more to the world that it can ever offer and you aspire to be that person to show him what it is he seem to be rejecting.

The latter was heedful of how gentle you were gazing up at him. Thus, he continued, mindless that he was lost in his dismal thoughts of the life that was given to him, "The whole continent, they despise my kind and where ever I go, shit happens all the time,"

Geralt seemed to grit his teeth, humming in displeasure when his features curved into a wince for whatever he had to say next, "---It's the fucking destiny that was bound for me,"

A sudden heavy feeling crept inside your chest; crawling towards your throat and triggering you into throwing a hissy fit of sobs that pushed the tears falling right before your eyes. The abrupt shift from feeling sympathy turned into a mournful midget. Tears being an answer that you were with Geralt in this for whatever he was fighting for; having no idea that his fight could be total carnage and here you thought he was just like Bucky in the Marvel Universe.

People calling him that he's a villain when he certainly isn't because he was brainwashed or had no other choice.

Perhaps, Geralt could be like it. He'd done some kind of evil because he had no other choice too. 

He could be a monster but also a hero. 

"Why...are you crying?" the white wolf didn't know what to do. Should he hug you? wipe your tears? do men in your world do that when a woman cries? Geralt just stood tall and stiff beside Roach who had stepped back till she had her head close to him.

For anything Geralt can ever look for a horse, she'd somehow neighed and nudged his face; promptly hitting the witcher on the side of his face which caught him off-guard; quickly glaring at his horse as she offered another clear whinny which got another piercing glare from the man himself.

"I don't even know! I think it's because you're also feeling this way but you're not the one crying!"

You were in the midst of expressing your feelings. Your impulsive self hastily grabbing onto Geralt's hand that had him raising a quizzical brow. He momentarily took a glimpse of your fingers lacing in between the spaces of his. He'd never remembered that he had done such a thing before; holding hands while standing in the middle of the meadow, his hand that has tasted blood from different kinds of living creatures or people.

Those sensitive, delicate and sinless fingers of yours gripping his; connecting and enveloping against each other as one. He'd never expected for it to feel this way.

It was quite satisfying and calming; making him feel like he was protecting you in some ways because of how his palms were rather large against yours.

You sniffed your cries away, roughly wiping them with the back of your free hand. Stepping more to his side; his height towering beside your small form as you have given Geralt a look of query, "Why are you holding my hand, Geralt?"

It was a ridiculous joke that laced with sarcasm. He didn't seem to decipher what you meant and heard him sigh with a suppressed smile on his face; fighting off the beam.

"I didn't. You held onto it in the first place,"

"Oh, right. Heehee!" you simply shrugged your shoulders and puckered your lips, giggling after seeing the smile rising those tight-lips. You've waved the awkwardness off as the witcher didn't seem to know what holding hands meant. Add the fact that his hold didn't seem tight and comfortable.

"Isn't holding hands a thing in this world of yours?"

"No." He simply answered, wondering if he needed to clasp his hands tighter. Geralt was about to when you've patted his fingers to relax and grope yours, eventually slackening.

"Oh. Okay. Then, hold me like you're scared to let go, Geralt."

The white wolf mutely complied to your satisfaction; warmth that his hand could provide felt so secure as his grip turned firm like he never did wanted to let go if possible. He tipped his head to the side, watching your face contort into a felicitous image that he had already seen; recognizing the smile that he has seen in the dream that the Djinn wanted him to see.

A dream where he was also smiling the same way as you did.

You were definitely in a more jovial mood after receiving such an adorable gift from the witcher; gifts that he certainly wasn't used to giving, gestures that make him uncomfortable but he tries his best to show that he wasn't what people think he really is and that mindset was enough for your heart to jump in felicity. You've tightened your intertwined fingers.

"There. Better!"

Geralt heard the faint rustle of the winds; hitting you both in a chilling phantasm of the air hugging you in the cold. He heard a twig break from the far distance, it was imperceptible to the ears of a normal human; but not to him.

This wasn't the only time he'd heard things out of the ordinary, some were harmless animals but mostly were beasts that could harm people when hungry. The sound was faint and stealthy; sounding like this beast didn't want to be seen nor caught.

His head snap to where the sound came from, seeing nothing but an extensive lineage of trees swaying from left to right. You've given Geralt a look of doubt, seeing him narrowing his eyes at the far end of the meadow. A simple shake of your hands interlaced together interfered his perusal of something or someone lurking from behind the woods.

"Geralt, come on! I need to show you something and it's about Kolby! He's acting weird!" you tugged onto his hand, walking forward as you tried your hardest to pull his weight; he knew you couldn't and so his concern flew right above his head when you've looked back with those pleading doe-eyes of yours, receiving not anything less than a hum from Geralt as he'd fully had his attention diverted because of you.

"Hmm."

ANOTHER SMUT WILL BE ON CHAPTER 15.1 WHICH WILL BE UPDATED NEXT WEEK, OF COURSE! HEHEHEHEHE. FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! CAN I JUST SAY THAT I WANT TO BE THE READER SO BAD? 

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie​ @spookypeachx​ @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​ @nympeth​ @amirahiddleston​ @gabethelobster​ @dreaming-about-starfleet​ @uncoolcloudyhead​ @melaninstylezz​ @psychosupernatural​ @missjenniferblog @dance-dreamer @marvelousell​ @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a–1–1–3 @gutfucks​ 

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza

[justwritethatdown]

Bechloe Week 2020 – Day 1: Friends with Benefits

Call me friend, but keep me closer

Post PP3. Chloe is madly in love with Beca since college, now Beca is a famous pop star, but they still live together in New York while Amy left after finding out she was rich. One night they end up having drunk sex and the morning after Chloe doesn’t want Bec to freak out about it.

Rating: M

Words Count: 1.8K

Big thanks to @viharistenno for beta reading this and fixing my mess! <3

Read here or on AO3

And I could lie, say I like it like that…

 “Hey, are you awake? I was thinking that maybe we could, you know…”

“Yeah, totally. I was just calling it for today so… perfect timing” Beca said casually before hanging up.

Chloe put the phone back in the pocket of her coat and started walking home. She knew she shouldn’t have asked, but her better judgement weakened after a couple of drinks and she just really needed Beca. She felt lonely; at the party many people hit on her, but all she could think about was going home to Beca. She knew Beca didn’t feel the same way about her, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that it didn’t feel intimate at all, because it wasn’t. It’s not like Beca didn’t care about her – Beca loved her deeply, just not the way Chloe wanted her to – they were just two friends with a deal. And yet, the way they talked about it, like if they were talking about watching a movie, hurt her immensely. The worst part was that she only had herself to blame as she was the one who suggested it after all.

 It was the night they moved in the new house – a bigger one, with two bedrooms and an actual bathroom, provided with a door – they’d had a couple of drinks too much, to celebrate, and ended up having drunk passionate sex all night long. Chloe woke up the morning after in a state of bliss she’d missed for far too long – it was even better than when they won Worlds. However, the feeling didn’t last long because when Beca woke up Chloe could sense the boiling panic she was feeling. The brunette looked like she was about to throw up any second and Chloe felt deep inside of her it wasn’t because of the amount of alcohol they consumed the night before.

“Chlo, I… we- last night was-”

“Was fun, right?” she jumped in, forcing a bright smile on her face, to dissimulate the way her stomach was turning inside out. She knew it wasn’t what Beca was about to say but couldn’t handle to hear it – it was a mistake. So, she got herself together and spoke before Beca could shatter her heart completely.

“We should do that more often” she added casually, getting out of bed without bothering to cover up her naked body, hoping it would distract Beca enough to let her finish her act without the brunette interrupting her, “you know, to have some fun… until we find somebody…”

“You, you mean like…” the brunette stuttered.

“Friends with benefits” winked Chloe, smile never leaving her lips, no matter how crushed she felt inside. She knew she was getting herself into a shitty situation, but she wasn’t ready to lose Beca, she couldn’t afford that.

“Yeah that… that sounds good” answered Beca, surprise clear on her face, she seemed as shocked as Chloe was about her actually agreeing to that.

“Awes” Chloe swallowed hard “I’m gonna hit the shower” she stated leaving the room. It was a bad idea, but Chloe couldn’t deny she was thrilled at the idea of sleeping with Beca again.

The following times they hooked up were nothing like the first time – the sex was always great though, but Beca was different – she never kissed or cuddled her after like Chloe remembered so vividly her doing the first time, and she didn’t even stay the night in her bed. Every time Chloe found herself crying alone in bed, she swore she’d end it, still, she couldn’t stop. There was something about finally being fucked by those slender fingers she’d dream about so many times and got off to – even when she was with somebody else – that made it impossible for her to call their arrangement off.

 “How was the party?” asked Beca when Chloe got home “I thought you’d spend the night with someone you’d met there”

“Nope” mumbled Chloe popping the last letter.

“Their loss.” stated Beca entering her personal space “Shall we?” she asked, before leaning in to press a kiss to Chloe’s lips. Beca had never initiated physical contact between them, it was a pleasant surprise to Chloe, until she tasted the alcohol on her lips

“Are you drunk?” Chloe asked frowning.

“What? No, I just had a beer to, you know, catch up with you” told her Beca grinning.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to” Chloe assured her.

“Of course I want to” the brunette frowned “actually I was hoping you’d come home tonight” she confessed.

“You did?” whispered Chloe, with a hint of hope and disbelief in her voice.

“Yeah” Beca cleared her throat, “I’ve been pretty stressed out because of work lately, I could use your… help” she added smirking, already leading Chloe towards her bedroom.

They’d never done it in Beca’s bed before, but Chloe was too disappointed to notice, she was lost in her head; this contract they had hurt way too much. Knowing that to Beca this was just sex, a way to relieve some stress, knowing that she will never be enough for Beca to fall in love with her, and that she’d eventually fall for someone like she did with Jesse all those years ago pushed all of the oxygen out of her lungs. A thousand bells were ringing in her head, telling her to stop, but she couldn’t stop.

As soon as Beca’s shirt was off her brain shut down. It happened every time.

Chloe was hypnotized by Beca’s body, by being finally able to kiss her, touch her, to slip two fingers inside her cunt and make her come cursing and whispering how good Chloe was at that. It was intoxicating, to have Beca literally melting onto her hand. It was a drug Chloe couldn’t give up. She always needed more, needed it so much that it alone made all the pain worth it. She didn’t even need Beca to return the favor, but Beca always did anyway, like a good contractor who always fulfills their part of the deal.

Looking into Beca’s eyes while coming hurt too, but Chloe couldn’t help that either. Maybe because she was a sucker for pain or maybe because, in that moment, she felt a connection so deep with the brunette that made her feel like they were two pieces of the same puzzle finally clicking, like they belonged together. The way Beca looked at her made it impossible for her to look away.

 The next morning Chloe woke up with Beca’s arm around her and their naked bodies pressed up together. “You’re still here” she mumbled lacing her fingers with the ones resting around her middle.

“Well, it’s my bed…” stated Beca, making Chloe’s blood freeze in her veins.

The redhead quickly sat up pressing the sheets against her chest “Oh sorry! Last night I passed out, I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, it’s okay” assured Beca stopping her from getting out of the bed “I don’t mind” she added smiling.

Chloe relaxed and laid back down, Beca’s arm was still around her and the girl started to trace random paths on Chloe’s abdomen with her fingers, using the other arm to keep her head up and look at Chloe in a way that made it hard for her to breathe. It felt so intimate, to lay naked together without having sex, just looking into each other’s eyes.

Beca kissed her slowly and whispered a sweet “Good morning” against her lips, before getting up and walking to the shower. Chloe lay there staring at her leaving, with a bittersweet feeling in her chest; it was like watching her dreamlife from outside of a window, so close and yet unreachable. It was bliss and torture at the same time.

 Chloe’s favourite moments were the times Beca asked for it: at first, she started to ask Chloe to ease her mind before her way too frequent flights to LA, to the point that, after a while, Chloe started to expect that when she knew Beca had to leave the next day. It became a sort of appointment they had, like the Wednesdays’ movie nights. Sometimes Chloe stopped at the store coming home from the vet clinic to buy a bottle of wine, other times she cooked a full meal to set the mood. It felt so natural that Chloe started to pretend that they were actually dating and every time Beca said something that brought her back to reality it felt like a breakup.

The feeling that she had to stop having sex with Beca before she drove herself crazy was a permanent thought in the back of her mind, but every time she decided to do so, Beca had this way of drawing her back in, as if she knew Chloe was drifting away from her and consciously decided to stop her.

They were watching a movie on the couch, as they did every Wednesday, when Chloe felt Beca’s foot move beneath the blanket and slide up to her knee. She looked at her and saw the brunette biting her lip in anticipation.

“I’m bored” complained Beca, trying to stop the smirk from showing on her lips. Chloe swallowed hard before licking her lips involuntarily.

“Come here” she commanded.  Beca didn’t need to be told twice, she threw away the blanket and moved to straddle Chloe’s hips, the intensity of her stare set Chloe on fire.

Beca’s kisses tasted of love and need, Chloe had stopped reminding herself a while ago about Beca not being in love with her, and it was so easy to pretend that she was, with Beca’s hips grinding down on her, while she kept kissing Chloe like her life depended on it.

They’d never had a full make out session before; sure, they’d share some kisses, mostly during sex, but Chloe never had Beca panting into her mouth and chasing her lips while she desperately tried to pull Chloe impossibly closer to her.

The burning in her lungs forced Chloe to break the kiss and look at Beca; darkened eyes and swollen lips, uneven breathing as she tried to take in as much oxygen as she could. She looked like she was about to say something, but then she didn’t. The soft smile on her face pulled a string inside Chloe’s heart and the redhead felt an overwhelming urge to confess her feelings. She knew it would have probably scared Beca and made her run for the hills, ruining everything. So she choked it down and instead flipped their bodies, pushing Beca’s back on the couch. The brunette pulled her down, welcoming her hips between her thighs and resumed their kissing.

Chloe had to suppress the need to tell Beca those three words every day since that night and she knew she couldn’t resist much longer, she had to tell Beca she was in love with her.

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, part iv

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: for the first time in her life, natasha romanoff freaks out about a test grade. luckily, you’re there to coach her through it. 

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,253

trigger warnings: talk of past drug abuse, mention of sexual assault, heavy smut, fluff, unhappy childhood mention 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two, part three

You’re already soaking when Nat teased the head of the toy at your entrance, your arousal evident by the sounds of the silicon as it rubbed against your slick, smooth folds. With each drag a whine escaped you, each second that passed by met with another flood of heat across your skin. “Ple-ease,” you sniffled as fat tears welled up in your eyes and your voice broke from overuse. “Please, Mommy, please”

Natasha just let out a hearty laugh, moving the strap away and replacing it with her fingers. As she spoke, she just barely dipped them inside of you. “Oh, c’mon baby girl. Was that not enough for you? Do want Mommy to give you more? Huh? Are you such a greedy little slut you can’t appreciate what your Mommy gives you?”

You nodded furiously, your “yesyesyesyesyes”s just above a low whisper as you rolled your hips. Your words slowly but surely turned to babble. “yes mommy yes please I’m your little slut I want more please give me more.”

Natasha laughed again as she leaned forward to invade your line of sight once more.

“Mm, might have to be careful and fuck you nice and slow,” she mumbled into your collarbone, the bruises still deep purple. The thin layer of sweat that had formed there made her smile. “Don’t want to break this perfect little thing I’ve been gifted.”

You shook your head violently, grabbing at the sheets so hard your fingers went cold and where each bone met the next ached. “No, no no please, please fuck me Mommy please please touch me please fuck me please.”

Natasha remained unconvinced by your whining. “You poor little thing. I just neglect you so much. Don’t I?” You struggled to speak as she moved to straddle your waist. The heavy toy moved as she did so, occasionally hitting your stomach as she sat upon you. “Hm. Maybe you should get yourself off if you don’t want to answer me, is that a fair punishment?”

You still didn’t respond with the words Natasha wanted, mind too fucked out to sob properly, let alone speak. Still, the fear of disappointing her cut through the fog, and you nodded weakly.

The woman above you smiled, the eponymous image of something wicked that wanted to make you come in whatever way she saw fit. Beside you, placed expertly by Natasha with equal distance between each toy, rested at least four different vibrators of varying strength and shape. If you were lucky enough to get off at your own hand, it’s unlikely Natasha would allow you to choose which weapon will lead to your destruction. Somehow, that thought is worse than anything else she could do to you; forced to bring yourself to the edge (or deny yourself such release) without the dignity of choice but ultimate control over choice of action seems like stories of ole, when disgraced knights caught in their desertion were forced to sacrifice themselves in front of large crowds with the weapon chosen by their ruler.

Empty promises of autonomy, spiritless last chances at reclaiming pride…that’s what they all were.

But you still can’t find it in yourself to complain when Natasha slipped the most powerful of the set into your hands – a battery powered Hitachi colored a matte black – and told you to edge yourself. Your throat burned by then, each breathy moan felt like it’d been ripped out of you with acrylic lesbian porno nails. That sure as Hell didn’t stop you, though, from moaning with each roll of your hips as the woman above you flipped it on.

It didn’t stop Natasha, either, as she cradled your tear-stained face with her pussy-wet hands and told you not to stop until she said so.

“C’mon, baby,” she cooed. Her lips grazed across your cheek as she did so. “Do what you’re told, lemme watch you. Show me how cute you are when you get yourself off.”

It’s so much so quick, every sensation making your whole body shake violently. Natasha mocked you as it became too much, sneering when she pulled the toy away from your center and you screamed in protest. “Can the little slut not take it, hm? Does Mommy not letting you cum make you sad?”

You didn’t say anything, terrified of worse punishment.

Natasha slapped your chest, leaving your breasts angry and hot. “Answer me.”

“Yes!” You cried. “Yes Mommy I want to cum, please let me cum!”

Natasha just rolled her eyes. “What you need doesn’t matter. And keep whining like that…” she paused to pinch one of your nipples and ignored your wails. “I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

This continued three, four, five more times (how many you still can’t exactly be sure), each worse than the last. You’d get there, right at the peak, right at the edge of the mountain, right before one jumped into an ocean, and then-

“Stop. Now. You’re done.”

And then you’d cry and whine high in your throat and thrash around. Somewhere between your lip starting to bleed from you biting it and your drool forming a pool on the sweat-slick pillow she started to fuck you, a horrible and terrifying slow pace that was steady and painful and holy shit you didn’t even know they made fake cocks that big.

Natasha laughed as a particularly poignant thrust almost made you lose feeling in your hands and feet, your strangled weeps sounds that only encouraged her. “There we go,” she murmured, reaching over to grab a bullet vibrator before she turned it on and slipped it under the strap on. She only got more feral, fucking you harder as the vibrations gave her more pleasure than she expected, more pleasure than she ever could’ve dreamed of.

It was almost too much, the feeling of your body under hers and the sounds of your moaning and begging mixed with the soreness in her muscles of her abdomen and the tightness just beneath that, the sweet vibrations on her clit and the sight of you – all stretched out with your knees pressed to your heated ears and jaw slack and eyes scrunched shut and hair wild against the pillow and something, something incoherent but still so beautiful falling from your swollen lips.

Some words, not most, but some, she could decipher. “Mommy, mommy, please please don’t stop I’m gonna cum please make me cum.”

And oh, did she make you cum.

It didn’t feel the same as the last time, doesn’t feel as sudden. Deeper almost, earth-shatteringly so.

Natasha’s wearing the same shit-eating grin, though her eyes are much more hazy and tears prick the corners of them as well as your own.

“You keep soaking my sheets like this, babygirl, Mommy’s gonna have to make you pick up the tab,” she chuckles as she pulls out of you.

For a moment you just laid there, twitching and gasping as the aftershocks rolled through you, as your pussy clenched around nothing and as your eyes cried without any tears. You couldn’t speak – each time you tried the words fell away from your brain before they could be said.

“You good, baby?” she cooed, rubbing her thumb over your chin and bottom lip.

All you could do is mmm as the world slowly rebuilds itself around you. Natasha chuckles at that, laughed as she pulled the strap-on off and tossed it in the bathroom to be cleaned later. At that moment, she simply grabbed what she needed for aftercare – including the special lotion she had bought for you when Sam had dragged her to Bed, Bath, and Beyond a few days prior.

She cleaned between your legs with a washcloth dampened with cool water – something that normally made you flinch and hiss, but then did nothing as you laid there and panted with your eyes firmly shut.

“You’re always so good for me, baby,” she cooed once she was done. You were too tired to do anything except give a soft smile in response. “You want to take a nap before we gotta leave?”

You were asleep before Natasha could finish her question. She chuckled nonetheless, and kissed your temple before throwing the cloth in her dirty laundry bin (one that you bought her when you had discovered – horrified beyond what you thought was possible – that she just piled all of her dirty clothes into one corner “like some sort of thirteen year old boy at summer camp,” as you had said). She curled up under the thick, heavy blankets with her legs around your waist and arms around your chest.

It was nice, the silence. Natasha welcomed the sleep that pulled at her eyelids, and soon the two of you were asleep just as the rest of the world roared to life.

The alarm – one of several you had in your phone that go off at oddly specific times – woke the both of you with some loud jingling that may or may not be the music box version of some hit emo song that was popular around the time Natasha and you would’ve been in middle school.  

It’s almost an hour after that when you finally regained control over your body, heart returning to a normal pace and legs not aching (too badly) every time you tried to walk. As you slipped on the easiest clothes possible (see: a hood of Natasha’s and some old sleep shorts of yours), you finally noticed Natasha offering you your phone.

“Let me walk you to class?” she more suggested than asked.

It was sweet, and you grinned widely at her and nodded wordlessly as you reached for your phone before you grabbed your backpack and she grabbed her own. It was an interesting juxtaposition, to see your powder blue Jansport artfully stuffed to brim with colored pens, notebooks, sticky notes, highlighters, and your laptop with exactly one (1) sticker (of a cat trying to climb an adorable small cactus) verses Nat’s beat-up backpack that only held one five-subject notebook, a pencil case with five (5) black ballpoint pens, two Mountain Dews, three Monsters, and a half-drank carton of orange juice. Maybe it was dorky to giggle as Nat’s thumb rubbed circles onto the back of your hand, but you didn’t really care. Little butterflies populated your stomach and limbs, but they aren’t nervous. They were too excited to be nervous, preoccupied with the intimidating pretty girl who had accepted you into her tight personal bubble.

The walk to campus wasn’t far, cliques of freshman with lanyards around their necks and frat boys wearing Supreme became more frequent as you neared the on-campus housing area.

When you breach the official campus it’s another ten minutes until you make your way into the hall where your class is being held. Just as the two of you sit down in your seats way in the back, the professor comes in, calmly places his light brown leather briefcase on the table at the front of the class, and then coolly announces that the class will be having a “surprise assessment.”

“You’ll get forty-five minutes once you hear the sound of the timer starting, any unfinished assessments will receive a failing grade,” the professor said with some paradoxical mix of apathy and malice. With each passing second, the lecture hall becomes more and more ablaze with increasing heart beats and sweaty palms.

Immediately, you could feel Natasha tense next to you. As the TA helped pass the quizzes out, you tried to take a moment to grasp her shaking hand. As you wrap your fingers around hers, you tried to reassure her. “It’ll be okay,” you mouthed. “I promise.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, just sucks in a deep breath and clicks the (your) mechanical pencil to push the lead forward before writing down her name and the date onto the misleadingly thin stack of perfectly stapled paper.

The TA is a dick, even you’d admit that. But she sure does know how to perfect mundane tasks.

As you start on your own quiz, you realize that this isn’t that hard. It’s a few multiple-choice questions, a short essay about Lacan’s influence on Butler. Most of the short-answers questions focus on Baudrillard’s theory about the Gulf War – specifically the role of the media. You’d studied for this, you’ve studied with Natasha for this. Sure, the question on Zizek’s death drive might be a bit tricky, but you’re sure she can figure them out – she’s smart, you’ve explained this to her several times.

With that final thought, you began.

The finished “assessments” were dropped off on the long oak desk set in the center front of the lecture hall, the messy collection of hand-written essays balanced precariously on top of each other – not unlike a late-stage Jenga game with a $1500 an hour fee.

Your walk home with Natasha was just as tense as expected, just as silent and robotic as you’d think she would be.

“For what it’s worth,” you said as she opened the door to her homestead. “I think you probably did well.”

Natasha, in all her dismalness, said nothing.

It didn’t take long for her to rid herself of her pants and position herself on her side of the bed with her laptop opened on her stomach and bottle of alcohol opened in her hand.

She furiously refreshed her grade portal exactly once every 10.76 seconds - just long enough for the page to load, her to log back in, see the lack of grade, sigh, take a swig of dessert wine, grimace at the cheap taste of said dessert wine, and refresh the page again once more.

You were sitting next to her on her bed, trying to proofread and edit the day’s biostatistics notes. Mostly you were putting formulas in their proper formatting, redoing graphs, and color-coding headers and vocab – something you did all the time.

Though, now this relatively-easy study technique had become much harder to do than normal because you were doing it one-handed, your non-dominate one resting under the soft, white t-shirt of the anxious redhead – trapped between the heat of her skin and the fabric adorning her body. Occasionally, you’d run your thumb over the knobs of her spine as an act of comfort, but you’re not sure how helpful the gesture is.

Eventually, you tried to reason with her.

“You know the prof said he’d have them by 8:30 tonight and it’s…” you checked the small clock in the corner of her laptop screen. “Five. Fifteen. And fifteen, sixteen…why do you have the seconds showing on your clock?”

Natasha sighed before taking a particularly long drink of the overly sweet alcohol. “I just…” she shrugged. “I’m just super worried about this, okay? I don’t want to do poorly on this assessment. It’s just important to me.”

You nodded silently before you closed your designated biostatistics notebook, placed it under the nightstand, and curled up into your lover’s side. You were wearing a light pink sweater with a matching headband, black cotton panties, and fuzzy white socks. Natasha placed her face into your shoulder and inhaled the complementary, flowery scents of your deodorant and body wash, pressing her skin into the comforting fabric.

“I get it,” you told her. “You want to do well. Do you want a distraction, or…?”

Natasha sighed, shut her laptop, and pushed it to the carpeted floor. “I don’t even know. I feel like if I don’t think about it then I don’t care and then I’m gonna fail because the magical almighty karma I’ve delicately balanced will tumble on top of me like a Jenga tower.”

For a moment you didn’t speak, unable to find the precise verbal response to such a poetic string of words.

“I just meant ‘do you want some head’ but,” Natasha moved to laugh into your shoulder as you tried to finish your thought through your own giggles. “Yeah, that works, too.”

As you both barked laughter into each other’s skin, all the worries that had surrounded her halo of deep red hair seemed to have vanished, dispersed to bother some other college student with a lifetime worth of debt on their shoulders. With the corners of her lips and the thick of her cheeks sore from the sudden happiness, Natasha curled herself into your side with her chin where your arms met the rest of your body. As easy as pre-algebra, your hand found its way through her stress-mused hair and your fingers worked out some of the knots that have found themselves a home atop Natasha’s head.

It’s silent, the only sound in Natasha’s ears the lazy thump, thump, thump of your heart and the occasional rustle of covers as your legs became entangled like the complicated French braids you’d put in other girl’s hair on the rare occasions your mother let you sleep over at a friend’s house. One of the rare childhood memories you don’t need a therapist’s house to reconcile, a smile spred across your face as you remember how your thin, nimble fingers became worth more than gold to the group of long-haired twelve year-olds who couldn’t quite emulate the fanciful hairstyles they found in American Girl magazine.

“Whatcha laughin’ at?” Natasha asked as she ran her fingers over the seam of your sweater.

You shrugged – carefully, as not to displace her head. You said nothing.

Natasha prodded. Whether it was to take her mind off the impending doom of the surprise grade or because she was curious, you didn’t care. “C’mon, you know you can tell me anything, right? Just tell me what you were laughing at!”

Again, you shrugged. “I don’t know, middle school I guess.”

She grimaced, you could feel her scrunched nose even through the thick fabric. “Ugh, middle school. What’s so funny about the worst three years of your life?”

“I had worse years,” you told her honestly. “Had a few good times, is all. Was thinking about the dumb shit I liked and did.”

Natasha immediately pushed herself up, wide eyes bearing into yours. “You, the sweetest and most innocent and wonderful nerd this university has ever known did dumb shit?”

Before you could respond she was pushing into you, bouncing you against the pillows under your back with reckless abandon.

“Tell me!” She nearly screamed. “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tellmetellmetellmetellme!”

You were laughing much too hard to fight her off, simply pushed at her with weak hands ad you hoped the much stronger woman would let up. “Give me as second to breathe and I’ll tell you!”

It took a minute for you to catch your breath, face hurting from such pure happiness.

“My mother was super overprotective and overbearing, but every once and awhile she’d let me go to a sleepover. And I figured out if I could do intricate braids all the girls would want to be my friend, and some of them turned out to be super nice,” you tried to calm your mouse-like heartbeat with deep breathes to no avail. “I was just thinking of those good times.”

“That was a lot more tender than I expected,” Natasha admitted with a huff before she fell onto your chest once more. “I thought you were gonna tell me you like, did drugs or something, like sneaking out at night or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes, your hand resuming its position in her hair. “Nah, I’ve been this way my whole life.”

A beat passed after Natasha released a small humpf and resigned herself to cuddling with someone she would barely hesitate to call “boring.”

You’re the one to fill the silence, hoping to bridge the space between the versions of you Natasha does and does not have the (dis)pleasure of knowing. “You know, you’ve never told me about what you were like before college.”

Natasha shrugged, as she knew what to say but not how to say it. “I don’t know. I wasn’t like, cool or anything. Just super depressed and spent a lot of time doing drugs and coding.”

In a move incredibly unexpected, you touched the pad of your first finger to her nose. Natasha, struck by the sudden intimate contact and your undeniable cuteness, did not know what to do.

“It sounds like you were as boring as me,” you giggled. “Just a lot less sober.”

Natasha let out a small laugh, pushing your hand away. “Boring is a good word,” she mumbles. She’s staring off into space now, thinking about how much that time in her life sucked. Once she skipped school for three days straight to take Adderal and snort coke and hack into a nearby tech startup, a CEO of which had groped a friend of hers at a party a few weeks prior. A few years older and she might have been a member of Anonymous, but instead she was stuck in the basement of her house wishing whatever upper she’d bought from that sketchy kid down the street would kill her.

“Babe,” you said with a low voice. It cut through the thick of her thoughts but didn’t free her from their deathly grasp. “You okay? You need anything?”

Nat visibly snapped out of it, turning back to you with a small smile. “Yeah, I’m,” she exhales deeply. “I’m fine.

She flicked your bottom lip with her thumb and stared at your face with focus you’ve only seen painting her features when she’s typing code or working out the kinks of a program or whatever the fuck it is she does. You’re normally too distracted staring at her to fully process her long-winded explanation of what she does for her internship and classes and job.

She’s too pretty, you couldn’t help it.

“You have the softest lips I’ve ever felt,” Natasha mumbled. Her eyes skipped between your glassy eyes and shallow breaths. “Somehow, every day I find myself more and more enamored by you.”

A lump – in the time Natasha had spoken those first and last words – had formed and lodged itself in your throat. Still, you attempt to find your post-verbal footing in your shared affections.

“That’s the sweetest and most sexually charged thing anyone has ever said to me.”

The pair of you immediately fall into a fit of giggles that has both of your bellies and cheeks aching with pure joy that comes from such a statement. Soon your fit of laughter dies down and a quiet settles over you, one that comforts rather than urks you. It’s a canyon’s worth of time later that Natasha moves back up so your faces are nearly touching.

The kiss she gives you is tender, much more so than any other touch she’d graced you with. It’s not so much a surprise – it’s not as if you had never kissed before – but it is…different.

Your hands are still tangled in Natasha’s shirt, and hers have found themselves on either side of your face.

“This,” she only speaks when you pull away to breathe. “Is an excellent distraction, by the way.”

Again, you release a small giggle that is soon silenced with kisses that soon turn deep and desperate as she pushes you down further into the shitty mattress with her now-displaced hands.

But, as your kisses get keeps and her hands travel South, Natasha takes a moment to come up lay small pecks on your cheeks and nose.

A few moments pass with the pair of you gazing into each other’s eyes as if there were complicated algorithms behind them.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” she asks – whispering low as if you’re some feral cat she’s trying to trap…or maybe something less morbid. You should probably stop thinking any person trying to give you affection is doing it to ensnare you in a complicated plot for more views on their Snapchat story. Still, as Natasha pushes herself up to kiss you – you can hear the guffaws of the popular senior girls from beyond the bathroom stall you cried in.

“Baby,” Natasha’s voice cut through the memory in jagged motions, enough so that your eyes aren’t screwed shut but your hand still feel the cold of the stall door’s nearly-broken lock that keeps said door closed – the only barrier between you and your tormentors.

“Baby, are you okay?” her voice was genuinely concerned – and the lack of ulterior motive had you sobbing. “C’mon,” Natasha held you close, pressed to her and her soft shirt. “Baby, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

It’s hard to do anything but cry – loudly – as she pets your hair and peppers your face with kisses. Her smooth voice is calming, almost enough to stop the tears from soaking your cheeks – but each trauma from elementary to high school still cut into your blurry vision.

You don’t know exactly when you’re able to stop the flow of tears, but it seems to culminate with your eyelids fluttering shut and body slumping against the woman who holds you so tight.

This, Natasha thought to herself, is heaven.

The woman stayed awake for a little longer, wanting to savor the sweet moment a little longer.

Still, the darkness with your steady breathing and blissfully warm skin soon coaxed her into falling into a sleep deeper and calmer than anything she’d ever experienced before. Somehow, she didn’t even shoot awake when her laptop PINGed when her grade updated. But, then again, how could anything like that matter when she had you?

//

@stuckys-whore​

[otomefoxystar]

The One - Chapter 3

Fandom: Kissed by the Baddest Bidder

Warning: None

Written by: @otomefoxystar

The sun shone in through the curtains and onto Eisuke’s face, waking him up. He sat up and saw Charolette still asleep in bed. She had her hand under the pillow and her foot out over the covers sleeping on her side. Her hair was in her face, and Eisuke studied her as he got up to leave. He moved her hair out of her face. He looked down at her sleeping face with a grimace. He’s seen her asleep countless times, but it was different seeing her there. She was different. This woman was a stranger, and how he longed to hear her complaining or giggling. “ I hope your memories come back” He quietly shut the door in hopes that he didn’t wake her. Later just as Eisuke sat down at his desk to get started with his work he with reflexively went to his phone to page Charolette for some of her coffee, but then stopped just as he was about to press the last button remembering that she was in the guest room sleeping. He slammed the phone down. “ Damnit!” He rubbed his temples and let out a long breath. He got up and sauntered towards his office when his suite door opened, and in walked Luke with Soryu behind him. “ How is she ?” Luke asked, looking towards the guest room. “ She’s still asleep” Eisuke sat down on the couch, and Soryu studied him carefully. Something seemed off with his friend. He knew he cared about Charlotte, but he looked weary. “ It would be normal for her to sleep most of the day. She went through something traumatic and doesn’t know where she is. When she wakes up let me know so I can talk to her.” Eisuke sighed “I’m not her babysitter” Soryu cleared his throat. “ Maybe you should work from home for awhile Eisuke. Charlotte is going to need someone here.” Eisuke shook his head “ No. I have a hotel to run, I can’t just take some time off to babysit.” “ Someone needs to Eisuke,” Luke said sternly “ What about Ota?” Soryu shook his head. “ He has an art show coming up. No one else can do it.” Eisuke glared at his friend “ This is a nuisance!” He stormed off to his office. 

Luke looked over at Soryu. “He’s going to do it right?” “Yeah, he’s going to do it.” Luke looked in on Charlotte before he left and saw her sleeping soundly. He shut the door quietly, and both men went into Eisuke’s study. “ You said you wanted to find the man that attacked her. I’m working on it, but she might need to remember who he is.”   “ How about you focus on her healing first,” Luke interjected, Eisuke nodded in agreement and they left his suite. Charlotte finally woke up and felt confused. She didn’t recognize where she was, but then she remembered that she was in a strange hotel with people she recognized but didn’t remember. She felt like she should know them like they were important. Tears filled her eyes, and she hugged the pillow, and she began sobbing. Eisuke was in his office working on his computer when he heard soft sobbing. He sighed and got up and knocked lightly on the door, but she didn’t have the strength to send him away. He opened the door slowly and saw her curled up crying. This wasn’t something Eisuke was used to. He’d seen a lot of crying women and usually, he was the cause, but he didn’t have a flicker of feelings towards these women. This was different he caused someone he trusted to lose themselves, he may not have done it directly but it was still his fault. When he saw her lying there sobbing his stomach sank. “ Charolette?” she didn’t even look up He walked across the room to the bed and sat down next to her on the bed. “ What happened?” She took a shaky breath “ I don’t like this feeling, I know I should remember and it’s like I’m just on the tip of remembering, but then there’s nothing.” She let out another sob. Eisuke didn’t know what to do, he’s never had to comfort anyone before. Was he supposed to touch her, or hug her? He was frustrated that there was something he didn’t know how to do. She turned to face him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Seeing her upset brought him immediate worry. He brushed her hair out of her face and began combing it behind her ear. “ It’s probably normal to feel like this, and it’s going to take time to remember things. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” Her tears were finally starting to subside “ I’m so confused, I feel like I should know you I recognize you and I feel safe with you but I can’t place it. I can’t make sense of any of it.” she sat up and looked at Eisuke searchingly. “ You will get through this, you’re strong.” She put her head in her hands and the tears started again. “ I don’t understand anything.” Eisuke took her hand gently “ Listen to me Charolette, you can do this and we will help you as much as we can. I will help you remember and if you can’t we’ll make new memories.” She looked over at him “ I’m sorry I fought you and freaked out. I was scared.” Eisuke chuckled “ I understand. I’ll forgive you only if you stop crying.” She smiled through her tears. “ can I ask you a question?” He smirked. “ I guess I’ll have to get used to you asking a lot of questions.” “ Are we...are we dating?” He took in a deep breath “ No, actually I mean we’re close enough, but I’m pretty sure you think I’m an ass.” He wanted to tell her that they had been intimate, and it seemed he was out of danger but she needed to find herself first. Eisuke didn’t know why he wanted to tell her, it was like he was superior to the rest of the men. He had been with her in a way none of them had. He had seen her wild side. He knew he had to hold onto that night of passion they shared. He didn’t know if he could ever tell her. As he was lost in his thoughts he started rubbing her thumb when Mamoru and Ota came in the suite. They looked into the bedroom and saw Eisuke holding her hand. “ You ain’t hittin’ on the kid are ya Eisuke?” Eisuke looked over and gave Mamoru a cold look. He let go of her hand and looked over at Ota. “ I thought you had an art show,” he said sternly, upset that he could’ve babysat her instead. “ I leave in an hour. I wanted to see how Charlotte was doing.” He looked over at her “how is she?” Eisuke stood up and straightened his shirt. “ She’s confused and frustrated, I had to calm her down. She’s not in a good place right now.” Ota looked at her worriedly “ I’m sorry Koro, I have to leave for a week, but I’m sure Eisuke here will take good care of you.” She forced a smile out “ It’s okay, I like him he’s nice to me.” Mamoru started laughing “Nice?” Ota asked shocked and looked over at Eisuke, “ In what world have you ever been nice to someone?” Ota snickered “ I can be nice.” Eisuke snapped Charlotte adjusted her position and winced, and the three men noticed. “ I should call Luke,” Eisuke said as he walked out of the room and put his phone to his ear. Ota walked over to the bed and seeing her look so beat up was hard for him to even look at her. Her eye was black and swollen. “ I’m sorry this happened. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.” He looked down dejectedly “ What happened to me?” He looked at her sadly

Previous Chapters : Chapter One  Chapter Two

[emocean-is-trash]

hey guys! the long-awaited prompt K oneshot is here! this one is a more modern one-shot, and it contains a slight bit of angst. hope you enjoy! this is: On The Edge Of Consciousness

you can also find this on my ao3: @emocean_is_trash

if you’d like to request for me to write one of the prompts (which are listed in chapter 1 on ao3), you can send me a comment there or message me here~ :) i’ll get to your prompts as soon as i can. thanks!!

~~~~~~~

Blake sighed as she checked her scroll for the upteenth time that night, shutting it off when she heard a stool being moved across the floor only to arrive next to her. She picked up her glass of whiskey and took a few gulps that burned in the back of her throat before setting it down on the bar top and closing her eyes. Of course the person that had planned on meeting her here was late. It was practically a common occurrence by now.

Normally, it would be highly enjoyable to sit at her favorite bar, The Crow Bar, on a Saturday night while she waited for a certain someone to meet her there. It was almost a moment of silent reflection for her, a time where she could have a nice drink and think about everything really.

But tonight was different. Blake could smell cheap cologne before she even turned to face the guy who was now sitting next to her.

“Hey there kitty-cat. What’s a gorgeous lady like you doing sitting here by herself?”

The man next to her had striking red hair with an eyepatch over his right eye. His black dress shirt was halfway unbuttoned and his whole demeanor screamed control. He eyed her figure up and down with a cocky smirk, seemingly having no shame for what he was doing.

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“Really? Well how about I keep you company until then?” The man whispered as he positioned his stool even closer to Blake’s. “I’m Adam, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Listen Adam, you seem like a great guy, but I’d rather just wait here. Alone.” Blake gritted her teeth, making eye contact with Adam and silently cursing at herself for not directly asking him to give her more space.

Once upon a time, a guy like Adam would’ve been totally Blake’s type. But now, someone like him only made her glad that she would never have to be with someone as toxic as the man next to her was. Guys like Adam used people, and Blake wasn’t going to let herself become a toy.

“Really? Playing hard to get now? I see how it is. Don’t you worry Princess, I can play the game too.” Adam responded huskily. At this point, alarm bells were going off in Blake’s head like crazy. It wasn’t until a glass slammed harshly onto the countertop that Blake realized Yang had finally arrived, just in time really.

“Hey pal. Get the hell away from my girlfriend.” Yang clenched her fists at her sides and stared Adam down. “I’m so sorry for being late babe, Taiyang kept me overtime in the shop.” How Yang could manage to look so menacing and consoling at the same time was beyond Blake.

“So this is who you were waiting for? I didn’t realize you were such a freak Blake.” Adam retorted as he pulled away and stood up. Blake immediately tensed up and gave a pleading look to Yang.

“Don’t you dare call her that ever again!” Yang snapped as her eyes went from a beautiful lilac to a bright reddish hue. She immediately walked over to Blake and gently stood her up, grabbing her wrist and pulling the frightened woman behind her.

“Don’t worry Blake. I’m sure your girl will protect you.” Adam chuckled as his towering figure stood confidently across from Yang.

“That’s it! I've had enough of your mind games!” Yang declared as she stood her ground. What she thought was a surprise right hook towards the red-haired man’s chest turned out to be expected as the man grabbed her fist and she soon felt her vision fading to nothingness.

~~~

Yang woke up with a slight ringing in her ears and tried to focus her mind on her surroundings. Once her vision finally cleared, she realized that she was in Blake’s apartment, and on her bed as well.

“Oh gods. What happened?” Yang asked no one in particular until she figured out that Blake was sitting near her on the bed.

“You got knocked out pretty good. That Adam guy did a number on you. How do you feel?” Blake questioned as she ran a hand across Yang’s forehead lightly.

“Not the best. But that doesn’t matter. Are you okay Blake? That sleazeball was awfully persistent.”

“Of course you’d be asking me if I’m okay when you’re probably going to have a black eye. Yes Yang, I’m okay. I was more worried about you. Now put this ice pack on your face, we don’t want you to get swollen.”

“Fiiiine. Doctor’s orders I guess.” Yang winked before taking the ice pack from Blake and covering her left eye with it. “I’m sorry if I overreacted last night, but I meant it when I said that I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Blake sighed and kissed Yang’s forehead before gazing into her uncovered eye.

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m glad that you were there.”

“I’ll always be here for you sweetheart. Even if we’ve only been dating for a few months, I still care about you a lot. You’re special to me.” Yang smiled softly as she reached her left hand upward and caressed Blake’s cheek.

“Yang, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it? Did I do something?” Yang voiced with concern as she drew her hand away from Blake and noticed her sudden stiff body language.

“You did, but it’s not what you think. You didn’t hurt me or anything, I swear. It’s nothing like that.”

“Well then what’s the problem?” Yang asked as she sat up against the bed frame, leaving the ice pack abandoned on the floor.

“Yang.. after Adam punched you in the face, you weren’t...totally unconscious. You were partially awake.”

“Oh gods, what did I say? Was it embarrassing? I’m really really sorry if I embarrassed you.” Yang grimaced as she recalled some occasions when she’d been drunk and blabbed about total nonsense to anyone around her.

“No Yang, you didn’t embarrass me. You told me...You told me that you loved me.” Blake confessed as she searched Yang’s face for a reaction and tried to read her expression.

Yang’s eyes widened in realization and her face turned red at Blake’s comment. It wasn’t until a full minute later that Yang finally replied.

“Would you be mad at me if it was true? That I do love you?” Yang practically whispered.

Blake exhaled and ran her fingers through Yang’s hair, pulling the woman into a tender kiss. Once they pulled away after a few minutes, Blake smiled and gazed fondly into Yang’s lilac eyes. They always seemed to calm her.

“I’m not mad at you. I love you too, Yang. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.”

The look of pure joy on Yang’s features was priceless as she beamed at her girlfriend and pulled her in for another quick kiss.

“I love you so much Blake. Nothing will hurt you as long as I’m alive. I promise.”

“I love you too, you dork.”

[youarejesting]

BTS365

[Masterlist] Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

Announcement: 600+ followers and I’m sorry to how dark some of these got but you know I kind of like when stories don’t always have a happy ending.

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    March 25th - April 1st

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Kim Seokjin: Makeup

Heading into work you had a headache, it was excruciating, the throbbing behind your eye and the tightness around your temples. Your face felt swollen, and you packed on as much makeup as physically possible and you knew it wasn’t a good look. There were no lashes or mascara, no eyeshadow, no lipstick. Just concealer and foundation to the max. 

You stepped into work and the receptionist gave you a weird look, usually; you got compliments when you wore makeup; you were pretty good and knew what worked well on your face. But today you looked strange. Your eye was too swollen to put anything near it and so you just looked like a one tonne alien. 

“Hey babe, what’s going on?” A voice said, “you bailed on our movie night last night and didn’t even text me?” Seokjin was your saviour he made your dull job manageable. He took one look at you and froze he knew this wasn’t right. “What did he do?”

“It’s not that bad it’s just a bump”

He dragged you by the hand to his desk taking his face wipes from the first draw he tried to grab your chin, but you turned away. “Please let me see” he gently wiped away all the makeup he liked when you had a clean face. It was like he was seeing the real you, that isn’t to say he didn’t like when you dressed up, he liked how you could accentuate your eyes and lips. 

But this, this was wrong. He felt sick, the more he removed the more the colours were revealed dark purples and blues stained your smooth skin, there was a small scab on your cheekbone where the skin had split on impact. He shoved the packet of wipes into your arms and turned declaring. “I will kill him”

Min Yoongi: On a stick

“It’s just meat on a stick?” You rolled your eyes at your best friend who was being lured from his apartment from his roommate Jungkook. You had planned to spend the afternoon together where you were going to tell him how you feel about him finally after all these years. Hell, you even stood by him when he dated girls through high school even though it nearly killed you.

“Yeah, why do you make it sound like a bad thing?” Yoongi scoffed grabbing his jacket, “Come along we can get some food and come back and watch the movie”

“Look you don’t have to come, we don’t need haters ruining our dinner” Jungkook sighed grabbing his keys, and you reluctantly slipped on your shoes and coat running after them. You didn’t even order before you snapped.

“Jungkook what is your problem with me, I just wanted to spend the afternoon with my best friend and maybe tell him that I have been in love with him since fifth grade and you’re out here making me feel like absolute trash,” You hissed Yoongi was frozen starring at his menu. He looked like he was deep in thought. Realizing what you said and how he had reacted to your blunt and unexpected confession you left.

“y/n!” Jungkook shouted he caught you quickly “hey, dude I am sorry, I thought you liked me and I was trying to push you away because… Yoongi likes you, said he has liked you since fifth grade and has never wanted to ruin the friendship. I really am sorry, go back inside he is in shock and is silently freaking out that he will never see you again. Lunch is on me, here”

Jung Hoseok: Smoke and Mirrors

Your son wanted to be a magician, and you spent a fair amount of money on all the books and toys and such but as his passion grew so did the hole in your bank account. You bought him front row tickets to see a world-renowned magician live on stage. It was an amazing performance. The magician was very good looking and was so bright and bubbly he danced he made all the sound effects. Your son insisted you see him backstage, and you took him back there. It took a long time but your son refused to leave. The dressing room door opened and there he was, his shirt buttons undone slightly. 

“Why hello, who do we have here?” he smiled at you and your son and you gave him an apologetic smile

“I am so sorry to bother you, my son, he is an aspiring magician and well he wanted to meet you and I really couldn’t say no to at least trying”

“No, don’t apologize,” he looked at his watch and grinned, “I got time, come in and sit and tell me about yourself. What’s your name? Do you know any tricks?” The two talked until your son had fallen asleep on the couch.

“Whatever you did, that’s real magic right there,” The two of you laughed.

“Do you need help to your car, he looks a little heavy, or I can carry your bags if that’s more comfortable for you,” He smiled and the two of you headed to the parking lot. Buckling your son into the passenger seat, you turned to say goodbye, and he swept his hand behind your ear. “It seems my number was behind your ear this whole time”

He placed the paper into your hand and gave you a grin, one hand slipping into his pocket to find his keys and the other waving goodbye.

Kim Namjoon: Walk in the Park

Namjoon was a smart man, he knew everything that happened in the neighbourhood. The street lights along the park path flickered off for twenty seconds every three minutes. The old lady Lady by the store shut her curtains at 6:15 exactly after watching her shows and feeding her cat. The walk through the park took Five minutes exactly, and that there were three security cameras on the path.

People were going missing and were usually found dead days later. He set off on his usual walk at 6:00 heading to the store; he stopped to pat the cat and waved to the old woman. He bought a single bottle of Soju as he did every night. Explaining how he had to get home before his slow cooker was finished, showing the timer on his phone. “It’s got 8 minutes left I should make it home by 6:15” 

Walking he saw you alone, he sped up a little and matched your stride. “Don’t look now but there is a drunk man a little way ahead, and the path lights are switch off for about thirty seconds every three minutes” Just as he finished his sentence the lights switched off. You grew stiff under the moonlight. “I am Namjoon”

He continued walking talking to you about the stars, the old lady was feeding her cat before bed, it was 6:10 she would soon close her curtains. He waved to the old and then to you. Thanking him for the help you both parted ways saying goodnight to the old lady. Namjoon smiled to himself walking out of the camera frame and the lights flickered out. You walked hesitantly in the dark but didn’t get very far before you were knocked out from behind.

Chained to an old metal bed frame when you woke, your eyes needing time to refocus you saw Namjoon standing there in a white coat. “Shh it’s okay, you are okay, you see I am an expert. My alibi and the camera footage, I just picked you up and tipped you over the stonewall of this apartment block and walked home.  As all footage and security cameras show me parting ways with you even the old lady saw you go off on your own, nobody knows. Nobody knows that is is me”

Park Jimin: Burn

You opened a sealed box, and you read the stupid script. You were using it as a chance to practice your reading and speaking Korean. But you had let it out, and it was chasing you. Its eyes blacked out and horns coming out from his hair. He looked eerie and was still recovering strength which gave you time to run hiding in a church. 

Stopping at the door it watched you and you were relieved until it reached in blackened nails gripping the door frame. It stepped inside calling your name sweetly, you could see the embers flaking off its body slowly not enough to kill it but enough to annoy. 

You ran hiding in the confession booth your breathing was shaky. It sang a haunted tune. Its voice layered a low sound that crackled and a high breathy sound like a whine. You held your breath as it passed, calling your name. You thought it was gone, but you didn’t want to take any chances. 

You opened your phone the words you had spoken in the translator the demon's name was Jimin and upon searching the name you found it was a demon of Lust, Deception, Chaos and Misfortune. It resides in the third outermost circle of hell with Preceding Taehyung and following from Namjoon. The strongest demon being Kim Seokjin. 

A hand busted through the wall of the confessional by your head and wrapped around your throat pulling you threw the thin and shattered wall. 

Kim Taehyung: Battery

You forgot to plug your phone in the night before so you charged it while you got ready; it was only at 28% and you sighed heading out to work. You met a client and discussed his hotel remodelling. 

Your phone which you had turned off when you weren’t using it at work was now at 16%. It was early in the afternoon and you were emailing a client important information and rushing across town to meet with a supplier. You crossed the road getting hit with a car laying in the rain you found it hard to breathe all the air seemed to have escaped your body. Dragging your arm across the concrete your phone held tightly in your fist you pressed the numbers for emergency services you hit the call button when your phone powered down. 

A face appeared about you looking horrified he called the ambulance shaking there was a light behind his head. It seemed like a halo and he was your very own angel. 

Jeon Jungkook: Beach  @live-2-fangirl

The beach was quiet; it was overcast and occasionally would sprinkle with rain. You were never deterred, and this weather was better for churning up the sea and creating a few gnarly waves. You laughed at the expression gnarly and swore on your life never to think nor speak it ever again. Getting on your surfboard you swam out to sea it was incredibly exhilarating weaving across the water. 

The water grew unforgiving in what seemed like a second pulling you out and you were dunked by a wave and tossed around. You didn’t panic swimming to the light. Breaking the surface, you blinked the saltwater from your eyes and tried to get it out your nose and throat. It was brighter than you remembered. Maybe there was a break in the clouds. 

“Can we be of aid lad?” A voice called you looked up to see an old wooden shop, the kind that looked like it belonged in a Johnny Depp quintology of films. Leaning over the side of the ship was a young man, his hair shaggy hair falling forward as he looked down at you. Your wetsuit removed any femininity from your figure and your hair was in a very messy bun. You climbed up the rope ladder on the side of the ship as you didn’t see any signs of your beach anywhere. 

It was so sunny with not a cloud in the sky. Did you die? Getting up onto the ship you laid your board down on the deck removing the surf leash from your ankle. 

“Where be your port?” He asked they all looked like they were fresh out of a romance novel with billowing shirts and shaggy hair. 

You ripped the velcro around your neck and pulled the zip down your back.  Peeling the wetsuit of your arms until they were free, letting out your hair shaking it with your fingers hoping it wouldn’t take long to dry. Some of your swimsuit was on display and as you went to take the wetsuit completely off a long waistcoat was draped over your shoulders. 

“My apologies, my lady, we will fetch you some dry clothes,” you shrugged his coat off onto the deck. 

“No, need I will be dry soon” you continued to strip, and he unbuttoned his shirt and fastened it around you buttoning it up. 

“These scallywags cannot be trusted with a beautiful woman like yourself” he smiled “you are as tempestuous as the waters we sail” 

Next Week

[devil-in-those-eyes]

Flutters-Ben Hardy

It’s here, as promised! Hope you guys enjoy!

--

           “Y/N, just tell me why.” Ben begged you, tears filling his eyes.

           “It’s for the best,” you answered, your voice hoarse because it felt like a rock the size of Africa was in your throat. You chin quivered as you shoved your suitcase and carryon into the back of the taxi, just outside of Ben’s apartment complex.

           “For who’s best?” he asked and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep yourself calm. Ben stood behind you in only sweats and the white t-shirt he had slept in, his hair was a mess and he still had sleep in his features because he woke up to you packing and getting ready to leave four days early. When you started talking breakup he rushed out of bed, stumbling over the clothes from the night prior.

           “Ben,” you begged, willing him to just take your words but he didn’t.

           He wrapped his hand around your arm, whirling you around to face him and pulling until your chest was against his. The tears were no longer balancing on the rim of his eyes but were now rushing down his cheeks. “Certainly not the best for me.”

           “Ben, please!” you exclaimed, pushing your hands into his chest. “Just… just let me go, Ben. You have to let me go.”

           “Just tell me why,” he said, sadness dripping in his words and making your heart beat wildly in your chest. This was hurting you as well, it was killing you to do this but it had to be done and one day he’d understand it. Ben’s eyes searched your eyes before his hand slid up your neck and cradled your cheek, “Sweetheart.” He attempted a smile, “just come back inside and we can talk. You can tell me what’s going on inside.”

           Your eyes nearly fluttered shut at his soft murmured words, the feel of his warm hand against your cheek, but if you went inside then this would all go backwards and you had to do this. You needed to walk away. This wasn’t a problem Ben could fix over tea and coffee. Your chin quivered as you stared up into his beautiful eyes. You realized this would probably be the last time you ever saw him, so you took everything in. From his soft lips, to his button nose and bright eyes. The blonde curls at the top of his head. The way his chest felt underneath your palms, the way his heart was beating so hard and in total fear of your next words and movements.

           “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “We’re at different places and I can’t do this anymore.”

           “Sweetheart,” Ben started but you gave one last shove and he let you go. You closed the trunk of the taxi and walked to the open door, “Y/N, please!”

           You shut the door and flicked the lock down.

           “Sure you want to go, Miss?” the taxi driver asked.

           “Yes, now.” You forced yourself to say and he started driving down the street, heading straight for Heathrow, where you would catch your one way back to New York.

           You kept your eyes forward because if you looked back you knew you would force the driver to turn back around. Because you knew that if you looked back at Ben, then it was game over. You breathed deeply and wiped at the tears on your cheeks, once you hit the highway you finally settled back into the seat. Your hands collapsing onto your stomach, giving a protective rub over the reason why you left Ben.

           He wasn’t ready for a baby. Your relationship had only been eight months long, it was a pure and beautiful eight months, but one simple mistake and it was all ruined. The words Ben spoke to his mother stuck inside your head and played round and round like a stupid catchy song by Ariana Grande.

           We’re not ready mum. It’s too soon for marriage and babies. My career is taking off and it would only make things harder… Maybe in five years.

           But five years was happening now and you wouldn’t put Ben through being a father if he didn’t want to be. What were the chances of you two staying together after having a baby so soon in your relationship? Slim to none.

--

           “How you doing, kid?” Joe asked through the phone after you got into your townhome in suburban New York.

           “Kid? Joey, you’re only seven years older than me.” You chuckled, dropping your keys into the glass bowl, putting your purse onto the small table beside the door. You slipped off your shoes and sighed happily because your feet remained swollen and had been for freaking months.

           Joe chuckled softly, “How was the doctors visit then, Y/N?”

           “Good,” you smiled, traveling into your kitchen to grab a drink. It was a cloudy late morning and you knew that a storm was headed for your little townhouse so you couldn’t be more excited to sit inside and watch some TV on your day off after your doctors visit. Just to curl up with your favorite blanket on your plush couch, numbing your mind and hopefully taking the pressure off of your feet.

           “Yeah?” You could almost hear your best friend of twenty years smiling through the phone, “How’s the baby? I wanna know about my nephew.”

           “Excuse me,” you began to argue, “could be a niece, you jerk.”

           “Okay, then how is my niece-possibly nephew doing?” he laughed as you settled on the couch, propping your feet up and looking down. Your belly was growing daily and you were becoming one of those pregnant women that was all belly. You found yourself eating all the damn time and peeing was becoming more of an hourly occurrence and lately you could feel odd flutters inside your stomach, almost like butterflies but a little heavier and more real.

           You ran your fingers over your bump and smiled, “Good, the doctor is happy with the way things are going. He-she now has fingers and toes and is also the size of a banana.”

           “Oh, my god,” Joe cooed and your cheeks burned with a happy grin. It had taken a lot for Joe to be okay with your recent decisions, but he never once looked at your baby as a mistake, instead when he found out you were pregnant he was utterly ecstatic. As much as Joe loved hearing all of this, you knew he wished you would share these moments with the father of your baby and remembering that made your heart sink.

           “I can’t believe you only have four more months,” Joe breathed out before mumbling, “I need to start buying shit.”

           You laughed, “No, no more presents.”

           “Aw, come on, Y/N. What’s the fun in being the cool uncle if I can’t spoil the shit out of this kid?” Joe whined and you rolled your eyes. The man was in his thirties and still acted like a child. You were seven years younger than Joe, but sometimes you definitely considered yourself the more mature one. “Listen, I’ll call you back, kid. Give your belly some rubs for me.”

           “Bye, Joey.” You laughed and hung up the phone, turning on your TV and curling up into your couch, immediately getting settled while absentmindedly rubbing your belly, something you found yourself doing more and more as time went on.

           You couldn’t help but be excited to be a mom, to welcome this baby into the world with a warm hug. Sure, you were beyond nervous to be a single mom but you had more than enough people around you to help make it work. You would make this work, for this baby. Remembering that you were doing this on your own made you think about Ben and your stupid hormones made tears slip into your eyes. You hadn’t seen him since you left London three months ago, nor have you spoken to him. He tried calling and speaking through Joe, but you didn’t answer and eventually it all stopped.

           He still loves you, Y/N. Joe would whisper to you during your worst nights. You should tell him.

           I cant ruin his life. We barely know each other.

           That’s a load of shit.

           Promise me, Joe. Swear on my life you wont tell him.

           ….. I swear.

--

           The storm outside had been raging on for the last three hours and the weather people said it wouldn’t let up until the early morning hours. Rain drops fell harshly onto your roof, making it sound like bullets dropping onto your ceilings, and when the thunder followed quickly after the lightening, it sounded like it was going to crack open your home. You hadn’t really moved from your position on the couch, other than to grab food and pee. You, at one point, grabbed all the snacks from your pantry and laid them out in your lap, your fingers picking what they wanted, bouncing from chips to apples dipped in honey and peanut butter. Your cravings were off the fucking wall and you didn’t even want to admit what you were craving.

           When the storm originally started, your mom called and asked if she could come the spend the night with you but you denied it because you just wanted to enjoy the quiet of your home while the storm raged on. Her protectiveness hit an all new level when you told her you were expecting, and as much as you loved her willingness to be there and sit with you while you dipped your Cheetos in strawberry yogurt you just wanted time alone.

           During your current marathon of Very Cavallari your phone began ringing. You picked it up while balancing the remote on your belly and saw it was Joe again. You sighed and picked it up, “Did mom beg you to call and check up on me? Joe, I swear to god, I am fine.”

           “Y/N,” Joe stated. The way he said your name, the way it rolled off of his tongue stopped the chip from going into your mouth. It was his serious tone, it was his something is wrong and I need you to listen very carefully. It was his tone he used when he stopped being your best friend and more along the lines of that protective older brother mood he sometimes got into.

           “What’s happened?” you asked, pausing the show and sitting up a bit more. “What’s wrong, is your mom okay? Is.. is Mary okay?”

           “Y/N, you have to promise not to hate me.” Joe replied, not fully giving you the answer you were looking for.

           “What?” you asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

           “Ben knows, Y/N.” Joe blurted out, almost cutting you off. The blood drained from your face as Joe repeated himself, “Ben knows.”

           “Joe, what the hell did you do?” you exclaimed into the phone as your doorbell rang, the Doordash guy finally showing up with your Chick-Fil-A order, one where you ordered everything off of the menu.

           “It.. It, I don’t even know!” Joe exclaimed as you got up. “I hung up the phone with you earlier and he heard me tell you to rub your belly. He asked who was pregnant and he nearly throttled me into telling him! Y/N, I was scared shitless of him.”

           “So you fucking tell him?” You exclaimed as you searched through your purse to grab you wallet.

           “Okay, so that’s not actually the worst part,” Joe grimaced as you balanced the phone between your ear and shoulder, ripping your front door open.

           Your heart plummeted into your stomach and suddenly all those cravings you gave in to today swirled around in your stomach because a blonde, green eyed man was staring at you. The blood was drained from his face as he took in your leggings and sweatshirt, immediately zeroing in on your swollen stomach.

           His lips quivered, “You’re pregnant?”

           “Oh, fuck. Yeah, he jumped on the first flight out of LAX, by the way.” Joe grumbled over the phone, after hearing Ben.

           “I hate you.” You said to Joe and hung up.

           Ben tried again, this time looking into your eyes. “You’re pregnant, with my child.”

           Where would you even start? “Ben, I…”

           “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” He yelled, suddenly finding his voice.

           “Ben, maybe you should…”

           “Leave?” he finished and shook his head, “I’m not going anywhere, in fact I’m going to go grab my bags because we have a lot of talking to do.”

           No! “Ben!” you exclaimed as he ran back out into the rain, immediately getting drenched as he rushed back to his rental car. You’re unsure of how he managed that because he wasn’t even a dual citizen, let alone had his license, but either way you saw him lift up his trunk and you found yourself running towards him.

           The heavy rain covered you from head to toe by the time you reached Ben and lightening filled the dark sky, thunder crackling above your heads. “Ben, stop, I don’t want to do this with you!” you yelled through the rain.

           “What?” he asked, “Admit that you ran away from me, or tell me how you decided to kick me out of our baby’s life without even telling me you were pregnant!”

           “You don’t even want a child!” you screamed, already feeling cold to your bones through the downpour.

           “I never said that!” he yelled back, no longer fussing around with his luggage as he faced you. He looked broken as his hair stuck to his forehead, dark circles under his eyes with pale cheeks. He honestly looked like the last three months had been hell for him and the sudden news just added ten years to his pretty baby boy face.

           “You mom asked you, and your answer was crystal clear, Ben.”

           Ben went silent as he thought back three, almost now four, months ago. When he remembered the conversation that you overheard, he hung his hands on his hips and chewed on the inside of his mouth, trying to think of his next move. You knew you had him. You were fully aware that you decision to leave was rash and harsh and it broke two hearts in the process, but you would never bring a baby into the world, only for it to be unwanted to looked at as a mistake. Ben would one day be an amazing father, but his comments to his mom made it crystal clear that kids weren’t in yours and Ben’s new future.

           “Love, you’re sopping wet, let’s get you inside before you get sick. Before something happens to the baby.” Ben faltered, stepping towards you and offering his hand to you.

           You stepped back and placed a protective hand over your belly. You shook your head as your bottom lip quivered, a telltale sign you were about to start crying. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

           “Y/N, please,” he begged, his face full of desperation. There was a huge chance you would get sick, and it would only put more stress on your baby, but there was no way you were letting him in.

           “I will not let my baby come into this world unloved.” You stated as the tears finally rolled down your face and mixed with the pelts of rain. “I refuse to let this baby grow up in a home filled with anything less than love and adoration.”

           “I do love this baby!” Ben shouted, not keeping a hold on his cool like you did.

           “You didn’t even know until six hours ago.” You argued almost instantly.

           “Because you didn’t tell me!” Ben pulled back on the shouting and turned his face to the sky. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back only for it to fall to his face again. He looked back at you again, this time with his own tears in his eyes. He looked at your small bump, with your hands still trying to cover it, and you watched as he stared at it with the same look in his eyes that he used to get when he looked at you. A look he gave you the second you pulled open the front door and he saw you standing there.

           He looked back up at you. You felt a soft flutter in the pit of your stomach and realized it was your baby. Yours and Ben’s perfect baby. Ben smiled tenderly and spoke lowly underneath the thunder and lightening, “Y/N, my love for our baby doesn’t have to evolve. I don’t have to know the colors of the nursery, or which pram you’ve already picked out… Or which names you’ve picked out,” he gave you a teasing smile, one that made your heart flutter, “because I already know you had names picked out the day after you found out you were pregnant.”

           You felt like you were suffocating under his eyes, so your hand touched your chest.

           “The second I found out you were having my child, I knew I was in love because its you. You are the only person I see a future with, the only woman I dream about marrying. I’ve been spending the last three months dreaming about you and constantly thinking about you.” He sucked on his lower lip before smirking, “Sweetheart, you can fly halfway across the world to hide from me, but I’ll follow you anywhere. I’m never letting you go and I’m never leaving our baby.”

           Oh, fuck me. You thought. You still loved this man and the fact that he found out you were pregnant and flew hundreds of miles to see you, only instantly after being told, showed you that you two could make it work. Your love for each other was all consuming, passionate but so fucking real.

           “Ben, I,”

           You didn’t get to say another word because he gripped your hand and tugged you to him. Hard enough to make you stumble into his chest, but soft enough that it didn’t hurt the baby. He grinned down at you before pressing his lips to yours. You melted into him and let his mouth assault yours in the most delicious way.

           With a small nip at your bottom lip, he pulled away and stared down at you. You smiled, “I love you.”

           “Fuck,” he groaned, “I love you so damn much.”

           The rain finally got to you and a violent shiver raced through your body, making your muscles spasm and twitch against him. He frowned, “Let’s get you inside. Take a hot bath to warm you up.”

           You wiggled your eyebrows, “Take one with me?”

           He smirked and tugged your hair at the back of your head, causing dark swirls of pleasure to form between your legs, before pressing a heavy kiss to your mouth. “The answer to that is always yes.” He grumbled before grabbing his suitcase.

           Maybe you didn’t hate Joe thaaat much.

[zmediaoutlet]

come upon a midnight clear

hey, guess who finally finished a goddamn fic.

Is it the fic I was supposed to be writing? Of course not. Is it clever and brilliant? Prolly not. Was it wildly self-indulgent? Sure was, and we’re going to go with that.

title: come upon a midnight clear pairing: Sam/Dean rating: E tags: Established Relationship, Bunker Era, A/B/O (meaning my halmanverse version), Cracky smut, Christmas-ish fic

summary: Sam sets a challenge for the festive season, and Dean is more than happy to join in.

(read on AO3)

It’s not until the 4th of December when Dean’s laying on his back in their bed, panting, and Sam rolls off of him and lets out a long breath and says, "Done," that Dean starts to suspect something might be up.

They’d had a dry spell for most of the last month. They’d fought about something stupid—how to handle a hunt, a stupid should’ve-been-easy job, and them being off-kilter to each other led to a guy dying who shouldn’t have, and one of the werewolves getting away. Stupid, stupid, and they were almost over it except that Dean said something bitchy at just the right time, and then that set it all off again. Sam spent a lot of time "researching at the library"‌ after that, and Dean worked on the car and cleaned the bunker top to bottom and even worked out a few times, though he remembered pretty quick why he never did that after his ass was sore from squats and for no fun reasons. Another job came along, vampires that were hard to clear out of a tight-knit town. That hunt went better and things felt smoother, but still, even if Sam kissed him soft after saving Dean from a close call with a fang, he stayed awake in the bunker’s library when they got home and Dean went to bed alone, and it was—nothing was going to crack them, but it was a little lonely. Dean hasn’t had much occasion to feel lonely, these last few years. He’s not a fan.

When Sam did come back—yeah, that was a good night. And then the day after, that was a very good morning, Dean hitched up against the kitchen island and gasping into Sam’s hair with his shorts caught around one ankle. Yesterday, Sam woke him up with two fingers in his ass and his mouth working at one nipple, long enough that when Sam pulled off and smiled good morning the air hurt on the swollen-soft flesh—and oh, they stayed in bed for a while, and Dean could hardly walk once Sam was done. No complaints.

Still:‌ "What’s today?"‌ Dean says, when he’s got more of his breath back, and Sam licks his lips and says, "The 4th, why?" and Dean narrows his eyes at the ceiling and counts backwards in his head, and then rolls onto his side and punches Sam in the arm and ignores the ow! and says, "Are you fucking with me?"

Sam’s holding onto his bicep, his nose wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

It’s that aw-shucks Sammy tone. It didn’t work when Sam was lying about doing his shooting drills when he was a teenager, and it doesn’t work now. "The 4th,"‌ Dean says, exaggerated. "Four times? Seriously, are you—what, are you playing a game?" Sam shrugs, eyebrows high, and Dean rolls his eyes and pushes up on his elbow, shoving his hand into Sam’s face as he counts.

"One," he says, his extended finger nearly jabbing Sam in the cheek, "‌was this morning when you tried to suck my clit off, and two"‌ (Sam flinches back from the second finger) "was when you had me on your lap, and then three was after lunch, when you brought me the beer when I‌ was changing the oil on my baby, and four—just now, and we haven’t even had dinner yet, you horndog." He jabs Sam in the chest with the damning four fingers. "December 4th, four fucks. What is it, a spell or something? You’re supposed to ask, dumbass."

Sam grabs Dean’s hand before Dean can poke him again, and sighs. "Okay," he says. "You caught me. But it’s not a spell, come on."

"What, an experiment?"‌ Dean says. Sam wrinkles his nose again, caught, and Dean yanks back, annoyed. "Dude, that’s not better!"

Sam sits up, waves his hands. "It’s not like—I’m not—" He sighs again, runs a hand through his hair. "I’m more experimenting on—me?"

Dean frowns, shifts on the bed. "Like, how?"

He watches Sam’s mouth quirk, and then Sam touches his hip. "Figures, that’s what would freak you out more," he says, quieter, and then runs his fingers along Dean’s leg to the tender back of his knee. Dean shifts again, his thighs slicking against each other, and Sam’s lips curve easily, knowing exactly what Dean’s feeling.

"Shut up," Dean says, automatically, and Sam says, "It’s a challenge."

"What, you shutting up?"

Sam pinches the back of his knee, lightly. "What I’m—this." His hand runs back down Dean’s thigh, long fingers curling around to the tender inside, and Dean bites the inside of one cheek, his engine threatening to rev up again. Sam shakes his head. "You’re going to laugh."

Dean breathes in through his nose, the smell of them heavy in the pit of his throat. "Try me."

"Dickcember,"‌ Sam says.

Dean blinks at him. "I’m sorry?"

Sam shrugs. "It’s a—well, like, have you heard of No-fap November?" Dean must make a face, because Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Well, it’s just, we kind of—we sort of did that, on accident. Or—at least I‌ did." Dean shrugs at him. Whatever happens between him and the showerhead is his business, if Sam’s not putting out. Sam huffs. "Yeah, well. So, after holding it in for a while, I‌ thought, you know, we could try this."

"Dickcember,"‌ Dean says. It doesn’t sound any less stupid the more he hears it.

"Come as many times in a day as the number of that day,"‌ Sam says. He shrugs one shoulder. "We’re doing pretty good, so far."

Dean feels like his eyebrows might never come down. "Sammy,"‌ he says, and Sam half-laughs, and maybe Dean didn’t need to sound so damn admiring, but. "This is the… proudest I have ever been. Seriously. Brings a tear to my eye."

"Yeah, yeah,"‌ Sam says, but he’s got a grin peeking in at the corner of his mouth, and his dimples are all over the place, and hell, he’s naked and hot as hell and Dean came four goddamn times today, he can afford to be magnanimous. But—

"Wait a second,"‌ Dean says, "but you haven’t—I‌ mean, I got there, but you—"

"I figure we can share,"‌ Sam says. "Not like there’s a judging panel or something."

"We’d get straight tens,"‌ Dean says, immediately, and Sam laughs again, leaning in. Dean accepts the kiss, soft and precise with intent, and winds his fingers into Sam’s hair. Jesus, a fuck-challenge. May his brother never cease to amaze. "Except from the Russian judge,"‌ Dean murmurs, when Sam pulls away enough that he can. "We’d probably get docked down to like an 8 or something. Fixing the competition."

"Should’ve recused himself,"‌ Sam says, seriously, the amber light in his hair, and Dean could go for number five right now, he really could.

When he reaches down, though, even if Sam’s lashes dip at the familiar grip at the base of his dick, he’s stopped. "It’s only the fourth," Sam says. He removes Dean’s hand from his lap and kisses the knuckles. Dean’s stomach goes molten hot. Sam’s such a sap. "Gotta pace ourselves."

"You think I‌ can’t make it?"‌ Dean says, laying the outrage on thick. "Buddy, you’re on."

"We’ll see," Sam says, and drops Dean’s hand in favor of thwacking his thigh. "C’mon. Shower, and then dinner. We’re going to need our strength."

He rolls off the bed, all golden tan and long muscles, comfortable and easy. Dean sucks in a long breath, and follows. This is going to be a fun month.

*

He still thinks it's fun as of the 9th, when Sam dredges up three superb erections and makes Dean come twice with each, morning, noon, and night. "Six for you, three for me," Sam says, with Dean's thighs still shuddering around his head. "Nine down."

"We kick ass," Dean mumbles, sweaty, and Sam grins at him and passes out.

By the 13th things are getting a little hairy. Sam's still game, but it turns out fucking takes a lot more time than they thought and they do actually have other things to do. It's a weird moment when Sam says that he's going to make a run to the grocery store in Lebanon and Dean says, "Wait, we need to bone first," and Sam agrees. 'Tis the season, Dean thinks, when Sam goes down to his knees.

Still, even if the spirit is willing the flesh may be weak. Dean's clit can get sensitive at the best of times; on the 16th, he wakes up naked and a little plumped from dreaming strange blurred things about Sam, and the touch of the sheets against his skin makes him shudder, and not entirely in a good way. Even so: "Sammy," he says, and Sam grunts next to him, but turns over, and number one that day is a ginger grind against Sam's hip with Sam's hands on his ass, Sam's mouth against his ear urging him on, sleepy at first but then, delightfully, not. Two and three come in quick succession, but Sam grimaces afterward and says, "Should've tried to hold on, we've got a bunch to do today," even while Dean's sloppy with him and too comfortable to climb off.

So, the romance is coming off of it, a little. Dean actually goes on the internet and researches foods that boost testosterone, and feeds Sam tuna often enough that he starts to kinda hate it. The 20th finds them with Sam making a schedule and giving Dean an early Christmas present: a dual vibrator/clit sleeve, and once an hour Dean settles down in his favorite armchair in the library and knocks out two orgasms, until he's sore and overstimulated and too drippy-wet to want to even put his jeans back on. Sam's good for four, that day, the last of which ends with Dean tipped over the back of the armchair with his sleeve still buzzing, practically crying into his folded arm while Sam shakes against his ass and gasps, "Twenty, oh god, turn it off, turn it off—"

Dean's not sure they're going to make it. Sam pulls off his clit, having woken him at three in the morning to ensure they hit their schedule, and says, "Baby, you need to check the calendar more often." Turns out, Sam's had a secret weapon this whole time, and on the 22nd it hits: Dean's heat, coming exactly when it's meant to like clockwork. That day he gets four off before Sam even touches him, pressed with his sensitive tits against the cold shower wall with three fingers in his ass, and when he comes back to bed he's soft and overwarm and his fingers are pruny and Sam wakes up just from the smell of him, his nostrils flaring and his dick revved and ready and the way he says Dean makes the slick leak down the inside of Dean's thigh. On Sam's knot they hit four more before breakfast, and Sam doesn't even need to work for it. "I think I'm getting dehydrated," Dean says, his head light as air. Sam rubs the base of his clit where it's still standing proud and smiles at him, a smug tilt to it. "I'll get you water," he says, and flexes his hips up, "when you give me one more."

Dean shudders, clenching around Sam's fatter dick, and leans into it. "This was a stupid idea," he says, but he leans down anyway and lets Sam play with him.

On the 30th it's snowing, hard, and they don't really get out of bed. Sam's sore, and Dean's sorer, but it's hard not to keep touching each other. One lamp on, and they've got a twelve-pack of beer on the table, and a pitcher of water, and they're riding a fuck-drunk tipsy wave that's enough that when Sam has to piss he lets Dean convince him to just go right in the sink.

"You're nasty," Dean says, from the bed. The sound's ridiculously loud on the porcelain. "Gross. Why do I deal with you."

"This was your idea!" Sam says, over his shoulder, and Dean grins at him, stretching out. God, his hamstrings. The vibrator's somewhere by his feet, sloppy with lube and his own slick, and there's all sorts of nasty on his thighs, and they really might need to just burn the bedding. Who cares. This is the best month ever.

He tells Sam so, when Sam gets back into bed, and Sam shrugs, leaning over him on one elbow. "I don't know," he says, and fills Dean with three fingers like it's just punctuation in the conversation. Dean gulps air, spreads his thighs. "There was that month when I was—seventeen? And we had that rental house in Colorado and we went hiking a bunch. That was fun."

His fingers grind up into Dean's sweet spot, swollen and oversensitive. "The idea," Dean starts, pushing into it, "that this even begins to compare to that is—is downright offensive, Sammy."

Sam starts up slow circles, his thumb dragging against the base of Dean's clit. "I mean, I did get a lot of mosquito bites, that's true," he says, and Dean grips his shoulder, laughs. Sam grins at him. "Come on, give it up."

Dean does, fast, rippling. His thighs clench around Sam's wrist, his heart hammers in the pit of his chest. "God," he says, when it's over, but it doesn't really feel over, and it's not—they've got… he doesn't even know how many still to go. Sam will. He's probably got a checklist in the bedside table. Dean laughs again, slinging his arm over his eyes. "This is so dumb."

"Yeah," Sam says, and he sounds happy. "Hey. Hey, Dean."

Dean sighs, unclenches his thighs to let Sam's wrist go. "What, Sammy."

A touch to his cheek, and he uncovers his face to see Sam just looking at him—not smiling, really, but Dean knows that face and Sam sure as shit ain't sad. "I think we're going to make it to thirty-one," Sam says.

He says it with this voice that—Sam's said a few things to him, like that, and just like always Dean feels like his heart might just burst with it. Dean catches Sam's hand, kisses the pad of his thumb. "Yeah," he says, and doesn't mind how damn sappy it sounds back. Sam's a bad influence. "Yeah, I think we will, too."

[photochoco]

New Recruit

The story of how Wisteria became a Cadet. 

Pinprick and Bianca had been the closest to the disturbance. Patrolling had its perks, one of them being that you never knew when you might conveniently stumble upon magical mayhem. Well, they didn’t stumble upon it so much as they heard a banshee-like screech split through the air as they walked along. As the pair raced towards the sound, a figure flew up into the air and took off. A witch.

“Pinprick, go after them! They might’ve hurt someone, I’ll see if I can find anyone!”

Despite being a giant, Pinprick was very fast. He gave a single nod and leapt up onto the rooftops, hopping from building to building in pursuit. Bianca rushed down an alley, towards where the scream had rang out. She was met with a huge mural on a wall, still unfinished. The work seemed a bit familiar. 

And laying on the ground in front of it, a girl. She wasn’t moving. Bianca swore under her breath as she skidded to a halt next to the girl, grabbing her shoulder and rolling her over. Whatever had happened with the witch, it seemed like she’d put up a fight, dried blood was smeared on her shirt and the corners of her mouth. 

“Damn girl...I’m sorry…” Bianca muttered as she noticed the streams of multicolor flowing in rivulets from the girl’s closed eyes. It coated her hands as well; it was no doubt caused by a curse. At least she was breathing. Bianca considered calling for backup before Pinprick leapt down in front of her. “The witch got away,” he scowled. “Well, we can at least count it as a win that this girl here they attacked wasn’t killed. It looks like she might’ve been cursed, though. We’ll need to get her to Tracy. Can you carry her?” Pinprick knelt down and scooped the unconscious person into his arms. She didn’t stir, but she let out a small mumble. A good sign, even if a small one.

“Poor thing,” he murmured as he carefully cradled her against himself. “Let’s get back to BC. Hopefully she can give us a better description of the witch when she wakes up.” --- --- Consciousness came slow, discouraged by soft, warm blankets. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible had happened…She scrunched her face up. “Oh shit, she moved!” “She’s waking up!” “Oooooh do you think she’ll wanna become a Cadet?” “Whaddaya think happened?”

A myriad of voices reached her ears, but she couldn’t really understand what anyone was saying through her exhaustion. She wanted to go back to sleep.

“Ok everyone, that’s enough, off you go! There will be plenty of time for meet and greet later!”

She didn’t move for another moment. Then everything that had happened came rushing back in one great wave. She sat up so suddenly, a few people who hadn’t yet left squealed in surprise. Her hands flew to her face, her eyes. Her eyes. Please let it have been a dream. Please don’t let it be real. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real…

“Welcome back, dear. You gave us a bit of a scare, being out for so long. Could you do me a favor and open your eyes?”

Slowly, reluctantly, she opened them. Everything was grey. Greys and whites and blacks, like she was looking at a black and white photograph. Monochrome. The color was gone. Her hands started to shake, her head whirled, and an icy cold dread washed over her.

No. No. No. No way. This couldn’t be happening. 

“Hm hm!” A small plump woman popped into her view, a troll? She leaned in close, examining her eyes.

“What’s your name, dear?” the troll asked. She could barely squeeze it out of her tightened throat. “...W-Wisteria. Wisteria Inkwell. Or...Wisty...”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Tracy Pan, resident nurse of the Black Cauldron. Tell me, do you have any recollection of what happened before you woke up here?” Wisty brought her knees up and pressed her face into them. “...I’ve been cursed, haven’t I.” “I’m afraid so, dear. It would seem it’s a curse on your eyesight, no? Or is it perhaps a different version of soul loss…? Your eyes are voided out like another one of our Cadets, but his are white, yours are black. What do you see?” Wisty fought off tears. “There’s no color. I can’t see color, I--she-- she took color from me...she--”

She would not cry, not in front of other people, let alone a stranger. Emotions she couldn’t place were whirling about inside her so fast. But her face was blank as she willed the tears back. She felt very dizzy.

“Interesting, interesting…and how else do you feel?” Tracy continued.

The room was spinning. “I...uh…kin...kinda...dizzy...” Wisty mumbled. “I think ‘m gonna b’ sick…”

 “Hmm, you might be in shock. How about we… …” 

The rest of the nurse’s words were lost to the static roar that started in Wisty’s ears. Everything sounded very far away all of a sudden, she herself felt like she was floating. She could see things, hear things, but she couldn’t make sense of any of it. She tried to breathe in steadily, but her chest was burning. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Where was the color?

---

Wisty opened her eyes blearily, staring at the ceiling. Jeez...what happened? She sat up, rubbing her face. She was back in the bed, or had she never left it...? 

The world was still in grayscale, and the sickening feeling swelled inside her all over again. She looked around and listened. She was alone. Good.

She buried her face into her knees and sobbed. She sobbed until she felt like she was going to be sick. Her throat was tight and her head pounded, she cried until she had no tears left. The colorful world she’d loved so much was gone. And it wasn’t going to come back. Small wails mixed in with her sobs, thankfully muffled by the blankets.

Finally, she calmed herself down with a series of long sighs that shook her frame. She wiped her eyes and looked around, sniffling. Urgh, now she’d given herself a nasty headache and she couldn���t breathe through her nose. She slipped out of bed to find the bathroom. She could use some cold water on her face. 

Wisty approached the door and went to open it, only to have it swing forward on its own, causing her to yelp in response. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t--excuse me--” 

The pair of legs in the doorway bent down, and an incredibly tall ghoul ducked through the threshold. “Ahem.” He straightened himself up to his full height, easily over nine feet. “Apologies cupcake, I didn’t see you there. Actually, should you even be out of bed? You haven’t been taking the curse very well.”

Wisty squirmed and hastily wiped at her eyes. “I, um, I actually feel fine now. I just wanted some water.” He leaned down, putting his face too close to hers, and gently pressed a long pointed finger onto her cheek. She resisted the urge to shrink away. What if he noticed--

“Now, why the waterfalls?”

Crap. “I. Um.” The ghoul studied her expression and grinned widely with a chuckle, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. Wisty averted her gaze. What colors was he? Frustrated tears bubbled up again. The ghoul cocked his head and continued to grin. “I-I...jeezus, stupid tears,” she muttered as she wiped her eyes. “I’m fine, I’m just a little upset about my...about being cursed. I’ll be fine.”

“Yo Pin, quit hoggin’ the doorframe!” 

A girl with long gelatinous-looking hair squeezed past the ghoul, her eyebrows hopping up when she saw Wisty.

Oh, you’re awake! ‘S about time too, you were startin’ to freak us all out!”

She stuck her hand out, and Wisty took it in her own. The girl’s hand was very warm.

“I’m Bianca Frost, and this is my partner Pinprick! We make up Team B of the Black Cauldron. We found you in an alley.” “Oh--oh my god, you guys saved me? Thank you!!” Bianca shrugged and rubbed the back of her head, looking away. “Eh, it was nothin’. I’m just sorry we didn’t find you sooner. Uh, how are ya feelin’ now?” “I’m...better. It’s still kinda a big shock,” Wisty rubbed at her eyes again. “Do you have a bathroom in here? I wanted to get some water.”

At her insistence that she felt fine enough to do it herself, Bianca pointed Wisty in the direction of the restrooms. They were easy to find, tucked around the corner from a cafe area. There were several people sitting at tables, and they all swiveled their heads to stare at her as she walked by. With a weird flip in her stomach, Wisty hurriedly shut the door behind her as whispers began. 

Purposefully avoiding the mirror, she splashed her face with water, sighing as it soothed her itchy, swollen eyes. She could deal with this. It would be fine. She’d be fine. She’d find a way to keep making art, this was fine. She cupped her hands under the stream and took several thirsty gulps. This was manageable. People got cursed all the time. (As unfortunate as that was.) 

Wisty sighed again. She wondered if the curse affected how her eyes looked. Steeling herself, she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were completely black, no visible iris or sclera to be seen. “Whoooooooaaaa,” She couldn’t help the exclamation as she leaned in closer, staring at her reflection with wide eyes. “Haha, what the hell…?” She pulled her eyelid down and rolled her eyeball around; the whole thing was as solid and black as an 8 ball. A thought struck her- what would people think if they saw her eyes? Would they avoid her? Cursed people in Salem were viewed with pity, and sometimes worse, outright scorn for being damaged goods. What if--

There was a knock on the door. “Hey cupcake, are you almost done in there? John wants to talk to you.” John? Who’s that…? Wisty opened the door. Two people dressed in Ironmaiden uniforms were waiting to greet her. One was a tall, imposing-looking women with her greying hair neatly twisted into a bun. She looked severe, but her eyes looked at Wisty gently. Next to her was an equally-tall oxen hybrid, standing with his arms crossed. He looked at Wisty just as kindly, despite his intimidating appearance. “You’re Wisteria Inkwell, correct?” the woman asked. Wisty nodded. “My name is Elanor Pan, founder of the Black Cauldron. This here is John Bullock, chief of the Ironmaidens.”

“We wanted to ask you a few questions. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” John said, noting Wisty’s sudden nervous expression. “We wanted to ask you about the witch that cursed you. It’s our understanding they got away after attacking you.” “Oh, no! I don’t mind at all…” Wisty replied, feeling relief wash over her.

“Good. Now, if you’ll come this way…” John ushered Wisty into another room. Before the door closed, she looked back at the entourage that was still gathered. They all stared at her.

—-

No sooner had Wisty closed the door she was ambushed by the people still waiting in the cafe area. “Hey! Did Ela talk to you about becoming a Cadet?” “What kind of curse do you have?” “Want some soda?” They were all talking over each other so loudly Wisty could hardly piece together what any one person said. She was luckily saved by Elanor, who swept out of the room behind her.

“Really now! I’d said there’d be time for introductions later, but this poor girl has had a very long day and she certainly doesn’t need to be bombarded by you all at once. I know you’re all excited about the prospect of a new Cadet, but please, be considerate. Don’t scare her off just yet!” she said, a good-humored smile curving her mouth.

Bianca ushered the bewildered Wisty into a seat, and the remaining chairs at the table were very quickly filled in. A soda was slid her way, and with a thanks, the questions began again. The first to speak was Pinprick. “So, my dear, care to share with the rest of the class? Why don’t we get those introductions out of the way.”

“Oh...I’m Wisteria. Just Wisty is fine.”

Everyone looked at her expectantly. One of the Cadets tapped near their eyes and pointed at her.

“Oh right, my curse. Well...I can’t see color anymore,” Wisty found it was easier to talk about than she had anticipated. “I can still see and all, but it’s like--you know black and white photographs? It’s like that. I can still see value, but all the hue and saturation is gone. Actually, speaking of that, are my eyes completely black? They looked like it in the mirror, but I couldn’t tell if they were just really dark, or...”

There was a wave of nods.

“Being colorblind looks pretty metal,” a boy with glowing white eyes said, blowing a cloud of smoke out through his teeth. A cigarette was clenched between his teeth.

Wisty wrinkled her nose and tried not to gag. She hated the smell of cigarette smoke. The Cadet sitting next to the boy must have noticed, because he deftly yoinked it out of his comrade’s mouth.

“Yo Harvey, what the hell man?!” the boy squawked as the person in a bunny mask crumpled the cigarette in his hand. “If you paid any attention to her face, you’d have seen your smokestack was making her sick, dumbass.” He turned to Wisty and stuck out his non-ash covered hand, which Wisty took and shook. “I’m Harvey. I make weapons for Cadets here. This idiot next to me is Dex.”

Dex gave a short wave, grinning widely. “Yep, that’s me! Dex, the resident heartthrob.” Everyone at the table rolled their eyes. Wisty blinked. “Oh, I’ve seen you before! You nearly ran me over with your bike once.” Everyone present swiveled their heads to stare at Dex. He blinked.

“...I did?” “Oh my god Dex that is NOT what you say to someone you nearly flattened with your dumb bike!” “Hey! DeeDee is NOT dumb! She--ow ow ow ow!” his words cut off with a squeal as Harvey sitting next to him grabbed him in a headlock.

“I’m sorry about him. His head is full of empty.“

Wisty couldn’t help but giggle. “Um, have you all been here long?”

“Some of us have, yeah,” Harvey said. He released his hold on Dex, who sucked in air theatrically. “Sooooo!” Dex cut in. “Are you thinking about becoming a Cadet?”

Wisty ran a finger along the rim of her soda can. “Would I even be useful? I haven’t really fought before.” “Sure! We can help teach you, if you join. And Harvey can make you a weapon!” Dex said. “And if ya want, maybe you could team up with someone, like Alphus over there, or—” “I work alone, Dex boy,” the woman leaning on the wall nearby said. Wisty shrunk in her seat. “Oh, don’t mind her cupcake, she can be a little standoffish towards everyone at first,” Pinprick said, placing a reassuring hand on Wisty’s shoulder.

“Actually, I do have a question. Just...not related to being a Cadet,” Wisty said. “Mmmm?” Wisty slapped her hands on the table. “What colors is this place? I can’t tell at all and I MUST know!”

The next half-hour was filled with back and forth questioning as Wisty grilled everyone about what they looked like, with the Cadets describing as best they could. At least she could still remember what colors looked like. By the end of it all, she felt oddly at ease, at least for the time-being. These people were very nice. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to become a Cadet. Heck, maybe she could even design recruitment posters or something, she’d at least be doing something for them. She’d have to talk to Elanor after this.

---

If this seems a bit different, it’s because Eri is now an OC called Wisteria! They’re my host-mom’s favorite flower

[ask-spider-man-61610]

Happy Hanukkah, everyone!

Chag Chanukah sameach! I’ve eaten so many latkes tonight I think I might explode, and that’s coming from me. My electric menorah’s on the windowsill, I dug my old Hanukkah sweater out of the closet, and I lost all my chocolate gelt to Emjay in the dreidel game. I love this holiday.

Unfortunately, now that she’s gone home, I’m pretty much alone tonight and my police scanner’s way quieter than usual. There’s not a lot in my apartment to distract me from the fact that my entire family’s dead. So! I’ve decided to spend each of the eight nights of Hanukkah talking about a time someone tried to kill me and, in the grand tradition of us Jews, I survived. I think I’m gonna start with the first major time I almost died: Round One against the Scorpion.

I was fifteen at the time and just getting started as a vigilante--people hadn’t even started calling me the Spider Man yet. However, in those first few weeks I had made myself a pretty major nuisance to the Kingpin--enough that he decided to commission a supervillain to get rid of me. Fisk called in a few favors from Osborn and a scientist named Dr. Harley Stillwell, who surgically and genetically enhanced a small-time criminal named Mac Gargan to give him powers similar to various species of scorpion.

From what I’ve found out since then it was a bit of a rushed job. OsCorp hadn’t figured out how to recreate the Oz virus that was in my spider bite, so Stillwell made do with a kind of slapdash, provirus-based imitation modeled on the genomes she had selected. OsCorp provided her with a failed military battlesuit that had been in storage for a few years, along with an experimental cybernetic tail modeled off of designs they had stolen from Otto Octavius (and yes, that decision absolutely blew up in Osborn’s face later). The result, though, was that Mac came out of the process stronger than I’ll ever be, with wall-crawling powers and a semi-bulletproof green armor complete with a tail that could match my speed. Nobody realized it until later, but that wasn’t all he gained in the process.

The Scorpion ambushed me on a rooftop in the Bronx. I’d been sneaking around trying to find something that, in hindsight, wasn’t really all that important. I hadn’t fully figured out spider-sense yet, and it wasn’t yet as strong as it would end up being, so I didn’t realize he was there until it was almost too late to dodge his first stab. As I tried to recover, though, he nailed me in the jaw with a punch that almost knocked me out instantly, and, well, that established the rhythm of that “fight” pretty well.

Our fight broke through the roof we’d been on and we fell into the apartments beneath, severely injuring at least two of the people who’d been living there. I remember managing to dive out the window, but Mac’s tail had already stabbed me in the leg by then so he didn’t have much trouble going after me and tackling me to the ground. We crushed a car parked on the curb and he took the opportunity to punch me in the face twice and stab me in the stomach. Then he threw me at a brick wall, I hit my head, and most of the rest of that night is a bit...fuzzy...in my memory.

I remember punching him in the head and feeling like I’d broken a finger. I also remember the screams of bystanders as Mac threw a car at me, and in the process them. I remember getting stabbed a few more times--in the back, mostly--and thinking it was weird that he slashed at me with claws that he definitely hadn’t had at the beginning of the fight.

But most of all I remember being pinned to the ground and feeling that mechanical tail wrap around my throat. My goggles were broken and my eyes were almost swollen shut by then, but I could still faintly see him, and the parts of his face I could see--basically just his eyes and mouth--looked completely different to how they had earlier. I hadn’t managed to do any damage to the man during that battle, but he looked like he was in almost as much pain as I was.

It turns out that he hadn’t been finished transforming when Stillwell sent him out. That experimental virus of hers gave him a lot more scorpion DNA than just stuff related to super strength and wall-crawling, and so over the course of the fight he’d been growing claws, fangs, an exoskeleton, and other goodies. That armor had become fused to him as his skin had transformed beneath it, his pinkie fingers were shrinking and would eventually fall off, and his mind had degenerated slightly--he’s not feral, not like Connors would be eventually, but he’s significantly more aggressive and predatory than I’ve heard he used to be. Neat.

Fortunately for my throat it also did a number on his attention span. Someone called the cops during our battle, and when they showed up Gargan lost all interest in me and went at them. I passed out after he dropped me and only woke up when someone tried to take off my mask and spider-sense freaked out. But the next day, the news said that the Scorpion killed those three police officers and disappeared.

Still, I managed to limp home and stuff gauze into my stab wounds before passing out again. I don’t recommend doing that--pulling that gauze out again the next day was deeply unpleasant--but at least I was alive enough the next day to perform some slightly more competent first aid on myself. This was the fight that really woke me up to the realization that punching mobsters in the face because I was angry and guilty wasn’t helping anyone. If I didn’t want to make everything worse and also die, I needed to figure out what I was even trying to do and start getting smarter about it.

So I made my first web-shooters. I taught myself first aid, as well as a few basic punches and kicks. I snuck around a little and figured out where the Scorpion might have come from, more or less what had happened to him, and what he might be up to now. And so the next time we met, I--

Well, I still got fucked up. But significantly less so! I did manage to beat him that time, and saved everybody in the area in the process. As comebacks go I'd call that a pretty good one.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

with you [5/6]

Summary: Clementine pops the question. 

Preview: 

“Ruby’s going to see Clem, and the others are in the music room, so steer clear.”

Louis doesn’t know how he did it, but he actually convinced Aasim to let him wander off.

Of course, he promised that he wouldn’t go near the music room or go see Clementine, and he practically got on his hands and knees and begged to leave the comfort of Aasim’s room.

Aasim eventually gave in once Louis was dressed in the attire picked out for him; a dark green button down shirt tucked into his jeans and his signature jacket.

The yard is empty with the exception of Willy on watch. Before the young boy spots him, he makes a quick turn to the right and heads down the sidewalk towards the graveyard. 

All the graves have fresh flowers on them, white ones with long stems. Louis places himself on the ground, not bothering to care if dirt clung to his jeans or jacket.

“Hey, Marlon.”

Warnings:  Louis has a disturbing nightmare. Aasim can’t dance. Ruby’s super oblivious [or is she...?]. Mitch still doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings. Marlon’s grave makes an appearance. Clementine and Louis are separated because Ruby’s superstitous about bad luck, I guess.

Author’s Note: Y’know, it’s amazing any of you still follow me because I am a big dummy liar pants. After playing ep4, I went back to work on this and get more ideas to fully tie it together but as I was, it became ridiculously long. Too long to even be enjoyable to read. So. Here we are. 

Thank you for all the nice comments and messages I’ve gotten for this story. The support you guys have given my dumb ass has turned me into a little ball of feely mush that can’t express words, so... thank you. Really. Every read, every like, every comment has meant so much. Hope you enjoy, and I’ll see ya next time!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad | Read on FF.net

---

There’s a heavy pressure building up in his ears, damn near deafening the sounds of excited voices and off-key piano. The weight of his own head brings a throbbing ache along his neck, falling forward to gaze through lidded eyes down at the wooden floors.

He’s in the music room. No question there. Several pairs of feet shuffle by in a blur of muted colors, stopping in front of him every so often before turning away to continue their business.

Whoever’s playing the piano clearly has never pressed a proper key in their life, instead opting to slam both hands over as many of the keys as they possibly can. The sound, so awful, so quick it’s enough to make him sick, spoiling the insides of his stomach until the acids are boiling up.

Louis swallows, though his mouth is so dry and sore that nothing goes down to ease the bitter burn bubbling in his throat. His tongue feels swollen, too heavy for his jaw to handle, too plump to allow the necessary amount of air to push through.

The stress pulsating in his ears and head worsens when the music grows louder, harder with each slam of the keys. Louis’ legs buckle, giving out and sending him backward. No one wandering around seems to take notice of his fall, still hurrying and still chatting gleefully. He tries to fully open his eyes, to see their cheerful faces, but the effort to even do that has left him drained, sore.

The shoes that approach him, oddly pristine, take hold of his focus. The figure standing before him isn’t threatening, nor is it kind. It’s just there, waiting patiently for his undivided attention.

Louis can’t bring himself to look. His arms, the only things holding his upper body up, tremble violently with his vain attempt to not completely crumble.

The figure kneels down before him, a gentle hand reaching out to lift his chin.

His father smiles at him.

It’s cold, unnatural.

His once handsome face is practically gray now, gaunt and leathery, and his teeth are rotten right down to his bleeding gums. His eyes, now sunken and bruised, are dull, clouded over.

Louis’ chin quivers as the heat spreads behind his widening eyes and down his nose. He takes a shaky breath, lips trembling without a sound as he tries to say, ‘Dad?’

He coughs, tries to clear his throat, tries to speak.

And that’s how he knows none of this is real.

He never has a voice in his dreams. He never makes a sound, no matter how hard he tries.

‘Dad…?’

His father’s boney thumb brushes his cheek, leaving a chill and a rise of goosebumps along his flesh.

Louis reaches out an unsteady hand to grasp the front of his father’s suit, trying to hold on with all his might, but he’s just too damn weak. His whole body shudders as his father fixes the tie around Louis’ neck, straightens his suit jacket, and stands. Louis’ arm falls useless into his lap as he hunches over.

‘Da-dad…’

He’s sobbing, unable to breathe as he silently wheezes and coughs. The tears burn hot against his skin, slipping over his cheeks and jaw, down his neck. His nose runs, and no amount of sniffling prevents it from dripping.

Blurred through his teary vision, he can make out his father’s offering hand. Louis blinks up at him, trying to see his face, his smile.

“C’mon, Lou, get up.”

His father’s voice is garbled, almost robotic.

Something glistens, catching Louis’ eye.

It’s the dented and loose band around his father’s finger. A wave of emotion crashes over him, shooting straight through his heart as he holds up his hand to admire his own ring. He’s horrified to find it rusting, tainting the surrounding flesh down to the bone.

The keys pound, harder and harder, and the chatter grows louder to compete.

Something hits his thigh, and when he looks down, he sees his father’s severed finger with the ring still attached, oozing dark blood and staining his pants.

He gasps, chokes and kicks his leg out to get the finger off him, snapping his eyes up to his father’s.

That cold, pseudo smile stretches unnaturally, his jaw dislocating and slowly gaping, tearing the flesh of his cheeks before falling onto Louis’s lap.

As Louis tries to find the strength to scoot himself away, crying out in both silent terror and agony, his father falls apart, limb by limb, soaking his suit and beating down against his legs.

‘Shit! Shit-no! Dad!’ he tries to scream. ‘Please, no!’

Squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head so hard it rattles his brain, putting him in a dizzy haze, Louis tries to wake up.

‘I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!’

There’s clapping, sharp smacks that beat in time with his hard and fearful heart.

They’re standing, all of them, applauding. Faceless figures, familiar and slathered in shadows.

Banging on the doors. Shaking wood, muffled crying. More bangs.

Louis covers his ears by tucking his head between his knees, frantically murmuring, ‘Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!’

The doors open, and there’s a heavy thud of a body crashing through.

When Louis dares to open his eyes, that dread rushes black, heavy and throbbing, through his veins.

Clementine’s beautiful white dress is shredded, hanging loosely over her shoulder and falling over one side of her torso. On her hands and knees, arms and legs bruised and scratched, she’s crawling towards him with pleading, golden eyes. The wound, the bite, rots the skin around her neck and shoulder.

She gasps out, “Louis!”

But, he can’t move. He can’t go to her. He can only watch her collapse in front of him.

He’s shaking, shaking, shaking-

“Hey-!”

-shaking, shaking, shaking-

“Louis!”

-shaking-

Louis jerks up, gasping for air.

Firm hands grip his arm. Instinctively, he pushes away, crashing to the ground and taking the chair he sat upon with him. His calf smacks hard against the leg of the table, sending a jolt of pain through his thigh and up his side.

“Dude, shit!”

Louis scoots away disoriented until his back hits the closet doors. Heart racing, smashing brutally heavy in his chest as he takes in as much air as his lungs can handle. The muscles of his neck and back are tense, tightening with each movement. He grasps at his throat as his wide, teary eyes search desperately within the dark room for his father, for Clementine, but all he sees is Aasim’s panicked face.

“Louis, calm down!” Aasim kneels in front of him and raises a trepid hand, hesitating to actually touch him.

“ Shit -” Louis croaks out, coughing. He rubs at his face, wiping away the cold sweat clinging to his skin and tries to settle his breathing. He can feel Aasim move close, tentative and confused.

Under that questioning gaze, all Louis can give is numerous heaving huffs as he tries to calm himself down.

“You knocked over my pencil can,” Aasim says slowly, leaning forward to try and read Louis’ expression. “It woke me up. You were freaking out and- shit, you scared the hell outta me. I thought-”

The sudden pause is obvious, as is the confusion melting into deep concern. When hotness drips down his cheeks, Louis realizes that he’s crying. Not the choking, can’t breathe kind of crying, but one stemmed from shock and humiliation. Quiet, slow tears.

“Hey…” Aasim’s voice is soft, unsure. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Shame warms his skin as Louis glances away, lowering his head and wiping his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry.” His throat is so unpleasantly hoarse that it hurts to speak too loud. “I’m sorry.”

Aasim scrambles to a stand, pausing only briefly to shoot Louis another apprehensive look before grabbing his water bottle off the nightstand. This time he sits cross-legged in front of Louis as he offers him the drink.

“Here.”

Louis only looks at it until Aasim motions it towards him, silently telling him to take it.

He takes a small sip, grimacing at how hard it is to swallow, but after a few attempts, he’s chugging the whole thing, no longer caring how desperate or foolish he looks.

Louis breathes in deeply, mouth and throat sated and his pulse beginning to calm. He avoids Aasim’s eye, instead glancing over at the mess of pencils on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, sniffling.

“Uh,” Aasim scratches at his scruffy chin, “Are you- uhm…”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, coughing, “I should’ve warned you, but,” he cuts himself off, biting his bottom lip.

Fuck.

It was stupid to think he could have a peaceful rest the night before his wedding. Luckily, the dream wasn’t one that paralyzed him, unlike ones he’s had in the past. Parts of it were already beginning to fade, leaving only the prominent details to haunt his mind.

His father, or rather, the thing that resembled his father and the rotten finger, Clementine crawling towards him; those are the things standing out now, engraved in his memory.

“Warned me?” Aasim mumbles to himself, cocking his head curiously.

“About… this.”

“Wait, this happens a lot?”

Louis hesitates. “...Yeah, uhm, it’s- I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” He gives him back the empty bottle, murmuring, “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Aasim says, but makes no move to get up.

They sit there in awkward silence, and Louis can see that Aasim’s racking his brain for something to say.

“You had a pretty bad nightmare, I assume?”

Louis nods.

“That makes sense,” Aasim says slowly, eyes sliding awkwardly, almost afraid of contact. “What was it about?”

Death. Misery. Guilt. Everything else in between.

A manifestation of what he’s truly afraid of.

It’s definitely not the first time he’s dreamt of his father. Back when he was younger, he had much fonder dreams about his parents; eating dinner together, going on vacation, swimming in their pool on the hottest days of summer.

God, he had loved that pool.

On weekends, when his father was home, Louis would drag him outside and beg him to throw him in, sometimes crying fat tears when his father snapped a “no” at him.

But, on rare occasions, his father would laugh and say, “That’s what the diving board’s for,” but it was never the same as when his father picked him up and tossed him in himself.

Sometimes he could even convince him to swim with him, teach him how to float on his back, how to flip himself around off the diving board, have contests to see who could hold their breath the longest.

After he ruined everything and they sent him to Ericson, and the world went to shit, he forced himself to only think about good things. He’d pretend that he hadn’t destroyed his parent's lives, pretended that they were on their way get him and apologize for leaving him there in the first place.

And they never did.

So, Louis’ willpower to only think about the good things cracked, then shattered.

Spoiled, vindictive, unapologetically cruel.

That’s the kid his parents left behind and next looked back.

That’s who Louis was.

And that’s only the beginning of the universe punishing him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aasim tries again.

“Do you really wanna hear about it?”

“Yes.”

Louis shoots him a skeptical look.

“Sometimes you feel better when you get it all out on the table,” Aasim elaborates. “As I said before, it’s probably the pre-wedding jitters that’s got you freaked out.”

“And you want to listen to me?”

“Yeah,” Aasim frowns. “I haven’t seen you this scared since-” he bites his lip, glancing away, “-since what happened on the delta.”

“When I killed Dorian.”

“...Yeah.”

There are times where Louis forgets he wasn’t the only person there at that moment, that Aasim and Omar watched him as he pulled the trigger that sent the arrow right through her mouth and into her skull.

He didn’t see their reactions or even hear them. The moment she fell onto the ground before him, motionless and bleeding out, nothing else existed.

That’s where the real swelling shame came in.

He just sat there in absolute shock, frozen and nearly faint, and even tossed away his weapon.

In those seconds of hesitation, had Minerva not been distracted by the death of her apparent delta family member, Clementine could’ve been killed.

All because he couldn’t do one goddamn thing right.

“Was it about her?” Aasim softly asks.

“No.”

For once, Dorian left him alone.

Aasim shifts then crawls over to sit beside him with their shoulders touching.

“You’re not a murderer, you know.”

Louis scoffs. “No?”

“It was self-defense.”

It was self-defense.

She would’ve killed you if you hadn’t reacted.

It was her or you, Louis.

“That still doesn’t make me feel good about it,” Louis brings his knees closer to his chest, resting his chin on them and closing his eyes. “The one thing I’ve always been afraid of after the world went to hell was that I’d have to kill somebody. Doesn’t matter why or how, it’s just something I never, ever wanted to do.”

He stares forward, focusing on the darkness behind the window’s thick curtains.

“You’ve never had to do it,” Louis mumbles.  

“We killed the rest of them.”

“Not like that, not personally. We injured and left them to the walkers.”

“Some might say that’s worse, but we couldn’t just leave them alive. Shit, just- just like how we couldn’t take Minnie with us after she passed out.”

“I know.”

Aasim stretches his legs out, leaning forward in an attempt to de-stress his stiff back. “Look, you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like,” he admits, “but it doesn’t change the fact that what you did helped break us out. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shot her. We would’ve blown up with the boat, just like the rest of them.”

“I know,” Louis repeats, this time more harshly. “But that also doesn’t change the fact that I still have fucking nightmares about it, some so bad I can’t breathe or see straight. You have no idea how many nights I’ve woken Clementine and AJ up because I still can’t get my shit together and- fuck, they deserve a peaceful night of sleep, not a blubbering idiot who can’t get out of his own damn head.”

His throat’s tightening again with each emotionally bitter word he spits. Meeting Aasim’s wide eyes, he adds, “I know you’re trying to help, but there’s nothing you, or anyone- not even Clementine- can say that will ever make them go away.”

Aasim listens,  really  listens to every word he says, never once looking away from him. He’s hesitant but places a wary hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Louis sighs. “Ruby insisted I stay here, but I should’ve just slept in my old room. I’m just sorry that you had to see that.”

“I’m not,” Aasim replies. “I had no idea this was even a thing for you.”

“No one does, ‘cept Clem and AJ.”

Aasim pulls his hand back, curling his fingers together to rest in his lap, staring down at them with a contemplative frown.

Then, he shrugs and quietly confesses, “I have them, too. About the delta.”

Louis lets go of his knees, his legs sliding down to stretch out into a position similar to Aasim’s. He cocks his head, waiting for him to continue.

“They’re fuzzy, most of the time. I’m back in that cell by myself and Lilly comes in to ‘talk.’ She always tells me that she killed you guys, all of you, and once I see your bodies, I’ll ‘understand,’” he grimaces. “She’s going to ‘turn me into the best damn soldier the delta’s ever seen.’”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Aasim rubs at his tired eyes. “But, then I wake up in my own bed. No Lilly, no boat, you guys are alive, and I’m not a soldier. I’m still me.”

“Does it ever keep you up at night?”

“It has. Usually, I can’t fall back asleep. Too scared,” he shrugs. “So, I just grab my book, write down what I remember, and get an early start on the day and try not to think about it.”

“That easy?”

“What else can I do?”

Louis chews on his lip, turning away again. “You’re a lot stronger than me.”

“No, we just- we’re different. We saw and did different things, and, as you know, we’re not exactly two peas in a pod when it comes to thinking or reacting.”

That gets a breathy laugh out of Louis, which Aasim’s pleased to hear.

“No, we’re not,” Louis agrees.

It feels good to laugh, even if it’s barely a chuckle. The exhaustion that usually grabs a hold of his after a nightmare is present in each of his limbs, weighing him down.

“Sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay.”

The boys stand now, muscles sore and stiff from sitting on the ground too long. Louis moves to pick up the pencils he knocked over, slipping them back into the can and placing it back on the desk.

The notebook he’d been writing his vows down is still open. He glances over the works with a tiny grin, hearing Aasim sit on his bed with a huff, repressing a yawn.

He doesn’t want to think about nightmares anymore. He wants them all to go away, leave him alone and let him live in peace. It’s the night- or is it early morning now?- of his wedding, his marriage to the love of his life. He shouldn’t be here thinking about his father or Clementine dying or the repercussions of what he did as a child coming back to haunt him.

He should be smiling, worrying about not getting enough sleep because he can’t wait to see her walk down that aisle towards him.

He needs a distraction.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks, turning back to Aasim.

“Sure.”

“How come you never told Ruby you liked her?”

The question isn't teasing, but genuine.

Aasim’s silent, but even in the dark Louis can tell from the thoughtful raise of his brows that he didn’t know that answer himself. He ponders on the idea, drumming his fingers on his knee.

“Honestly?” he finally says.

“Yeah.”

“I was scared. When I stayed with her to patch up Omar’s leg, she hugged me and told me how happy she was to see me alive and- and I knew I probably could’ve told her, but it didn’t feel right. It never feels right.”

“I don’t think there’s a single right moment, Aasim,” Louis says. “You should tell her. She might like you, too.”

“Doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Have you met me?”

“You’re a bit of a sourpuss, but it’s part of your charm.”

Aasim scoffs.

“And you’re smart,” Louis continues. “Like, really smart. You’re reliable, honest, a damn good hunter, you know how to be kind, and you’re not bad looking.”

“Dude.”

“Looks, brawn, kindness,  and  smarts. You’re the complete package. In fact, how come Ruby's not the one who's head over heels?”

“She doesn’t care about any of that,” Aasim rolls his eyes. “Why are you asking, anyway? I think I’ve made it pretty clear I don’t like her anymore.”

Even Aasim himself didn’t believe the words as he spoke them.

“I was just thinking… I have someone to help me through the nightmares, but you don’t, and that kind of sucks.”

“And, your point is?”

“My point is I think you should go for it.”

Aasim looks away, scowling.

“I’m serious. Look-” Louis approaches the bed, hands on his hips, “-you’re not fooling anyone. Admit it, you still really like her. I’m not saying you have to confess your undying love, but maybe you could show your interest a little more? Like, for example… asking her to dance tomorrow?”

“I don’t dance.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Aasim refuses to look anywhere but the floor now, absently scratching at his wrist.

“I don’t know  how  to dance,” he timidly admits.

“So? Ruby can teach you. It’d be a nice bonding moment for the two of you.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“How?” he laughs. “She’d probably think it’s cute.”

“Or lame.”

Then, Louis gets an idea, and Aasim must see the gears turning in his head because he thrusts his hand up towards Louis’ mischievous face.

“Whatever you’re thinking,  no .”

“You don’t even know what I was going to suggest!”

“I don’t need to because the answer is still no!”

“That signature sourpuss isn’t going to win over sweet Ruby’s heart, y’know.”

Louis moves across the room, leaning against the bookcase and folding his arms over his chest. “Now, seeing how I’m probably not going to be able to fall asleep anytime soon after my freakout, why don’t we play a little game? I’m going to stand over here and pretend I’m Ruby-”

“Dude,  no -”

“-and you’re going to ask me to dance.”

“Uh, no, I’m not!”

“ Oh, Aasim, ain’t this just the most rootin’ tootin’est hootenany you’ve ever seen ?”

Aasim gapes up at him, on the verge of a dry laugh at the terrible accent Louis’ trying to pull over.

“That’s- that’s not what she sounds like!”

“Close enough,” Louis winks. Dramatically pressing the back of his hand against his forehead, he laments, “ Oh, look a Lou and Clem dancin’ so perfectly together! If only there was a devilishly handsome -”

“Oh my god-”

“- young fella who would come ‘n sweep me off my feet -”

“You’re fucking ridiculous-”

“- and dance the night away with me !”

Aasim can’t help it.

It might be from lack of sleep or from nerves, but he’s wheezing at the stupidity before him. Louis has said some idiotic things before, hell, some that even got a chuckle out of him, but this-

How the hell did they go from exhaustion-inducing nightmares to  this ?

Louis breaks character to laugh along with him, not caring if they’re being too loud.

Of course, if anyone walked by their room, they might think two madmen live inside, one with a very poor, very fake southern drawl and the other an old chain smoker who can’t breathe.

“We’re not doing this,” Aasim coughs, chuckling into his hand.

“C’mon, man, it’ll help! I swear!”

“Do  you  even know how to dance?”

Louis proudly grabs the openings of his jacket, shooting him a wide smile.

“Nope!”

“Awesome.”

“Hence why we should practice. It can't be that hard,” Louis clears his throat. “ If only Aasim would notice me over here all by my lonesome !”

“This is so stupid.”

“ All by my lonesome! ”

Aasim rests his head in his hands.

He can’t believe that he’s actually considering going along with this nonsense.

But he does. 

"Now, ya just put yer hand here-"

"Please stop talking like that."

"Makin' fun of a girl's accent is really rude, mister."

"Louis."

"Don't go steppin' on my toes!"

"Louis."

Aasim presses his heel into Louis' boot.

"Ow! Okay, I'll stop."

It's strange, a little unpleasant, but at least Aasim learns what not to do when dancing within the hour or so of dance practice before the exhaustion send both of them plummeting down into their respective beds. 

---

“Alright, Willy, yer all set.”

Ruby pulls the sheet off from around Willy’s neck as the young boy excitedly hops up from the stool, his eager hands reaching up to feel his head.

He agreed to a haircut on one condition: mohawk.

Ruby didn’t fight it. Anything’s better than the dirty, scraggly mess he had before, and the style did actually look charming on him. Studying him now, she thinks it makes him look tougher, meaner. In a good way, of course.

“Woah,” Willy grins far too wide as he feels the short, prickly hairs on the sides of his head. The top strip, still damp from Ruby’s spray bottle, lays flat until he runs his fingers through it, spiking it up.

“See? Don’t’cha feel much better?”

“It looks cool, right?”

“Real cool.”

Willy gives Ruby a big smile before hurrying over to the ladder in the center of the room where Mitch is quietly working on attaching the smaller string lights to the chandelier.

“Mitch!”

“Hm?”

Mitch’s tired eyes glance away from his work and down towards the young boy. Upon seeing him, he smirks.

“Shit, look at you,” he says. “Badass.”

“Yeah? You should do it, too!”

“Pfft, yeah, probably not-  shit !”

One of the small battery packs comes loose, causing it and the lights attached to it to fall to the ground. Willy’s quick to move around the ladder and examine the battery pack.

“Did it bust?”

“No, it's okay.” Willy reaches up to hand it to him after wiping it on his shirt. “Do you need help?”

“Nah.” Mitch shakes his head, pausing to suppress a yawn. He jerks his chin over towards the doors. “You can start lining the aisle.”

When Willy doesn’t respond or move, Mitch peers back down at him with a raised brow. Willy’s gazing up at him with his head cocked, a question lingering in his eye. When he opens his mouth to speak, Mitch cuts him off.

“Make sure the batteries are near the doors, then line them up coming this way.”

Willy frowns, but nods and does as he’s told.

With a small sigh, Mitch rubs his eyes and nose on his sleeve, mentally cursing himself to snap out of this haze. Grabbing more black tape from his belt, he secures the battery pack to the chandelier. He leans away to study his work, keeping his grip firm on the ladder as to not wobble backward.

He decided that they’d use the small, dainty lights to hang down above their heads, figuring that when it got dark enough, it’d look like little stars or fireflies floating in the air.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out the last one. He doesn’t have enough room to attach it, but he’s sure he can find another use for it somewhere in here.

Before he climbs down the ladder, he checks to make sure the other lights he has attached, the bigger ones, are fixed tight.

He stayed up late attaching all the lights to the chandelier before sticking the batteries to the walls. When he checked to make sure they were all still working, lighting them up one at a time, the room lit with a golden glow prettier than anything a candle could give.

It’d been quite a sight to just stand there alone, staring up at the bright ceiling.

“Mitch!” Ruby calls. “Yer turn!”

He scowls, lowering his head. Another yawn builds in his throat.

Without a word, he drags his feet over to Ruby and plops down on the stool, crossing his arms and staring off at the wall covered in white and gold hearts.

Ruby waits for the complaints, the argument, the curses but they don’t come. Mitch just sits there, waiting.

She drapes the sheet around his front and secures it behind his neck, pulling out the locks of hair caught under.

Dampening the hair with her spray bottle, she combs through it to work out any knots. Surprisingly, his hair isn’t that tangled. It’s the longest it’s ever been, damn near touching his shoulders. In fact, when was the last time she gave him a haircut? A year ago? Year and a half?

He’d really complained then. She remembers having to threaten to shave his head in his sleep to get him to cooperate. That threat prompted the little mishap in the greenhouse the next day, but she tries not to think about that. If she does, she’ll end up pissed and ready to yank the brown locks right out of his head.

So, instead of that, she attempts to make conversation.

“The lights turned out better than I thought,” she says, gently pressing his head forward to give better access to the nape of his neck. “Gotta say, I’m real impressed.”

Mitch grunts, grumbling, “And you wanted to use candles.”

“We’re still usin’ some, and I got the box over there incase any’a them go out.”

“They won’t go out. Checked ‘em last night.”

“That why yer so tired?”

Mitch doesn’t reply.

She can’t help but notice how off he’d been acting since he walked into the music room this morning. She’d been bursting with energy, thrilled that the day’s finally here. She listed off all the things that still needed to be done and all he did was look at her. He’d heard her, sure, but didn’t say much.

Usually, they would’ve been snapping at each other about this or that, but no.

Mitch didn’t even mumble to himself the entire time he worked. He  always  mumbles to himself when he’s working.

What could he be so sore about on a day like this?

It’s not like she could ask him how he’s feeling; for whatever reason, that always pushed the defense button for him.

Of all the kids she’d grown up and survived this nasty world with, Mitch was one she could never truly figure out. Sometimes she can guess his next move, other times he does something so bizarre that it actually hurts her brain when she tries to wrap her head around it.

“Gonna go see Clem later,” she says. “Fix up her hair real nice. Wonder if she’s picked out her shirt yet.”

Mitch shrugs a shoulder in response.

“Oh, and don’t ferget, I left some clothes in yer room. I’m thinkin’ that black button down shirt’ll look nice on ya. If that one don’t fit, wear the blue one.”

“Fine.”

They finish the rest of the haircut in silence.

Ruby brushes off the chunks of hair from his shoulders before pulling off the sheet. Mitch stands, rolling his shoulders and neck before turning to her.

He looks so much better, she decides. While still short in the back and on the sides, she let him keep some of his bangs, which he now pushes back. With it still being damp, it stays that way, revealing his whole scowling face.

Ruby smirks. “Y’know, you could be real handsome if ya smiled more.”

He doesn’t find that amusing.

“Shut up.”

“Jus’ sayin’.”

They hear Willy snickering over by the door, covering his mouth to try and hide it as he lines the aisle with lights.

Ruby sets aside her scissors, keeping an eye on Mitch as he feels around his neck.

Boy, he does look tired.

Now that she’s seeing him up close, the darkness lining his eyes is prominent, and his sunken posture is more than noticeable. She didn’t think working with those lights all week had taken that much of a toll on him, especially since he seemed perfectly fine yesterday.

She lightly hits his arm. “Hey? You okay?”

“Fine.”

There goes the button.

Ruby sighs. “Said ya were up late last night, right? Why don’t’cha go rest a while.”

Mitch crosses his arms again, glaring down at the floor. “No. I-” he glances up at the chandelier, “I got other things to do.”

“Like what? Aren’t’cha done with the lights?”

“Yeah.”

“Are ya gonna help the boys with the arbor?”

“No.”

Ruby quirks a brow. “So…?”

“I’m goin’ hunting. Someone’s gotta catch something for Omar to cook tonight, right?”

“Oh,” Ruby raises a curious brow. “I was gonna send Aasim and Louis out. Y’know, make sure Lou don’t try ‘n sneak a peek at Clem before the weddin’.”

“Doesn’t he have groom stuff to do?”

“Like?”

“Shit, I don't know, groom stuff. And, isn't Aasim’s his babysitter?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that-”

“Then, they’re busy,” Mitch says firmly. “I’m going. Besides-” he finally meets her eye, “-been cooped up here all week. Need to get outta here a while.”

“Well,” Ruby frowns. “Alright. Who ya takin’?”

At that, Mitch’s shoulders slump further.

“I can go,” Willy volunteers.

“No,” Mitch snaps harshly, startling the both of them. Upon seeing Willy’s wide eyes, his face softens just a bit. “I mean, you gotta stay and help Tenn and AJ with the arbor. I-” he breathes a frustrated sigh and heads for the door, “I’m taking James.”

Before either of them can say anything, he’s gone.

“Any idea what’s up?” Ruby asks, sharing the same concerned look as the boy beside her.

Willy shrugs. “No clue. But, is James even back yet? He left last night without telling anybody.”

“Haven’t heard.”

“Oh.”

Willy returns his distressed stare back to the open doors, thoughts still stuck on Mitch.

“Is- is he gonna be okay?”

Ruby turns to peer up at the chandelier with a thoughtful look. “I think so. Nothin’ bothers him fer too long, right?”

“Maybe,” Willy frowns. “He was being weird last night, too.”

When Willy got off watch and went to check on him in the basement, he’d heard a small crash followed by a string of curses. When he rushed down there in a panic, he found one of the shelves on the bookcase they kept down there broken in half and Mitch sitting on the stool, holding his foot.

He hadn’t hurt himself too bad, but that did nothing to ease Willy’s growing worry.

“That so?”

“Yeah… didn’t wanna talk about it.”

“Whatta surprise.”

Ruby decides not to fret. Whatever it is that’s bothering him, he’ll work it out. Maybe it’s a good thing to send him and James out instead. The fresh air will perk him up and he can blow off some steam, and if James is with him, she doesn’t have to worry about him getting hurt.

If he came back with that sourpuss still tugging on his face, then she’d talk some sense into him. Right now, she has to focus on getting everyone ready and working on the final touches of the music room.

If Clementine and Louis thought the place was beautiful for the proposal, then they’re going to be floored at how downright gorgeous it’ll be for their wedding.

As she sweeps the clumps of hair off the floor and into a dustpan, she realizes that she won’t be able to do anything with her own locks, at least, not by herself. While she was fairly good at doing the other kids hair, she could never seem to do much with her own.

However, there’s an easy solution.

The only person she’s ever dared let cut her hair in the past is Aasim. To make matters even better, she knew Aasim could do lovely braids. She watched him to it to Sophie’s hair years ago.

A smile stretches her lips at the thought.

“Willy, go out ‘n help the boys. I’m gonna go check on Lou and Aasim.”

---

The ceiling slowly comes into focus.

Clementine’s laid awake for a while now, comfortable on her back with eyes kept shut, only blinking up at the dust particles floating through the air whenever the curtains flutter, letting in more light.

She hasn’t woken up so calm, yet so restless in a long time. Even in her empty room, her empty bed, she finds herself at peace with a tiny grin adorning her lips. When she sits up, there’s no grogginess, no temptation to cover her head with the pillow and try to find sleep again.

Talking to Lee always makes her feel like this, even though she knows it's not real. 

Even so, the images of her dream fade in and out, bleed together into an emotional mess. 

She wonders to herself, or more so worries if Louis slept as well as she did.

Not that she could go find him and make sure. Ruby would throw a fit if they saw each other before the wedding. She doesn’t know if it’s really bad luck, because how could it be?

Then again, the bad luck might come in the form of a wooden spoon, courtesy of Ruby.

The door inches open noisily. AJ slides in, attempting to close it as quietly as possible. He’s carrying a cup of steaming coffee, the strong, bitter scent wafting through the air. When the hinges of the door continue to make more awful creaking noises, he shushes the inanimate object.

“It’s okay, goofball, I’m awake.”

AJ jumps at her voice, nearly dropping the hot mug. Whipping around, he pouts, “I told you I don’t like that name.”

“You’re right,” she smirks, leaning up on her elbows. “It’s okay,  shitbird , I’m awake.”

“Hey!” AJ giggles, playfully glaring as he hands her the coffee. “That’s mean!  You’re  a shitbird!”

“Not as much as you are.”

As she sips the coffee, AJ hops up beside her.  

"Today's the day!"

"It is."

“I’m excited. Are you excited?” he asks eagerly, practically bouncing. Seems he’s already forgotten about the shitbird insult, his zealous anticipation of what’s to come later today taking over.

“More than you know, kiddo,” Clementine beams. She downs the rest of the coffee, savoring the heat as it fills her belly and spreads warmth throughout her. “You know everything you’re supposed to do?”

“Yep! I’m helping the others and keeping an eye on you until we’re ready, then when it gets dark enough, I gotta come get you so I can walk with you and, uh, give- give you something?”

“Give me away,” she corrects.

“Give you away,” he says firmly, then cocks his head to the side with that thoughtful look he gets when he’s attempting to understand something alien to him.

“Give you away,” he repeats. “That sounds weird, like you’re a toy or something. Give you away.”

Clementine laughs, saying, “Well, you’re not literally giving me away, AJ.”

“I know. It’s just a weird thing to say. Why do they say that?”

She studies him for a moment, trying to piece together the right way to explain it to him.

“Remember when I first told you that I was going to propose to Louis?”

“‘Course I do.”

“And remember when I asked for your blessing to marry him?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, think of it like that, but this time you’re giving  Louis  your blessing to marry  me . That’s basically what it means, like, you’re ‘give me away’ to him to show that you’re okay with us getting married.”

“Oh,” AJ nods. “Oh, okay. Yeah, that makes more sense. I’m giving you guys my blessing.” He smiles brightly, leaning over to hug around her waist. “I’m gonna give you guys my best blessing!”

She holds him back, chuckling. “How’s everything else looking?”

“Well, I can’t tell you too much because it’s a surprise, but me and Tenn made something super awesome last night and- and we’re working on something even cooler today!” he gushes.

“Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“You’re gonna love it! Louis, too!”

“Have you talked to him this morning?”

“No,” AJ shakes his head, pulling back to look up at her. “He and Aasim are still asleep.”

“Really?”

Clementine stands to look through the window. The full daylight shines brightly over the school, leaving behind any chill morning brought. While not quite noon, it’s still a little late to sleep in, even for Louis. That knowledge does nothing to ease the anxious tightening within her.

“Can you go check on him?”

“Yeah, I can.” AJ presses his fingers together, picking at the skin around his nails as he asks, “If he had a bad dream, he’d come get us, right?”

“Well,” she starts, glancing back at the boy, “given what’s going on, he might not. He’s probably fine, I just want to make sure.”

“I’ll go after I help Tenn. I told him that I’d meet him out there soon, but I wanted to see you first,” AJ says, then his brows knit together earnestly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Oh yeah?” Clementine asks as she leans against the dresser. “About the wedding?”

“That, and some other stuff. I know you said not much is gonna be different afterward, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- well, I was thinking- actually, Tenn and I talked,” AJ stumbles over his words. “You and Louis like to be alone, right?”

“Sometimes,” she replies hesitantly. “Why?”

“Tenn was telling me some stuff, like how married people like to spend more time alone together in their rooms.”

Heated dread tingles along her neck.

She knows her mind might be rushing straight into the gutter, but the possibility of Tenn telling AJ about  certain things  isn’t unthinkable, and if he’s about to ask her questions referring to-

“And I realized something,” he stands up from the bed and walks towards his own, “I bother you guys sometimes, don’t I?”

“What? AJ, you don’t bother us.”

“Yeah, I do. Sometimes I walk in and you two move away from each other really fast and you say weird stuff and it’s… weird.”

“Uh, well-”

“I know you guys like to kiss. A lot.” AJ crosses his arms, staring up at her with a ‘don’t even deny it’ look. “And I know you don’t like to do it in front of me, and if I’m always coming in here and bothering you…”

“AJ,” Clementine sighs. “Look, Louis and I do like to spend alone time together, but that doesn’t mean we don’t like hanging out with you, too.”

“I know.” AJ unfolds his arms, glancing over his shoulder and back at his bed. “I’ve been spending the night at Tenn’s a lot. Having sleepovers, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

AJ faces her now, saying, “Tenn asked if I wanted to move in with him, like as roommates.”

Her brows shot up in shock.

That’s nowhere near what she had been excepting.

“When did that happen?”

“Last night. I’ve been thinking really hard about it, and it might not be a bad idea. I mean, I like sleeping in here with you guys, and- and it might be scary sometimes sleeping away from you for more than a night, but I’m gonna be brave.”

AJ stands up straight, chest puffed out with confidence.

“I’m getting older, and I gotta do things on my own.”

“AJ, are you sure?” she asks. “You don’t have to feel bad about being in here with us. Does Tenn even have room for you?”

“Yeah, he’s got another bed and lots of closet space. I can move my things in today, after we finish our secret project, spend the night there. This is a good thing, Clem.”

“I-”

Clementine doesn’t know what to say. The thought of AJ one day moving out never actually crossed her mind. She always assumed that he’d continue having sleepovers with Tenn every so often, but now that she looks at him, he may have a point.

He  is  getting older.

Now, around the age of seven- hell, maybe even eight at this point- he’s grown taller, lost a little of that baby fat in his cheeks. When she really looks at him, studies his face, she can almost see Rebecca in his every feature.

Except for his eyes.

He has his father’s kind eyes. Even when they’re angry, or sad, or tired, the shape and color are Alvin’s.

He’s not the same child who first walked in through the gates with her two years ago. He doesn’t always look to her for all the answers. He makes his own decisions for himself, regardless of her input.

Eventually, AJ would be a preteen, then a teenager.

Somehow, that thought quivers her chin, tightens her throat.

“I think being Tenn’s roommate will be fun,” he says. “And, maybe one day, when I’m even braver and stronger… maybe I could get a room of my own? With just my stuff?”

Clementine swallows thickly, saying, “Think you’ll be able to handle that?”

“One day.”

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek.

“But, if there is a night when I’m scared, or mad at Tenn, then I can just have a sleepover here, right?”

Clementine grins. “Of course, but do you really think you’re ready for a change like this?”

“Yes,” he answers assuredly.

The way he looks at her, so sure, so confident in himself, it swells such an emotional pride in her chest that she can’t help but pull him into a hug.

“Okay, shitbird, if it’s what you really want, we can give it a try and see where it goes.”

“ Hey !” AJ’s hands move to his hips, teasingly glaring at her. "Quit calling me that!"

“You’re the one who said you didn’t like goofball.”

“Shitbird isn’t any better!”

“I think it is,” she smirks. 

“Because  you’re  a shitbird!”

“Maybe. But, you know what you are?”

“Not a shitbird?”

“No, you're  ticklish!”

“Ah- haha, hey!”

---

James slept in the woods last night.

If the wedding wasn’t today, he would’ve stayed out there for the rest of the week.

Back inside the walls of the school grounds, Tenn’s decorating the arbor with leaves and flowers, weaving them through the small openings to try and hide any of the fencings they used. Willy’s standing on a stool and using old fishing wire to dangle some of the white and gold paper hearts.

AJ’s running from the entrance of the school, waving at them and excitedly telling Tenn something before getting to work with the arbor.

It brings a small smile to James’ face watching the three boys work together. They’d been so thrilled to decorate it after he and Mitch finished shaping and securing it for them.

Willy happily waves at him, shouting, “Hey! Whattya think?”

“Looks wonderful,” James calls back, giving them a thumbs up.

He spots Omar sitting on the couch with Rosie resting beside him, a faraway look lingering in his eye and a subtle grin tugging on his lips.

Figuring the boys are okay for the moment, James wanders over to Omar.

Rosie’s head jerks up, ears stiff and alert, but upon seeing it’s him, she relaxes, laying her head on Omar’s leg.

“Hello,” James quietly greets, sitting in the chair beside him.

“Hey,” Omar smiles. “Noticed you didn’t come back last night. Willy was worried you’d miss the wedding.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” he shakes his head. “Just… needed some time alone.”

“Too much socializing?”

“You could say that.”

He watches AJ stand on his tippy toes, nearly off balance as he tries to swat at the dangling hearts with his cheeks puffed out in concentration. Tenn’s giggling into his hand, amused at his friend’s attempt to prove how tall he’s gotten.

“Had watch with AJ last night,” Omar says, pointing over at the chortling boys. “Know what he said to me?”

“Hm?”

Omar smirks, recalling the night before. “He was telling me how much fun this week’s been, planning for the wedding and all. He said he’ll be sad when it’s over, when we have to go back to ‘boring’ stuff.”

“It has been an exciting time for him. Makes sense that he’d be sad when it’s over.”

“I told him that maybe we’d throw another party in the future. I suggested a Halloween party, since Willy pulled all that stuff out.”

James perks up. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Omar sighs. “Then I had to try and explain what Halloween was.”

AJ nearly falls over, almost taking the arbor with him. Luckily, Willy’s there to grab the back of his shirt and pull him to his feet. Even from far away James can see the clear fluster in his pout.

“He said he can’t wait until one of us gets married next so we can throw another one.”

James’ quirks an interested brow at that. “Did you have to explain how that works to him as well?”

“I did, and all I got back in return was ‘Omar, when are  you  getting married?’” Now he’s  really  laughing. “I think he forgets it takes two.”

James laughs along with him, relieved as the tension leaves his shoulders due to the pleasant conversation. Feeling brave, he jokingly asks, “Well, when  are  you getting married?”

“Oh, soon,  soon ,” he nods, rolling his eyes. “Very soon. I’m thinking any day now Ruby’ll finally throw me over her shoulder and make an honest man of me.”

“Pfft!” James has to cover his mouth before he spat as the laughter rocks his body. He can’t help it; the image is just too hilarious not to laugh at. This catches the attention of the boys, all three of them staring at them with curious eyes.

All of the humor in the air gets Rosie’s interest, as well. She slips off the couch, moving to sit at Omar’s feet and observing him with old, fond eyes.

Omar smiles down at the dog, reaching into his pocket to pull out a busted tennis ball. Rosie’s ears shoot up and her entire body becomes tense. She’s off in a flash when Omar tosses it towards the gate.

“I’m just teasing,” Omar says before eyeing James with a smirk. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“She probably wouldn’t find it so funny anyway.”

“Neither would Aasim.”

Rosie comes back with the ball, dropping it in Omar’s hand and readying herself, eyes stuck intensely on his every move. As he sends it soaring through the air again, Omar sighs, saying, “In all seriousness, though? I just don’t see it in my future.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “No disrespect to our group, but there aren’t a lotta options. Then again, even when our group was bigger, I could never see myself feeling that way about someone, y’know?”

“I suppose it’s not for everyone.”

Omar nods, humming. “I’m happy for them, though. Clem and Louis are good for each other. I can only wish them the best from here on out. Truth be told, I think I’d rather be an outsider to it all anyway. A witness to it happening, you know.”

“There is something about watching two people fall for each other.”

“There is,” Omar agrees. “‘Course, it can be pretty frustrating, too.”

“How so?”

Omar glances around. Then, as he throws the ball once more, he gives James a smirk and whispers, “Do you ever see Aasim talking to Ruby and think to yourself, ‘Aasim, buddy, just go for it! You’re killing me over here!’”

Oh yes.

It’s no secret around the school that Aasim has feelings for Ruby, even though he bends over backward to deny it.

When James first became acquainted with the group and they worked out their system, no one had to tell him about it. It was as clear as pure water that Aasim’s gaze always lingered on the girl, his lips curved into an involuntary grin. There was something about the way he spoke to her, so soft but alert, like he was ready to hang onto her every word.

Which is why it’s so odd that he denies it so fiercely.

Perhaps it’s due to years of Louis’ harmless teasing, or because Aasim, despite being vocal when it came to important matters and unafraid to voice his opinion, is actually shy when it comes to things like this. Maybe that’s why he becomes so defensive when someone teases him about it.

Which, they do.

A lot.

The only one who doesn’t seem to notice is Ruby herself.

Which, yes, is frustrating to those around them.

Mitch once said that someone should tell her so she can put Aasim out of his misery. Of course, James had argued that Ruby might like him back if she knew he were interested, but it’s best not to interfere in the first place.  

“Maybe he’s not ready,” James finally says.

“Not ready? How much time do you need?” Omar asks. “It’s been, what? Three, four years? You’d think Ruby’d at least get the hint.”

“She might not be ready, either.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Omar shrugs. Rosie drops the ball again. Her long tongue hangs out the side of her mouth as she gleefully pants. For a dog of her age, she still moves as well as a young pup. It’s rather impressive, James thinks.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Ever think about it?”

“About… telling Ruby?”

“No, I mean-” Omar throws the ball again. This time it bounces and hits Willy in the leg, earning them both a  “Hey!”  and a glare. Rosie doesn’t run this time, she strides at a comfortable pace. “Just, about romance in general, I guess.”

Of course he does.

After leaving the basement, he headed straight through the gates and into the forest, spending most of the night drawing stray walkers back to his barn. As he meandered through the trees, he found himself becoming increasingly distracted several times because he kept thinking about Charlie.

Or, rather, the Charlie he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

Then, he thought about Mitch again.

Charlie and Mitch.

Back and forth.

It still stung, a fresh wound torn open just last night, but James couldn’t stop hearing the harshness of Mitch’s voice in his head. He regrets ever bringing up Charlie.

He thought, or perhaps assumed, that he and Mitch had become real friends over the course of the week. Maybe Mitch would understand that it wasn’t just Violet who’s still coping with the loss of a lover, and how that loss isn’t just something a person could forget. Maybe he’d be sympathetic to his friend, apologize for all the mean things he said.

However, that backfired.

Omar notices his silence, leaning over to get a good look at his face before saying, “Hey, sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

James meets his eye, cutting loose his thoughts and returning to reality.

“Don’t wanna bring up bad memories.”

“No, it’s okay,” James gives an unsure smile. “I had someone in my life once, but we’ve since parted ways. I, uh… I used to think these things all the time when we were together.”

James looks down at his hands, a sad grin pulling at his lips.

“It’s pretty silly, but… back when all this happened and we were surviving together, in the quieter moments I would imagine us running away, finding a safe spot in the middle of nowhere, away from people and the walkers. Just the two of us, safe at last, ready to grow old together.”

“That’s not silly.”

“It was at the time. Should’ve been thinking about survival, not… that.”

“Survival isn’t everything,” Omar offers before twisting his mouth. “Well, these days I guess it sort of is, but it doesn’t always have to be the only thing. We’re lucky to have a place where we can have quieter moments, like this one. Where we can talk about things like this with each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t let it take over,” Omar says. “It’s good to remember happier times. Keeps us human.”

James nods slowly, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I do like to think about Charlie sometimes,” he admits quietly. “Talk about him.”

Omar’s sympathetic eyes fall on him now. “Do you miss him?”

“I-” James sighs. “Yes, but I think it’s more I miss the him from before, not the him that I left.”

Omar nods thoughtfully. “Understandable.”

He doesn’t pry any further.

The boys are finished decorating the arbor now, and even from far away he can tell it’s made with love. Fresh branches with green leaves weave throughout it, and little white flowers seem to bloom all over it. The hearts dangle down at different lengths, lightly swaying as the boys carefully lift it up and carry it across the yard.

James can already picture Clementine and Louis standing beneath it, hand in hand, ready to seal the deal with a kiss.

“I ever tell you I had a brother?” asks Omar suddenly.

James turns his attention back to the boy beside him, shaking his head. “No.”

Omar’s grin grows wide. “His name was Marcus, and when I say older brother, I do mean  older.  We were nineteen years apart.”

“Oh,” James says, eyes widening. “That’s… quite a gap.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he nods with a smirk. “I was a ‘happy accident,’ if you will.” He uses finger quotes to emphasize his point. “My parents only wanted to have one, then Ma got sick and found out she was pregnant with me and months later, I popped out.”

“Wow,” James breathes out. “Nineteen years.”

“Marcus was my hero,” Omar beams. “You’d think we wouldn’t have seen each other much, given how old he was, but for a long time it was the opposite. He was still living at home and going to school. I can still remember him coming into my room to tuck me in after getting home. And, even after he moved away, he visited plenty. Always made time for me.”

He sighs then, staring off towards the trees with the ball held firm in his hands.

“It’s weird. I don’t miss my parents nearly as much as I miss him.”

James’ brows raise, surprised. “Really?”

“My parents were… older, I guess. Had a lotta opinions, were very honest. Brutally so. If they thought it, it was right. Couldn’t change their minds. Heh, think that’s why they stayed together. No one else could put up with them beside each other,” Omar frowns. “But, Marcus was different.”

“I can tell you loved him very much.”

“He’s what’s kept me going. His voice in my head telling me what to do. ‘Don’t use all that pepper! You’ll ruin the stew! No, Omar, cook it a little longer! Don’t want your friends to get sick! Kid, go to bed earlier, you know you got watch in the morning.’ Shit like that.” He chuckles then, smirking over at James. “You know what he grew up to do?”

“What?”

“He was a baker. Cakes, cookies, bread, candies, and everything else.” Omar throws the ball, sending Rosie out towards the tables. “Everytime he got an order or when it was someone’s birthday or anniversary or whatever, he’d make the best cakes. And he’d always give me a big spoon full of icing to eat when no one was looking. He’d say he couldn’t ice it ‘til I tried it, said my opinion mattered.”

James studies the tenderness resting in Omar’s eyes, something different that he’d never seen before.

“That why you always cook for us?”

“Oh yeah. When shit really hit the fan and we were eating bland, nasty scraps, I knew that I could make something better, something enjoyable. And-” Omar’s smile dies, becoming a disheartening frown. “-and I told myself that if I keep everyone fed, we’ll survive. We’ll survive a long time and when Marcus comes to get me, he’ll be so proud.”

There’s a tightening in James’ chest, one that almost makes him wince.

“‘Course, I-I’m not delusional. I know he’s not coming. Not because he wouldn’t want to, or because he didn’t try, or because he didn’t love me.” Omar look back at the school building with sullen eyes. “When… when I got sent here, he was working in another country, somewhere in Europe.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He was still there when all this happened. He was so excited to go, him and his buddy, gonna take over the place. They’d be making all sorts of stuff for some crazy expensive bakery. He used to write me letters about his job there and everything he saw, send me pictures and stuff. Still keep ‘em in my room. Read ‘em when things get tough.”

His grin falls, becoming sad.

“And… when I was shot, locked up on that ship after the delta attacked us,” he starts slowly. “Thinking about him, alive and somewhere safe, kept me sane, kept me hopeful. When you guys finally brought me home and let me rest in my room, the first thing I did was pull that box out and look at his picture.”

James offers a comforting smile. “I’m glad you have something of his to remember him by.”

“Yeah, me too. I just-” Omar sighs. “Been thinking about him a lot this week, with the wedding and all.”

Rosie, tired of chasing the ball, hops back up beside Omar, happily panting. He reaches around the rub and scratch her side.

“I wish I had the stuff to make them a cake, you know? Something sweet for all of us to enjoy. Something Marcus would be proud of.”

James smiles, saying, “You’re making dinner, though. That’s something. Louis and Clementine appreciate what you’re doing for them, and I know everyone else appreciates you for all the years of feeding them, as well.”

Omar smirks. “They better. They could’ve had Lou cooking for them. Imagine the food poisoning,” he shudders, drawing a light chuckle from James.

“Hey!”

Both boys turn towards the front doors where Mitch is standing.

James immediately faces forward, feeling that strange, uneasy sting tug at his stomach. All the relaxing humor is gone, replaced with dread at knowing he’s about to face the boy who had truly hurt his feelings last night. He thinks about excusing himself and hurrying away, but Mitch is already there, standing beside him.

“Hey, look at you,” Omar grins. “Ruby got a hold of you, huh?”

“Did’ja think she wouldn’t?”

“It looks good.”

“Whatever.”

“Why can’t you ever take a compliment?”

“I- she’s gonna be looking for you, too, you know!”

“I already told her I don’t need a haircut. I’m growing it out.” Omar points up at the mess of curls tied up on his head with a smirk. “She’s not gettin’ a hold of these luscious locks.”

“Dude.”

James keeps his focus forward, trying to ignore the banter and Mitch’s presence looming over him until a hand bumps his shoulder.

“Hey.”

The first thing he notices is how soft his voice is, like a switch was flipped. The second thing he notices as he blinks up at him is that Omar’s right; his haircut does look nice. His bangs still fall over his forehead, but the length no longer brushes his shoulders or covers most of his face.

He finds his voice, quiet and repressed, cold. “Hello.”

Mitch shifts his weight to one foot and folds his arms over his chest. “We’re goin’ hunting. Grab a bow.”

James thinks he’s misunderstood the words, repeating them slower in his head.

“You guys?” Omar asks. “Thought Louis and Aasim were going?”

“No,” Mitch replies quickly, glancing away. “We are.”

Omar looks between the two, taking note of the obvious tension. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Mitch scowls. He nudges James again. “Let’s go. Meet’cha at the gates.”

Before any more words can be spoken, he turns on his heel and heads towards the gates. James watches him go, his chest and stomach twisting.

---

Aasim’s the only one awake when the banging on the door starts.

He’d been changing into the clothes he set aside for this particular day: a faded pair of dark jeans and a heavy, oversized burgundy sweatshirt.

Through the muffled brightness of the room, he sees Louis lift his head. Lidded, glazed eyes glance around before he turns fully onto his front and smashes his face back into the pillow with a groan.

Aasim rolls his eyes, smirking. He runs his fingers through his bedhead, smoothing it out as he unlocks the door.

Ruby’s rosy-cheeked face grins at him. “There ya are! Thought the two of ya croaked in there.”

Aasim slips out, shutting the door behind him. “Not quite,” he says, straightening out his shirt. “We stayed up pretty late.”

“You, too, huh? Seems like Clem and I were the only early birds last night. Lou's still sleepin,’ I assume?”

Aasim jerks his thumb towards the door. “Yeah, I’d say it’ll be another few hours before I can even attempt to drag him out of bed. We might have to postpone our hunting trip until later.”

“Oh, don’t fret ‘bout that,” Ruby waves her hand dismissively. “Mitch and James are out there now. I got somethin’ else important fer ya to do.”

Before he can ask, she offers him a bag that he knows all too well. That’s also when he notices that she’s brought along her stool, the tall, adjustable one she uses for haircuts. He takes the bag from her with a timid grin.

“Been busy this morning, haven’t you?”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she chuckles. “Got up real early ta start finishin’ up the music room and cuttin’ all the boys’ hair. Tenn, Willy, Mitch, and I still gotta find James and Omar, and-” she studies him for a moment before smirking, “Oh, I don’t gotta worry ‘bout you. You always stay nice and trimmed.”

The compliment brings a familiar flutter in his stomach, one he tries to repress.

“‘Cept with that scruff,” Ruby teases, pointedly looking at his chin.

Like a reflex, his fingers scratch at the so-called “scruff.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but for the past few months, he’s been trying to grow a full beard. However, it wasn’t the thick, glorious facial hair he dreamed of.

Instead, he got a patchy mess of bald portions and uneven thickness along his jaw and upper lip. He shaved all that off after some stupid comment Mitch made, but left his chin untouched, it being the only place on his face where it grew perfectly. He’d be damned if he’s going to shave all that hard work off.

His face must be amusing because Ruby’s giggling, winking up at him and saying, “I’ll let it pass, though, since it does look mighty handsome, especially paired with that sweatshirt. Nice color on ya.”

Shit.

Did she just-?

“Uh-”

“Anyway!” Ruby claps her hands together, completely oblivious to Aasim’s internal crisis of having too many compliments thrown at him, grabs a hold of the stool and props herself up on it. “I didn’t come here ta tell ya how good ya look-”

Shit.

“-I was actually wonderin’ if ya could give me a trim? And, maybe ya could braid it fer me, too? I’m not so good at doin’ it on myself,” she says sheepishly as she reaches back and undoes the tie holding her hair together, the curls falling over her shoulders and down her back.

Shit, shit, shit-

“Yeah-” he croaks, quickly clearing his throat and coughing to cover up the crack in his voice. “I can do that.”

“Thanks.”

Aasim can’t help but gawk a little at how long it’s gotten. Last time he did this years ago, it barely touched her shoulders.

He kneels down over the bag, hiding his face from her and counting in his head, trying to quiet his drumming heart. It’s so loud in his ears that it’s a wonder Ruby doesn’t hear it.

Once he sprays her curls wet and combs through it, he takes a steady breath before working on trimming the edges.

“Mitch got the lights ta work, apparently,” she says. “Guess Lou was right. The boy is magic. Haven’t seen ‘em in action myself, but he swears up and down they’ll light tonight.”

“If not, we have the extra candles.”

“That’s what I figure. Oh, and the boys brought up the arch thing-”

“The arbor.”

“-yeah, that, and it looks real nice. I can see it now, Clem and Lou standin’ there while yer marryin’ them- Oh!”  Luckily, he’s not in the middle of cutting anything when she turns to face him. “Did Lou finish his vows?”

“Yes. Why do you think we were up so late?” He partially lies, then curses himself for it, but he’s not about to admit what really happened.

He really would croak if she knew he’d practiced dancing with Louis while pretending it was her.

“Good, good,” she relaxes, letting him get back to work. “Jus’ need Mitch and James ta come back with somethin’ fer Omar ta cook and we should be ready.”

“Did you grab the headmaster’s glasses?”

“Aw, shit! No! I fergot- Omar was supposed ta remind me!”

Aasim chuckles, finishing off the back of her hair. He only took off about an inch, figuring she’d want the extra length to make a longer braid. Trying to focus on her bangs now rather than her curious eyes peering up at him, he’s careful not to poke or pull too harsh on them, his focus narrowing down to blending the bangs in with the rest of her hair.

“I really appreciate this, Aasim,” she grins.

“No problem,” he mumbles, still concentrating.

“And not just fer this, I mean. Fer helpin’ me out so much this week. I really couldn’t have made it look so nice without yer help. And I’m real thankful yer marryin’ them.”

He has to stop, noticing that his hands beginning to tremble slightly.

“Couldn’t let you do it all by yourself,” he pulls back, fumbling with the scissors and checking the length of the bangs between his finger.

“You’re just always helpin’ me with stuff, y’know, even when I don’t ask or when I’m bein’ difficult.”

His knuckle brushes against the smoothness of her warm skin.

Shit.

“Yer real sweet ta me, and I feel like I don’t ever thank ya enough fer bein’ there.”

“Ruby,” he tosses the scissors aside, “you don’t have to thank me.”

“Well, that ain’t gonna stop me,” she laughs, reaching up to brush her freshly cut bangs back to beam at him. “So, thank you, Aasim.”

Fuck.

How could  not  feel anything for her?

The way those sparkling, baby blue eyes stare up at him and how her pretty lips smile like that after speaking such kindness, he’d have to be a brain-dead walker to not see how beautiful Ruby is in every form of the word.

And, god, he hates what it does to him.

“You’re welcome.”

That brightens her smile.

She shifts on the stool, bringing her curls over one shoulder and twisting. “I’m thinkin’ a french braid, maybe? Or perhaps two of ‘em, like pigtail braids or somethin’?”

Aasim searches the bag for a fine pick comb and begins sectioning off chunks of hair.

“I think double french braids suit you.”

“You’d know best,” she says, fixing her posture to let him work better.

As he works on threading the chunks of hair through each other, he says, “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Not many of us to do it to,” Ruby sighs, then snickers, “‘Less ya can convince Mitch ta sit still in a few months.”

Aasim scoffs. “That’ll just result in another greenhouse incident.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Just saying.”

They chuckle lightly together as Aasim finishes the first braid, tying it off with an elastic band he found in the bottom of the bag.

Ruby admires the braid, running her thumb over the remaining curls flowing past the tie. “How’d ya get so good at this, anyway?”

“I used to do my sister’s hair for school. Mom always had work early, so we had to get ready ourselves.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Ruby smiles. “What was her name again?”

“Aamirah.”

“Pretty name.”

“For a pretty girl. She was a handful, but can’t say I don’t miss her. I’m just-” Aasim’s words hitch as his heart becomes sorely heavy. “-I’m glad she wasn’t around to see the world go to shit like this.”

She peeks back at him with a sympathetic smile and grabs his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, which he returns. They share the intimate moment in silence, merely staring at each other. Something changes, some minor in her eyes, her brow as she looks at her.

He forces himself to let go of her, otherwise, he might do something stupid.

“Well, it’s done,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Two braids fall over Ruby’s shoulders now. She hops off the stool, shooting him a timid, self-conscious look before doing a quick spin and saying, “Well?”

So damn beautiful.

---

Within the warmth of the forest, the rabbits are eager to forage and stretch their legs.

One, thick with pretty taupe fur, dares dart from the security of it’s bush. It moves slowly, lolloping, grazing as it raises its nose in the air, twitching with every sniff. At the slightest noise, it’s up on their hind legs, black eyes darting around.

An arrow pierces its neck before it could possibly react, killing it instantly.

As they approach the small creature, James can’t help but admire the effective and skillful shot.

Mitch, when focused, is skillful enough that James believes he could pull off that old Robin Hood trick if he really tried.

Yanking the arrow out and stuffing the body in his bag to join the other two they caught previously, Mitch breathes out heavily through his nose. He glances over at James before standing up and strapping the bag back over his shoulder.

James isn’t unaware of the tension, nor is he unaware of the constant looks Mitch keeps giving him, though, he can’t figure what they mean. They’re not hostile, nothing like last night, but they’re not exactly friendly, either. They’re almost thoughtful, maybe. He’s still not sure.

Either way, they make him nervous.

Gurgled groaning echoes in the distance, catching their attention.

A walker moves through the woods, alone and at a slow pace. James’ hand instinctively goes to his mask in his backpocket.

Mitch turns to him with a raised brow and fingers hovering over the knife on his belt, at which James shakes his head.

“Too far.”

While Mitch wasn’t ever crazy about keeping all the walkers alive, even going as far as to actively argue against it multiple times in the beginning, he came around to the idea when James explained it to him as a weapon.

And after said weapon worked wonders towards infiltrating the delta and keeping the forest fairly walker-free, Mitch grumbled his agreement and promised he wouldn’t kill any walkers unless he absolutely had to.

They continue their walk in silence, nothing but the crunching under their boots and the wind sounding through the forest.

And as they’re walking, James realizes that he’s looking over at Mitch just as much as he is him.

Endless stolen glances.

“Willy asked about you this morning,” Mitch finally says, quietly. “Said you left last night.”

His voice is forcibly casual, James notes.

“You didn’t even tell anybody?”

When he doesn’t answer, Mitch stops walking. James comes to a slow as well, just a bit ahead, keeping his back to him.

“No, I didn’t.”

Mitch doesn’t move, waiting for an elaboration. When he doesn’t get any, he tucks his bow behind him, securing it to his bag, and crosses his arms.

“Why do you do that?”

Intrigued by the question, James cranks his neck to peer back at him with quizzical, furrowed brows, asking, “What?”

“Sleep out here,” Mitch looks around with a glower. “You’ve got a room at the school now. It’s stupid to sleep out here if you don’t have to.”

Once again, Mitch doesn’t understand, and James is quickly growing tired of trying to explain it to him.

“Especially for weeks at a time,” Mitch continues. “We don’t know if you’re dead or if someone grabbed you or whatever. Then, you don’t even tell anyone when you leave. It worries Willy sick. AJ, too. And the others.”

What about you?  James wants to ask.

“It’s just-” Mitch shakes his head, sighing, “-stupid.”

“I don’t expect  you  to understand.”

His words come out much harsher than intended, but they clearly have an effect on Mitch, considering that he’s glaring now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means-” James’ lips press together into a tight line as he breaks eye contact, instead focusing on one of the set traps attached to the trees. “-you choose to not understand something you don’t like. You’re not one for reason.”

Mitch’s glare is gone, replaced with bafflement as such bluntness. He opens his mouth, no doubt ready to spit some sort of retaliation, then promptly shuts it.

James turns from him again, beginning to walk away, which must’ve set some sort of panic within Mitch, because he blurts out, “So, explain it to me.”

With those words, a sarcastic irritation stings in his chest. James stops again, keeping his gaze forward as Mitch approaches from behind.

“Explain it to you?” he repeats. “Yes, because that worked so well last time.”

James turns to fully face him with a glare only to be met with puzzlement, then guilt. Mitch lowers his head, shoulders hunched, and expression twisted with a silent wince. His knuckles turn white as he grips his upper arms.

“Fuck-” Mitch breathes out. “I-”

While still hurt and a bit agitated, James can’t help but soften, just a bit, at the view of him now.

Mitch turns away from him, giving James the view of his profile now.

“I’m a prick,” Mitch mumbles. “A huge fucking prick. Last night, I- I didn’t mean to kick you out like that. I just-” He cuts himself off, biting his lip. Then, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, he asks, “You- why’d you tell me about Charlie, anyway?”

The question catches him off guard, even though a part of him expected it.

“What you were saying about Violet was unfair and ignorant. I thought maybe if I-” James sighs, forcing out, “- opened up  to you, you’d see that, but clearly it didn’t work.”

Mitch’s fully facing him again, refusing to break their eye contact this time as he says, “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, I- you just-”

He stumbles over his words all while James stands there, bewildered that he actually got what sounded like a sincere apology. While Mitch wasn’t above it, James noticed that it took a lot to get him to admit he’s in the wrong, much less say he’s truly sorry.

Mitch moves past him now, walking ahead and grumbling something to himself as he rubs at his neck. James only caught the words, “ C’mon, Mitch, you goddamn- ”

He hurries until they’re walking side by side again, this time a bit closer now that the tension, for the most part, has been broken.

Mitch’s bothered, it’s clear in his twisted frown until finally, with a frustrated sigh, he admits, “I lied.”

“What?”

“I, uh- when we were talking about Vi and you were asking me all those questions…” He trails off.

James watches him carefully but doesn’t push. He can see Mitch’s struggling with his words, an internal debate on whether or not he should continue. It’s similar to his behavior last night when deciding on if he should bring up Violet and Minerva or not.

Something rustles in the bushes, then there’s a snap, causing them both to freeze. One of the traps up ahead, the one in the direct sunlight, is triggered, and from the looks of it, a rabbit’s hanging by its foot.

“Shit-” Mitch curses, picking up his speed towards the creature.

It’s full grown, a pretty, glossy dark brown coat with white spots, struggling against the trap. He takes care of it quickly, squinting at the light seeping in through the branches but not hesitating to put it down. James notices that he seems relieved with the distraction, and he wonders if he’ll take the opportunity to drop the entire topic.

That thought is squashed when Mitch continues to steal anxious glances at him as he places the rabbit in his bag with the others.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“There was someone,” Mitch says slowly. “Once. Kind of.”

“Someone-” His eyes widen. “You mean…?”

“It wasn’t really anything-  we  weren’t anything. Fuck, we weren’t even really friends- well, okay, we  were , I guess, but-” Mitch abruptly stands, tossing the bag back over his shoulder and glaring down at his feet. “But we were never more than that- but, I-  I did -”

The jumble of desperate words is alarming, leaving James to put his hands up and say in as calm and comforting of a voice as he can muster, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Mitch rubs at his face now, his eyes and his neck with exasperation at himself, his incompetence to put together proper sentences. Then, with a huff, he forces his arms to his sides as he drops the bag on the ground and takes a direct, intentional step towards James. He remains where he is, despite their much closer proximity now.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t  have  to do anything.”

With that intense stare boring into him, James quietly curses himself.

He knows it’s not the time to think it.

As inappropriate as it is in this moment, he can’t help but notice the shift in the shade of Mitch’s eyes. Before, he’d always thought they were a desaturated gray with barely a hint of color, nothing worthy of note. This close and in the light, however, they’re far from so. They’re green, a color that compliments his complexion almost too well.

His fingers bite into his palm as his pulse quickens, warmth spreads up his neck and to his cheeks.

Not the time, James. Stop it!

Mitch, those green eyes becoming unbelievably vulnerable, a jarring thing to even consider, speaks.

“His name was Justin.”

For a brief second, James thinks he might’ve misheard him as his mouth parts in a silent gasp.

“He was an asshole,” Mitch says, “but… not all the time. He’d always talk all big about how tough he was or how he could kick any walker’s ass and no one could hurt him and all that bullshit. But, he was scared, just like the rest of us.”

As he speaks, he never breaks the connection of their stares.

“He used to piss me off a lot. Like, really piss me off. One time, I was so mad that I wrote ‘Justin fucked a walker!’ on the wall right where I knew everyone would see it and I knew he’d know it was me. Gave me a pretty good shiner for that one.”

Mitch scoffs, biting hard on his lip.

“I don’t even remember what he did.”

He glances away now, his determinate features falling into one of dejected longing, gaze moving far away in remembrance.

“It wasn’t always like that,” he murmurs. “We liked a lot of the same things and he’d help me watch out for Willy when I needed him to. We graffitied the shit out of the school together. I liked having him around, talking to him and going on watch together and being roommates. But… there were a few times where I think it just-” Mitch shakes his head, “-it just caught up to him, y’know? The world’s over and we’ve been left to rot by the fuckers who promised they’d make us better. It was just us and…”

Mitch takes a deep breath and turns away, leaving James to gaze upon his back.

“He made me feel  gross .”

Puzzled by the use of Mitch’s favorite word being used in this context, James asks, “Gross?”

“Not gross like ‘ew, disgusting,’ but like,” Mitch bites his lip, trying to find the right words, “like gross as in ‘I’m thirteen and you do something to me that I don’t like and don’t understand and no one can explain it to me and everything is  fucked .’”

James tries to process it all, backpedaling and repeating what he’s hearing in his mind, striving to wrap his head around it.

And when he does, when he fully comprehends just what Mitch is confessing to him out here in the openness of the forest, his insides tie around in knots and his chest squeezes his uncontrollable heart.

“I didn’t really figure it out until the day he didn’t come back from a hunting trip.”

James breathes out, voice barely above a whisper, “Mitch…”

“We’d lost lots of others. I never cried over them, never let myself because it’s pointless. Crying doesn’t bring anybody back, but Justin…” Mitch whips around, startling James. “I was so fucking mad at him. He thought he could take on a bunch of walkers himself and-” his voice cracks “-and he fucking couldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t! He was fucking scrawny.”  

His eyes fall shut, and James felt his hands twitch, wanting nothing more than to reach out to him.

“I didn’t let myself cry over him, and to this day, I still haven’t because I told myself to get over it, and I did, okay? But, he didn’t come back and even though I got over it,  I still fucking hate him for it. And- and I hate him for making me-” he meets James’ eye again, “-for making me see a part of myself that I tried to hide from.”

James doesn’t know what to say, he can’t think properly.

“Mitch, I… I didn’t know.”

“No one does,” he shrugs. “I really didn’t mean to be a dipshit and say that shit to you, I- I just… None of the other guys ever seemed to deal with this shit so I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone else who- uh-” he clears his throat awkwardly, “- you know . But, then you told me about Charlie and it freaked me out.”

“That’s understandable,” James tries. “I… I get it.”

“Yeah? Because, really, I can imagine what kind of a fucktard you thought I was for kicking you out because of that.”

“Yes,” James admits. “Let’s just say I’m not unfamiliar with that sort of treatment regarding my, uh, preferences.”

“Fuck. Then I went and- shit!” Mitch crosses his arms again and kicks at the uneven dirt.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

There’s more growling in the distance, another walker aimlessly roaming the forest, but Mitch’s focus is solely on James and the conversation, so intense it quickens his pulse.

“Really, no one knows?” James asks. “Not even Willy?”

“No. It’s not like anyone would care if they found out. Willy sure wouldn’t. Fuck, they probably wouldn’t think anything about it. They didn’t when Vi and Minnie got together. That shit doesn’t matter anymore. But...”

“You don’t have to be ashamed-”

“I’m not,” Mitch takes another step towards him.“I-I know I was raised to be disgusted with this type of stuff, and that I am an asshole a lot of the time, and I say lots of stupid shit I don’t mean, but no, I don’t have any real reason to be ashamed. I know who I am, I know what I like and I don’t give a shit what other people think about me.”

His face falls.

“Well, what most people think of me, I guess.”

Then, as if realizing just how close they are, he takes a step back and turns on his heel, moving back towards the triggered trap.

“Some kids got picked up, you know,” Mitch continues, his voice turning bitter. “Their parents came and grabbed them, hauled them off in the first few days when all this seemed like a short-lived disaster. When it turns out it wasn’t, our teachers weren’t far behind them.”

That…

James thinks back to everyone at the school, imagining them as small children huddled together in the nightmare that was the end of the world, the world of walkers.

How could anyone be so cruel as to leave behind terrified, defenseless children? What kind of monster doesn’t even try and help them survive?

Mitch grabs the bag of rabbits off the ground and shrugging it back on his shoulder, continuing, “One day, a while after we lost Justin, it just hit me. The world’s over and my dad, my brothers, my grandparents, none of them are coming for me. They’re either dead or worse. And, as fucked up as it is, I was relieved. Relieved that they’d never get that chance to tell me who I am, or hate what I like or  who  I like. They gave up that right the moment they dropped my ass off here.”

There’s something subdued in his expression now as he looks at James again and says, “And after realizing that, after denying it for so long, I finally felt I could admit it to myself.”

Then, he smiles.

Mitch genuinely smiles at him.

And it makes his knees weak.

“Thank you,” James whispers.

Mitch raises a questioning brow, blinking over at him.

“For trusting me,” he elaborates lightly. “I know it’s difficult to deal with on your own and even more so to share with someone.”

“I dunno,” Mitch smirks, scoffing and scratching at his cheek. “There might be something to this ‘sharing your feelings’ crap because I feel pretty fucking good getting that off my chest.”

James chuckles. “This is the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

“That’s the most I’ve ever talked in my life.”

They exchange another smile, and James admits that this is the first time he’s seen this sort of grin from him.

He’s witnessed his proud smile, the one he always gives Willy.

His sarcastic sneer he has whenever teasing or arguing with Ruby.

His smirk at Clementine whenever they agree on something.

His smug grin whenever he successfully builds or fixes something.

Then there’s this smile, one that’s truly relieved, comfortable.

Happy.

James might be getting ahead of himself, but he can’t help but ask, “We’re friends, then?”

“Shit, we better be after I, uh-” Mitch glances away sheepishly, “- opened up  to you.”

That widens the smile tugging at James’ own lips.

“And, since we are,” Mitch glances away, “I actually had a few questions… about it.”

“You can ask them on the way. We still have more hunting to do.”

“Shit, yeah. Omar’ll pop a gasket if we don’t catch enough.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

---

Violet never thought she’d ever be one to do this, but here she is, standing in front of her open closet and studying the few articles of wearable clothing.

A long time passes as she remains indecisive, constantly debating on just growing a pair and grabbing something or slamming the door shut and crawling back into bed.

Either way, nothing happens until Tenn comes.

“Hey, Vi,” he greets, closing and locking the door behind him. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

All Violet can do is shrug, sighing an honest, “I don’t know.”

Tenn peeks into her closet before turning back to her. That’s when she notices he’s holding something.

A white flower, one of the ones that grow everywhere this time of year around the school.

“I was wondering…-” he starts, “-we still have a few hours before the sun starts to set. That’s when Ruby wants us all there, except Clementine. So… I was wondering if you changed your mind? About going?”

Her gaze remains locked on the contents of her closet.

She doesn’t answer.

And it kills her knowing that, even without looking him, disappointment is spreading across his soft features. He moves past her and sets the flower on her dresser, right on her notebook.

“If you do come,” he says, “everyone’s wearing one of these flowers. It doesn’t matter where, it’s just so we all match.”

Before he leaves, he gives her one final look. “Let me know if you change your mind… so you don’t have to go alone.”

When the door clicks shut, Violet sinks down to her knees, slamming her fist against her thigh.

“For fuck's sake, Vi,” she hisses. “What’s wrong with you?”

She isn’t doing this again.

She’s not moving back into the shadows.

As much as she wants to turn and dive back into her bed, wrap the blankets around herself and pretend nothing around her exists, she won’t do it.

She’s not staring at the door anymore with a hand so desperate to knock.

Not this time.

She knows she has to do this, has to tell all of her fears, her insecurities to fuck off. She has to try.

For Louis.

"Everyone'll be there, and it wouldn't be perfect without you, Vi. You know that, right?"

“You’re fucking better than this.”

If Louis wants her there, then damn it, she’s going to be there.

With a huff, she forces herself back up and yanks the first shirt she sees off its hanger, stretching it out before her. It’s a charcoal color with a purple heart adorning the chest area.

Fuck it, this’ll do.

---

“Ruby’s going to see Clem, and the others are in the music room, so steer clear.”

Louis doesn’t know how he did it, but he actually convinced Aasim to let him wander off.

Of course, he promised that he wouldn’t go near the music room or go see Clementine, and he practically got on his hands and knees and begged to leave the comfort of Aasim’s room.

Aasim eventually gave in once Louis was dressed in the attire picked out for him; a dark green button down shirt tucked into his jeans and his signature jacket.

The yard is empty with the exception of Willy on watch. Before the young boy spots him, he makes a quick turn to the right and heads down the sidewalk towards the graveyard. 

All the graves have fresh flowers on them, white ones with long stems. Louis places himself on the ground, not bothering to care if dirt clung to his jeans or jacket.

“Hey, Marlon.”

The wooden cross is faded from constant sun exposure, but the carved letters are still prominent.

“It’s been a while. I know I promised I would visit more, and I did for a long time there, but a lot’s been going on.”

Louis rests his hands in his lap, glancing up at some birds flying overhead.

“Don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m getting married today. To Clementine. Who else, right? You wouldn’t believe it, but she proposed to me. Me. I know, you’re baffled with disbelief, but it’s true. I’d show you my ring, but Ruby confiscated it.”

He points to the naked finger on his hand.

“Anyway, it’s been a long time. I just wanted to see you before it happens, talk to you about some stuff.  If you were here, I can only imagine what you’d say. I think you’d be happy, maybe not thrilled about Clementine, since you did warn me against her… though I doubt you had my best interests in mind at the time.”

“Dude, don’t get your hopes up. I doubt she feels that way about you.”

“...Yeah...”

He lowers his head, eyes squeezing shut.

“...you’re right.”

He can always remember that day so clearly. The last moments he saw his best friend before the thunderstorm hit, before he killed Brody and almost shot Clementine.

Before he died.

“Thanks, man. Goodnight.”

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out. After a brief pause, he continues, “The nightmares are still bad. Shit, they’re getting worse, I think. I haven’t told Clem about most of them, and I’m starting to think that’s not the right thing to do. I read once in one of those magazines that honestly is the key to an unbreakable relationship. Which, I guess it is in anything, like an unbreakable friendship.”

A chill overcomes him.

“That’s what really fucked us over, huh?”

Louis looks back up at the sky, admiring the fluffy clouds as he speaks, “I won’t make the same mistake. I know I have to tell Clem how bad it’s gotten, and I will sometime after the wedding. I can’t be afraid of it anymore, you know? I’m sick of waking up like that, of hiding it from her and the others. I’m sure you’d tell me to man up, get over myself and do better. But… it’s not easy.”

Feeling the wetness return to his sore eyes, Louis quickly rubs at them.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about her and our wedding, about my parents. I don’t think they’d like her very much. In fact, I’m pretty sure Dad would forbid me from accepting her proposal, and maybe-” he gives a dry laugh, “-here’s a funny thought, Marlon. Maybe he would be so pissed off that he’d break me and Clementine up.”

He hears distant voices from behind him but pays them no attention.

“How do you think he’d do it? A fake affair, like I did? Or would that be too predictable?”

A warm breeze carries the scent of a floral spring with a hint of dirt, something that’d be more enjoyable had he not been sitting where he is.

“It’d make sense, wouldn’t it?” he whispers. “An eye for an eye, one marriage for another-” he inhales a shuddering breath, “-that’d balance everything out, wouldn’t it? Why should I get to live in this world happily married after I fucked up my own parent’s marriage?”

He sniffles, shaking his head and stares at the mound of dirt before him.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he murmurs. “But I’m going to do what I always do; enjoy this moment. It’s the only sure thing. Maybe the karma monster will rear it’s ugly head one day and hurt me real bad again, but until then, I’m going to smile, go back into that school, marry the woman of my dreams, and have the best night of my life.”

The voices grow louder, and recognizes them as Mitch, James, and Omar, no doubt getting ready to start cooking.

“I love Clementine, Marlon,” he smiles. “And I kept my promise. I’ve stepped up. Really, I have. You know I’ll never stop joking around, but I do take hunting and scavenging more seriously now. And we haven’t lost anyone since you, Brody and the twins. For the most part, everything’s been really good. Things are still tense with Violet- hell, I don’t even know if she’s going to show up today, but that doesn’t change anything. We… we’re all family now, Marlon, more so than we were before. I wish you could be here to see it, all of you.”

Footsteps approach from a distance, so Louis goes quiet.

“Hey,” Aasim calls softly.

“Hey.”

He stands beside him, peering down at the graves.

“It’s almost time. Mitch and James are back, Omar’s preparing the rabbits, and the music room’s officially finished. The boys are in there now.”

“Do I get to go in?”

“Yep, Ruby said you could play the piano while we wait for it to get darker. To calm your nerves, if you need to.”

“That sounds amazing,” Louis grins, looking back to Marlon’s grave. “Would you believe Ruby kicked me out of there? I haven’t touched the piano in a whole week.”

“And you survived,” Aasim rolls his eyes.

“Barely.”

“Well, when you’re done here, go ahead and go in. There’s no rush, though.”

“Thanks, I’m just going to say goodbye.”

Aasim gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before turning and walking off back towards Omar. When he’s out of earshot, Louis decides it’s time to say his goodbyes.

“Well, guess that’s my cue. I’ll be back to talk to you again, let you know how things are going, what it’s like being married. I don’t imagine it’ll be all that different, right? I will get to call Clementine my wife. Looking forward to that.”

He shifts himself onto his knees and places his palm against the dirt, giving one final moment of peace for his lost friend.

“I miss you.”

A heaviness is lifted from him, a serenity replacing it. He let his doubts have their moment, let them shake his core and attempt to take over, but he leaves them there with Marlon’s grave.

Over the years of surviving in this world, Louis became a master of tucking those thoughts away, leaving them to be explored later, and focusing on the good things.

Like how in a couple of hours, he gets to see Clementine.

He gets to wear his ring, he gets to hold her face in his hands and kiss her, and dance with her. He gets to be with his family.

At least, most of his family.

“Goodbye, Marlon.”

As Louis goes back into the school, he keeps his head held high and adorns a tranquil smile on his lips.