#you are the new centre the world spins around you move into a house with your partner and adopt triplets but by this point you have started

[thebirdmanhewatches]

Me casually creating my third set of sims featuring a god figure self insert, the central focus of its torment, those complicit, and a child chosen: sure hope I don’t accidentally make a story more beautiful than any I try to construct with thought

[peonysink]

Home (Home) 

part XII (final part)

previous part

pairing: Commander Cody x fem. reader

Summary: Together at last. Some closures.

Warning: 18+, PiV sex, description of domestic violence

Note: Thank you to everyone who read, liked and commented. I love that this Cody ride is ending on the night of the news that more Cody content is coming, and I so can't wait for TBB S2. Yay.

Lots of love xx

Waking up next to Cody will never be something you’d take for granted. 

The first time it happened was a month ago - which was almost 9 months after that mind-blowing sex on the couch in your office. In a way, ever since then that couch became a symbol of everything good in your life - it became a source, a background, a place, a home to some of the most special moments in your life. He’d be gone on missions, sometimes for just days, and sometimes for weeks, but every time he’d get back to Courscant, the first thing he’d do was come to see you in your office. And just like that first time, you’d lock the door, and join him on the couch. Sometimes you’d just start kissing and undressing each other, almost without a word, hungry to feel each other’s bodies, desperate to be close to each other. Sometimes, you’d just cuddle and talk. 

He wouldn’t always be in the same mood. It was evident that some missions took more out of him than others. In the beginning, he didn’t want to tell you all the details, but after you kept insisting, he’d tell you about his brothers, the troopers that he’d lost and sometimes he’d talk about them. His face was firm and almost emotionless, but you knew very well what was behind it. That facade was something a commander like him had to learn to build up. And you wished he’d feel more comfortable around you and show you what was really going on in his mind and in his heart  - to show you his real pain because pain followed a man like him everywhere he went.

But that would take time, and now, you finally had all the time in the world.

You moved out of your apartment. In the end, the divorce was swift, like pulling off a bandaid. The anticipation proved to be far worse than the divorce itself. You saw Leonid twice after your fight - the first time in a small room in your lawyer’s firm, sitting across from him and his lawyer. He was polite, and he kept your gaze every time you looked at him. His face was neutral, almost bored at moments, but you thought you caught a little smile when his lawyer suggested you should keep his family’s coin collection - only you and he knew how much you mocked him about those ridiculous coins over the years. You thought they were kind of meaningless the way they were framed and displayed in your halfway, but he thought they were quite elegant. Hearing now how much they were worth almost made the room spin around you, which was then followed by that little smile on his lips. 

The second time you managed to talk briefly. There wasn’t much to disagree on in the end. You divided all the assets, and you got more than you hoped for - or wanted really. The big apartment in the city was his, and he needed it more than you - so you would never fight him on that. You got the coin collection, and the house on the periphery - and quite a generous alimony. 

And that was it. End of a story. End of everything you built together - divided, chopped and redefined. 

Living outside of the city for the first time ever was interesting - but something you desperately needed, as you came to realise. The place wasn’t really quiet - nothing on Coruscant was peaceful and quiet in a traditional sense of the word - but it was quieter and far away from the chaos of the centre. 

You had a big garden, and even though you knew nothing about gardening, you took an interest and spent days familiarising yourself with it. 

Even after you moved to the house, for a period of time you met Cody exclusively at the shelter. None of you minded that, really. Your office, your couch, it was your shelter within a shelter. It became your home from home. 

And after you got your new home, your literal four walls, somehow you worried about inviting Cody there - and he sensed it and he never pushed. He’d ask you about it, and you talked about the new furniture you were getting, and how the two gardeners were teaching you everything there was to know about the trees and the plants and the bushes, but the story would end there. He’d ask you if you liked it there, and whether it felt good to be there, even though you now had to commute a long way to get to work, and you‘d nod. 

“I think it might feel like home…” - you said, as you cuddled on the couch one evening, “But give me some more time - it might be just a fluke!” 

Cody laughed and planted a kiss on your temple. He knew what you meant. People like you, people searching for something, for a place to call their own, for people to call their own, were weary proclaiming something as big as that. People like you learned to manage their expectations and thread lightly into new adventures. 

And then one time, just like that, as you were planning to go home after another hot episode on the couch and you were switching off the lights around your office, you’d asked him where he was off to now, and he just replied how he’d head back to the barracks. And almost as it was the most natural thing in the whole wide galaxy, you simply asked:  

“Why don’t you come home with me?” 

And as soon as that sentence left your mouth, it defined everything you two have been doing for almost a whole year:

Home.

With me.

Come. 

Cody didn't ask if you really meant it, or if you were sure. He knew you wouldn't say something like that if you weren’t. And you knew you didn’t even have to ask at all. You knew he was just waiting for you to say it. You were both ready. 

And everything about it was magical. 

First, the fact that you didn’t have to hide anymore. That you could sit next to him on the train, and not feel bad about it. That you could close your eyes, lean on him, hold his hand and not worry if someone would see you. 

That you didn’t have to say goodbye to him after sex on the couch, because that was always painful. You missed him all the time when he wasn’t with you. And especially when he was on Coruscant, knowing that you wouldn’t be spending a night together, even though he was so close, felt increasingly wrong. 

That night, the moment he stepped inside your house, you smiled. You couldn’t help it. The biggest, goofiest grin overtook your face. He asked what was funny, but you shook your head and just came closer to him, wrapped your arms around him and planted a kiss on his lips. 

You slept together that night, without sleeping together - without making love. He hugged you and you fell asleep listening to his heartbeat, feeling safer and in a way more complete than you’ve ever felt before in your life. 

In the morning, as you were waking up, you felt his lips on your temple, as he was waking you gently up. 

It was the first time you’d ever seen him first thing in the morning. His olive skin in the morning sun, his sleepy eyes after a long sleep, and his hair, messier than his usual perfect cut. And it was the first time he saw you -  and he must’ve liked whatever it was that he saw since he pulled you closer, almost desperately, bringing his lips to yours in a deep passionate kiss, while his hands roamed all over your body. He was hard, almost painfully hard against your lower stomach, and you rolled your hips slowly, making him almost growl in your mouth. 

He made love to you that morning, so slowly and sensually, that he lit every atom of your skin on fire. Every atom of your entire being in fact. At some point you begged him to speed up, take you harder, bring you over that devastating edge you’ve been hovering above for far too long, but he took his time, enjoying every moment of it, every slow drag of his cock inside your walls, like he wanted to map everything out, now that he had you under him, naked, in the daylight - no rush, no uncomfortable couch, no trying to be quiet  - all the space, and the time in the world. He wanted to feel you, see you and hear you. Every atom of you.

Once he finally took mercy on you, taking you deeper and faster, his fingers rubbing gentle circles around your sensitive clit, and his teeth buried in your neck, the orgasm that hit you was one of the most powerful sensations your body and mind ever experienced simultaneously.

And all the other mornings were similarly spectacular - always different, but always yours and always unique. Always special. And therefore, never something either one of you would ever take for granted.

His missions were still painful to you, but you promised yourself you’d never show or tell him that. You both knew how much you missed each other when he was gone, so you didn’t want to make things more difficult than necessary. You agreed that you’d never say goodbye to each other, but instead every time he had to leave on a mission you’d pretend like you’d see each other later that day. So, just a  peck on the lips, and a see you later . Anything more than that would’ve probably made it impossible for either one of you to function - for him to leave and for you to stay behind. 

It was one of those periods, and he has been away for a week - but you expected him back any day. 

When you heard a knock on your office door, your heart almost stopped for a moment - was it him? You smiled and said come in, mockingly seductively, crossing your legs and arming yourself with a smile, but any smile that was on your lips was wiped soon away once you realised who was about to enter your office.

The first thing you noticed was how beautiful she was. So much more beautiful without bruises on her face. 

“Can I come in?” - Eleny asked, hesitating slightly, after seeing that smile disappear from your face. 

You nodded slowly and showed her to sit. You pointed to a chair in front of your table. You stopped inviting anyone to sit on your couch anymore. 

Eleny hesitated for a moment, but then she entered and closed the door behind her. She came closer, but she didn’t take a seat. 

“I’m sorry, for just showing up like this … I won’t… I won’t stay long.” 

“How can I help you?” 

She was quiet, observing your office, almost as if she was looking for something. It made you almost uncomfortable. The last time you were face to face with her didn’t end well. 

“I owe you an apology!” - she suddenly spoke.

“Oh?” 

“I was horrible to you that night at the hospital, and I’ve said some things… that just weren’t true”. Her face was serious, and her eyes were piercing. You were quiet for a while not really knowing what to say. 

“Like what?” 

Eleny exhaled, his lips relaxing. You could now see that she was quite tense, but that she was trying very hard to show you that. 

“Like that Cody was to blame for what had happened to me.”

“Oh…” 

You were speechless. All this time you thought about her often, but you’d usually stop yourself from overanalysing, knowing you wouldn’t be able to change anything. Cody explained to you what happened, and that was all you needed to know. But you felt bad, still, bad knowing what she thought and how she felt. 

“I was in a bad place… and I made some very bad choices, but none of that is on him. It’s on me. They were my choices.” - she said calmly. 

“Right…But don't you think you should be telling Cody all of this?

She smiled. 

“I think me and Cody are not quite there yet - where we can sit and have an open conversation about everything. One day maybe…” - she shrugged. 

“What happened to you that night?” - you asked timidly. You weren’t really sure why. 

She was quiet for a while, just looking in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry…”

“No, it’s okay…”. She hesitated for a moment, and then her gaze fell on the chair in front of her:

“May I?”

“Please!” - you said pointing to the chair. 

She took a seat and was quiet again.  

“After that whole thing with Cody, I was angry. At him, at myself, I don’t even know… but more than anything, I was lonely. And I wanted desperately to stop thinking about him, and I wanted to replace him… I really wanted to leave him behind.” 

She shifted in her seat for a moment. 

“But it doesn’t work that way. Someone great doesn’t just appear in your life exactly the moment you need them…” - she added, her voice laced with sadness.

“So I started actively looking, and I reached out to this guy who’s just always been…there. Always texting me, always hitting on me… He seemed harmless, and I slept with him a few times, thinking I could just replace Cody and that Cody would just vanish from my thoughts… but I soon realised that it doesn’t work like that…”

Now it was your time to shift in the seat. You could guess where the story was going.

“I told him that I didn’t want to see him again, and well…. As you can imagine that didn’t really sit well with him. First, he thought I wasn’t serious, and he kept showing up at my flat. Once I wouldn’t let him in, I’d see him stand in front of my building and just stare at my window for hours.”

You could feel your blood starting to boil as she was telling her story. You remembered the way she looked that night at the hospital, and listening to her side, to how it happened to her, was almost making you physically sick.

“Until I couldn’t take it anymore, and one night I invited him up, and let him in… thinking I’d be able to talk to him, and once again, explain to him that this had to stop… But he wouldn’t listen. He kept telling me how I was wrong, and I just needed to give him a chance, and that he’d make me so happy… He kept saying that he knew I was sad, but that he could help me. That he was exactly what I needed, only I wasn’t able to see clearly. And all the time, I kept shaking my head, and telling him that I didn’t want to and that he needed to leave me alone.”

She stopped for a moment. Her face was firm, without really giving any emotion away. You wondered when was the last time she told that story. And how many times before did she tell it anyway?

“And then he hit me. With his fist. A few times, I think two or three times, till I fell. I felt the moment the skin broke above my eye and the blood rushed… it almost blinded me… and well… the rest you know…”

You were both quiet for a moment. You had no idea what to say. You felt deep anger taking over, anger over something like that happening to her. Anger that something like that was happening almost on daily basis - you’ve seen it in your shelter. Possessiveness, jealousy, gaslighting, narcissism, all kind of psychosis… all of that often result in violence, brutal and unnecessary violence. 

“I’m so sorry…” - you finally managed to say. 

“It’s okay. I’m over it. I made my peace with what happened. Physically I recovered - just a little scar, see.” - She pointed to her left eyebrow. “I was lucky, I guess, it could have been so much worse. My workplace paid for some therapy. That was good. And my friends helped… a lot.” 

You nodded, glad to hear all of that. 

“I even made some new ones.” 

When she added that last sentence, you couldn’t help but notice the corners of her lips stretching into a subtle smile and her eyes sparkling just for a second. You wondered if she meant Fox, whom you’ve met that night at the hospital. Cody told you how Fox took care of her for a while after the accident, but you didn’t want to ask anything about that. 

“Anyway… that’s not why I came here today. I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean any of what I said that day, but I hope you understand why I said it.”

“I appreciate you doing that. More than you know…”

Eleny was quiet for a beat, and she got up. You followed. 

“Well, I won’t be taking more of your time then…”

“It’s okay, really…” - you said, as you followed her to the door. She stopped and turned around to face you, almost hesitatingly.

“He’s a good guy, you know? A really good guy. And he deserves to be happy. Every clone does, but Cody deserves it extra in my book!” - she said, her voice soft. “To answer your question of why I was telling you all this.” - she added. 

As she said that she was about to shake your hand, but instead of taking her hand, you instinctively reached out for her and pulled her into a hug - a proper, honest, tight hug. At first, she was frozen, her body stiff and her hands sort of hovering in the air, but then she relaxed and wrapped her arms carefully around your shoulders. You stayed that way for a moment, and then you took one step away. 

“Thank you, Eleny!”  

—

Cody came home three days after that. He didn’t show up in your office, as he was held up at the briefings, but he said he’d just come straight home when he’s done. But the briefing turned out longer than he expected, and arriving at your place now took almost an hour. He arrived in the middle of the night, and he sneaked carefully in, finding you asleep. He undressed, took a quick shower in the guest bathroom, and slipped under the covers without waking you up. 

But then in the morning, when you opened your eyes and you felt his hot, flush body glued to yours, he made love to you -  as only he knew.

Slowly, sensually, teasingly, then desperately, needier, with ferocity and passion you’ve never experienced before. 

There was so much you wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him about Eleny. How he didn’t have to worry anymore, and how she’s forgiven him. You wanted to tell him how you think she was doing good now, and how there was probably something happening between her and Fox. You wanted to tell him how one day he should probably sit and talk to her, and how you’d like you all to be friends - once all this is over, and feelings and wounds have completely healed. 

But all of that could wait. You had the rest of your lives for all of that. 

Right now, the Galaxy, the Republic, the Senate, the war, ex-husbands, ex-girlfriends…. It could all wait. In fact, none of it existed at all in the moments when he held you and when he made you feel like this. Hot, desperate, sensitive, on the edge. Every touch, every drag of his cock inside you, every grip of his fingers against your skin, every touch of his lips and every bite of his teeth consuming you entirely. You dag your fingers desperately in his flesh, leaving your marks on him, and holding on for dear life as the room and the entire universe tilted on its axis around you.   

“Welcome home, my love!” - was all you managed to whisper in between his long, deep thrusts. 

[sophjuly]

A broken heart will never stop me dancing. It still glows red with blood, ready for a war.

An arrow through the centre of ripe fruit, bent in awkward directions around hardened ribs and muscle, awoke an all-consuming rage. Ferocious pain enlivened heat and sound unimaginable to me before the impact, as if my senses were suddenly poised for a fight at any moment. Everything felt like an assault on the walk home from our apartment, where I left you, with the sound of the closing door still vibrating in my bones. The whole world felt like a threat without you.

I had never drunk in another person with such religious stupidity, believing in every whisper as a declaration, every shared joke a secret, every tender movement between us a sacred agreement. I held your words in my body like gospel, and with a youthful foolishness, I ran in the streets, and sung lectures on love to the Gods, declaring to them all that I had known the truth. I was a balancing act in the palm of your hand, and when your bow raised and the arrow hit, I shattered all over the floor. “I think you should probably leave now,” you said. Hollow, blurred echoes of the words hit me, loud then quiet, bouncing through the seconds like shrapnel, filled with excruciating hours, as I struggled to pick up my jagged edges and drag them towards the door. I resisted the urge to collapse under the sound of it closing, receding into the past.

As I took the elevator, I felt a presence, and it followed me as I crossed the road and started walking towards the corner. I could feel the tingling sensations through my spine, the vertebrae spiked up in attention and waiting. Long, dark shadows flickered in the reflection of streetlights and neon signs, bleeding together and collecting in watercolour puddles. As the echoes of steps grew closer and louder, I felt the tenderness of heat and the sickness of unsteady motion mixing in the pit of my stomach; an energy rising up and sinking into new depths. The wildness in the centre, where the drive to keep moving – despite all – thrives and grows over the walls of haunted houses, was sticking in roots that were burrowing down to the core. A low growl emerged from the darkness behind me, and the wildness in me knew it was the animal spurring me on, through the uncertain pull of this new and disorienting gravity.

I walked to the corner of the street and got a coffee at the 7-Eleven so I could sit with it. It followed me through the door, a quiet but forceful presence, ready to share its generations-old secrets as I stood at the coffee machine and picked up a cup. “Tell me how to go on,” I whispered, my breathing so deep that my chest hurt. The animal knew so well how to deal with the axis-shift; it turned to me and murmured in its low dark growl “the answer is white hot rage”. I knew that even though the violence would nearly kill me, I had to let it eat me whole just to escape the vertigo.

For months I screamed until I burst into a million fragments, and I scraped them off the floor, time and time again, taping them back together with new metals. I emerged in my broken glory, wings bent, with a completely new landscape – almost unrecognisable, even to you.

Hearts are such resilient things, being broken along infinite fault lines, and falling back together, still forcing out life through the cracks that appear. The tectonic plates can shift beneath them, and they will keep on beating.

I felt such comfort in the lightning and thunder. I was almost lulled into eternity amongst them, but gravity would not stop shifting, and I knew that eventually I would come back to you. Waves of terrible anger carried me while you were disappearing, but even still I was aware of a piece of me left in the basement, holding onto my feet through the floor, not letting me forget. Even now, held together by a thread, a faded, hopeful version of me is dancing in the living room, waiting for you to get home; vinyl spinning, needle scratching in the middle of a 33”, with the last song we listened to playing in my head.

Look in through the windows, darling. I keep the lights on for you.

[dreamerstreamer]

Into The Woods

Pairing: werewolf!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Werewolf!AU] It’s love at first sight when you move into a quaint, little house by the forest’s edge, but you soon find that there’s more waiting for you in the woods than you originally thought. 

Word Count: 10k

A/N: my third commissioned story! this work has been altered so everyone can read it, but the plot remains the same. this story was a blast to write, and i hope you all enjoy it! <3

With a step back and a firm tug, the back door slammed shut with a satisfying click. You grinned as you turned the key in the lock. Slipping the silver keyring into your pocket, you turned on your heel, your gaze sweeping over the vast open forest that stretched out before you. Viridian green leaves loomed over the earth, standing in stark contrast to the clear, cerulean blue sky that stretched across the horizon overhead. On the ground below, the occasional wildflower sprouted up and out of the earth, their soft petals shyly unfurling and fluttering in the warm summer breeze.

For such a lovely view, you never would have guessed that you would be able to afford a place like this for so cheap.

Then again, Elmwood Ridge wasn’t a particularly notable town. Best known for its countless acres of elm forests and the large lake that laid at its centre, the town had become something of a nature reserve unto itself, despite being anything but. It was a quiet, quaint region, somewhere you had always distantly dreamed of visiting, if only because of its peaceful atmosphere. You never thought that you would end up living there, though.

It had been a split second decision made on impulse, and looking back, maybe it wasn’t the smartest move you’d ever made, but you didn’t regret one bit. Your new house was two stories tall and built with lovely stone bricks that looked like they came right out of a fairytale. The triangular sloping roof hung just over the sides of the house to provide some shelter from the rain, and the second floor had two balconies—one in the front and the back. Needless to say, you were sold in a heartbeat. Not only was the house pretty, but so was the price tag. You vaguely remembered hearing something about complaints of noisy wolves in the forest, but you weren't deterred. A little noise never killed anyone, and you were more than happy to share your space with nature.

Hopping down the back steps, you gently tread across the soft grass, careful not to step on any flowers as you walked. After moving in two days ago, you had planned to take the day off to hike and learn all that you could about your new backyard. You would head into town tomorrow and look for a job then—right now, all you wanted to do was explore and appreciate your new home.

Gazing up at the rustling elm leaves one last time, you smiled to yourself before stepping out of your lawn and into the forest.

In the distance, a faint howl rang out across the trees.

Between stretches of chestnut wood, a flash of tawny brown and golden fur dashed across the earth, powerful paws pushing off the ground with each leap. Landing atop a fallen log, the wolf raised his head, his muzzle raised toward the sky as he inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring.

Fresh. Clean. Warm. The faintest scent of flowers.

He exhaled, emerald eyes blinking as he scanned the open forest around him.

Carrying out routine morning patrols around the pack’s territory was one of the alpha’s many duties, but Clay still wasn’t quite used to it.

Stepping down from the log, he let his tongue hang out of his mouth, his ears flicking as he took in every sound. Somewhere above him, a bird flapped its wings, chirping as it took flight. Along the breeze, he could pick up the distant scent of deer coming from the south. His eyes flashed at the smell. He would have to report that to the pack when he returned—it had been a few days since they last had a large hunt. Sniffing one last time, he began weaving between the looming trunks, his entire body rapt with focus.

He had only been appointed as alpha a little less than a month ago, and although he had technically been taught the ropes, it took more than just a few lessons for a wolf to truly become alpha. He could still remember how the former alpha had pressed his nose to his side, nudging him onto the rock peak in front of his pack with an aging howl. He had been getting older, and everyone knew it—it was only a matter of time until a new leader was selected, but Clay never would have dreamt he would be the one who was chosen.

Only a few people were as surprised as he was, though. He was one of the larger wolves in the pack, and while he wasn’t the tallest in his human form—that title belonged to the young, curious Ranboo—he was by far the strongest, having led more than his fair share of hunts before. It was only natural that he ended up in his position, and he was welcomed into the upper ranks with open arms.

A glimmer of warmth washed over him at the memory, and he would have smiled if he wasn’t shifted. He had never felt such pride before, feeling everyone’s excited gazes on him as he howled up at the gleaming, full moon. The shouts that filled the starry night sky made his heart swell in his chest, and he just knew he was going to do his best to make everyone proud. He would protect them to the ends of the earth, if he had to.

Kicking away a stray branch, his eyes quickly flicked over his surroundings. He recognized this area, and he knew that he had almost completed a full circle around the pack’s perimeter, by now. There was only a tiny stretch left before he would return to the camp and fill everyone in. Raising his head, he let his jaw fall open to catch any aromas that travelled along the breeze.

All of a sudden, a new scent wafted over his nose, an unsettling sense of unfamiliarity striking deep within his core.

There was something in the woods—something that did not belong here.

In an instant, Clay’s lips were pulled back in a snark, his sharp canines bared as he sank his paws into the soil below. His claws latched onto the dirt, his grip firm and unwavering as he pressed himself closer to the ground, careful not to let his scent travel in the air.

They weren’t common, but every now and then, hunters would venture into the woods with their heads held high and guns drawn. Most of them came hunting for game, shooting down the occasional deer or elk to bring back to their own families. Clay didn’t have a problem with those hunters, but as for the ones who came in search of wolves?

Clay wasn’t sure he could be so lenient with those ones.

Prowling forward, he kept his haunches low, his tail brushing over the shrubbery as he took step after step toward the strange, new scent. Ever so slowly, he crept closer, his pupils dilated in focus. Suddenly, he stopped, freezing in place.

He could hear footsteps.

Inhaling deeply, he let his eyelids fall shut.

One, two, three...

His eyes shot wide open, and he whipped his head up, only to go stock still as a silhouette came into view.

It was a person, a regular person.

He blinked as he lifted his head, his expression growing neutral as he watched you crouch down to examine a small pile of stones stacked beside a tree, one that he vaguely remembered being made by Tommy and Tubbo when they went exploring a few weeks ago. There was no gun strapped to your body, no pack hanging off your hips as you rose back up to your feet. You didn’t seem to be a threat at all, and from the back, he couldn’t tell if you were even carrying a weapon.

Just then, you turned to the side, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

The world suddenly fell away, his surroundings melting into nothing more than a hazy blur as his eyes locked onto your face. His heart came to a screeching halt in his chest.

You were beautiful.

The light framing your lovely face made your cheeks seem all the more lively as you rose. He watched as you brushed your fingers delicately over the bark of a tree, your brilliant eyes meticulously tracing over the curve of every leaf as you walked past. Your feet never lingered in one place for long, constantly moving and skittering across the forest floor like a rippling stream. It was almost as though your every movement cast streaks of dappled sunlight everywhere you stepped, the marvelling spark flickering in your gaze making his head spin with wild abandon.

Clay felt something warm and tight curl against his insides, unmistakably soft and affectionate. It was almost hard to breathe with the way his lungs squeezed and shook behind his ribs. He hadn’t felt this feeling before, but he had heard enough stories to know exactly what it was.

His mate—you were his mate.

There wasn’t any one way to truly describe what a mating bond was, but the most commonly accepted one was that it was a connection that tied people’s souls together, uniting them in perfect harmony. Every werewolf had a mate, and most of the time, they would find their mate in another one of their kind. But right now, as Clay stood in the forest, his gaze glued to the most beautiful human he had ever laid eyes on, he knew that he wasn’t going to find his mate in some other shifter like everyone else had said he would.

Having a human for a mate was rare at best, and unheard of at worst. After all, not every human had a mate, and he had heard stories of shifters being rejected by their human mates. Some of the elders in the camp still refused to believe that having a human mate was even possible, but nearly all of the younger shifters had accepted it—embraced it, even. But never in his pack, at least, had someone learned that their mate was a human.

It looked like he was going to be the first.

For a few long moments, he simply stood there, watching you silently with wide eyes as you slowly made your way deeper down the path. A part of him wanted to chase after you, yearned to walk by your side for as long as his legs would let him. But as soon as he raised his paw, he quickly lowered it again, a pang of guilt shooting through him.

He couldn’t go up to you—not like this, and most certainly not now. He didn’t have nearly enough experience under his belt as an alpha yet, and bringing you to his world could just make everything even worse if he wasn’t careful about it. He swallowed, taking a single step back as you slowly slipped out of view, disappearing into the trees and carrying your lovely scent away with you.

Anxiety gnawed at the inside of his gut, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you would even return. Surely you must live around here to be hiking in these woods—maybe you would hike here again, if not even more often.

He paused, then nodded to himself before whipping around, his tail swishing behind him as he clenched his jaw.

Tomorrow. He would come back tomorrow.

A few feet deeper within the trees, the sound of a stick snapping shattered the forest’s silence.

Along the lightly-treaded path, you whirled, your head pointing toward the sharp sound. Pausing, you raised your head, your gaze darting to the forest canopy above. The sun peaked down at you between swaths of vibrant green, and you squinted, raising a hand to shield your eyes. The trees remained quiet around you, only whispering with the soft rustles of their leaves.

A moment passed in silence. A robin warbled.

You let out a long exhale and shook your head. Turning once more, you stepped over a small crack in the ground, humming as you walked further into the woods.

It was probably nothing.

Sapnap grunted as he dropped the pile of sticks onto the ground, the wood clattering at his feet in a heap. He scowled at the sight, resisting the urge to kick the pile down. He couldn’t believe Wilbur had actually tricked him into doing something as simple as collecting firewood. It wasn’t difficult or anything, but he was the beta, for crying out loud! He could have at least passed the buck to someone like Tommy, that brat.

“Sapnap.”

Sapnap blinked at the familiar voice, turning to find himself standing face to face with Clay. His dirty blond hair was disheveled atop his head, and his cheeks were flushed with heat. A smile tugged on his lips at the sight. “Oh, hey, Clay. Welcome back.” He squinted at the way Clay’s chest heaved, his breaths coming out shaky and uneven. “Um, you good, there? Did you run back here or somethi—”

“It happened,” Clay blurted.

Sapnap blinked, raising a single brow at him. “What happened?”

Clay swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I met my mate.”

Sapnap paused. “Oh. Oh.” A wide grin stretched across his face, and he reached over to clap a hand to Clay’s back. “That’s awesome, man! I’m guessing it happened on your patro—”

“My mate’s human,” Clay said suddenly.

Sapnap paused again. “Oh. Oh.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Clay’s shoulders went slack at his side as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his scalp. “I, um,” he said, his words coming out in a hazy rush. “I don’t think I’m ready to—” He stopped, feeling Sapnap’s patient gaze rest on him, then opened his mouth, again. “I can’t just reveal our world so soon. I’ve only been alpha for what?” He gestured vaguely. “A month? I’m not experienced enough, yet.” He slumped forward, a hollow, wistful look settling onto his features. “It would be too much for both of us.”

Sapnap nodded thoughtfully, understanding flooding his face. “It’s okay, Clay. Take your time.” He fell silent for a brief moment, then quietly added, “Did you reveal yourself or anything?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I was too surprised to even move.”

Sapnap’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile. “Then there’s no rush,” he said. “You’re allowed to build up your confidence first, dude. Your confidence as a wolf. As an alpha.” His eyes flashed with soft reassurance. “As a mate.”

Clay raised his head, blinking as Sapnap gently nudged his shoulder with his. “You can do this. Plus,” he added, his tone growing more lighthearted, “I’m your beta. You know I’ve got your back.”

The chuckle that escaped Clay’s lips was low and short, but he could already feel the tension seep out his shoulders like a leaking dam. “Thanks, Sap.”

Taking a step back, Sapnap hummed, offering him a lopsided smile. “Anytime.”

Clay turned on his heel, jerking his head toward the centre of the camp. “Well, I need to organize today’s hunt, but I’ll catch you later. I trust you’ll keep things under control while I’m gone.”

He nodded. “Of course—you know me.” With a short wave and a small grin, Clay began walking off in the opposite direction. “Oh, also,” Sapnap suddenly shouted after him, “don’t forget to grab something to eat before you go hunting today, yeah? I know you missed breakfast.”

Clay didn’t look behind him as he shot a thumbs up at Sapnap from behind his back, but Sapnap could already picture the way he would roll his eyes with a smile. Shaking his head, he turned back to the firewood scattered around his feet, a new glower creeping onto his face.

He was so getting back at Wilbur for this.

Every morning after, Clay dutifully woke up early and strolled deep into the woods, shifted into his wolf form as he scented the air and patrolled the area just as any good alpha would. But time and time again, that one sweet scent never seemed to return, almost as though it had vanished from the forest entirely. At times, he thought he caught the faintest whiff of it, but some further exploration would only reveal a small patch of flowers, never you.

Needless to say, his disappointment was palpable.

It had been a full week now, and Clay was running out of hope. Maybe he was wrong—maybe you wouldn’t ever come back. His heart ached at the thought.

He had been too hasty, wasn’t he?

Hanging his head, he whimpered to himself in the quiet forest, sniffing absentmindedly as he ambled about almost aimlessly. He still had a duty to fulfill, he knew, but he couldn’t ignore the empty feeling burrowing deeper and deeper into his chest.

But right then, just as he paced another few feet forward, he heard it.

A melody.

It was soft, the singing travelling down from the west in a distant murmur, or perhaps a hum. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he surely would have missed it. He didn’t know this song, didn’t recognize it one bit, but he could already tell that it was sweeter than any thrush’s song or any loon’s call. He felt his heart flip in his chest, and just like that, he knew.

In a flash, he was racing across the earth, his paws flying out beneath him in a blur as he ducked under branches and darted past deer, missing the way they startled at his sudden approach. The song was louder now, and he could smell it—smell you.

It was only a few seconds later that he came to a stop, his paws digging into the ground as his heart leapt into his throat.

Soft hair. Bright eyes. A dazzling grin.

You were back.

You had headphones on this time, he realized, and you were humming aloud to yourself, your feet most likely moving in time to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. You were a little off-key and occasionally stumbled over the refrain as it came around, but he found himself entranced nonetheless. Even when you were doing something as simple as humming, you were stunning.

Why come back today of all days? he distantly wondered to himself. What made today so different from any other day?

He wracked his mind as he felt the sun shine down on him gently, warming his back as he crouched down a little. He rarely kept track of the days—that was Sapnap’s job—but he knew that there hadn’t been any special events or holidays going on in the human world. Pressing his ears flat against his head, he scratched his paw at the ground in confusion. Just what made today so special?

That was when the realization slammed into him.

It had been a week since he last saw you.

Once a week—you must hike here once a week.

If he could smile in this form, he already knew that he would have the biggest, stupidest grin plastered to his face. He wanted to leap for joy and howl like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t want to alert you of his presence just yet. Again, it had only been a week, and he was still far from being a worthy mate for you.

Once a week, he thought once more, his eyes glued to you as you skipped further down the trail and out of his sight. I can wait another week.

The wind sang in his ears as a gentle breeze brushed over his tawny fur, the forest murmuring a silent lullaby into his ear as he whirled back around. As much as he wanted to stay with you forever, he had a patrol to finish and a pack to defend. He let his eyelids flutter shut for the briefest of moments, your face engraved into the rosy crevices of his heart as your humming filled his ears once more.

He couldn’t wait to see you, again.

One week later, you grumbled to yourself as you stomped through the woods, complaining about your new job under your breath. Clay wished he could comfort you, but stayed put with his claws buried in the dirt.

Two weeks later, you watched with wide eyes as a doe and her fawn drank from a nearby stream. He made sure not to hunt those two down in particular later that week.

Three weeks later, you were snapping photo after photo with the camera hanging around your neck, your eyes absolutely brimming with curiosity. He thought you were prettier than any view the forest had to offer.

As one week stumbled into the next, the months began to pass in a blur. Summer collapsed into autumn as the leaves turned gorgeous shades of crimson red and golden orange before tumbling from the sky. Shortly after that, the forest was covered in a blanket of ivory white snow, leaving the branches bare and awaiting the return of spring. The snow soon melted into rain, and puddles littered the forest floor while flowers began to bud and bloom once more. In almost a whirlwind of seasons and waiting, summer rolled around once more, marking the first anniversary of your arrival in Elmwood Ridge.

With each passing season, Clay continued to watch you from afar with a tender gaze. Some days, he would listen to you hum as you trekked along while other times, he would only manage to catch the tiniest of glimpses of you between the trees. No matter how short the instance was, every second he got was well worth the wait, and Clay could feel his affection bloom like a new spring flower. As the trees grew larger, as did his confidence. Time was the best teacher the forest had to offer, and it didn’t take much longer for Clay to grow comfortable with his duty as the alpha of his pack. But despite his newfound strength, he still didn’t feel ready enough to approach you outright, to reveal himself to you as he was. Doubt swirled in his mind like a raging storm, eating away at him like a gnat digging through mud.

He was beginning to fear he may never be ready.

Lifting his head, he sniffed the air, the now familiar scent of his mate drifting across the new summer breeze. You were taking a new path today, he noted in an instant. Perhaps you were doing some exploring.

Padding through the trees, leaves crunched beneath his feet as he leapt over logs and puddles, following after your scent as it grew stronger and stronger. It only took a few moments for him to find you standing atop an elevated rock face, your head lifted as you gazed up at the light scattered between the tree leaves. Your face almost seemed to be glowing in the pale, morning sunshine, your eyes looking like two dewdrops as they curved into tiny crescents. Clay’s heart rattled in his chest, and he resisted the urge to howl to the heavens above.

You were lovely, his mate. If only he could work up the courage to properly tell you.

Basking in the sunlight, he watched as you took a few steps forward closer to the cliff’s edge, your eyes still trained on the sky above. It wasn’t a terribly deep fall, he knew, but the fall was most certainly far enough to hurt someone if they fell at the wrong angle. He narrowed his eyes as you stopped dangerously close to the edge, halting just a few inches from the drop. Surely the stone was strong enough to support your weight, even as old as it was, right?

Apparently not.

Clay saw the cliff crumble before you did.

Terror shot through his body like a bullet as he watched the rock face collapse under your shoes, your feet tumbling out beneath you. Your hands desperately reached for the cliff face, but he could tell from the way your scream cut through the forest’s silence like a sharpened blade that you weren't going to be able to grab it in time.

There was no time for him to think—his body moved first.

In one moment, he was standing with his mouth slack and his emerald eyes blown wide with horror. In the next, he was lunging across the rock face, his jaws wide open as he reached for the lower collar of your shirt. The moment he felt his nose brush against the back of your neck, he snapped his jaws shut, careful not to pierce your skin with his sharp canines as the cloth caught between his teeth. Your weight bounced beneath him once, and the gasp that escaped your lips made his head spin dizzily.

Close—you were so close, and your scent was intoxicating.

You turned your head ever so slightly, and he felt it the moment your eyes locked onto his. You were scared, he could tell, but as you took in the sight of the wolf holding onto you, you almost seemed to relax in his grip. Planting his paws firmly against the rocky earth, he tugged his jaw up and backwards, pulling you away from the cliff face and over even ground. Your hands scrambled to latch onto the cliff edge, helping to pull yourself up until finally, he let go of you, your now torn collar resting against the back of your neck.

Heaving a sigh of relief, you let yourself collapse against the rock face, lying on your back as you gasped for breath. Your chest felt tight like a wound-up spring, and adrenaline pumped through every vein in your body, yet you felt oddly calm. After a minute or two, you slowly pushed yourself forward on your arms until you were just barely slouching forward, looking over your shoulder. A few feet away from you, the wolf stood, his eyes trained intently on your face as you swallowed.

“Um,” you breathed, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Hello?”

He didn’t say anything in return, simply shuffling further away from you. He was giving you space, you realized after a brief moment, and you blinked as you scrambled to sit completely upright. His fur was a soft, golden brown, and you had half the mind to distantly think that you wanted to run your fingers through it. Something about him seemed comforting like that.

“Hi,” you whispered once you were seeing him eye-to-eye. “Ah, um, thank you for saving me.”

Maybe you were just imagining it, but you could have sworn his eyes widened in an almost human-like manner. He didn’t move from his spot a few feet away from you, and you swallowed. You thought you would be more scared than this, more terrified of the beast standing before you. But as you sat there, watching as he blinked at you, you felt as though you were anything but. An unfamiliar yet strangely comforting warmth curled around in the pit of your stomach as you tilted your head at the wolf.

He felt so... safe. So familiar, almost like you had met him before.

“Are—are you a nice wolf?” you asked after another moment, your voice faltering the tiniest bit. “I’d like to think you’re a nice wolf, since you just saved my life.”

Once again, you were greeted by silence, the only indication that he had heard you at all being the way his ears flicked. What am I doing? you suddenly thought, your mind running at a million miles a minute. I’m talking to a wolf—an animal. I’m not a Disney character.

This was weird—or at least it was supposed to be. Yet, as you stared at this wolf who simply stared back at you with these bright, stunning green eyes, you couldn’t help but feel that everything in this moment was just perfect. Like you had been waiting your entire life for this moment to happen.

“You’re really pretty,” you suddenly blurted. In an instant, you were slamming your palm over your mouth, your cheeks flooding with heat. “Oh my god, that was embarrassing,” you murmured, your voice coming out muffled. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage like a caged bird begging to be let out, and ever so slowly, you lowered your hands from your mouth, offering the wolf a shaky, sheepish smile. “Um, thank you, again,” you said gently, honestly. Leaning forward, you pressed your hands against the cool stone to balance yourself, your fingers digging into the rock as you spoke. “I don’t really know how you knew I was there or how you knew I was going to fall, but I really appreciate it.”

The wolf blinked at you once more, then took another step back, subtly dipping his head. Your smile widened at the sight. Pushing yourself upward, you rose to your feet, brushing off the dust from your frontside before standing upright, fidgeting almost nervously.

“I—I,” you stammered, suddenly feeling awkward, “I think I’m going to go home now, but...” You swallowed, raising your hand in a small wave as heat rose in your chest. “...thank you so much, again!”

Before the warmth in your heart could burst, you whipped around, sprinting away as fast as your legs could take you. You didn’t see the way the wolf practically crumbled into a ball on the ground, whimpering to himself as you disappeared out of sight.

Bolting down the hill and past the trees, branches blew past you in a blur as you dashed between the trunks and over patches of wildflowers. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears like a beating drum, and your chest felt oddly light. You couldn’t shake the memory of how intense that wolf’s gaze had been on yours, his eyes swirling with something that made your stomach churn and your mouth go dry.

He really was pretty.

Sapnap yawned as he stretched his arm behind his back and above his head, rolling his neck as the joint popped back into place with a satisfying crack. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in like this, but he did not regret it one bit. Clay had given him the okay, after all. One late morning wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Sapnap, you are not going to believe this.”

Sapnap yelped, whipping around with eyes as wide as saucers as he stumbled back a step. The drowsiness left his body in an instant, almost as though he had never been tired to begin with. Clay’s hand shot out to grab his arm, steadying him as he swallowed, relaxing once he realized who he was looking at.

“Holy crap, Clay,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his racing heart, “you scared me! I know you’ve gotten better at this whole stealth thing, but that was just straight up terrifyi—”

Clay’s grip on his arm tightened. “I saved them today,” he whispered.

Sapnap froze, and there was a beat of silence. “You did what, now?”

Just like that, Clay had flung his arms up and around his head, his fingers buried in his hair as he began to pace, his tone frantic and rushed. “There—there was this steeper area with this cliff but it was kind of hidden, and then it was breaking and I just knew something bad was going to happen, and I couldn’t just let that happen, so I moved without thinking and I was pulling them back and—”

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed onto his shoulders, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Breathe,” Sapnap instructed calmly. “You need to breathe, dude.” Clay opened his mouth, but Sapnap spoke before he could. “You are talking so quickly right now, and I can’t understand you when you talk like that.”

Clay closed his mouth, mulling over the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions steamrolling through his head. After a few moments, he finally spoke once more. “I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, suddenly sounding completely and utterly awestruck. “My mate actually stopped and thanked me. And called me pretty.”

Sapnap’s fingers loosened around Clay’s shoulders, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

Clay sighed, sounding absolutely lovestruck. “Yeah.”

Pulling his arms back to cross them over his chest, Sapnap eyed him up and down, cocking his head. “So,” he began gently, “how are you feeling?” When Clay opened his mouth, Sapnap quickly added, “Slowly, please.”

Clay groaned, teasingly rolling his eyes before leaning back on his heels, rocking back and forth as he began to speak. “I only revealed myself as a wolf,” he said softly, “so I don’t know if they know about the mating bond yet. I don’t even know if humans can feel it like we can.”

He tilted his head back, gazing up at the cerulean blue sky. “But there’s something about the way we looked at each other that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, humans can feel it,” he whispered, sounding breathless all at once. “Call it a gut feeling, I guess. I don’t know.” He cast a glance over at Sapnap, his eyebrows furrowed. “Do I sound crazy?”

A thoughtful look flickered across Sapnap’s face. Then, he grinned. “A little bit, yeah.”

Clay sighed, something he noticed he had been doing a lot more, lately. “I just…” He swallowed. “I just don’t want something like that to happen ever, ever again.”

Suddenly, he fell quiet, his lips parting as the wheels in his head began to turn. Sapnap watched as a tiny spark came to life within his focused gaze, small but oh-so vibrant.

“You got an idea there?” he prompted after a few seconds of silence.

Clay blinked once. Twice. Then, a smile stretched across his face—a smile as bright as the full moon.

“Something like that.”

It was probably a dumb idea for you to return to the forest for your weekly hike as if nothing had happened, but you couldn’t quite quench the curiosity that bubbled up inside you every time you thought about the wolf who had saved you. His gaze had been fiery, yet compassionate, and he had been purposely so gentle when tugging you away from the cliff. You weren't a fool—you knew how powerful a wolf could be. Then why did he treat you so kindly?

You had to find out.

Marching through the brush and shrubbery, you whipped your head this way and that, scanning every strip of forest you could lay your eyes on. Wolves were good at hiding, you knew that. After all, if they weren’t as stealthy as they were, they would never be able to catch a meal. But you had been hiking for almost an hour now, and you still hadn’t seen a single glimpse of the wolf. You couldn’t say you were completely surprised, since it wasn’t like you knew every inch of the forest, but you were frustrated to admit that you were at least a little disappointed. Maybe this was a lost cause.

But then, you heard it.

The sound of a stick snapping.

Freezing, you paused, turning as you glanced to the sides. Nothing out of the ordinary stood among the bushes. You stopped again, then pursed your lips.

No, something was there.

A tender curiosity sparked between your lungs, but it was coated in a thin layer of reluctance. Sucking in a deep breath, you whipped around, squinting at the seemingly empty trees around you as you opened your mouth.

“Wolf?” you called out slowly into the quiet. “Is that you?”

At first, all was quiet, and you held your breath. The leaves rustled around you almost tauntingly, and you distantly heard the caw of a crow. You were just about to give up and go home when a flash of gold caught your eye.

Standing motionless a single yard away was a wolf—your wolf.

A grin stretched across your face, joy surging through your body as you carefully took a few steps forward. Oh, this was definitely a dumb idea, but you was more than brave enough to keep going.

“Hi, there.” You shuffled your feet, a tentative look passing over your face. “You’re, um—” You gulped. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Clay’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back. No! he thought, hoping you would be able to read his expression, even as a wolf. Never. Not in a million years.

You stared at him for a long moment, blinking slowly as you scanned his face up and down. Then, your lips quirked up into the tiniest of smiles.

“No,” you murmured in the softest of voices, and he felt his heart melt in his chest. “If you were going to do something, you would have done it by now, wouldn’t you?”

Clay nearly sank in relief, and he barked. You raised a brow at the sound, furrowing your brows slightly. “Do you want me to keep you company?” you asked, beginning to walk up to him. “Is that what you’re doing?”

You had only made it a few steps when he suddenly barked again, taking a step toward you. In an instant, you froze, watching with bated breath as he curled around to your other side and gently nudged at your leg with his nose. You shot him a curious glance, stumbling forward the tiniest bit. “Hey,” you said, “what are you...?”

You trailed off, a cut rock face suddenly catching your attention from the corner of your eye. The stony grey wall was nearly perpendicular to the ground and looked almost eerily similar to the one you had nearly fallen down the week prior. Just like that, it clicked.

There was another small cliff right there. He was trying to keep you away from it.

“Oh,” you breathed, your lips splitting into an even wider grin as you made sure to steer away from the short cliff, “you don’t want me falling again, do you?”

He snorted, and you blinked at him. That sounded far more human this time—almost too human. It almost reminded you of a dog, if anything. A triumphant smile slowly crept onto your face, and with your head held high, you turned on your heel, marching onward and away from the rock face.

“Well, wolf,” you said, a teasing arrogance seeping into your tone as you glanced over your shoulder at him, “I promise you that I’ll be much safer this time arou—woah!”

The toe of your shoe caught on a protruding stone, and with a sharp yelp, you stumbled forward, gravity pulling you downward with a harsh pull. With a flail of your arms, you only just barely caught your balance as your hand shot out to grab onto a tree and steady yourself. Your heart flipped in your chest as you planted your feet firmly against the ground, the soles of your shoes pressed flatly against the earth as your fingers curled into the bark. Your chest heaved with surprise as you stood upright, turning to look over your shoulder at the wolf. He blinked at you, and while you knew wolves couldn’t quite smile, something about his gaze almost seemed cocky—like he was laughing at you. Heat crept up your neck and onto your face, your cheeks bursting with warmth.

“Y-You did not see that,” you sputtered, coughing into your sleeve as you brushed off your pants dismissively.

Almost as if to spare you some embarrassment, he turned his head away from you, although you could see his eyes glance your way every few seconds. Pouting, you huffed, whirling on your feet as you continued to trudge down the path. Soon enough, the sound of soft footsteps trailed after you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound, knowing that he would follow you even if you weren't looking.

That night, you dreamt of whispering trees and a pair of bright, viridian green eyes.

What had once been a weekly ritual of watching from afar soon turned into an amicable companionship between human and wolf. You weren't afraid as you walked into the woods to see a familiar pair of eyes waiting for you, your eagerness to see him only growing with each passing week. Clay himself could hardly contain his excitement. Actually walking beside you was so much better than simply watching from the woods, hidden by the trees. He loved your company and absolutely basked in your presence, even if you sent his heart into an absolute frenzy.

“Sometimes,” you said aloud one day, “I really do think you can understand me.”

Clay stiffened, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his ears pressed flat against his head as he turned to look at you. You sat on a tree stump while he padded atop the fallen trunk it sat beside, your gleaming gaze slowly blinking at him as he silently circled around you.

“I think it’s got something to do with the way you react to some of the things I say,” you murmured. You watched the way his tail flicked behind him, the soft fur brushing gently against the low-growing plants. A second later, you sighed, waving your hand. “Ah, I’m probably just imagining things.”

Clay nearly heaved a sigh of relief, continuing to pace. You would say surprising things like that every once in a while, and it would send his heart racing. Well, you usually only said one absurd thing per week, so you probably weren’t going to say another thing like that toda—

“Can I pet you?”

His paws came to a halt. Perhaps he thought too soon.

Before he could even properly process what you had said, You were backpedaling, shaking your head with an apologetic look. “Agh, that’s a terrible question. You’re a wolf, not a dog. There’s no way you wou—”

All of a sudden, he was crawling up to you, jutting his forehead toward your hand. His muzzle was clamped shut as his eyes bore into yours, and you gaped at him, the realization beginning to dawn on you.

“Wait,” you breathed in disbelief, “you’re actually going to let me?”

He didn’t move, lowering his eyes to the ground almost shyly as his ears curled toward you. Slowly, you raised your arm with a shaky hand and reached forward, letting your fingers gently brush over his tawny fur with a feather-light touch. You nearly gasped at the feeling, not noticing the way his legs trembled beneath him.

“Wolf,” you whispered after a few seconds, “you’re really soft.”

Clay nearly combusted on the spot. Perfect—everything about you was just perfect.

With your hand buried in his soft fur and the summer breeze ruffling your hair, You smiled, sighing with warmth lighting up your heart as the wolf at your feet melted beneath your touch.

Sapnap tapped his foot impatiently, squinting up at the glaring sun. George slept in, again. He was kind of used to it now, but even though he wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was more than just a little ticked off.

“My mate pet me today.”

Sapnap tensed for a split second, turning to see Clay staring at him with wide eyes. Relaxing once more, he stared at him for a long, long moment before speaking. He really needed to start giving him some sort of heads up at this point.

“Dude,” he said, “I know that the last time you asked me if you sounded crazy, I said a little bit, but I feel like I might have to change my answer.”

Clay shot him a glare, and he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching in amusement. “Sapnap,” he said bluntly, “you act like you don’t talk about Karl and Alex like this.”

Sapnap looked taken aback for a moment, raising a finger, then lowering it with a defeated look. “Touché.”

As Clay walked off with his head held high and a bounce in his step, Sapnap chuckled, watching him leave with a small smile. He recognized the gleam in his eyes, the rosy hue of his cheeks.

Love—Clay really was in love, wasn’t he?

“I’ve been thinking,” you said one day, a few months later.

Clay perked up at the sound of your voice from where he lay at your feet, soaking in the first few rays of sun. It had been well over a year since he had first laid eyes on you now, and a little over a few months since you began walking together. It was only a matter of time until the leaves would turn golden brown once more as autumn descended upon them.

“I dunno,” you murmured, knocking your legs back against the stone you sat on. “I feel like I should give you a name instead of just calling you wolf all the time.” You flashed him a shy grin, your gaze darting this way and that. “It feels kind of awkward, you know?”

He cocked his head. A name? Chances were you probably weren't going to guess his actual name. He supposed he wouldn’t mind a nickname. Then again, he didn’t think he would mind anything that you might do. Lowering himself closer to the ground, he let out a quiet bark of approval.

Your lips twitched the tiniest bit at the sound, and you hummed, drumming your fingers against your thigh. “How do you feel about... Aaron?”

His emerald eyes flashed as he took a step back, ducking his head the slightest bit. Your lips pursed into a small pout, and you leaned down to rest your chin on your hand. “Alright,” you murmured, “not Aaron, then.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a second. “Roy?”

Clay didn’t even have to think about it for more than a second before he was whimpering, pressing his head to his paws as he dropped his haunches close to the ground. You snorted at his obvious disapproval, tapping the toes of your shoes together with a pensive look.

“Okay,” you said slowly, drawing out the vowel sound, “maybe we should try some less... human-sounding names.” You tilted your head, letting your gaze trail up the tree trunks and up at the sky above. The sun wasn’t shining directly into your eyes this time, and you blinked with surprise to see a puff of white fluff blocking out the light.  

“What about,” you offered with a hum, “Cloud?”

You glanced down again, only to see the wolf staring back at you blankly. You couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes, but you had a feeling he wasn’t quite satisfied with this one, either. Lowering your chin, you puffed your cheeks, glancing this way and that across the forest around you. You couldn’t just call him something like Leaf, or Sky—those would be too obvious, too plain for a wolf as lovely as him.

Sighing, you let your eyelids flutter shut, letting the sun wash over your cheeks and warming your skin. He was... special, even if you knew you were biased in your opinion. There was some special quality about him, something that made your chest swell and your heart skip a beat, almost as if he came straight out of a—

“Dream,” you whispered at last.

Clay’s ears perked up at the new name, and he lifted his head, flicking his ears at you. Maybe it was the name itself, maybe it was the way you said it, or maybe it was just you, but something about it just felt right. He barked once, lifting his tail as he stepped toward you.

You blinked at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dream?” you repeated. “You like the sound of Dream?”

He barked again, leaping up onto his hind legs for a moment. You grinned, giggling at the sight of such a large wolf acting almost like a dog around you. “Alright,” you murmured, reaching your hand out toward him, “Dream it is.”

Leaning closer to you, he sank into your touch as you rubbed your hand over his head, scratching behind his ears as he let out a soft whine from the back of his throat. Your eyes softened, and you curled your knees a little closer to your chest, resting your chin on them.

“It probably doesn’t matter to you since you’re a wolf and all,” you said softly, your voice almost sounding shy in the quiet of the morning, “but my name is [Y/N].”

Clay felt a tender warmth blossom in the cracks beneath his chest, heat unfurling from the depths of his soul as something inside him swelled beyond belief. Your hand continued stroking his fur all the while, not at all noticing the way he pressed his head a little closer into your soothing touch, yearning and longing for more.

“[Y/N],” his heart sang, shooting from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “[Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N].”

Had a name ever sounded as beautiful as yours?

Sapnap was going to wring Skeppy’s neck. Skipping out on a morning meeting was one thing, but skipping it to hang out with your mate? Not even he did that.

“[Y/N].”

Sapnap didn’t bother flinching as he turned to see Clay standing in front of him, panting like his life depended on it. This was far from the first time this had happened, and he was sure it most certainly would not be the last. “What?”

Clay shook his head, half-looking like he was about to collapse on the spot. “My mate’s name is [Y/N].”

Sapnap blinked, then his lips curled up into a smile. “Congrats for learning what it is, man,” he said honestly, patting Clay’s shoulder with his free hand. “That’s fantastic, really. You’re making progress.”

Clay swallowed, and he reached up to drag a hand down his face before letting it drop loosely at his side. “Sapnap,” he said slowly, his voice sounding quiet and raw, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Sapnap’s eyebrows knit together, confusion rippling across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You can’t keep visiting?” Something uncomfortable and cold tugged at the back of his mind. “There’s no way you’re just gonna give up like that, are you?”

Clay’s jaw dropped. “What? No! I mean that...” He paused, squeezing his fist for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t think I can keep showing up in only my wolf form.”

The cogs in Sapnap’s whirred to life as he took in his friend’s clenched jaw. Then, his eyes went wide. “Are you saying...?”

Clay nodded, pursing his lips as he swallowed thickly. “I’m going to reveal who I am.”

His eyes flashed with determination.

“Who I really am.”

You hummed as you twisted the key in the hole, the back door locking shut with a click you had grown used to hearing every week for the past year and a half, now. Whirling around, you could already feel the smile start to spread across your face as you leapt off the porch and ran toward the well-worn path, the forest beckoning you forward with a distant howl. You didn’t remember when exactly your weekly hikes grew to become your favourite part of the week, but you couldn’t imagine life without them, anymore.

Sucking in a deep breath, your chest swelled at the fresh air rushing into your lungs, excitement flickering through your body with every step you took. You couldn’t wait to see Dream again, as strange as it may sound. He had grown to be a greater comfort than you would have ever imagined, even if he was just a wolf. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you knew your feelings were true—you couldn’t deny the warmth he made you feel.

Whipping around a tree trunk, you felt your heart skip a beat. You already knew Dream would be waiting for you at your rock—the one he had saved you from all those weeks ago. It had become a sort of meeting spot for them, and every week without fail, he would appear there, no matter how early or late you were.

As the shrubbery gave way to a clean, dirt trail, you lifted your head, squinting your eyes. You recognized this part of the forest, and you knew that you were getting closer. Just then, you saw it—the familiar streak of grey stone slanting up from the earth in a small cliff face. Usually, Dream would sit at the cliff base, his ears already pointed toward you. But today, your brows furrowed when you didn’t see a pair of ears facing you, but a head of hair.

Someone else was at your rock.

Slowing your pace to a walk, you paused for a moment, eyeing the figure sitting at your usual meeting spot. It was a man, you realized, and he was facing away from you. He wore a simple white shirt with jeans, and his hair was a shade of dirty blond with streaks of gold. Even if only from the back, it looked almost oddly familiar gleaming underneath the morning sun.

Taking a tentative step forward, you curled your fingers into your palm. “Hello?” you called hesitantly.

The man startled for a moment, then turned toward you, his face coming into view. As his gaze locked onto yours, he opened his mouth and uttered two simple words.

“Hi, [Y/N].”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat.

His voice was soft, gently wrapping around you like a soothing blanket. Your gaze only briefly raked over the comforting smile gracing his lips, instead focusing on the gleam in his eyes that danced with something warm and inviting.

His eyes were green—a shade of green that you had grown to know and adore.

No, you thought, your heart trembling in your chest. He couldn’t possibly be...

You took another step forward, closing the space between them by another few inches. With your eyebrows knitting together, your voice dropped to a small, curious whisper. “Dream?”

He shot you a crooked grin, chuckling softly. “That’s my name—or at least the one you gave me.” Leaning forward, he rose to his feet, the sun casting a bright streak of light across his cheeks. “My real name is Clay.”

All of a sudden, you felt as though all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. “Clay,” you repeated, your mind slowly growing murky with confusion, “but you’re also Dream. How...?”

A sheepish look skittered across his face, and he ducked his head. The way he lowered his chin was familiar, looking almost far too like a certain wolf you knew. “I—I guess you could say I live in two worlds with two forms,” he began. “Sometimes I’m a wolf, sometimes I’m a human.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders remained tense. “You already know one of them, but I didn’t want to keep hiding this form from you, so...” He gestured to himself with a bashful look. “...here I am.”

You blinked at him slowly, the muddled fog in your head slowly giving way to a strikingly warm clarity. But before the clouds could fully part, your lips began to move.

“You’re still pretty,” you blurted, your eyes going wide as soon as the words left your mouth.

In a flash, Clay’s cheeks flushed crimson, a haze of rosy pink dusting his freckles. “H-Huh?”

Waving your hands in front of you, you took a step back, embarrassment shooting up your spine. “I-I mean to say that you’re still pretty as a human! Because you’re pretty in both of your forms!” You stiffened, exasperation soaking your features as your knees buckled. “Wait, no, oh no, that’s also embarrassing... wait, please, um—”

Suddenly, he began to laugh. You fell quiet as you watched Clay clutch at his stomach, his lips split into a wide grin as peals of laughter tumbled from his lips. A familiar pit of warmth flared up in your stomach, one you had felt standing here with Dream so many times before.

He really was Dream, wasn’t he?

As his chuckles finally died down into silence, he stood upright once more, wiping a barely there tear from his eye. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he managed with an apologetic smile. “You must be confused about, well, everything.”

You offered him an honest, lopsided grin. “A little.”

His smile slowly melted from his features, and he cleared his throat as he turned to face you head-on. “Well, this is probably going to sound weird, but you and I...” He swallowed, his gaze flashing. “We’re mates.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise. Something in your chest slowly expanded. “Mates?” you repeated softly.

He nodded, his expression firm yet hesitant. “Yes, mates. It means that in one way or another, our souls are connected.” Inhaling deeply, he screwed his eyes shut before continuing. “It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to accept the mating bond.” His voice was trembling now, growing quieter by the second as he squeezed his hands into fists at his side. “You don’t owe me anything. I know this must be scary for you, and the last thing I want is for you to feel pressured because of m—”

“I’m not afraid.”

Clay’s eyes shot wide open, and he raised his head, shock etched into his features. “You aren’t?” he whispered.

The smile on your face was open and kind, and you shook your head. “No,” you murmured, sincerity lacing your every word. “Not at all. Dream, Clay... no matter what your name is, you’re still you, and I know you.” You took another step forward, your eyes never leaving his. There was hardly any space between them now, and Clay could feel his shoulders begin to shake with the sheer gravity of the moment. “I can’t explain it, but I just know I do.”

He swallowed, a whirlwind of anxiety and affection brewing just beneath the surface of his skin. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I know I’m just a stranger to you.”

You shook your head, again. “You’re not,” you said quietly. “Not to me.”

Before he could even register what was happening, you were reaching for his hand, clasping your palms around his fingers and holding them gently. His heart flipped in his chest at the feeling of your skin against his, and something stung at the back of his eyes.

You were so warm.

“I want to do this,” you whispered, just for him to hear and him alone, “I promise. I—” You gulped, your gaze remaining steady. “I might not know anything about your world yet, but I want to learn.”

You squeezed his hand. “I want to learn more about you.”

Clay sucked in a ragged breath. With shaky fingers and a gentle touch, he pressed his other hand to the back of yours, squeezing back ever so slightly. “I want to learn more about you, too.”

The smile you flashed him easily outshone the sun and every star that scattered across the night sky, and for a moment, he thought his heart had stopped in his chest.

“I’m glad,” you said, your eyes gleaming with delight. “I think we’ll have plenty of time to do that on our hike.”

Right then, a breeze came drifting past, the distant scent of rain filling the air. The trees murmured with rustling leaves and flapping wings as two birds landed on a hanging branch above, gazing down at the two silhouettes standing at the base of the rock face. Just for a moment, or maybe even two, the entire forest went still.

And unbeknownst to you and Clay, right between your feet, a flower began to bloom.

[army-author]

the colourless years | myg

❝ when you met your soulmate, your black and white world was suddenly flooded with colour. however, when the war forces your soulmate to part with you, the colours slowly begin to fade away... ❞

➝ pairing: yoongi x reader

➝ prompt: “a future without you is a world without colour, filled with monochrome coldness.” (your eyes tell)

➝ genre: angst; fluff; soulmate au; wartime au

➝ word count: 1.2k

The colours started fading ever since Yoongi left for the war.

Every day, as the hours creep endlessly by, you notice small changes in his absence. The tomatoes you chop for dinner are less vibrant. Your favourite lilac dress is less stunning. The gold on your wedding band is less bright.

You’re not sure what the fading colours mean, but they worry you, clouding your head and bringing a painful lump to your throat.

You used to live in a world without colour. Before Yoongi entered your life, your experience was black and white. You had bumped into him on a white spring morning, as you walked down the grey street to buy your groceries. You had crossed the road without looking, and heard the furious ringing of a bike bell as warning, before a man swerved to avoid hitting you. He flew from his bike saddle as his wheel ploughed into the curb.

Crumpled on the black tarmac, the man had sat up, wincing. He was about to berate you for not looking where you were going, before he paused, mouth hanging open, rendered speechless as he gaped at you. In that instant you knew he was seeing what you were seeing: colour. For the first time: colour. Bright and stunning; it was a whole new way of living.

It was the sign that you had found your soulmate. The world was suddenly flooded with vibrant hues. You understood what people meant when they said the sky was blue, that the trees turned pink with blossoms in the spring, that the world was so much more beautiful with every shade of the rainbow in it.

Pink blossoms fluttered down in flurries, showering you in a blush of colour as you stared at your soulmate, sitting on the tarmac, his bike by his feet, with its chain in a tangle. His expression softened into a smile. “Well, I suppose you’ll be the one who’s kept me waiting,” he said, and you smiled back:

“I suppose I am.”

That was all it took to fall in love with him. Suddenly you had a soulmate. You slotted into each other’s life so perfectly, as if you were always meant to be together.

You moved in together, got married, and made many colourful, happy memories.

Then the war began.

All the fit, healthy young men were enrolled. Just like that your husband was wrenched from your life.

Each week he sent you a letter from the frontline, inscribed with his love. He sent pictures too. He looked so different with his cropped hair, and his dull uniform. The black and white of the picture reminded you of your old life before you met him.

As you and Yoongi spent more time apart, the colour slowly sapped from your world. In Yoongi’s letters, he informed you that things were appearing duller for him as well, as if the colour had drained away. He said he wasn’t sure if this was simply what war did to a man.

When you had first realised what was happening, you had wept. Unconsolable, on your own, you had stood staring at the rose bush in your garden – the one Yoongi had planted because he knew roses were your favourite. The bright pink petals were less bright than before. Sobs wracked your body, enough that you feared the sorrow would rip your very frame apart.

Despite the pain of being parted from your soulmate, you continue on, wiping off the tears, and carrying on with life in the best way you can. Your mind still hovers on Yoongi, worries clouding your thoughts. Is the faded colour a warning? Will the war rend you further apart? Will you ever see colour in the same way again?

As the war rages on, the letters from Yoongi become less frequent. It has been a long time since you have received a letter from him. The colours seep out of your life, faster than before. You cannot even tell the colour of the jumper you are wearing.

Every day, you dread receiving a new letter, in case it isn’t from Yoongi, but instead the kind that starts: ‘We’re very sorry to inform you that your husband has passed away while in service to his country.’

You try to stay optimistic. There are the occasional colours you spot in your life, holding a promise of hope. The most vibrant part of your house is the nursery, which Yoongi had helped paint before he was called away. You had been planning to raise a family in this house, but had not been able to fulfil that wish yet. The walls of the nursery are yellow. Yoongi had painted scenes across the sunflower shade, depicting animals frolicking in a blossom-filled field. These walls still appear bright and colourful, even now. When you are overcome with worry, you like to sit in this room, staring at the vivid details Yoongi left behind. As long as you can still make out the colours in this room, you know Yoongi is okay.

One day, after an eternity of waiting, you hear bells ringing out across the city. The bells are different from the sirens you are used to. You step out into the streets, asking the women and children who pour out of neighbouring houses what the chiming means. They tell you that it’s a celebration. The war is over.

You follow the other women, crowds pushing and shouting as people move towards the city square. It is pure chaos at the centre of the crowd. Families are finally reunited – fathers with daughters, husbands with wives, fiancés with fiancés. You push through. Confetti flutters down from balconies and roofs in showers of rainbows. The confetti’s colours are vibrant and bright. You pick up speed, squeezing through groups of hugging families. You shout out Yoongi’s name, searching frantically above the throng of heads. The sky above you is melting from a light grey to a luminous blue. You force yourself deeper into the crowd, not even minding being poked on all sides, trampled by those searching for loved ones.

Then, finally, you spot him.

“Yoongi!” you scream out his name, and he turns at the sound of your voice. Recognition flashes in his eyes. He’s pushing towards you, desperate to reach you in the wild sea of people. His fingers stretch out clasping yours, and he pulls you to him. You are surrounded by his strong arms, picking you and up and spinning you around.

He still smells familiar, even now, like home. You close your eyes, letting his warmth sap into you. You grip him tightly, scared that you’ll loose him if you let go, ripped apart once more. But, no, when you open your eyes, he’s still there, smiling down at you.

Beyond his face, the world is bright, colours singing harmonies in your blurred vision. “I told you that I’d see you again,” he breathes the words for you alone.

You push your mouth to his. He kisses you back suddenly desperate for your touch. Years apart evaporate in an instant, as his mouth reminds you of happy memories, now with a promise of a happy future.

He parts from you momentarily, his brown eyes drinking you in, as if he cannot believe he’s seeing you again.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” you breathe.

“I’ll never leave you again.”

You kiss him once more, sealing his vow.

- THE END -

[usermoreid]

Everything Means Nothing (If I Ain't Got You)

Fic Week Day One: Favourite Character/Pairing

His ears rang as bullet after bullet flew past him, embedding themselves into the walls and floor, barely missing him as one grazed his ear and another landed only a few inches away from his knee. Without thinking, his arm instinctively shot out, wrapping around the body next to him and holding them in a tight grip as he rushed towards the door, using his own body as a shield against the rain of bullets still pouring down on them. It was mostly due to his years of training and experience that he made it as close to the door as he had but even with luck on his side, it was only a foot away from the exit that a bullet finally found its target.

With a pained cry, he shoved the girl forward, paying no mind to gentleness as ripples of agony tore through him. Her knees connected with the hard floor before a hand grasped her arm and pulled her out of the line of fire, tugging her up and dragging her away as quickly as possible. A different arm stretched out in front of him, catching him hardly a moment before he collapsed, the pain of the bullet landing in his back pulling him down faster than gravity ever could.

A warm body pressing against his own was the last thing he was aware of before everything became a blur of colours and vague shapes that he didn't care to distinguish. He was pushed every which way, less than willingly giving up control of his body, until he was suddenly horizontal despite having no memory of lying down. He tried to force his focus to turn to the voices around him but he quickly gave up, each word amalgamating into a cacophony of grotesque sounds that he eventually began fighting against, attempting to cover his ears but finding that his arms were too heavy to lift. It was a blessing when everything finally faded to darkness.

The repetitive beeping of what he assumed was his alarm was playing incessantly in his ear, shrill and loud and feeling as though it was slicing directly into his brain. He tried to force himself to roll over, needing to shut off the sound before it carved a permanent place into his skull, but he discovered that he couldn’t so much as twitch a finger, no matter how much he tried. A slight panic rushed through him, lighting his veins with fear as case after case flooded his head, reminders of where he could be and what could’ve happened to make him this way. Knowing that he needed to remain as calm and collected as possible in order to figure out his situation, he pushed them down, focusing instead on what to do next. 

It took a few seconds longer than normal to shuffle through his thoughts - God, he wanted to smash that alarm to pieces - but before long, he realised that the next logical step would be to open his eyes and assess the situation before jumping to the worst conclusions possible. The panic from before fought to overthrow him when his eyelids seemed to be almost glued shut but he repressed it further, shoving it to the very back of his mind until there was no way he could reach it. 

Suddenly the darkness seemed much less like a blessing and more of a curse that he couldn't break free from as he tried again and again to peel open his eyes to no avail, his breathing picking up pace the longer he was stuck. He needed to calm down. He needed to focus. He needed to assess the situation. Okay, he thought to himself, if I can’t see and I can’t move, what else do I do? I feel.

He centred every bit of his attention on his fingers, trying with as much effort as he could muster to figure out what he was lying on. It was soft, he noticed. Slightly scratchy but not altogether uncomfortable. Vaguely familiar, as was the smell - he’d definitely been here before. His own bed, possibly? No, not quite that familiar. A friend’s house? If it was, he didn’t know whose.

He clenched his jaw, almost resigned to being trapped in never-ending nothingness until he realised what he had just done. He’d clenched his jaw. He’d moved. Only the slightest amount, but he’d moved nonetheless. A spark of hope flickered inside of him and he didn’t put it out - if he was able to move his jaw, perhaps it wouldn’t be long until he could move his hand or open his eyes and finally find out where he is. The hope was a good thing. The hope would wake him up.

With a new found sense of determination, he attempted to move his hand. Just a little, he thought, just a twitch would be enough. He tried again and again, practically shouting at himself inside his head as the hope fought to stay alight and not dwindle. One more try. Just one more. His heart was beating so hard he was sure it could be heard outside of his chest and if the rest of his body could be felt, he was sure there’d be sweat building on it. It was as the disappointment was beginning to set in that he finally felt it - the smallest of movements. His index finger raised ever so minutely before immediately dropping back down.

The joy building inside him almost threatened to burst, he didn’t know what to do with it all. Filled with adrenaline, he pushed further. Each and every fibre of his being was concentrated on his hand until eventually he felt it again; both his index and middle finger twitched, enough that they stayed elevated for at least an entire second. Muffled voices attempted to force their way through the thick blanket of darkness covering him but he wasn’t able to make out the words. Initially that worried him, a sudden intense ball of anxiety forming at the bottom of his stomach. Random voices surrounding him when he couldn’t move; when he couldn’t see? There was no way that was anything but trouble. But he pushed on. He was so close to gaining the control of his body back, he could feel it. He had to keep going.

Disregarding the voices that had since quietened, another attempt was made, this time even more successful than the last. His whole hand slightly flexed, and he was able to wiggle his fingers a small amount. The voices returned even louder than before they had faded, one speaking over the rest. Without warning, an unexpected pressure seized his hand. 

Fight or flight suddenly activated, he fought to free himself. Whoever had him had clearly noticed his movement and was trying to restrain him, or possibly even drug him into unconsciousness. His hand curled up into a fist, preparing to throw a punch before he even knew who he’d be facing. He didn’t care who it was or how many of them were around him; all he knew was that he wouldn’t be going down as easily as they hoped.

With as much strength as he could gather in his sluggish state, he swung. His eyes still hadn’t opened but he felt the connection; heard the thud of skin hitting skin. That first contact was all the fuel he needed, both hands coming up and viciously flying through the air, striking anything close enough. Something cold pressed against his skin - a hand, he realised - and he didn’t give it a second thought before aiming in that direction. 

He didn’t stop thrashing until everything went dark once again, but only after his eyes briefly opened and he caught a glimpse of the white ceiling directly above him. 

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

The next time he regained consciousness, there was significantly less of a struggle. His eyes slowly fluttered open, seeing only a blur of white until he registered that he was facing a tiled ceiling. He blinked slowly at it, unable to wade through the fog that was his thoughts enough to make sense of where he was. His eyes drifted shut as he took a deep breath and cast his mind back to the last thing he could remember.

They’d been called out for a case, he knew. Women were being abducted and found three days later, their bodies beaten horrendously. The team had worked the case for several days before a solid lead was finally found, but only after another victim had been taken. They were racing against the clock to find her, knowing that it was only a matter of time before she suffered the same fate as those before her. He was the first to reach the warehouse. He was aware that protocol dictated he stay outside and wait for backup but when a scream erupted into the otherwise silent air, he rushed in, gun ready to fire and his bullet-proof vest wrapped securely around him. 

Everything that happened after was too vague to work out - everything but the throbbing pain that had spread throughout him like a wildfire. He’d been injured in some way. So where was he now?

That was the moment he remembered. The darkness. The paralysis. The hands touching him.

A sharp breath was taken in as his eyes flung open, forgetting his injury as he tried to sit up but quickly being reminded of it as the pain erupted once again and he fell back to the bed. A weak moan fell from his lips as his eyes slammed shut, the world around him swaying and spinning even after he was shielded from the bright lights by the darkness of his eyelids. A soft hand came to gently rest against his forearm and for reasons unbeknownst to him, he didn’t move it away. The blood rushing to his ears had drowned out the sound around him but now as his heart beat was beginning to slow down to a less concerning pace, the faint hush of a voice whispering soothing words to him was heard.

“It’s alright,” the voice said. “You’re alright. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe. You’re okay. I’m here with you.”

Ever so slowly, he began to calm down. The pain was no longer unbearable; the panic was no longer overwhelming. He was safe, the voice had said, and he trusted the voice. Eventually his breathing evened out and the dizzying world slowed to a stop, and so he opened his eyes to take in the room around him, though the bright lights he was immediately greeted with made that difficult. His squinting must have made his discomfort obvious as only a moment later, the hand on his arm disappeared, only to reappear once the light had been turned off. 

The room was bathed only in the evening sunlight from the windows and it helped tremendously. No longer struggling against the light, his eyes opened wider and he looked at the man in front of him. Though everything was still blurry, he could still tell who it was.

“Spencer,” he breathed out. 

A gentle smile was sent his way. “Hi, Derek.”

“What- what happened?”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, whether it was in concern or annoyance Derek couldn’t tell. “The unsub shot you. Don’t you remember?”

He sighed, and Spencer began lightly rubbing his hand back and forth on Derek’s arm. “I remember leaving for the warehouse but nothing much after. Did we find Abigail?”

“We did. You saved her.”

This time his sigh was in relief. “Good, I’m glad to hear that.”

“And how are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Derek’s eyes filled with mirth. “I feel like I just got shot.”

Spencer rolled his eyes jokingly. “You’ve been shot before, you can deal with it.”

“Ouch, pretty boy. You’re a doctor, you should be nursing me back to health.”

“For once, I’m glad I’m not actually a medical doctor. I’m not sure I could take having someone like you as a patient.”

“Someone like me?” Derek repeated, smirking. “Someone with dashing good looks and the sense of humour to match?”

“Someone who gets himself into so much unnecessary danger as if he has some sort of death wish.”

The sudden seriousness in Spencer’s voice made him pause, smirk falling off his face as he tried to catch up with the unexpected topic change. He couldn’t tell if Spencer was still playing along with the joke or if he was genuinely upset. “I’ll be honest with you here - I have no idea how to respond to that.”

It was Spencer’s turn to sigh, the corner of his mouth turning downward as his hand stopped stroking Derek’s arm and remained still. “You could’ve died today, Derek.”

“Spencer,” Derek started, tone conveying his confusion, “we have dangerous jobs. Any of us could die anytime we go on a case. Any of us could die even just walking out of our houses. You know this.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened noticeably, his voice quietening down into a low sound that Derek strained to hear. “I know that we have an above average chance of death compared to most regular jobs, but that doesn’t mean you have to make that chance any more likely than it already is.”

“Is this about me not waiting for backup? Spencer, I heard her scream. I wasn’t just going to leave her there. And we got her, didn’t we? Abigail is safe and sound. I don’t regret my decision to go in.”

“I’m not-” Spencer made a small distressed noise before restarting. “I’m not asking you to regret your choice. I’m asking you to be more careful the next time another choice like this comes up.”

“Be more careful?” He repeated. “That’s pretty rich coming from you. We both know you would’ve done the exact same thing. At least I had the common sense to not take my vest off.”

Spencer turned away, drawing his hand back and running it through his hair before placing it in his lap. “It doesn’t matter what I would’ve done. We’re not talking about me.”

“And why not? You’re always rushing in and trying to save the day. You’ve gotten hurt on the job more often than anybody I know.”

Their eyes met, a fire behind Spencer’s that Derek had never seen. "I'm not important in this situation. You need to be careful."

"I'm an FBI agent, I'm as careful as I can possibly be."

"That’s not good enough! You got hurt today, Derek, but you survived. You might not be so lucky next time." 

"That's a risk we signed up for when we joined the FBI." They stared at each other for a few seconds, time passing slower than humanly possible until Derek lightly shook his head. "Why are you lecturing me on being safe? This could've happened to any of us."

Spencer was silent for long enough that Derek thought he was going to just ignore the question, but eventually he answered. "Because people need you. Your family needs you." He opened his mouth but instantly closed it again. "The team needs you."

Once again, silence filled the room. 

"I don't know what you expect me to say here, Spencer. I'm just doing my job. It's a dangerous job, but it's mine."

"I know it's a dangerous job, but- but-" His words seemed to be caught in his throat.

"But what?"

"But you don't understand how terrifying it is!" Spencer suddenly burst out, much louder than he had been. The volume didn't help Derek's steadily building headache but he didn't say anything, half shocked into silence by Spencer's outburst and half convinced that if he spoke, Spencer would never say what he needed to say. "You don't understand what it's like to watch you go out in the field, knowing that this case could be your last. I know that you can do your job but it doesn't stop this fear from grabbing hold of me every time you leave for an unsub and refusing to let me go until I see you again. You're more than capable of doing your job, Derek, but I don't know how capable I am of watching you walk out that door one more time."

Derek blinked at him, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. All he'd ever wanted was to hear that his feelings - the desire, the affection, the terror, the love - were mutual, but he’d given up. He'd accepted that he'd have to move on; that Spencer would never feel the same way about him. He tried to push down the hope rising in him, knowing that this might not be the confession it sounded like, but it refused to be quenched.

"Why is it different with me? Why don't you act like this with Emily? Or JJ?" He asked. His heart was racing, the words he so desperately wanted to admit were at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't speak them aloud. Not yet. Not until he knew it was reciprocated.

"Because I'm in love with you, God damnit!" 

His eyes stretched impossibly wide, clearly shocked at himself for the outburst he presumably hadn't planned on saying. Derek froze, every atom in his body igniting with so much joy but so much panic that he couldn't utter a single word. The lack of an answer must have made Spencer uneasy, Derek realised, as words tumbled out of his mouth faster than he could process.

"I'm sorry, that was probably- I shouldn't have- I don't- you don't have to reply to that. I should just go."

It wasn't until Spencer was halfway out of his seat that Derek reacted, a hand rushing forward to grab that of the man in front of him. Spencer stopped when he felt the fingers wrapping around his own, freezing momentarily before slowly turning back around without removing his hand.

"I do understand," Derek confessed, watching the way Spencer's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You think I don't feel that same exact way about you? Every time you go to a takedown and talk to the unsub, it takes every part of me to hold myself back from running after you. The only thing that stops me is the fact that I know you can do your job."

The bobbing of Spencer's Adam's apple was visible as he gulped, looking into Derek's eyes as if he would find the words he wanted to say within them. The seconds stretched on until one of them finally found the courage to speak.

"Derek, I'm not- you know I'm not good at this. I think there's something in between the lines of that and I'm really sincerely hoping that there is and I'm not just making it up but I can't tell if it's me imagining it or if you're genuinely saying what I think you're saying and if you're not saying that then this is going to be really embarrassing and I don't-"

"Spencer," he interrupted, shaking his head fondly before taking a breath, "you're right. I'm…" Derek paused, a sudden fear taking over him. He looked into Spencer's eyes, seeing the anticipation and excitement that was in them. Spencer must have sensed his trepidation as he placed his hand back where it was before, resting gently on Derek's forearm. The instance their skin touched, the anxiety calmed. He breathed in deeply once more and smiled softly at him. "I'm in love with you."

The look in Spencer's eyes was something that Derek knew he would never forget even if he never saw it again, though he would do his absolute best to recreate it any chance he was given. The glint of happiness made his eyes shine brighter and the slight disbelief made them open wider, showing Derek even more of that colour that had long ago become his favourite.

"You mean that?" Spencer asked softly.

"Of course I do," he replied at the same volume. "How could I ever meet somebody like you and not instantly fall in love?"

Spencer's face split into a grin, unshed tears making an appearance at his waterline as he sat back down in his seat. "You're so cheesy."

"Cheesy is a good thing, pretty boy. Everybody loves cheesy."

His smile dropped into a mocking seriousness. "I'm lactose intolerant."

"Oh, you are?" He laughed, receiving a mirthful 'mhm' in confirmation. "Well, I guess you're really gonna have to figure something out because you're about to get a whole lot more cheesiness in your life."

The hand on Derek's forearm drifted down towards his wrist, the light touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. Their fingers interlaced before Spencer delicately squeezed. He looked up at Derek with such a tender look on his face that Derek envied Spencer's superior memory, if only to commit just this one scene to a permanent place in his brain.

"I think I can definitely figure something out." He said. "Just for you." 

"I quite like the sound of that." For a moment they simply smiled at each other, Derek's thumb stroking the back of the hand that was in his before he noticed something now that his vision had cleared. His other hand raised, cupping the face looking down at him. "What's this?" He asked, referring to the red mark staining Spencer's skin at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, that's, um…" Spencer's own hand lifted, resting on top of Derek's. "You probably don't remember the first time you kind of woke up, do you? You freaked out a little."

"I remember," Derek said quietly. "I did that?"

"You did, but it really does look worse than it is. You know I bruise easily. It doesn't hurt at all, it was pretty much just a light slap."

Derek sighed, knowing that Spencer was telling the truth but not liking it anyway. "Still, I'm really sorry."

"Well, there is one way you could make it up to me." Derek felt the small smirk stretching the skin beneath his hand.

"Oh? And how's that?"

Spencer's eyebrows raised slightly as the smirk grew wider. "Kiss it better?"

A grin found its way to Derek's face. "Is that the doctor's orders?"

Spencer nodded, pretending to be serious. "Absolutely, it is. It's the only cure actually."

Derek hummed. "Well, if the doctor says so."

He leaned forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Spencer's mouth, looking into Spencer's eyes as he pulled back slightly, barely an inch between them. He watched as they flickered shut, immediately missing the brown and gold. Pressing forward again, he finally did what he had wanted to for years.

When their lips touched, there were no fireworks, no sparks, but there was definitely something. Something that filled his entire body, made his nerves light up and his skin feel as though it was on fire in the most pleasant way possible.

He wanted to kiss Spencer forever, and he intended to do just that.

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

O Children

Minerva couldn’t sleep. Ever since the war had begun, she had become more and more restless in her sleep, increasingly worrying Poppy. Thus, she did not miss a single second of the sharp, rapid, loud knock on the door of their little cottage that sounded at 4 am on that cold November morning. Tightening the string of her checkered green plaid robe, she walked rapidly down the stairs, leaving the vapour of her cup of tea resting on the window sill to god up the window. The lower floor of the house was plunged deep in darkness, the only light coming from the porch lamp whose glow glittered through the door’s coloured glass panels. Gripping her wand tightly, she unlocked the door.

“Albus!” She gasped. “What type of ice cream did I get at Florean’s in Diagon Alleys on August 22nd, 1975?”

Her wand was pointed right at the centre of his chest omnipresent reminder of the war.

“Raspberry sprinkled with rose petals and lavender-infused chocolate topped with almond brittle,” said the old man tiredly.

He looked weary the twinkle in his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles dim, long white hair and beard having lost their silvery shine, clothes dusty. It was almost as if more wrinkles had appeared on his face since the last time she had seen him, rendering his face even grimmer, a gloom look stretching across his features.

“What happened?” She asked tightly. “Who…who died?”

Her friend’s silence was unbearable, hanging heavy in the air, announcing in-pendent doom.

“I can’t remain long, I must go and take care of matters, but I assumed you would wish to be notified among the first…”

“Albus. Who. Died?” She repeated.

He sighed.

“Peter Pettigrew and…James and Lily Potter, all murdered by Sirius Black.”

An icy, unpleasant, terrifying wave of cold flooded her veins, disbelief painted on her face. It wasn’t possible.

“No,” she whispered. “There must have been an error. No. Sirius would never do such a thing to James and Lily. They were his best friends. You are wrong.”

The Headmaster watched her with compassion as she muttered “no” under her breath over and over again, refusing to acknowledge the hard and bitter truth. It felt as if the world was spinning at breakneck speed around her, dizzying her. Everything swam before her eyes, blurring and mixing, a kaleidoscopic slush of colours, and numerous seconds passed before Minerva realised that the thin watery veil clouding her gaze was burning hot, unspilt tears. Her grip on the door handle was so tight her knuckles had turned white.

“When? How?…Why?” She breathed raggedly.

“We don’t know exactly,” started Albus gently. “All we know is that Sirius Black was the Potter’s Secret Keeper, he allegedly betrayed them, which led us to believe he reconnected with his family and worked closely with Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew attempted to warn and save Lily and James, and in a fit of madness, Black blew up the street and killed Pettigrew along with thirteen muggles. He was found in a muggle neighbourhood nearby and has since then been arrested and sentenced to Azkaban for life. It was debated whether or not he should receive the Dementor’s kiss, but the judges decided upon a life sentence at Azkaban. I am still waiting for more information, and I will send you the full Order report as soon as it is ready. Members of the Order are of course working on the case along with the Ministry Aurors.”

She watched him tiredly, still refusing to believe him.

“Now, if you will excuse me, Minerva, I unfortunately still have urgent matters to attend to, I cannot remain any longer. I present you my sincerest condolences for your loss, I know that they were all very dear to you, and excellent students. I myself am still quite disbelieving at the situation.”

She looked at him stonily.

“No, you are not,” she thought, but she only asked:

“And Remus? And harry, James’ and Lily’s child?”

“Mr. Lupin hasn’t returned from his mission yet, as for young Harry…I’ve taken care of it

An uneasy feeling overcame her.

“Albus, what did you do?”

The elderly wizard failed to meet her eye.

“I have left him with his last living relatives, the Dursleys. Petunia Dursley was Lily Evans Potter’s sister—“

“I know that, “ snapped Minerva. “What I do not understand is why you thought this was a viable solution. I have met the Dursleys. They are close-minded, rude, and despicable people. They are not a good family or entourage for Harry to grow up in. Petunia Dursley could barely stomach her own sister, I shudder at the thought of how she will treat her nephew. Neither James nor Lily would have wanted this for their son, Albus, I can’t—“

“It does not matter, Minerva,” he cut her off. “While I appreciate your concerns, the matter is sealed and there is nothing to be done now. I have my reasons, and I hope you will trust me as you have done many times before. I wish you a pleasant evening, or well, rather morning I suppose.”

He turned around, his robes sweeping the floor as he walked away until he was nothing but a mere silhouette amongst the shadows, all semblants of warm, glowing light gone.

“Bastard,” seethed the witch after him, before slamming the door shut.

The shock of wood against wood resonated around her in the darkness. She did not know what to do now, what to say, what to think, what to feel. For the first time in years, Minerva was lost. She stood there, back pressed against the hard door, wand held tightly in her wrinkled hand, dark brown hair streaked with gray tumbling down her shoulders, and felt oddly empty, almost numb, as she looked curiously at the single ray of moonlight piercing through the back windows. The old stairs creaked in the far left corner of the living room, and a trembling golden glow filled the lower floor of the white brick cottage. Poppy appeared behind the sofa, gripping her wand whose tip was alight with a soft shine, wrapped in her midnight blue nightgown. She looked weary and pale in the dim light, almost ghost-like, her quivering lip betraying her inner turmoil. Minerva stared at her blankly, as she approached her.

“Minnie,” whispered her wife, kneeling in front of her, placing a soft hand on her wrinkled cheek.

“That’s what they used to call me, James and Sirius, Minnie, mum…they were the only ones who dared to,” she croaked.

“I know,” said Poppy softly, wrapping her arms around her frail shoulders, hugging her tightly. “They were wonderful children and—“

“He killed them,” interrupted Minerva hoarsely. “He killed them…”

She shivered, whether it was coldness or something else, much darker, buried inside of her, she did not know, but she began trembling violently.

“VOLDEMORT KILLED THEM!” She roared, eyes blazing, face red, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Minerva,” murmured Poppy, chocking on her name, as she held her crying wife in her arms, who shook violently, wracked by uncontrollable sobs.

“He killed them, he killed them, he killed them,” she muttered over and over again, face buried in the crook of Poppy’s neck.

Neither of them had any idea how long they stayed there, on the cold hard floor, leaving against the entrance door of their house. But, soon enough, the morning sun’s first golden rays began filtering through the windows. The sky was beautiful outside, a painted canvas of amber, orange and pink fading into a dark blue in one corner and a clear azure in the other. It was all awfully joyful and pretty, considered the grim circumstances. Exhausted, Poppy got up, and holding Minerva by the elbow, led her to the upholstered burgundy armchair overlooking the small fireplace where coals lay cold and dead amongst the ash. She settled weakly into it, covering herself with a large plaid blanket. She felt nothing, no pain, no sorrow, no joy, nothing. Her mind still hadn’t fully processed the loss, and the first shock of emotions having been evacuated by hours and hours of mourning the dead, she was now empty, hollow.

“Poppy,” she said quietly, taking the small green hand-painted ceramic mug her wife handed her, having come back from the kitchen. “Do you honestly believe, Sirius…”

She stopped, her voice cracking, a shy remnant of the power it used to be.

She took a deep breath in, before trying again.

“Do you think Sirius killed James, Lily, and Peter?” She asked in a small voice,

“Of course not, replied Poppy, taking a sip of her tea. “I don’t believe Sirius would be able to kill someone in the first place, let alone murder his best friends.”

Minerva nodded,

“I do not think so either, but…I don’t know, something is wrong…”

Silence settled in their home, as the birds chirped merrily outside, welcoming the new day with joy and excitement. Suddenly, a loud knock sounded at the kitchen window. Minerva stood up heavily, and leaving her empty teacup on the worktop, she opened it, letting the waiting owl in. Running her hand gently through its glossy tan plumage, she took the newspaper from its claws and slipped five Knuts into the small leather pouch tied at its leg. Big headlines printed in bold black letters glared back at her from the white paper, screaming victory:

“Dark Lord vanquished and gone, for good this time”

“Dark Lord dead: Wizarding Britain celebrates”

“Harry Potter, the young saviour of our world”

She skimmed briefly through the paragraphs, squinting at the fine print, shaking her head slowly.

“Fools,” she thought.

She opened the Daily Prophet to the second page and dropped it in shock when Sirius Black’s desperate face stared back at her from the black and white moving picture. An Auror was restraining him, holding him at wand point, as he desperately attempted to free himself from her iron grip. His face was a mask of pure anguish and misery, as tears ran down his face, his usually lustrous black hair sticking in mangy strands to his skin.

“I’m so sorry.”

He appeared to be mouthing the same three words over and over again.

Above the picture, the headline read:

“Sirius Orion Black: murderer, madman, and traitor”

Facing Poppy who was watching her worriedly, she whispered, voice breaking:

“I must find Remus, now.”

[kinnoth]

Thor knows the end, but he has always known the end. Ragnarok has never been a mystery to him, to any of them. Every story ever told of Asgard ends in fire and in the darkness of nothing if one lets it go on for long enough. The Aesir have always been a doomed people: blood-loving, battle-loving, ever scratching for one more piece of glory to hold onto before the lights go out.

In truth, Thor had never expected to make it so far, and, perhaps, looking back on the trajectory of his life, he had never deserved to make it so far. The story of his life, as it has been charted, was ever one in which he would burn for a little while, then blaze for a while more, and then fall in a streak of fire, celebrated by his armies and ill-remembered by those he had conquered.

He was meant to have burned with his kingdom. His father would have burned with his kingdom. It is what is said of him in every attestation, that Odin Allfather loved his people and his kingdom until the end of both: because it was rightful, it was honourable, because it was foretold. Because Odin Allfather understood the sacrifice of kingship and the beauty of things that end.

Only greedy Thor, arrogant Thor, could have denied these people their rightful, honourable deaths. Only Thor could have snatched up these people from the glory of their own fates, and for what?

Space is cold after the fires of Asgard, cold and empty. The spiralling arms of the world tree cannot house a houseless people. All the sparkling stars that hang like fruits from its branches cannot feed them.

Thor leads his people to their doom, but he can find within himself no remorse for it. He has his brother back, standing tall and proud again beside him. Thor is not a stupid man, for all his great faults. He knows that his brother is dangerous and that he is disloyal. He has proven himself to be cruel and selfish and vain.

And yet, Loki moves beside him like his shadow as he circles through their huddled masses. Loki is good with them in a way that Thor isn't, in the way that their mother was good in the times after calamity. He touches their blackened hands and he talks to them lowly, with soothing words and gentle manner. He spins amusing tales for the children and listens, soft-eyed, to the lamentations of their mothers and fathers. They are Asgard's potters and weavers, merchantmen and clerks. They carry with them nothing but the clothes on their backs and the children in their arms. Had they been warriors, Thor might have led them and paid their way across the worlds with their swords, but as they are, they have nothing and want for everything.

He passes what assurances he can on to them. He tells them that they will be safe, that their children will not go hungry. He tells them tales of Midgard, of its glass cities and its gleaming black roads. He tells them of the rich, green hills of the Norsemen that Odin Once-King had declared would be their new home.

He feels Loki watching him. Somehow, he had forgotten how that had felt -- Loki, moving his head and his hands in subtle enquiry when emotion catches his voice; Loki, rephrasing his soldier's brusqueness into something easy and smooth; Loki remembering the details to his stories where he had forgotten. They had had a thousand years of companionship between them before these past ten in conflict and yet somehow, Thor had forgotten how it had felt to hold the weight of Loki's attention, familiar and following, as steadying as any hand.

Thor watches him as well, and, in the liminal moments in between, he drags them away from their duties and cloisters his brother away from the others. In private, Loki wears his quiet differently: his rounded shoulders find their angles and his tired eyes grow sharp and ready. Thor has him read for him the obscurities in their astronomical maps that Thor does not know enough to understand. They discuss the merits of various courses through the terrain, how to balance the preservation of their fuel next to the dangers of the shipping lanes. Loki is as studious and serious now as he is in Thor's memory. As he listens to Thor and thinks on his answers, his hand drifts absently up to his chin in a gesture he has not lost from childhood, and Thor feels again the stirring fondness he has only ever felt for his careful brother, lost in thought.

But Loki has not yet fully returned to him. It is clear in the way he stops in his sentences before they disagree and cuts away his gaze, the way he avoids Thor's hands in moments when he would not have before noticed Thor's touch. Perhaps he never will return, not wholly, and be as he was once, but Thor makes himself glad for what company he can have of him. Certain things have changed between them now in ways that he cannot hope to recover, and so Loki, though never a stranger, is perhaps more courteous than he has earned the right to be, blunter with his rebuke and shallower with his smile than Thor remembers. It is the measure of distance that Loki holds that serves to remind him always that, while Thor may again have a brother, he does not have a friend.

Perhaps that is for the best. Perhaps that is enough. Perhaps they can work together and they can lead their people, and Thor can put aside his ache for a better world and content himself with what he has. Because for all that he would like to do it, Thor does not trust his brother, even as he knows that he would not want to endure this long life without him. And perhaps he, too, is vain, but -- for this fragile truce between them, this makeshift peace -- he would have damned them all a thousand times without a second thought. Loki is here, and Thor believes again, as he did when he was young: that with his brother at his side, there is no quandary in the universe that the two of them cannot conquer.

Still, he startles when he feels a hand lay across his back. He is half-asleep, hunched over their star maps and logbooks again, looking for ways through disaster as though, if he looked long enough, he could divine new meaning into the numbers. He looks up to see Loki drawing his white hand back into the shadow of his cloak, a plaintive expression clearing quickly from his face.

"You are tired," Loki says. His voice is soft and unreadable. "You should rest."

"Yes," Thor replies. He had been dreaming, but of what, he doesn't remember now that he is awake. Impressions of fire and shadow splinter under the weight of waking until all that remains is the metal taste of urgency and guilt in his mouth. He sets his palm over his eyes and scrubs until all he sees again are stars. They are twenty-two jumps points outside of Asgard and he doesn't know how they are going to make it to twenty-three.

When next he looks up, Loki regards him with a look nearing sympathy. "Come with me," he says, and it is a testament to how truly tired Thor is that he follows without question. Loki leads him through a warren of utilitarian back rooms, storage spaces and servants quarters stripped bare of the Grandmaster's glitter and sculpted luxury. There is a narrow wire staircase twisting up past the rafters, and then Loki brings him into a room.

Something about the arrangement of it strikes Thor as immediately familiar, though he cannot place how. There is a low bed pushed against the wall and shelves built above it. From the ceiling hang bundles of scented dried things wrapped in scrap cloth, and on the far wall is a wide window, looking out into the void. Pale flame flickers to life in the brazier by the door and this is Loki's room, from back home, Thor realises, his private royal chamber scaled down to fit this space the size of a pauper's cell.

Thor touches the brutally bare wall. They are so close to the engines here that he can feel them humming beneath his hand. He steps after Loki into the room and passes his fingers over the fire as he walks. There is no warmth and so he reaches into the centre of it and picks up a glowing ember. It pulses like a living thing, faintly green around the edges. Foxfire, he recognises, Loki’s magic used for the crude banality of lighting a room. "Is this where you've been sleeping?" he asks, unable to keep the reproach from his voice.

Loki has opened a hidden compartment and is unpinning the cloak from his shoulders. He looks strange and unguarded for a moment, and Thor is sorry to have spoken without thought. Loki looks away. "You did not wonder?"

Thor shrugs with deliberate disaffectedness. "I didn't think it was any of my business," he says. He peers around the corners of the doorway. There is a bath beyond a half-closed door and, next to it, a meagre kitchen. It is odd to think of Loki, imperious and supercilious, cooking meals for himself off of one small hob. It is odd to think of his brother living sparsely, when their mother’s one enduring criticism of him was how he spent too freely. How much more of his life has Loki concealed from him? How else has he lived that Thor does not know?

Loki emerges from his closet, much the same but with all his dignity drawn about him once again. He plucks the coal from Thor’s hand and uses it to light the other lamps around the room. “This used to be my room when the Grandmaster took me out on his excursions," he explains. "I didn’t think anyone would mind it if I took it up again. Of course, I didn’t spend much time here,” he adds as he gives Thor back his ember. “The rooms downstairs, housing Asgard's people, those were for his guests. They are much more comfortable.”

Thor takes the glowing coal, holds it in his palm again for a moment before tossing it back into the brazier with the others. “And what were you then?” he asks suspiciously. A species of confusion mated to a kind of rage creeps up into his chest, but he pushes down on it with the ease of long practice, until naught but a faint abhorrence emerges into his conscious thought.

Loki smiles. ”Household.”

"Here,” he says before Thor can unravel his unease. A dark, ornate bottle appears between his fingertips and uncorks itself with a pop. He presses it into Thor’s hand. “Have a drink with me."

Thor twists his mouth. “Are we out of clean glasses again?” A fragrance at once sweet and sharply medicinal wafts up from the open neck. The liquid itself is nearly black.

Loki gestures as he folds himself onto the ledge by the window. He pulls a knee up to his chest and leans his cheek up against it. “Would you accept a glass from me?” he asks demurely.

Thor snorts. ”You are right, I would not.” He hesitates a moment longer before crossing the room and going to stand next to his brother. The universe spins out, endless, outside of their ark, colours of a bruise casting ghostly lights against Loki’s back and the side of his turned face. “It used to be one of your favourite tricks for your guests to find some nasty surprise at the bottom of their cups.” He offers his brother a wry look as he hands the bottle back.

Loki’s smile is small but not fully unhappy. “That was childish of me,” he agrees.

”You put snakes in my cup at my coronation.” Thor points out. “We were not children then.”

”Weren't we?" Loki asks lightly, and Thor's hackles rise, the prickle on the back of his neck like static before a storm. Loki is in some sort of mood tonight, not wholly hostile, but unsettled somehow, and Thor has ever known him to be changeable. He lifts the bottle in a sardonic salute and, smirking, tilts back his long throat and drinks deep. The glass slowly drains to clear as Loki finishes, gasping with satisfaction. He holds up the bottle, still three quarters full. "There, brother, you see?" he says, as he wipes the corners of his mouth. "Nothing to fear."

Something about the dark stain of Loki's mouth perturbs Thor in a way that strikes him wary and short of breath, but he takes the bottle back. His voice pitched low, he asks, with a cheer he does not truly feel, ”So what poison do you intend for the both of us then?”

Loki shakes his head and laughs. “No, not even poison.” His eyes are wet and a little unfocused. "Will you not drink?"

Thor hesitates a moment more but then, he too smiles shallowly and drinks. The liquor is hot on the tongue but surprisingly light, fruited like wine but without wine's cloying sweetness. He swallows. ”That is very fine," he says approvingly. The drink’s warm fingers spread down his throat and into his chest where they begin to pick at the knots tied up there. "I did not know we had anything near so fine on this ship. Is there more of it?" He tilts the bottle to read the label.

Loki scoffs. "Not enough to water your entire kingdom, if that's what you mean."

“A pity then.” Thor takes another generous swallow and the warmth spreads. These Sakaarian spirits are stronger than Asgardian mead, and Thor is beginning to think that he prefers it. “The kingdom could use a good watering after what it's just been through.” He raises the bottle. “A salutation then, to -- what are we drinking for?”

“A victory?” Loki shrugs. He moves to make room as Thor gingerly lowers himself down onto the seat next to him, careful to keep his distance. “Anything you like.”

Thor laughs hollowly. “That was a poor victory then, if that's what you'd call it.”

In the flickering light, Loki’s pale eyes shutter and he grins his brief and bitterly mirthless grin. He looks away and drinks, then leans again on his folded knee. “Do you grieve?” he asks perfectly without inflection.

Thor stops. He sees Loki’s fingers flexing white at the knuckles around each other even as his face remains impassive. His shoulders are set in perfect right angles to his spine. “You know,” Thor says contemplatively, “if you would have asked me that ten years ago, around the time you were still putting snakes in my cups, I would have said yes. I would have drank for our golden halls and our gleaming city and all of our sun-loved fields. But now." He sighs. Loki glances at him, the only indication that he is even listening. His eyes are wide and waiting. Around the room, the pale fires sputter in their wicks and spin. He has stopped his breathing. Thor reaches for him and lays the backs of his fingers lightly along his arm. Loki winces, takes a breath, but does not pull away.

Thor feels his own misgivings be gentled, and says softly, "I suppose that's what a loss as great as this shows you. When you have no choice but to choose, you pick out what's really important from the rest and you are happy that you get to keep it. We have lost so much, but it could have been more." His hand slowly flattens to curl around the lean muscle of Loki’s arm. Thor can feel the heat and the solid weight of him, welcome and familiar in a way that little else has been in these recent years.

"Brother," he begins softly. "Will you not grieve--"

"But what of all your worshippers?” Loki's expression when he turns is hard and terrible, red-rimmed eyes above a hooked sneer, and held in such rictus as if he were an animal trapped under thick ice. “Your great armies? Your Warriors Three?” he intones, as he yanks himself away from Thor’s touch, drawing back into himself once more. "Your Lady Sif?"

Thor draws his hands back into his own lap, stricken. What feats these hands have wrought, what power they hold, and yet he cannot claw back into them an ounce of his brother’s confidence. Has he not tried? Has he not let Loki draw near, examine every part of him and find him wary and uncertain, but sincere? He remembers the tentative proximity they had devised in the first night aboard the ship. Loki had asked and Thor had allowed him to draw him down, to examine his disfigured eye and to cleanse it and close what he could, to touch his fingertips through his shorn hair as he did it. What had that been but Thor's hopes laid bare? What had that been but Thor's soul beckoning: look at me; see me; recognise me; if we cannot be alone together then we will truly be alone.

Thor breathes deep and says, lowly, with a line of resignation understriking the words, “Have you brought me here to start a fight then, Loki?”

Loki's face, ruddy and savage with emotion, flinches violently. He blinks and then, as if swept by a great wind, his expression clears. “No, forgive me,” he says, his voice cool and easy. "I am." He shrugs, and, after a moment, waves his hand. The spinning lights right themselves. Another bottle appears between his fingers. He hands it to Thor and then he returns to himself, perfectly neat and self-contained.

Thor hates, suddenly, all of this, every measure of it: his brother’s carefully constructed dispassion and the way he will not fully meet Thor’s eyes; the choking fist of his own fear that this is how it has to be now, this is how they are going to be to one another from now on. Loki sits curled in on himself like a loose fist protecting a bruise and Thor is no more permitted to unfurl him to test his injury any more than he is to go back and undo Ragnarok. This he mourns, more than all else: that he used to know his brother, and he was known by him, trusted and was trusted. It used to be that when they were together, Thor had believed in immortality.

He is gripped by the sudden urge to touch Loki, as if that would make any difference, as if that would make anything better. It used to. He thinks it used to. Thor remembers how easy it had used to be to know where he was and how to make his way back because Loki would find his hand and guide him. He wants to take Loki by the shoulders and shake him, or to reach underneath the curtain of his hair and put his hand to skin.

But instead he is here, in this insatiable present that takes and takes and lets him have nothing back. Loki holds himself placidly as if nothing at all has been said or transpired, and Thor's despair turns to cold fury.

"Odin was right, you are devious and disdainful and difficult to love," Thor says icily. Loki looks at him, properly, finally. His eyes are open with surprise and confusion. Good. If Loki wants a fight then Thor is more than happy to give him one; he is hungry for Loki's pain, if he can have nothing else. Thor spurs on, heat rising up his neck and behind the sockets of his eyes, "You've found reason to hate everyone and everything that ever had the misfortune of crossing your path. Nothing is ever good enough for Loki; no one is ever good enough for Loki. There would always be something, some way you could distort an honest word into something evil, turn even the truest praise into injustice. You are so twisted we could use you as a corkscrew."

Loki recoils as if physically struck and Thor feels a rush of cruel satisfaction to see him hurt. Loki should hurt. If Thor must hurt than Loki can hurt. It is their basest of axioms: whatever Thor has, then Loki must have too.

"Little wonder why you were no good king," he spits, unsheathed now, seeking blood. He wants to see Loki break. "You look for shadows and schemes because your heart is filled with nothing but shadows and schemes. Little wonder, too, why you could not content yourself with the vast privileges of your station. You were Asgard’s prince and my brother and Odin's son, but still you found a way to be claim misuse. It is like you run from happiness. You are incapable of being grateful." He shoves the bottle back toward Loki with such force that it topples off its broad base. The fine spirits pours out of it in fat gluts.

His brother regards the drink soaking into his floor and splashing over his shoes. His pale face is awash with an awful flush. With a jerking gesture, he rights the bottle and the black liquid funnels itself back into it. He drinks for a long moment and then sets it down. His stillness has taken a different quality, wound and waiting, like a pendulum before the downswing. "I was not your brother, don’t you remember?" he says lowly. "Not your father's son, not your people's prince. I was nothing. That is what I ran from, being nothing."

Thor feels tension string through his muscles. Fighting he knows; fighting he can do; fighting comes naturally to him even if his heart is breaking. "You were one of us," he retorts through his teeth. "You were loved."

Loki lets out a great bark of a laugh and wheels to his feet. "I was not," he says poisonously. "Great Thor, mighty Thor, golden Thor, loved by all. Easy to love." He is pacing, his long strides eating up the little distance of the floor so that he has to turn every fourth step. His movement is disjointed, unhinged. Thor is reminded again of his brother, wild and caged, wreacking ruin upon himself when given nothing else to destroy. "Of course you wouldn’t see it," Loki scathes. "It is so difficult for the beloved to see that not all share in their condition, after all."

Thor draws back, raises his chin. His pulse is in his ears. He should never have come in the first place. He could have lived with what peace they had between them, and now he won't even have that. "Mother loved you," he challenges, his voice rising. "I loved you."

His brother flips his hand dismissively. "You loved everyone, what’s one more."

"I loved you best!"

Thor is on his feet as static gathers in the air. Loki stops, holds his gaze steadily, breathing hard. "I was happy," he says after a moment. "Perhaps it was never to any great effect, but I was happy once. But then, I was not who I thought I was." He drags in a breath and wrings together his trembling hands. "And I did not know what I know now." He stands in the middle of his sparse, dark little room and looks, suddenly, unspeakably small and lost. Thor steps toward him, but his brother looks up and fixes him with a glittering stare and he stops.

"So I have been selfish and self-serving, but who else but I served Loki-prince?" he says bitterly. "I was faithful to Asgard for over a thousand years and saw nothing but ashes for it. So if I took the things that Asgard would not give me in the end, ought I to be sorry?”

Thor huffs and breaks his gaze to hide his discomfort. "You were prince of the Nine Realms," he replies darkly. "What could you have possibly wanted for that could not be furnished to you?"

Loki snarls, "I have never had what I truly wanted, have you?" The room flares bright white for a moment and Thor startles, whirling about. Loki's foxfire pulses threateningly in its brazier.

Thor crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. He will not be cowed by a display of theatrics. "I had everything," he lies even though he knows it is not what Loki means.

Loki goes stiff and then, all at once, the venomous rage empties from his sharp face. He asks with a sudden, pleading sorrow, “Then do you not want?”

Greedy Thor, arrogant Thor does not respond, but his brother meets his burning gaze and seems to see through him. Thor’s heart is caught beneath his chin. He doesn’t know what Loki sees, but he prays that it is not everything.

Loki searches him a moment longer but then looks away. Thor feels a cavernous feeling as if he has been assessed somehow and found lacking. But Thor has won: his brother is crying and doing a poor job in hiding it. He waits for the satisfaction to come and to chase away the guilt.

But then Loki turns. "You're not the first I've disappointed with my unworthiness, brother," he says, quiet again, still again, distant. "You are hardly the first to cast me out because I did not suit. Hate me if you want, then," he says, a fissure opening beneath his smooth voice, "but I never hated them, your friends, your family, or Asgard. I only ever hated how they hated me, and yet you still loved them for it." He spreads his palm and light gathers between his fingertips. Thor knows what that is.

Thor lunges for him, his pulse in his ears, crossing the room in three quick strides. He seizes his brother by the wrist and Loki's pocket dimension snaps shut; whatever implement he was retrieving dissolves back into the darkness. Loki jerks away instinctively but Thor holds him tight. "I am not casting you out!" he cries. He crowds into him with his body, Loki stepping back for his every step forward until the wall stops them both. Thor pins his brother's arm. Loki looks jolted a moment, confusion opening his face as Thor leans his weight against him. They are both breathing hard. "I am not," he repeats.

Loki shoves at him with his free arm, his hand balling and gripping him menacingly by the open collar of his chest plate. "No?" he asks, acid hissing through his voice once more. "Odd, then, how that was what it sounded like."

"I was only angry," Thor says, his mouth dry, bracing, expecting the violence of his brother's anger. "I didn’t mean what I said." But Loki isn't fighting him. Thor knows how his brother fights, has been stung by those deadly hands often enough; he knows that his brother is not a man easily mastered. But Loki gasps, as though Thor has hurt him, and beneath Thor's agony and his racing pulse, a black thrill runs him through. He changes his grip on Loki's wrist, and pushes his shoulder back until his arm bends up above his head. Loki lets him, watching. Thor's mind races; his terror mounts. He feels powerful. "Brother, I didn't mean it," he rasps. "Don't go." He is trembling.

Loki's eyes grow narrow. "Oh, Thor," he breathes, "are you frightened?"

"Yes," Thor says readily. "Is that so surprising to you?" He needs to let him go, but instead his grip tightens on Loki's arm. He feels Loki's throat working, the subtle movements of his head and neck, and he feels, again, the stirring, ugly cruelty that has lived inside him all his life. Its pulse fills his mouth, like a separate thing from his own. Thor's blood and body ignite for one indomitable moment before the guilt overruns him, his own self-disgust. He puts his face into his brother's shoulder so that he might avoid his incising gaze. "Yes, I am frightened," he says hollowly. "I did not want this."

Thor is lowly and vulgar and undeserving of being called a man. He is the very basest creature, captive to his vagaries, caring for nothing but his own comfort and gratification. He will destroy this cobweb peace between them for an upper hand, drive his brother away in a fit of pique, and for what?

He feels Loki stiffen as Thor's misery makes him dull and heavy. "Want what, be specific," his brother hisses. He shoves at Thor again, curses crackling in his fist this time, no mere punctuation.

"Any of this. All of it," Thor mutters thickly. His feels his own breath hot on his face as the leather shoulders of Loki's shirt repel it back to him. The trap in his throat cannot contain his every secret, and what spills out does so like a cut vein. "Odin’s kingdom, the crown, the fate of Asgard." He squeezes his eyes shut and grieves that he cannot even be with Loki, cannot ask of him to share a drink without Loki's bad faith and his own bad impulses coming between them.

They truly are ruined, he thinks, as he counts his brother's quick heartbeats through his palm, and Thor can be neither the man he wants to be nor the man he needs to be anymore. "I did not want for them to take me," he says. "I did not want to become that which I hated, what you hated, what had killed you and our mother and made our father a stranger to us. I thought I would rather die, but now it is here anyway, and there is nowhere left for me to run."

There is a pause and then Loki says, his voice soft and careful. "It is kingship, brother. It is what we were born to do."

Thor lets out a breath like a sob. "It is a rotten job, Loki. It is rotten to its core." He lifts his head and searches his brother's face. "It consumes you, it becomes your world until your heart may hold nothing but it, and your soul may love nothing but it, and you would rather see your queen die for it and your sons disgraced for it rather than lose even a fraction of it."

Loki is not crying anymore. He looks upon Thor with such bewilderment and concern that Thor wishes, once more, to hide his despair, but that his brother deserves to be looked in the eye. "Would that I were only a man," he continues. "Would that this were only an occupation of a father being passed to a son, but it is not. It is a wolf at my door, brother, and I must let it in, but I cannot do it without you beside me."

Loki's brows are pinched, his iridescent eyes wide with honest heartache. He lifts his hand from the wall and Thor lets him go. He feels a touch alight on his temple, between the chevroned scars on his scalp. "I did not think it would hurt you so," his brother says in wonderment. He touches fingertips to the corners of Thor's eye where his sorrow has gathered but not fallen, and Thor only wishes that his brother could let himself be held.

"You are better made for it than I," Thor tells him as Loki tugs on him and Thor's head falls back down against his brother's throat. Loki hums and lays his cool hand lightly along the back of his skull, stroking contemplatively. Thor allows himself to be pacified, and the shameful, screaming something in his heart quietens for the moment, as it only ever does beneath his brother's hands. He sighs. "I need your strength and your wisdom and your friendship, Loki." He fists his fingers into the flanks of Loki's shirt and pulls meaningfully. "You asked me if I did not want, and that is it. I want you here with me. I want us to be friends again."

"We cannot be friends."

Thor looks up. His brother's eyes are wet but he smiles beatifically. "We cannot be friends," he repeats. "I will serve Asgard, I will be your brother, and I will serve you, but even I, poor fool that I am, must keep something for myself. Don't you see?" he says, his voice cracking with a building fervour. "I am as you say that I am: unworthy and ungrateful and the keeper of my own misery. I used to wish that I wasn't, but I am. And I must keep something, or else I shall have nothing at all." His fingers flex unconsciously on the edge of Thor's plate armour and, with a crunching snap, the metal rends beneath them. Loki hisses.

Thor stops him. "Loki, brother," he says, picking up his narrow hand and enfolding it between the both of his. Loki quakes, on the verge of something, and Thor sympathises even as he doesn't know what it is. He keeps his eyes cast low as he presses their hands together. "It's all right, I understand," he says, even though he does not. "Enough, hm? We are both fools." He shakes him lightly. "That's enough."

Loki's bruised hand spasms and he almost jerks it back into himself by instinct, but that Thor grasps him gently by the wrist and does not let him go. Wild-eyed, his brother stares at him, uncomprehending, first, and then recognition comes back into him. "Yes," Loki gasps. "I'm sorry. I." His fingers curl within Thor's rough palm, and warmth drifts through the pulses of Thor's blood to have his brother holding his hand again. "I am sorry." He drops his chin and looks away.

Thor shakes his head. "I have my own wrongs that I have done, and it has only been these recent years that I have had occasion to think back on them. You are right, you know," he says, smoothing his thumb over the back of his brother's knuckles for emphasis. "I have, in the past, regarded myself too highly, and I saw it as my natural right to trample over those who were less fortunate that I."

Loki huffs a little breath. "It is not difficult to do when you are the best." He wipes at his face with his sleeve and offers to Thor a smile, small and self-deprecating, but sincere -- a delicate branch, newly budded, tentatively extended but an offer of peace nonetheless.

Thor returns his smile. "No, I suppose it isn't, but I am sure that doesn't excuse it. Loki," he says, and it is as if he is finally undoing a weight that has always hung around his neck, "I am sorry."

His brother's expression remains deceptively pleasant. "For what? Be specific," he says again, a flat whisper, either soft or deadly but which refuses to reveal itself to be either.

Thor knows; he has known for a while now. His errors were ever small slights, little wrongs, but together they built a wall between them as high as the sky. But now, his brother knocks on the other side, and his humility is a small price to pay to see it torn down. He is ready to be done with it now, here, at the end of the world. "For what I said, just now" he says. "For speaking over you, in years past. For behaving as if you owed me your obedience," he says. "For taking it for granted that you were my brother and," he sighs expansively.

"For never seeing you for yourself, I suppose," he muses. He puts his hand to his brother's shoulder and stands back enough to look Loki in the eye. "You are your own man. Your path is your own to take, and though we may walk together, we do not belong to the same fate."

"You do not belong to me," he says, watching Loki watch him and knowing that, this time, he has been heard. "You are my brother, but you don't belong to me."

Thor holds his gaze with all the plain equanimity he can summon and releases his brother's hand. He waits for him to draw it back, but Loki only closes his eyes, for one slow moment. When he opens them, they are the color of sunlight passing through a calm ocean and for once, no drowned secrets lie beneath. "You have grown wise," his brother muses. He laughs, and it is a bell-clear sound, beautiful and weightless. He bows his head regally. "Worthy Thor, I am honoured."

Thor laughs, his throat thick with relief as Loki steps into him once more. He leans his cheek against Thor's shoulder and allows him to take his weight. Thor settles his arm around the back of Loki's body, and holds himself so still that he almost stops breathing. "Do you still hate me then?"

Loki settles into this new posture, his hand still resting lightly in Thor's palm. "I could never hate you," he says easily, as if this were ever plainly evident to anyone who has wished to learn it. "I was angry with you, but I never hated you."

Thor lifts his eyebrows and laughs aloud, surprised. "You have turned over a new leaf. That's more honesty than I've heard from you in aeons, brother."

Loki shrugs. "There's no harm in it now," he says. He turns Thor's hand over and idly traces his fingertip along the tendon between each knuckle. Thor's heart clenches. It was only ever his brother who would touch him like this and Thor cannot remember the last time Loki had touched him. "There are none now amongst the living who would laugh at me." A pause. "I am sorry about your friends."

Thor hums gravely. "So am I." He drops his chin gingerly atop his brother's dark hair and breathes deep of the scent of him. It is familiar and as warming as drink. He sways them together, lightly. "But they each died a warriors' deaths, and when the turning of the world comes and death comes for all of us, I shall see them again in Valhalla and be happy for it."

"Then let us drink to that." Loki ducks beneath his arm and goes to retrieve the bottle. Thor feels the loss but he follows him gladly, still holding his hand. Loki holds the liquor aloft. "To the turning of the world. To Valhalla," he announces. He drinks and, so close, Thor can see his throat working as he swallows.

When his brother presses the bottle into his hand, Thor looks at him. He says wryly, before he drinks, "Loki, we are not going to die for a very long time yet."

Loki snorts. "That is optimistic." He draws Thor back down onto the widow ledge, and Thor goes with him. Thor decides he can accept the substitute when Loki sits close and pushes them together, shoulder to hip.

"You don't believe that," Thor needles him, knocking him with his elbow. "You haven't changed so much that you would maroon yourself on a doomed ship, if you truly thought it hopeless."

Loki re-balances himself and rolls his eyes. "Well I still might leave if it suits me. You said it yourself." He flaps a hand blithely, but the cut of his words is prickly, "I am my own man, after all."

Thor's lips tighten over his teeth. "Will you?" Something hard and challenging flattens his voice, some sudden thunder, like the sort that breaks upon a fine spring day. "Are you going?"

Loki looks at him levelly but then he sighs. "No," he says peevishly, ducking away, "but I don't see why you can't just play along with it."

Thor moves the bottle away when Loki reaches for it. Loki frowns at him, annoyed, but Thor holds his gaze, unblinking, until Loki flushes beneath his pallor and looks away again. Thor doesn't let him. He catches his brother's face with his palm and turns him, his thumb holding firm upon the hard angle of Loki's jaw. Loki lets himself be turned. His face is hot. "I'm finished with playing that game with you, brother," Thor says, all humour gone. It is as if he is doomed to have this same conversation forever. He thinks back to all the times before that he has begged for his brother's constancy, and, like a mirror reflected back on itself, it is as if he looks endlessly into one image. "I will not grieve you a third time," he says. "Stay or don't, only choose one and do it."

Loki blinks rapidly. "Do you want me to stay?" He sounds choked and breathless.

Thor releases him. "Of course I want you to stay, I always want you to stay." Exasperated, his hand drifts up toward his crown to sweep in past his hair, only to remember, once it is there, that he has no hair to push back from his face. He has forgotten where and when he is. "If it were up to me, you would have never left me in the first place, but I am not your tyrant."

"No," Loki says softly, his hands twisting together in his lap. "No, you are only my brother."

Thor shakes his head and drains the rest of the drink in one swallow. "You know, historically, every time we try to talk about this, you cause a great big fuss, we fight, I beat you, and then you leave anyway." He scrapes irritably at his beard. "So do forgive me if I tire of retreading this path again."

"That was before," his brother says. He pulls his knee back to his chest and leans against it, away from Thor. His hair spills like ink over his shoulder and he looks at once exhausted and boyish, self-conscious and ancient. "And I will not apologise for it."

Thor rounds on him. "Who's asking you to?" he snaps. Loki does not respond. Thor scoffs. "So, what? Is that it? One last drink for old times’ sake?"

"That's not it."

"Then what is it, Loki?"

"Here," Loki says, producing a new bottle, amber in colour and heavier than the last. "Drink."

Thor takes it. He rips up the cork and drains the bottle with spiteful obedience. It burns. "If you're trying to get me drunk so it hurts less in the morning, it's not going to work."

"Did it hurt before?"

"Of course it bloody hurt, you blistering idiot," Thor spits. He feels fragile, cracking along his edges. "I thought you dead, twice. I drank Asgard dry the first time and I simply left after the second."

"I know." Loki slips his hand back into Thor's. It is as much comfort as it is concession, but Thor takes it anyway, pressing tight.

"I know you know." They were the worst times of his life, his world collapsed in upon him with him still trapped inside. He can hardly remember them at all, only in bursts, only in non-specifics, but of course, Loki had not intervened -- indifferent, always, as if Thor and the way his world was ending were specimen in a jar. Thor scrubs his face and holds his palm there over his aching eyes. "Thrice damned, since when are you so solicitous after my feelings." He would pull himself away from his brother's touch, if only he were not a coward.

Loki leans into him, puts his head again on Thor's shoulder. His touch and voice are faint. "I always care about your feelings, brother. Sometimes I wish I didn't, but I --" He trails off, stops.

Thor waits a beat, and then a scowl forms heavily over his brow. "Is this some new habit of yours, starting sentences and then... " He gestures. When Loki does not look away this time, he urges impatiently, "Well? You what?"

"I cannot seem to disregard your dislike for me."

Thor rolls his eyes. "I've always admired you, Loki, you know that."

"Do I?"

Thor throws up his hands and leans back against the windowglass. "Cleverest man in Asgard!" he exclaims. "Cleverer than our father -- my father," he corrects irritably, "yes, all right." He looks at his brother, whose cautious eyes regard him as a that of cornered beast's regarding the hunter. Thor looks at him directly, unyielding. "You're strong Loki, and you're brilliant, and you might have been wiser than Odin one day. We all thought it; mother said so all the time. She always said that if I were ever to rule, that there was no better man than you to have at my side, and I thought it to. You have the head for rule, and the heart--"

Loki shakes his head violently, compulsively. "Not the heart, no. I've never--" He is vibrating, his eyes screwed shut, and he does not seem able anymore to choose his own words. "You, you, you're beautiful, you're perfect--"

"Brother."

"No, you see, I could never see past it, I tried." The set of Loki's face wavers, his pale eyes trapped between two incompatible realities, both truths. He looks angry and hopeful, terrified and desperately sad -- snared between belief and doubt. Thor knows that feeling. It is the same feeling caught within his own breast. "I couldn't envy you for it, so I tried to hate you, but I couldn't. Even when we were apart, even when I thought you lost from me for good, down in that cell." He covers his face with his palms as if to stopper his own voice, but all he says next it is only muffled instead, "And I could never be happy. All I could ever do was want for things that I couldn't name and couldn't get."

Thor sighs. "I know. Brother, I know." He remembers the devastation that had wrecked him when he thought Loki dead, the way his insides had grown to ice and splintered as Loki had gone cold between his arms. He remembers how Jane's little, lukewarm hands had brought him up from his knees and he had looked at her as a stranger, comprehending at last that he was in a world of strangers now. His brother was dead and he would never know happiness again.

Loki's eyes search his. Thor doesn't know if he can put to speech what it is his brother is looking for, but he prays that he will find it. He chafes Loki's hand in both of his and, lost for words, presses his lips to the back of his own palm. Loki's breath shivers. He whispers, "It is not fair when I've never had room in my heart for anything but you."

When Loki kisses him, it does not feel like a surprise.

Thor responds swiftly, sweeping Loki into his lap and holding him there as Loki's vicious mouth yields beneath his. His hands seek skin, and it is given to him freely, gladly; Loki bends to meet him and his clothes part beneath Thor's hands like butter. Loki tastes of quicksilver and of the sun through new leaves, of midwinter firelight and the air after a storm. Thor remembers, now, every touch that has brought them to this, every brotherly assurance, every passing glance, every bruise -- and behind it, always, this bare and incomprehensible yearning.

Loki moans, intimate and open, and the unnameable becomes named, the shame given absolution. The whole of his life snaps suddenly into complete and perfect focus. This has been his monster all along, this clawing want, this unspeakable hunger so constant that it burned at the bottom of his every breath. Unaddressed, unacknowledged its whole long life, it had deformed him.

As Loki's mouth smears over his cheek, as his light fingers find the seams of their crude, hewn bodies and rend, it feels like standing up after a lifetime spent in a bend; it feels like the first full breath after only ever having sipped on air. Thor knows freedom for the first time he can remember, and the gnawing teeth behind all of his fear and worry and strangling precautions draw back into their ugly heads. The great inviolable question of his soul finds its answer at last: it was Loki. It was only ever Loki.

When he seizes the back of Loki's head and returns him to his mouth, his brother sighs. Thor can feel something stubborn inside of himself give way beneath the hot silk of Loki's skin and the cold marble underneath, and then, all at once Thor can feel Loki pouring through him, subtle as smoke, sharp as electricity, and when Thor pushes back, Loki opens his soul to him in welcome.

It is elemental, organic, as the way fire consumes or how the heavens turn. It is like every colour bound together into one, like sunlight. Thor can see himself through Loki's eyes, the familiar geography of his features mapped and given beautiful names: the cheekbone by which Loki has measured all other faces; the precise warmth and weight of his hands between which Loki finds his solace and his comfort; his stubborn mouth which Loki has learned for its every curve, its every salacious expression.

Thor smashes open the long-kept reservoir of his own stolen inspections, his persistent fascinations, and a flood rises within him of Loki's every aspect which he has held in covetous admiration: the fine and twining musculature of his neck and arms; the sharp, watchful intelligence behind his eyes; the deft, sinuous migration of his fingers as he weaves his spells.

Loki holds Thor within himself and Thor knows, all at once, a love so personal as a love of self, glorious as a love of empire, so desperate as a love of air or water or sustenance. Loki lives within all of him and Thor knows now that he lives within Loki as well. They have been half of each other's lives, the whole of the other's hearts, and now with the crude boundaries of their bodies and minds dissolved, Thor knows who he is. He is Loki's. Loki is his. This is truth.

Loki gasps through his open mouth, sparks igniting in his vision through Thor's eyes. Thor matches him and the both of them tremble beneath the glittering weight that has settled, diaphanous and encompassing over their shoulders. Loki buckles and Thor hides his face into his pulse.

When he catches Loki into his arms, it feels like coming home

Thor comes into himself again in pieces. When he opens his eyes, it is difficult to remember how to see again through just his own one eye, how to feel with just his skin. Loki clings to him, draped over his lap, his clothes in ruin, his limbs shivering and soft. They breathe together, as one lung, and Thor cannot stop himself from seeking the white skin of Loki's neck. His brother moves against him and captures his mouth with his own gasping mouth. His hands spread over Thor's shining arms, caressing, while Thor threads his fingers into Loki's dark, soft hair.

When Loki breaks them apart, it is so gentle that it feels like a promise rather than punishment. Thor moans. "Again." The music is his voice is lost beneath the crush of his desire.

But Loki holds him fast, his panting mouth mere breathes away, only when Thor moves, Loki does not rise to meet him. He shakes his head. "I only wanted to see," he says, as if through a dream. He touches Thor's cheek. His eyes are still shut, and he moves so slowly and clumsily that Thor steals another kiss from him before he can do anything about it.

Thor chuckles. He draws Loki's thumb into his mouth and works the knuckle with his teeth and tongue. Beneath the flickering, golden light, his brother's eyes are nearly black when they open and Thor can hear his naked want calling to his own. Thor grins. "What can I show you, brother?" He shifts a subtle measure and, for a moment, Loki's weight comes off his knees and seats fully into his lap.

Loki's breath catches. He draws his finger from between Thor's teeth and wets his curving lip. He presses his brow to Thor's, shuddering. His voice crackles as he whispers, "How it might feel to be whole."

"What do you mean?" Thor hums. His eye drifts open and then shut, and every time he closes it, he can feel the afterimages of Loki's every thought. He reaches out, touches a stray, cold curl of his brother’s building anxiety, and feels it disintegrate into light. Thor tugs on Loki's hands, kisses the hinge of his jaw and a hard coiling knot of it begin to dissolve. Loki protests faintly but he begins to struggle. Thor clamps an arm around his waist. "No, there, sit there a while," Thor insists, putting his bearded cheek against his brother's beating chest and feeling it scratch though Loki's skin. Loki grasps at his forearm. "Stay," Thor says petulantly. "You said you would stay."

"This is absurd," Loki complains. He shifts on his knees, poorly balanced on the narrow seat. "I am too tall for this."

"I don't care." He touches the back of Loki's hand on his arm and Loki lifts it readily. Thor lines their fingertips together and Loki slips his in between. He wants to put Loki onto his back and learn the taste of his heartbeat through his skin. He wants to touch his hidden thoughts and secret melancholies and learn their every shape and texture. He wants to spread his brother out into pieces, evenly, meticulously, until he is naught but motes of shimmering dust and Thor is the same.

"I do not think I could bear it if you tried for decorum right now." Thor lifts his head, smiling, his throat fully bared, and Loki touches it in wonderment, his protests forgotten.

"I would know..." Thor hears his brother murmur, so low that Thor thinks he might have imagined it. But then Loki smiles. "Take me to bed then." He kisses Thor softly. "I am cold."

Thor lifts him easily, and Loki lets him -- he lets him, god, the things Thor can do now that Loki will let him, now that he is permitted. He sets Loki atop the bedclothes and Loki watches him with unadorned hunger as Thor steps back and works deftly at the clasps and buckles of his chestplate.

"Come," he calls quietly when Thor is sufficiently bare, and he receives Thor into his bed as if he has been doing it all his life. Ensconced within the bedsheets, Loki arranges them so that they are half on top of one another. Thor kisses him again and Loki makes small, infuriating, amenable sounds as his hands drift aimlessly over Thor's skin.

But Thor wants more. He would bring Loki to the very brink of his own body, damp-skinned and pleading for Thor's mercy.

Loki groans and shivers as Thor manoeuvres him beneath his body. He would bend as Thor would bend him; he would unfurl however Thor would unfurl him. Thor knows this. He tastes his brother's anticipation and acquiescence like spilt wine. Already his elegant hands manacle themselves to the crossbars of his headboard at Thor's behest, his flanks and front spread and stretched deliciously for Thor's tasting mouth.

Thor cups his palm beneath the bend of Loki's knee, and lifts it smoothly back. The colours of Loki's mind ignite and darken. "I would know thee by thy body," he says, but it is Loki's oaths that come out. Loki groans. Thor blinks, returns, and slowly grins.

"And I would my body give to thee," Thor finishes. He waits a moment as the disbelief twists his brother's face and then resolves. Loki looks at him, new marvel in his eyes. He surges suddenly and kisses Thor, and then Thor is awash in his brother's soaring relief, his bottomless joy. His mind comes away lurid with the places of his body that Loki has imagined Thor's hands, his mouth. Loki shuts his eyes as Thor lays him back. He covers his face with his wrists. "Yes," he breathes. "To thee."

The great yawning pit of his want joins Thor's in the bottom of his stomach, as Thor fits them together and then fits himself inside.

Loki moves with him, pulled by the same tide, moved by the same moon. The geography of Loki's soul opens for him and Thor arrives upon it softly. Loki fills him, envelopes him, and Thor touches through his every thought and sensation as it passes through his grasp. It will never be enough, Thor despairs, though he is not certain if it is his thought or Loki's when it emerges. This was what Loki had meant; this was the danger all along. They've been given a single mouthful of kindness and now must know what it is to live without. They could each live ten thousand years and spend every minute of it in each other's arms, and it would not be enough.

But Loki shakes his head and opens his dark eyes. "It can be," he says, almost voiceless. "It has to be." He pulls his heels into the small of Thor's back and brings him closer. "I could not bear it otherwise." He winds his fingers into the damp buzz of Thor's hair and pulls him down to him. "Kiss me and let us dwell no more on it," he says, and Thor does as he is told, grateful, overcome, knowing the end but willing for forever.

Power builds within his body, ready and aching. Outside the window, a swirl of cosmic dust churns, violet explosions flashing through violet clouds. He glows beneath his skin, but Loki opens his mouth to him and catches his kiss as if he were tasting rain. He shudders as he comes, as Thor follows him, as Thor's blue lightning fills him, holds him gently, wreathes them both.

Loki allows him fold them together again afterwards, allows Thor to arrange them so that they can see each other as they lay together breathing. Thor's pulse is quiet within him even as his heart hums with one harmonious note. The great storm of his life, the one he had never even known he was weathering, has ended. Thor is clean, new, and the long, long past recedes easily beneath the placid waves. He looks into his brother's smooth, flushed face and he sees his future.

Thor puts his lips to his brother's brow and smiles against his skin. "I adore you," Loki says in a small voice. His fingers tighten at Thor's waist and Thor lifts his chin so that Loki may tuck himself beneath it.

Thor laughs drowsily. "I know that," he says. "You don't know how glad it makes me." Loki's dark hair has fallen from its part and it drags in cool coils across Thor's arm. Thor puts his hand through it, sweeping it back and his brother looks up at him, his eyes sober.

"I do," Loki says. His mind, always working, momentarily quietened, moils once more. Thor frowns. "It is beyond reason, brother. It is more than anything; it is more than life." Placating, Thor touches his cheek and Loki turns into him immediately. He kisses Thor's palm. "You could skin me like a lamb and my last thought would be how I love you," he says fiercely.

Thor turns his face. "I would not," he says, horrified. "I would never." Loki's brows gain a troubled furrow but he looks away, assenting. Thor strokes the furl with his thumb until Loki relinquishes it. He takes Thor's hand and kisses it once more, then lets it slide back into his hair. Thor strokes him and says more softly, "And what does it matter if it is beyond reason, if I am the same?"

"No, but can't you see?" Loki drops his head into Thor's shoulder again. "This --" he gestures miserably. "This is unnatural."

"How do you mean?" Thor lets him hide. If it makes it easier for him, Thor will hide him from himself. "So we are lovers now," he says and feels Loki's breath hitch. "So what? We share no blood, and even if we did, who would challenge it?" He strokes the line of his back until Loki breathes again, however raggedly. "We are kings of Asgard, brother, what authority reigns higher?" A laugh escapes him on a wet, choked breath and Thor rocks him, lightly, forming himself around the warm, solid, precise weight of him.

"Don't cry," he says. "Don't make yourself miserable. We've found each other now. I love you, and I have wanted you all my life." He kisses his brother's damp cheek. "I was blind not to see it before but I do see it now."

Loki pulls back and looks at him. His smile is wistful and pained. "You may say to me every beautiful word that I have ever wished to hear, and it would still be true." He unwinds himself from Thor's limbs and rises up to his elbows. Thor touches his arm, deploring the loss, as Loki wipes at his face with the backs of his wrists. "It is not the quality of love but the quantity of it," he says bitterly. He pulls at Thor's grip. "Let go," he says, quieter. "When you touch me, I can feel you inside my head."

"Yes," Thor accedes cautiously, but he does it anyway because his brother asks, "and you're inside mine." Loki sits up from the bed in one determined movement and slides off the side. Thor sits up as well, alarmed. "What's the matter?"

His brother is at his closet, and Thor watches as, one at a time, pieces dissolve from their hangers and resolve themselves on Loki's skin.

"Loki." Thor crosses the room to where Loki is standing and catches him by the elbow. A wall of dread goes up in his brother's mind, but Thor pushes past it, back into the centre of him. Loki turns to him, expressions of fear and fury, gratefulness and regret warring in the tiny movements of his brow and lips. Thor kisses him, and as before, Loki returns it without hesitation. Thor steeps into it every measure of affection he can muster, every tender feeling and assurance. His brother falters, but he steps into him. His hands waver as he slips them around the back of Thor's neck.

"Tell me what is the matter," Thor says again as he pulls his brother back into his arms.

Loki shakes his head. "You don't understand, I never." His hands fist against Thor's shoulders as Thor absently tucks a strand of his dark hair back behind his ear, and he nearly sobs. Loki takes a breath. "You know nothing; you deserve to know," he bites out. "This is not you or me. We are cursed. Odin cursed us."

Thor flinches at the sound of his father's name before he can stop himself. "What?" he demands. "How?"

His brother laughs wetly. "You know, I hoped you'd be drunker for this. You're always so much more tractable when you're drunk. You don't ask nearly so many questions." He jerks, but Thor's arms have been turned to stone. "Unhand me," he says unhappily.

"No." He can feel his brother's self-recrimination and doubt, his panic like an acid bubbling beneath the an indelible anger. He can feel his need for flight. It hits him like a fist and brings up to the surface all of Thor's own dread, his own terror.

Loki struggles again, but Thor is unmovable. "At least let me finish dressing," he scolds.

"No," Thor intones. "Explain it or don't, it matters very little to me." He looks at his brother, his eyes hard. "What do I care for curses, Odin's or no? Sod him, he was an old man with an old man's schemes. What did he know? My god, Loki, Loki." He holds his brother to him as if that were all that would make the difference, and cups his hand to Loki's face with all the murderous adoration of a cheated supplicant. "If you leave me again after this, I will never forgive you, I swear it."

Loki shakes his head. "It was he who made us like this!" he cries. One more time, he shoves at Thor, and this time Thor lets him go. Loki rounds the room, his hands flying, frantic as loosed birds. "That's why he took me," he says. His eyes are wide, landing on nothing and everything. At last he sits himself again on the edge of the bed. "I was never meant to be your brother." His head sinks into his hands, muffles his voice. "But only that I turned out," he gestures, "as I am."

Ice runs down through Thor's veins. "What do you mean?"

Loki looks up at him from above his fingertips. "Did he never tell you how he lost his eye?"

"Yes," Thor replies, crossing his arms, "he told all of us; it was never a secret. He traded it to the Norns for the wisdom to rule his kingdom."

"Yes," Loki agrees, "to rule, to ensure his line evermore." He breathes deep and sits back, casting his eyes to the ceiling. "Without slander, what do you know about the Jotnar?"

Thor sighs. He is reminded of when they were young, when his brother would try to teach him philosophy by irritating him with questions until he found the answers. "They are giants," he answers dutifully. "They are fierce warriors, they are... Blue?" Loki looks at him expectantly. Thor shrugs belligerently. "I do not know what you wish me to say."

"How do they fight?"

"With their ice magic--"

"Yes." Loki holds up one long finger. "Magic."

Thor rolls his eyes. He remembers this too, when Loki used to lead him to answers and make him feel like an idiot for not grasping their significance. "I do not understand," he concedes.

But Loki keeps going. "Your grandmother, your father's mother, who was she?"

Thor frowns. "I never met her, but she was a great lady of--"

"She was a Jotun," Loki pronounces. He stands back up again and begins pacing the room, his hands clasped behind his back as if in recital. "She betrayed her race and coupled with an Aesir, your grandfather, who made her a new body, a white body," Loki gestures to himself, to the pale skin of his torso that Thor had marked in worship. “She, in turn, gave her magic to her many sons, of which your father slew one by one until Asgard was his alone. That is the custom, is it not?"

Thor shakes his head, his mouth dry. He feels like he's falling, like his earth is moving beneath him, and like Loki is the only still point he can conceive, but that he won't hold still. "But I was never asked to slay you."

Loki makes a dismissive gesture. "We'll get there," he says, distractedly, "but for now consider this: your father's line runs thin. He has slain his brothers for his father's kingdom and his mother's magic but neither will have him -- he is not the most worthy, only the most brutal."

Thor feels an old instinct of obligation stir within him to defend the Allfather's name, but what does he know? What has he ever known except for what his father had taught him? He had doubted, of course, but it was ever unspoken, all spoken words too close, somehow, too loud.

Loki continues without mercy, "Odin paid the Norns, and they gave him wisdom." He spits the word. "And when it was time for him to get his get, he married a Vanir witch, your mother."

"Our mother," Thor snaps.

Loki startles, but then he sees Thor's face. "Yes," he concedes, "all right," but he goes to Thor then and slides himself back into the empty spot left next to him. He kisses Thor briefly, just left of his mouth, and then takes his hands and leads him back to the bed. Thor lets Loki sit him down and then himself over his lap. He loops his hands around him at once and lets his brother feed him the warmth and calm of his body.

Loki continues more softly, "Mother gives him Hela, you see, and he crafts her into a killer. But once the killing is done, she outlives her usefulness to him. And so now he needs another child. Someone who will rule after him."

"Me."

"Yes," Loki says, and he lays his long hand against Thor's face. "You, my brother." He says it with a sudden tenderness, as if he were sorry.

Thor swallows his agony so that Loki might see nothing but stone in his face. "Tell me the rest then."

Loki leans his head against his anyway. "Vanir magic is learned, so cannot be given, and it is not true seith," he says. "And Odin will not give up what he killed so many to take. So you are to have no magic of your own, no magic to give to your heirs, no magic for the whole of Odin's line because he cannot let go of anything." He nods in resignation. "So he goes to the source."

"Jotunheim," Thor finishes for him. How the old rage he had felt towards Odin those years back pales now in the light of this clarion fury. He who had cast them as worthy and unworthy, as noble and ignoble, who cast himself as justice and judge -- he who was himself a murderer and a thief. Thor had faced his father's many faults, counted and mourned them and had privately abjured him as a king but loved him still as a father. How can he love him now? "He takes you."

"Yes." Loki sighs, and Thor would keep him here forever if he could, as though he could be shielded from the rest of the world's misery by Thor's body. "I was Laufey's only child, you see. I had the purest blood to share."

"And then?"

Loki begins a gesture with one hand but then lets it drop. "Then he binds us," he says tiredly. "It's a simple enough ritual. Even Odin Death-Bringer could do it. I did--" he says. He swallows. He closes his eyes and leans into Thor. They hold each other up. "I suspected something of the sort," he confesses. "Years ago now, I went to speak to the Norns. They laughed when I asked them to answer my questions. They're greedy, you know. They answer to no one without a price."

Thor's hands tighten along his brother's hip. His pulse is already in his mouth, but the horror comes anyway. "What did you give them?"

Loki waves him off impatiently. "Nothing of importance, nothing you'd miss."

"Tell me anyway," Thor demands.

"I have seen my death."

Terror runs the very heart of him through. "Brother," he rasps.

Loki shrugs evasively. "I don't know when," he supplies, as if that were an assurance.

"Tell me how it happens at least."

"So that you might defy the Norns?" Loki looks at him, and Thor stares back, conceding nothing, stubborn even as he knows the immutability of the fates.

"It is nothing," Loki says at last. "It's innocence, and what good have I ever had for innocence? But they showed me what I wanted, and I found it where they said I would." He holds his hand up and the light of his pocket dimension shines again.

Thor reaches out on numb instinct, alarmed. "Wait, hold on."

But what emerges is nothing he recognizes, only a piece of silver, the size and shape of an egg, striated like the rings of a tree or of a thumbprint. Thor reaches out for it, but Loki pulls it back. "Don't touch it," he says softly. "I don't know what would happen if we both touched it. Nothing good, I suspect. They'll want to go home."

"It's--" Thor begins, but some part of him already knows.

"It's our souls," his brother tells him. It glows, faintly with its own dim light that seems almost blue against Loki's skin. "I found them buried beneath the roots of Yggdrasil. They weren't doing anyone any good there, so I took them. I thought maybe I could work to separate them, but," he shrugs.

"Here," he says. "Hold out your hand." Thor does so, and Loki drops it into his hand from a height. Thor turns it over, examining. It is heavy, heavier than he expected, but the shape does not hold, smoothly amorphous in his palm. The striations, as they had appears, are not striations at all but folds of beaten metal.

"Why?" he asks. It had been warm to the touch at first, but quickly he feels his skin going numb as if of cold. He tosses it into his other hand. The vessel warms comfortably this time even as Thor flexes his fingers until the feeling returns.

Loki twists his hands together in his lap and shrugs. "Odin needed to bind me into his line somehow, and so he did it in the most obdurate manner possible." A color of deep shame crawls up his pale shoulders. "You were to be my collar and my chain and now you see now how gladly I would have worn them. How happy I would have been to let you unmake me. What a different life we might have had--" His voice pitches and cracks, Thor reaches to steady him, but he regains himself.

"But as it turned out, I could not take up the necessary utility to give you heirs, and so he was forced to made us up this farcical brotherhood. It wasn't his fault," he says sardonically, "how was he to know? What difference is a Jotun man to a Jotun woman to a Jotun dog to an Aesir. We are all monsters after all."

Thor is frozen within himself. The whole of his history, of Asgard's history, has been turned on its head, and he would say that his brother was lying; he wants to believe that his brother is lying, except that he feels Loki's misery and fear and repudiation. He feels Loki's sour heartbeat in his own chest.

"Loki," he says, but Loki is gone from him, and though he holds the weight and warmth of him, he might as well hold to him an armful of air. He has so many questions and no way to ask them, no words that he can put together that will not cut his brother deeper than the wound he has already opened himself. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "Truly I am. If I had known --"

"What?" Loki turns to him. Every line shows on his face, and his eyelids droop in exhaustion. "What could you have done? You were a child, same as me, and Odin's crimes, such as they are," he gestures dismissively, "he will never pay for them." He draws himself back and slides from Thor's lap.

Thor doesn't know where he stands again, doesn't know where to begin. Gone is the certainty they had only just discovered as Loki crosses the room again and finishes dressing himself by hand. Thor watches him. "It isn't fair," Thor says softly.

Loki scoffs. "I do not tell you this for your pity," he sneers.

Thor shakes his head. "It is not pity, brother." He looks at his brother and silently wills him to look back. "Only that I grieve for you."

Loki sighs. He glances at Thor from over his shoulder. "You're a soft-headed fool," he says more quietly, "but I thank you." He looks down at his gloveletted hands. He is silent for a long while. "I want you, but," he says finally, then stops, and he laughs bleakly. "My god, I wish that I could have come by you honestly." He picks at his own knuckle, twisting the edge of his nail around the white joint.

"I wish that I could have met you in your father's court, or on some matter of diplomacy. I wish I could have glanced you from across a battlefield and felt my breath be taken. Your great and noble heart could have been the greatest prize I ever won, and I could have--" A line of blood splits across his finger and he stops. "We could have had each other honestly."

Thor shakes his head as he watched his brother suck the blood out from his small wound. "You would have hated me," he says hollowly. "I would have been insufferable." Loki's face twists and he scoffs. Thor stands, but goes no further. "I am only am the man I am today because of my brother." Loki looks at him, his eyes red. "I am yours, Loki," he offers quietly, spreading his hands, "as surely as if you had made me.

Loki smiles. "My very own god of thunder." He is fond beneath his bitterness. He sniffs and wipes surreptitiously at his cheeks. "For all that is worth when he cannot be anyone else's."

Thor grimaces. His hands land back at his sides, "I told you," he says. "I don't care a fig for Odin's plans and I still don't. I know my own mind. I told you that I've wanted you forever, since the cradle. Not even you can make me give that up." He knows this now, what a blind man could have seen. When he was frightened, when he was uncertain, when he was in pain, it was never Odin he went to, or Frigga, once he was out of skirts. He went to his brother. He was valiant for his father; he was gentle for his mother, but it was his brother's scorn that taught him to be kind, and, in the end it was his brother's death that taught him what it meant to be king.

If Thor could bring himself to touch him, he could make him know all of this, but Thor has taken from his brother enough to last ten lifetimes. So he tells him instead, "I am yours because without you I would have never been myself. That is fate, as I understand it." Even from across the room, he sees Loki's pale features warring again against his own unkindnesses. Thor finishes as plainly as he can, "One way or another, my life would not have been my life if it did not lead me to you."

Loki takes a step toward him unthinkingly. "I know. I am the same," he says hoarsely, but then he laughs. With the air of telling a good joke, he says, "So you see then, brother, I do belong to you after all. I never had a choice. We never had a choice. But I --" he looks at Thor with an expression full of entreaty. "I have been a slave to his devices my entire life. I cannot even conceive what shape my life might have been without his hand in it, and even now that he is dead, still he has a hold over me."

"I know," Thor says. He reaches out his hand and Loki takes it almost gratefully. He puts his arms around Thor's shoulders and so that Thor is permitted to fold himself around him, to put his cheek into his hair and breathe as if he could stain his lungs with him and keep him next to his heart forever. Loki's mind floods back into his and Thor wills him to quiet where he will be quieted, tries to soothe him where he will not. He murmurs, "It's not right, beloved. It's not fair."

Loki huffs, "Beloved."

"Aye, if that is not too forward."

His brother pauses. "It is proper," he concedes, but Thor feels a floret of pleasure bloom across his heart.

Thor laughs quietly. "Then, beloved, go. You owe me nothing, and I do not bind you. It was shameful of me to have tried." Loki pulls away and looks at him, confused, but Thor only kisses the angle of his temple and says, "I cannot right the wrongs that have been done, but I will do no more."

He steps back away from Loki and takes his hand in one of his. From the other, he produces the silver vessel. Its light pulses gold and warm in his palm.

"My brother," he says solemnly, "your lot is my lot, your hurts are my hurts, and if your soul belongs to you alone no longer, then neither does mine."

Loki clenches Thor's hand and shakes it insistently. "Brother, you don't know what it is you're offering."

Thor gazes at him soberly. "You said it yourself, what good is it doing anyone buried beneath that tree. You said they wanted a home."

"Yes but," Loki shakes his head, "you will never get it back. They will go evenly between us and, Thor, someone with greater skill than I might still be able to undo this, but if we do this, that hope is lost."

"What is it that you want?"

Loki's eyes search his face wildly. "I--" he stammers. "It's you, isn't it?" He looks bewildered and awed. "You know that. It's always going to be you."

Thor offers up his hand again. "Take me with you, then," he says, "whatever you can carry. Whatever you can fit inside your pocket." Loki laughs. His eyes are wet again but perfectly clear. Thor leans their heads together. "I can imagine you walking the skies and slipping between the stars. I can imagine the world’s only you can discover -- green worlds brimming with life. Crystalline worlds that the suns never shine. And maybe one day," he says, hushed, "when you've walked your fill, you will return, and I will welcome you into my hall and then, if you would like to stay, you can stay."

His brother breathes out quick and Thor can feel the tendrils of his breath caressing his face. "You have beautiful dreams," he whispers. "I used to wish I could live inside your dreams."

"I have never heard of a Jotun wanderer. I should like to think that my brother could be the first."

Loki nods but he says, "Wouldn't I be lonely, though? Walking alone." A beat. "I have never heard of an Aesir wanderer either."

Thor hums. "No, I suppose the Aesir are a warrior people. There isn't much wandering to be had save the travel of fighting."

"Would you come with me, if I asked you to?" Loki lays his hand carefully over Thor's chest, over his heart. "Would you walk the stars with me together?"

"Ah," Thor says, even as he feels Loki spinning tales inside his mind, great adventures across the stars, grand discoveries, quiet moments when the two of them can be alone. He pushes them gently aside. "But Asgard must have her king, but more than that, her chief protector. I cannot leave her as she is, vulnerable and unguarded."

"Brother, please," Loki says, pulling back and looking Thor fiercely in the eye. "You have spent your entire life in service of Asgard. I know," he says hastily before Thor can interject, "that that is what a king is, but even now that you are king, will you not have one thing for yourself? One dream?" he asks, his smooth voice making it sound so reasonable. "One thing that can be unquestionably and only yours? You are more than what you can do for others. You are so much more than a strong back that carries. My love, please," he says as he presses his lips to the palm of Thor's hand. "You have never had a choice either."

"No," Thor accedes, touching his brother's stained cheek, "but I would see these people safe from harm"

"And if they were safe, and then?" Loki asks breathlessly. "When there are no more wars to be waged or conquests to be had? When you have done your duty to these people, what then?"

"Then." Thor frowns outwardly, but he knows. In his heart, he knows. Kingship is sacrifice; it is a duty greater than his duty to himself. These people have nothing and want for everything, except for a king. How could he take that from them as well?

But I don't see why you can't just play along, says his brother's voice, so Thor lets himself smile slowly. "Well, I don't know. Where would you want to go first?"

Loki's face breaks then, as a storm that ends, as a new day that dawns, his smile warmer and brighter than all the sunlit summers Thor has ever known. He leans into the line of Thor's body. One hand fits into Thor's as their bound souls take up, at last, their rightful thrones. Thor feels hot and the cold and then nothing new in particular. Perhaps that is what it feels like to be whole, or perhaps it is simply only something that Thor has already found.

Loki's other hand curls gently over Thor's thundering throat. He says, "Then I can be happy--"

A moment later, his world explodes.

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.1]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn't help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 There’s also a playlist for this story that you can find here and here.

Chapter 01: A High Destiny

A high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell, never, never again to rise.

[Mary W. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    It starts as it will end: in darkness.

    Black dots dance in front of your eyes, merging into dark shadows clawing at your consciousness. A dull throb pounds in your temple, a steady rhythm that speaks of life but isn’t enough to allow awareness of your surroundings. Memory is a foreign word you can’t explain, and trying to think of the past 24 hours is an unachievable task. Every glimpse slips through your fingers like sand, and the only steady reference point is the solid ground pressing into your hands and back.

    Slowly, you open your eyes. Treetops dance in the wind, towering above you like silent guardians of ancient times. The sun winks at you through thick branchesa and dancing green crowns, indicating it’s long past daybreak—but how do you know? Your memory is still a vast pool with no bottom and no means to dive into, and yet you think there’s a voice calling out to you, a heart-wrenching young, boyish voice—no, those are real voices ringing through the woods, appearing close to you. Alarmingly close.

    “You’re awake,” a woman’s voice starts, moments later followed by a corresponding face. Round, lavender eyes surrounded by thick, white lashes peak from above at you, blinking curiously. It’s an expression far from friendly, but not exactly hostile either, and of all the things you can think of at this moment, it is how strikingly beautiful she is. But before you can say anything, another person joins, leaning too close in for comfort.

    “You got us worried there, stranger,” a young man chimes in, squatting down beside you. His uniform isn’t exactly what you’d call fit for travelling through the woods. A heavy yellow cape falls over his shoulder, more fanciful display than practical use. But something in his posture seems very attentive, his broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring that won’t miss its target. “Weird place to take a nap, but hey, I’m not judging.”

    “I wasn’t—” you start, immediately struck by a throbbing pain behind your right eye that reverberates through your skull and wretches a groan from you.

    “Take it easy,” another voice joins, and panic spreads through you because of the amount of people surrounding you. Where the first man is a picture of warm colours—gold and sun kissed skin nourished on warm summer days, the other man observing you with a worried expression is clad in blue and black, blond hair falling into a pale face that carries the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Or so you think, because surely a colour like this, a blue stolen right out of the sky, wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

    More movement and rustling of fabric, and a chill settles in your bones as you begin to fear that you’ve run into a bunch of ruffians who’ve only kept you alive for so long because they’re hoping for valuable information. More people emerge from the underbrush, carrying large sacks and backpacks with billycans dangling at their sides. Among them, a tall man with a beard, clad in robust mercenary’s gear, steps forward, concealing another young woman with sharp features and unusual greenish blue hair.

    The sight of her strikes you like a bolt. It tastes like familiarity and the relief of being reunited with a long lost friend. But that is impossible. This is the first time you meet her.

    Is it?

    “You brats, I told you not to head off too far,” the older man bellows, crossing logs for arms in front of his broad chest. The first three take one big, polite step away from you, but don’t look apologetic at all.

    “I’m sorry for our hastiness, Captain Jeralt,” the girl says, her eyes darting from you still sitting on the ground to him towering in his full height above them. “But it seems we would have otherwise not found this person.”

    “This person who wasn’t really much conscious a couple of minutes ago,” the boy in yellow adds with a crooked grin. “How bad would it have been if someone else would have beaten us to it?”

    “No need to make me look like the bad guy,” Captain Jeralt interrupts with a raised hand before the boy in blue can join his friends' justifications. Instead, he turns to you and regards you with a scrutinising look.

    “What are you doing out here?” he demands. “Where’s your family? Friends?”

    “Uhm, they’re—” you start, but nothing comes to your mind. Not only that. You don’t know why you’re out here, where you are exactly … and basically anything that should come to you about your own person remains shrouded in darkness. “I don’t know.”

    Jeralt nods like that explains the very reason you’re still sitting on the ground like a misplaced cargo of cabbage. He kneads the nape of his neck, his face softening the tiniest bit. “And what’s your name?”

    Unable to hold his piercing eyes, you drop your gaze to the ground, curling your trembling fingers into the fabric of your wool jacket. “I, uh… don’t know.”

    If you thought you didn’t have their attention before, now their eyes are glued on your face in different levels of shock and disbelief.

    “A case of amnesia?” the blond male says, not quite managing to achieve the right balance between blatant curiosity and polite worry. “Does this mean you have nowhere to go? Don’tknow where to go?”

    “Goddess help you, Dimitri,” the other boy groans, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Be any more tactless, will ya?”

    “He isn’t wrong,” the girl says, observing you like you’re a fascinating new specimen in her collection of strange things. “You need a place to stay. And help until your memories return.”

    If they return, you don’t dare to say because despite all things, hope still clings to you in the deepest corner of your heart, not allowing you to follow that train of thought and what it will mean for your future.

    “Then by all means, if you want to join,” Jeralt says, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “I don’t think you kids accept a No, so I’m going to save my breath.” He turns around with a grunt. “Get them your horse, Byleth. We’re late as it is, and another night of Alois talking my ears off will make me do something I’ll regret.”

    The woman called Byleth keeps staring at you even as Jeralt walks past her and gives her shoulder a solid clap. You can’t say if she’s mute or just speechless because she’s filled with the same strange overflowing sensation like you: like a basin filling with water but unable to drain off. It appears you’re the same age, a couple of years older than the other three but still much younger than Jeralt, and yet the moment your eyes lock, it feels like there is something far older than any of you together passing between you. Something ancient.

    “Well, first off, on your feet, little one.” Strong hands curl around your elbows, hoisting you up in one swift movement. A wave of dizziness hits you like an unavoidable spell, and the pounding from before settles back behind your right eye.

    “Amazing, Claude,” the girl hisses, and quickly steps forward to steady you, pressing one hand against the small of your back where her strong fingers curl against the curve of your spine. Her other hand gently holds yours as she helps you regain your balance. “Excuse his manners. I promise not everyone from the Officers Academy behaves like a brute.”

    “The what now?” you ask, hit by another wave of dizziness that might originate more from the girl’s soft lavender fragrance rather than the world spinning around you.

    “The Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery,” Dimitri provides this time. His posture is straight like an arrow, the stance of a soldier speaking to his officer. “That is where we attend as students and hence are going right now.”

    “And you want me to come with you?” you ask like you have the option to refuse and go somewhere else. Strangely, the thought of joining a group of armed knights and mercenaries doesn’t fill you with fear or anxiety. You’re about to tread into foreign waters, and yet your heart is calm like a still compass guiding you in the right direction.

    Claude clasps his hands behind his head like he’s got nothing to do with you feeling unwell at the moment. “Unless you have another place to be?”

    Luckily, your head does come clear and breathing becomes a little easier. You nod to the girl and she holds you a second longer before she nods back and lets go. “I guess not,” you mumble, looking at each one of them. Byleth still hasn’t moved. By now you can’t really tell if she’s looking at you or through you. Surely, she would have said something by now if she thought you were familiar, right?

    “Then it’s settled.” The girl nods solemnly, throwing her silky, white hair over her shoulder. “We welcome you in our company. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.” Edelgard gives you a tight-lipped smile that quickly thins into a white line when the other two introduce themselves as Claude von Riegan, grandson of the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. None of these names ring a bell to you, but you nod, pretending to know exactly what they're talking about.

    “Okay, we need a name for you as well,” Claude proposes, tapping a slender finger against his chin. He has a strikingly sharp jaw that looks fit to cut stone. “Can’t have everyone call you stranger or little one now, can we?”

    “No,” you say. “Especially since we’re about the same height.”

    Claude laughs like you just told him the best joke he’s heard in years. “Soo, since we found you here … how about Glade? Or Woody?”

    “How about no,” you say with furrowed eyebrows.

    “Apologies.” Edeglard sighs and shakes her head, her expression a mix between disappointment and annoyance. “Claude isn’t much accustomed to the notion of consideration.”

    Claude rolls his eyes. “Then you come up with something, princess. Or is it impossible because you can’t take out the stick up your—”

    “Claude,” Dimitri half shrieks, his pale cheeks splotched with red dots. As he stumbles over his own words trying to apologise for Claude’s behaviour, Edelgard simply deadpans, “Bold words for someone in stabbing range.”

    The fourth in this round of strange people considers you with a blank expression, her steady gaze like a solid touch on your skin. Before a greater argument can break free between the students, Byleth says a name with a surety like she’s never said anything else in her life, and hearing it, this barely whispered word immediately lost to the wind, you just know it’s your name.

    “Yes, much better than what Claude proposed.” Dimitri nods, regaining his composure even though he’s still staring daggers at Claude. “It sounds more civilised as well.”

    “You didn’t even suggest anything,” Claude remarks, but the huff of annoyance quickly dissipates from his voice when he jerks a thumb towards Byleth. “That’s Byleth, by the way. Funny story is, we met her just a couple of hours ago as well.”

    “Fate must have brought us together here today,” Dimitri agrees with a solemn nod. “I swear on my honour as a noble knight from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that I will see you safe to the Monastery. Lady Rhea will surely be able to help you there.”

    “Okay. Thank you,” you manage, unable to connect a face to this name in your head that feels like it’s about to burst any second anyway. The only course of action lies within those strangers who are so willingly offering help that you can’t stop worrying it’s a ruse. But without anything to offer them except your life, there’s little coming to your mind that they can anticipate in taking you with them. Tthe fact that Byleth knew your name doesn’t sit right with you as well. There’s something waiting to be grasped at the tips of your fingers, and yet you lack the strength to embrace it.

    Following the little group of soldiers and students through the woods, you remain silent on the journey, only answering questions with approving or denying hums. How did you end up in this particular forest? According to Jeralt, you’re currently moving away from a village called Remire and towards the mountains to the northeast where the monastery lies tucked away between two mountains. Judging from the clothes you’re wearing, you’re a commoner, and when Edelgard pushed a slim dagger in your hand, nothing rung in intuitive knowledge about how to handle a weapon. Your mind remained silent, like an untouched chord.

    There’s little you can say about the first impression those people left on you. There seems to be a unanimous dispute between the three students, hanging palpable in the air whenever an argument starts that’s pregnant with implied insults or passive-aggressive comments. From that you gather there’s tension between the governing fractions in Fódlan, something else you’ve learnt from listening to them squabbling.

    Byleth and Jeralt acknowledge their bickering as if it was flies buzzing around their heads. They keep more to themselves and their mercenary comrades, indicating they’re really as much of strangers to the students as you. Their conversations are a lot quieter as well, their heads leaning close together for the illusion of privacy. More than once you notice Byleth sneaking glances in your direction, and every time you lock eyes, there’s something close to comprehension when she looks at you. The further you march through the woods, the less you try to meet her gaze. Reaching the monastery is the first step to regain who you are, or so you hope, because the opposite would mean you’ll continue stumbling through the darkness with no lead to your past or why you’re in this particular part of Fódlan, and you can only hope that this Rhea person really will be able to help you.

    A sound from the underbrush cuts through your thoughts.

    Thinking it might be an animal, you don’t let it bother you too much. No one else seems to have heard it, so maybe it was just your imagination. But your brain refuses to let it rest, and fails to push it away from your mind because something about the sound doesn’t seem to be right. The more you try to focus on it though, the blurrier it gets; the less you understand its origin.

    Then, you hear a voice from within the woods. It sounds like a slurred whisper.

    “What was that?” You stop in the middle of the road, looking around the thick trees. Claude barely manages to avoid walking into you. “What was what?”

    “There’s something here.” Unable to explain further, you wave your hand around for emphasis. He looks at your hand, incomprehension written all over his face. “And that something is what exactly?” he asks.

    “I don’t know.” You wave your hand wilder. “But I don’t have a good feeling venturing further.”

    “You may be still tired,” Edelgard offers, not hiding her irritation that the journey stopped. “It won’t be long until we reach Garreg Mach. You can rest however long you need inside the monastery’s infirmary.”

    “I’m not tired,” you hiss, hand falling back to your side where it clenches into a fist. “I just really don’t think we should go further for now.”

    “And why is that?” Dimitri inquirers. He raises a hand and the soldiers following them come to a halt, a murmur of unrest breathing through their lines, and it’s just enough that you question if it would be better to play if off and admit your mind is playing tricks on you due to exhaustion.

    But whenever you blink, a red veil falls over your right eye, blurring your surroundings. Little red dots move slowly in the distance through the forest. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s some sort of life form far away, slowly advancing on your position. “Because someone is coming,” you finally manage, scratching the thin skin below your irritated eye that’s started twitching slightly. “Someone is coming towards us from southwest. And I can’t say if they’re friendly or not.”

    Three pairs of eyes consider you like you’ve grown a second head. Only Byleth stares into the woods like she might find the strangers you’re talking about waiting behind the trees if she just looks hard enough.

    “Little one, are you sure this isn’t just an aftereffect from you hitting your head?” Claude offers, squinting into the woods. You’re pretty sure he’s staring directly at the moving dots but for whatever reason can’t see them.

    “Unless amnesia is suddenly another term for going crazy, I don’t think so,” you snap, unable to hold back the irritation raising to the surface.

    A whistle echoes through the tree crowns. Byleth snaps her head in the direction of the sound, growing all tense. She raises her hand into a tight fist, and all movement stills behind you. When you turn around, you see the mercenaries waiting in the underbrush like a flock of crows ready to swipe down on their prey. Jeralt breaks away from them and approaches Byleth, a frown cutting a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

    “Bandits,” he says, and quickly signs a hand gesture to the nearest bowman. He nods and disappears between trees. “Another mile away. If we stay on this road, we’ll walk right into them.”

    “Seven hundred feet, actually,” you blurt. Jeralt looks at you like you’re a cockroach under his boot. Another whistle cuts through the woods, one long followed quickly by two short. Byleth exhales audibly, and only now you notice she’s moved to stand beside you. “Seven hundred feet,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on you.

    Jeralt tenses. “How do you know, kid?”

    “I don’t know,” you mumble towards your boots. “I just see.”

    There’s an uncomfortable silence falling around you, and you’re too afraid to look up and read distrust in their eyes.

    “Does it matter?” Claude finally breaks the silence, sliding his bow from his shoulder. “They won’t be a problem with the knights and mercenaries on our side.” He jerks his chin towards Byleth, already plugging an arrow from his quiver. “You should really see her fight.”

    “Wait,” you say, reflexively reaching for the hem of his cape. “Don’t engage them yet.”

    Claude stops, one eyebrow arched up in a curve. “Beg your pardon?”

    “They come from the woods. Which means this is their hunting ground and they have the advantage. They have dozens of archers. I think they’re waiting until you reach a glade. And then open fire.”

    “Which means we’ll end up as skewers.” Claude scratches his chin and twirls the arrow between his slender fingers. “I can think of better ways to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

    Dimitri perks up. “You’ve read the Tale of Hamelot I gave you?”

    “I’ll give it a six out of ten. His soliloquies were awful.”

    “Boys.” Edelgard snaps her fingers impatiently as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest. “Not the time.” She takes your wrist and pulls it away from Claude’s cape, her hard gaze like a sharp knife. “Are we simply ignoring the fact that we have someone in our midst knowing the enemies’ movement and deployment?” she cuts in harshly. “Is this a plan to lure us into an ambush?”

    “You think someone would give away their comrades’ position just like that?” Claude eyes her wearily. “Don’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

    She glares at him. “I rather be suspicious than dead.”

    Which is a valid point and a trait you willingly admit to share with her, but that doesn’t really solve the problem at hand. Luckily, Dimitri seems to think the same. He doesn’t unfasten the spear on his back yet, but his fingers dance swiftly over the handle, immediately resting on where he can easily pull it from the straps if needed to strike down an enemy. “Fact is enemies are approaching,” he concludes, looking at his fellow students in search for a consensual ceasefire. “We must put an end to them before they target defenceless travellers on their way out of the forest.”

    “Spoken like a true crowd-pleaser,” Claude says, either unable or not caring to hide the mock in his voice. “We can resolve our new friend’s condition after we take down the enemy.”

    “I don’t agree with this,” Edelgard declares, but nonetheless unclasps the double-bit axe from her back and swings it on her shoulder like it weighs nothing. “But I accept that this is a more pressing issue.” The easiness in the movement robs your lungs of air, and even though there are more important matters to focus on, you wonder how her muscles play under her black uniform swinging around a thing like that. Your admiration comes to a quick end when Jeralt and Byleth close the circle. Her hand rests on the hilt of a short blade as she scans the underbrush, her body rigid with battle anticipation.

    “Let them come to us,” Jeralt announces. “Let them think they have the advantage.”

    “Your knigths over there move slow through the woods,” you say, gesturing at the waiting man clad in heavy armour and armed with shields. “But their amour can resist some stray arrows coming down on us. It’s the rearguard that will take them by surprise from another direction and—”

    “And charge their flank or rear to finish them off,” Jeralt ends with a crude nod. “Indirect approach. I thought of that as well.”

    Your mouth goes dry. The idea plopped seemingly out of nowhere in your mind, but yes, now that you think about it, that is the indirect approach tactic, first recorded after the Battle of Nicaea in … Faerghus? Or was it Adrestia? The picture in your mind is still blurry, but now you can make out definite lines of objects: Books with drawn pictures of pointing arrows and coloured lines, each lettered with a name or an approach in a neat handwriting that isn’t yours. The picture triggers another wave of dizziness, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

    “They’re going to faint in three, two, one…” Claude’s voice rips you back to the present. You glare at him and raise a fist to show how close to fainting you really are. He only laughs at the tiny fist in front of his face.

    “Enough brats, get into position,” Jeralt bellows, and the students scatter with a bouncing step in all their strides as they take the lead of a small unit.

    You’re about to retreat to the furthest point away from battle when Jeralt blocks the way. “Not you. You’re going with Byleth.”

    “I’m what?”

    “Byleth,” Jeralt nods to the young woman ahead of you, “will be the commanding unit and you’ll help her.”

    The world tilts a little as panic takes hold of you. “I can’t. I don’t know how to fight.”

    “You seem to know enough to plan a counterattack.”

    “That doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds horribly piercing even to your own ears. “It was just a lucky guess.”

    “I don’t know what’s the deal with you,” Jeralt says with a finality to his voice that doesn’t allow objection, and this time you clearly see the head of a mercenary guild, one that gives commands with every breath. “But that wasn’t a lucky guess. You see what it needs to win a battle. So you guide them.”

    He turns around sharply and leaves, not bothering to check if you plan to abandon them. It’s madness. You should abandon these people, should flee from the fight that will demand blood and death. One, two, three … six steps and you’re standing beside Byleth, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t help. She eyes you sideways with a raised brow, and you flinch at the metallic rasping sound as she draws her sword.

    “I shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, staring into the woods. The red dots are approaching faster, forming into more recognisable features of humans. “I’m going to die. Without knowing who I am or why I’m here. This is the worst day of my life. I think. I don’t know. It has to be.”

    Byleth hums beside you. You can’t tell if it’s a thoughtful or an affirmative hum. “This might sound crazy, but I do trust you.”

    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” you say, struck by a sudden fear that this all is a fever dream and you're about to lead them into ruin. It’s enough that you don’t even notice this is the first time you two are talking to each other since your meeting.

    Byleth studies you out of the corner of her eyes, then says, “A very persistent voice inside me tells me I shouldn’t.”

    “That’s your survival instinct. Listen to it.”

    “Yeah,” Byleth says, and there’s something like a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You blink and it's gone. “I might do that.”

    You don’t really understand what’s there to smile about, but the moment quickly disappears as silence settles, only occasionally disturbed by a bird sitting in the trees above you.

    “So what exactly do you see?” Byleth whispers after a moment, barely shifting in her crouching position. You on the other hand really want to move your legs before they go numb.

    “I don’t know why you guys even believe me,” you mumble, and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off another rush of dizziness. “And I don’t understand it myself. It’s the opponent, in a way. I see their strengths and weaknesses, their amour and weapons. It’s like … it’s like the flow of battle is displayed in front of me.”

    Byleth hesitates a moment, then nods like everything is pretty much self-explanatory. You wonder if to her it really does sound plausible, as she is someone who is practically born in battle, a daughter to a mercenary who breathes battle and fighting. Before you can explain anything further, she ducks more into the bushes and silences you with a sharp hush, her body tensed. The first bandits approach the glade, their bows and arrows ready to strike as the Academy’s knights engage them. Swords and axes clash against each other, battle cries ring through the woods. Byleth gestures you to follow her, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the students do the same, moving around the bandits. From the distance, you notice Claude gesturing wildly. It’s a mix between pointing at himself and then at the space a couple of feet away from his unit, and though you’re unable to fully comprehend it, you shake your head. He gives a thumbs up and slows down until he halts inside the thick cover of ferns.

    Just when you reach the right angle, Byleth looks back at you, waiting for your approval, and after briefly hesitating, you signal with a short nod to attack. Edelgard is the first to emerge from the underbrush. She has a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what her opponent will do next. Her axe cuts through the first bandits who are too surprised to regroup in time. Dimitri and Claude are quickly to follow her. The crown prince of Faerghus wields his weapon of choice like he’s never done anything else in his entire life. The spear is the instrument to a deadly song they know by heart, and whoever stands in the way of their melody is cut down swiftly. Claude doesn’t disappoint with his steady aim either, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s. He nocks his bow, draws and impales a bandit that’s been running toward a mercenary with a crooked nose and eye patch. The mercenary gives him an offhand salute and goes back to fighting a thug twice his size.

    And then there’s Byleth. At first you don’t see her as the battle’s chaos swallows her and she disappears between moving bodies. But once your eyes catch up to her again, it’s hard to look away. Byleth moves through the enemies’ lines like an avenging angel on a mission. Her sword arm causes havoc as it conducts the tact of death’s complicated choreography and one by one the bandits fall to her deadly dance. Strangely, what describes it the best, you think, is divine.

    The battle is almost over. The last bandits fall or flee back into the woods as they abandon their comrades who lay down their weapons and yield. A miserable sound of relief escapes you when you see the end nearing with little casualties on your side, thanking whoever watches over you and guides your weapons in victory.

    That is until you see something, and at first you aren’t really sure you see it. Veiled by a red haze, a gruesome scene unfolds before you: As Byleth is focused on helping a soldier back up on his feet, a bandit strikes her from behind, wedging a dagger through her spine and into her heart. When you blink, the scene is gone and with it the red veil covering your surroundings.

    You don’t think twice. Jumping out of your hiding spot, you quickly recognise what will be Byleth’s murderer. Only he never gets the chance to approach her. With everything you’ve got, you charge into him and send him flying on the ground, you on top of him. The bandit groans, groggily turning on his back to see what struck him, and before you can start to fear for your own dear life, Byleth is beside you and rams her sword into his throat, silencing him forever.

    She looks down at you and you feel like she knows what just happened. Why you jumped in. It’s in those keen, piercing eyes that speak of a unimaginable wisdom. She reaches a hand out to help you up, and when you stand, the last bandits have been secured and the chaos finally settles. That is when the throbbing pain in your right eye doubles you ever, the pain akin to a pinprick of ice hammering into your skull. The pain makes you sick as stars explode behind your closed eyes, and the more they dance in feverish circles, the harder you press your hands against your eyelids, trying to smother the pain by pressure. It doesn’t work.

    Unable to breathe properly, your stumble, and when you move your hands, your fingers smear something warm and wet across your cheeks.

    Someone takes in a sharp breath. “Your eye,” Byleth breathes, a hand raised but remaining hanging in the air like she’s unsure if it’s okay to touch you. In the background you hear someone calling out you’re bleeding, and it takes a few seconds to understand where you’re bleeding from. Your right eye cries blood when the pain finally knocks you out, darkness falling onto everything.

[jazy3]

Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 17X15

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Wow! A lot happened in this episode. It was billed as Jackson’s goodbye episode, but it turned out to be so much more than that. Meredith got discharged and was reunited with her kids, Tom decided to move to Boston to work for Jackson, and we got the show’s first Indigenous doctor and patient storyline! I honestly think Jackson’s farewell was really well done! While it’s true he could do the work he wants to do just as easily from Seattle everything else about his exit makes sense to me. He’s tired of sitting on the sidelines and he wants to make real change where he can.

I loved his conversation with Meredith and how he was the one to sneak her out. I loved Meredith's voice over for this episode and how it followed Jackson's actions and the flashback montage set to music. I thought it was fitting. I would have liked him to have said goodbye to Ben because they were the Plastics Posse until he left to become a firefighter but apart from that I was happy with it. The character has come such a long way during his run on the show and I feel like this episode reflected that.

The editing was really well done too. Especially the shot of him overlooking the lobby. That transition was seamless. I loved his goodbye scene with Meredith. It made me so emotional. I love that Meredith tried to lighten the mood by making a joke about how she won because she's the last one standing. That scene when she hugged the pillow after he left because she misses him and everyone else really got me. I also really liked the conversation he had with Bailey and Richard.

I'm glad he said a proper goodbye to Jo although I didn't find it super emotional. In addition to Ben, I would also like to have seen a goodbye with Maggie. I'm surprised they didn't do that. Maggie was so focused on Meredith's recovery that it's not clear if she even knows that Jackson is moving to Boston. They also could have done a big emotional scene with Catherine. On a lighter note, I am so happy that Meredith is doing better for real this time and has been discharged! I've been waiting for this since the mid-season point.

I loved the scene where she was reunited with her kids and Amelia was panicking about the state of the house and Meredith told her it was fine and that was just how she liked it. Meredith getting Jackson to sneak her out of the hospital felt very in character to me. As her voice over says Meredith isn't one for tradition or big hullabaloos which is why I think the others tried to keep it a secret. I'm not surprised that she ducked out early. While I get why the other characters wanted to do a big send off for her, I feel like they should know by now that's not her style.  

I loved the scene where Amelia and Link found out Meredith might be coming home, and they hugged and then Link said he had to go to work and Amelia started crying and then asked why he was still there. Link was so confused and then Amelia told him she’d be crying off and on like that all day to get her emotions out and that she’d be fine and he needed to go to work. That is so Amelia! But in a good way. Post-tumour and with her addiction under control even in a pandemic Amelia is now able to express her emotions in a healthy way so she doesn’t relapse or spin out of control. That is such huge growth for her. I loved the scene at the end with her and Meredith.

The smile that they share. The look between them. You could see early seasons Private Practice Amelia in that look but also mature and stable new Amelia. I loved that Amelia was all worried about the state of the house and Meredith was fine with it being a mess because as a working Mom she knows what it’s like and all she wanted was to be at home with her kids in her messy house.

At the end of the episode we find out that Tom’s near death experience with COVID has caused him to re-evaluate his life. He feels lucky to have lived to have been spared and he wants to help Jackson make real change in Boston. On the one hand I was surprised by Tom’s exit, but on the other hand I wasn’t. I love Tom and will truly miss his character, but ever since the affair came out and he and Teddy split and she started working on trying to repair her relationship with Owen, Tom hasn't had a lot to do.

I'm sad they didn't do more with him because he's such a great and complex character and I know some people had speculated they might pair him up with Mama Ortiz which could have been interesting. I'm sad we didn't get to see him say goodbye to Amelia, Link, Teddy, Catherine, or Meredith. Tom and Amelia are old friends, he trained her, he took out her brain tumour, and she rushed to the hospital when she heard he had been admitted for COVID-19.

Tom and Link seemed to be getting along as of late and Tom was ready to be a father to Teddy's baby before she got back together with Owen. He found her the perfect apartment and he built a crib for a child that wasn’t biologically his that he was so excited to meet and be a Dad to. All this after his own son died and his marriage collapsed as a result. He treated her like gold and she’s done nothing but treat him horribly for no reason. I don't think I’ll ever forgive Teddy for that.

Catherine and Tom are also old friends that go back even farther. She appointed him as Chief Medical Officer of the Fox Foundation. She told him about DeLuca’s death and took him to the Memorial. When Richard was sick, she told him she wanted him to take over the Foundation in her absence. Tom and Meredith had such an emotional scene earlier this season and he's been praying for her every day. Does she know that? Does Meredith know that Tom has been praying for her and worrying about her? I was expecting a follow up scene to that, so I hope we get one.

I found the patient storyline that Tom, Levi, and Indigenous intern James Chee had really moving. Grey's has never had an Indigenous patient or doctor on the show before and while the dialogue did feel heavy handed at times, they brought some really important issues to light and were trying to make up for lost time so that’s understandable.  

Robert I. Mesa who plays Dr. Chee is Navajo Soboba and the patients that they treat at Coast Salish whose traditional territory encompasses the province of British Columbia, Canada and the states of Washington and Oregon in the United States. It’s really great to see an Indigenous actor bring stories about Indigenous characters to life in a realistic way for the same reason that it’s important to see black, brown, Asian, latinx, and LGBTQ+ actors bring stories about characters like themselves to life. It brings authenticity and ensures sure that white straight cisgender people aren’t taking roles away from people within those communities.

When I found out through Twitter that the show had cast its first Indigenous doctor, I was very excited. I work for an Indigenous organization currently and so Indigenous representation is an issue that is very near and dear to my heart. The first thing that came to mind for me was the Coast Salish artwork you see in the background of so many scenes of the show. From the show’s earliest seasons, you can see beautiful art pieces in red, blue, and black depicting fish, birds, and other animals on the walls of the hospital and in people’s offices.

Yet it is never addressed or mentioned that that is Coast Salish artwork. In order for it to be there someone from the art department must have travelled to Seattle to buy some local artwork to put up around the hospital. While that’s great for making the hospital look authentic to the area by not mentioning its origins or the fact that Indigenous people exist for 16 seasons does all Indigenous people a disservice. Indigenous people are not stereotypes or tokens or simply makers of pretty pictures.

Every group has their own culture, artwork, language, and traditions. I’m glad that Grey’s Anatomy is finally acknowledging the existence of Indigenous Americans and the fact that Indigenous people exist and continue to exist despite repeated ruthless attempts to murder and assimilate them. This is a huge problem in the United States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and other nations. While in the last few years Indigenous issues have gotten greater coverage in Canadian media there isn’t as much media coverage of Indigenous issues in the United States.

I love that Tom and Levi treated both the pregnant woman and her grandfather with respect and dignity and didn't dismiss their concerns or mock their traditions. I love that Tom actually had some knowledge of smudging ceremonies and that he referred to Dr. Chee respectfully when needed and allowed him to perform a smudging ceremony for the grandfather. When the pregnant patient’s husband thanks them and says that in the past they haven’t had great experiences in big hospitals that is unfortunately a sad reality for many.

Like other people of people and other marginalized and oppressed groups the concerns of Indigenous patients are often not taken seriously, and they often encounter racism that leads to poorer treatment and death. When the pregnant patient talks about how their centres are under resourced and that they were sent body bags instead of medical supplies that is a real thing. The Trump Administration actually did that in the States and the Harper Government here in Canada did that during the H1N1 Epidemic.

Thankfully, here in Canada the COVID-19 Pandemic response of the Trudeau Government has been worlds better. No sending of body bags and instead medical supplies and lots of relief money has been given to Indigenous organizations like mine to help real people. Indigenous Canadians have also been given priority status for vaccinations and as a result people are alive today that would have died previously. Now that’s not to say things are perfect here. There are still so many issues that need to be addressed including police violence, discrimination within the justice system, and the rate of missing and murdered Indigenous women. But at least some progress is being made.

The fact that they wrote Tom off reminded of an old adage about Grey’s Anatomy that I heard someone talking about at the start of this season which is that if there isn’t anyone significant for a character to date and you’re not an original character your days on the show are numbered. The fact that they wrote Tom off after putting Teddy and Owen back together makes me even more sure that Meredith and Hayes are going to end up together and that their relationship will be a key plot point of Season 18.

If that wasn’t the plan, I don’t think Hayes would still be there. There have been episodes this season where he has been very prominent, episodes where he’s been completely absent, and episodes like this one where he has a few short scenes. He wouldn’t still be there hanging around in the background if the plan wasn’t to set him up with Meredith. To me the only explanation that makes sense is that they are going to put Meredith and Hayes together hopefully before Season 17 ends.

Side note, I bet all of the actors who passed on being Meredith’s love interest or backed out for a movie or tv role on a newer show probably feel real dumb right now. Grey’s is about to go into its 18th season and Richard Flood who plays Hayes is getting paid mad bank whether he’s prominently in the episode or not! Plus, he slays that role. While the path they took to get here was bumpy I’m so glad that we got Hayes as a character and we’ve gotten to see his relationship with Meredith develop.

I would have loved to see more of Hayes this episode. I was expecting a scene in which he visited Meredith and I was a bit disappointed we didn’t get that. I get that the focus of the episode was on Jackson’s departure, Meredith being discharged, and Tom’s epiphany, but it would have been nice to see that. The scenes we did get were great! I love his dry sense of humour and his comments about Jo’s terrible handwriting.

My favourite moment of the episode was hands down when Hayes came to clap out Meredith with everyone else and then Perez came out and they realized that she had snuck out early and Hayes laughed and said, "Nice one Grey, Brillant!" And then he wished everyone a good night and headed out. If Meredith isn't there, he's out. He’s not even trying to hide his feelings for Meredith anymore. It’s an open secret that he likes her and is clearly smitten. Hell, at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if the janitors have a group chat about it.

I love that he laughed about it like it was some big cosmic joke they were both in on. He knows her so well. Everyone else was confused and her sisters were worried when they didn’t hear from her, but Hayes wasn’t worried because he knew she’d snuck out the back and that someone must have helped her. Speaking of romance, I’m guessing that next season they will bring in a new Head of Plastic Surgery for Jo to date. I feel like they will have more luck finding someone than they did when they tried to hire a new love interest for Meredith over the last few years because right now work is scarce.  

Also, in the romance department Teddy and Owen are back together. I'm happy for them, but other than that I don't really have any strong feelings about it. I am happy that they seem to be good and that the fighting and long-drawn-out drama is over. I've never been a ride or die Teddy and Owen shipper, so I don't feel an emotional rush seeing them back together. I loved Tom and Teddy together so I'm sorry that ended especially since Teddy and Owen have always been such a mess.

I think that they should have spent less time fighting and more time rebuilding their friendship before getting back together. We spent the first half of the season watching them fight non-stop and Owen made it clear he wanted nothing to do with Teddy ever again. Teddy treated Tom like crap while trying to win Owen back who clearly didn’t want her. While I’m glad they have reconciled, and the drama appears to be over I wish they had spent less time on the fighting and more time on exploring Teddy’s trauma and having them rebuild their friendship if that was the route they were going to go.

We also get more details about Maggie and Winston’s wedding this episode. I posited on Twitter a few days ago that I thought Maggie might ask both her dads Bill and Richard to walk her down the aisle as she'd want to include both of them in the ceremony. I think having Bill walk her down the aisle and Richard officiate is lovely. It reminds me of when Bailey stepped up to officiate Callie and Arizona's wedding.

I’d like to see more interactions between Meredith and Winston and Meredith and Link in the future as both men have become a part of the family largely while Meredith was sick so it would be great to see them get to know each other and bond. I really loved the scene between Winston, Link, and Owen where Winston was trying to figure out if Teddy and Owen were back together and Winston and Owen were teasing Link about the Sister House. It’s nice to see them all bond. It would be even better if they would all have more scenes with Hayes and for them to bond as well. I hope to see more of that next season.

I get why Link wants to get out of the Sister House, but I think he was a bit unrealistic about the situation. Meredith just got discharged. Amelia and Maggie aren’t going to want to leave her side until she tells them she’s ready and it’s okay for them to go and take a step back. I foresee them going with a hybrid approach next season where Maggie and Winston move to his place following the wedding and Link, Amelia, and Scout move to Link's place, but they still spend time at Meredith's house frequently. I imagine after being away from her kids for so long at some point Meredith is going to want her house back and to spend time alone with her kids.

I'm interested to see Meredith talk about her time on the beach in the upcoming episodes. Richard and Bailey were struggling to figure out how to tell her about DeLuca’s death but we the audience knew that Meredith already knew he had died. When she coded previously, and Ellis Grey passed away the first words out of her mouth were about her mother being dead. But here we see something different. When Meredith wakes up this season the first words out of her mouth are about how much she and Derek love Zola. She uses the word ‘we’ so the audience knows what she’s talking about, but the characters don’t.

It appears that at least a week has passed since the previous episode possibly two and we learn that Meredith hasn’t brought up her time on the beach or her visits from the dead to anyone. I think that she’s keeping that to herself for a few reasons. She didn’t want to leave the beach and telling that to the people who just spend the past three months trying desperately to save her life would probably come across as suicidal and upsetting. The conversations between her and Derek were personal and private, and she may not be ready to share them just yet.

Her conversations with George, Lexie, and Mark were also pretty personal so she might not be ready to talk about that either. In this episode we see her tell Bailey and Richard that DeLuca is okay because he’s with his mother. The scene cuts away, so we don’t know what else she tells them. Hopefully we’ll find out next week. My guess is that the first person she’ll talk to about the beach in the following episodes will be Hayes because he will understand her desire to stay because of how he lost his wife.

He won’t see her desire to stay on the beach as suicidal or crazy because he would probably think about doing the same thing if given the opportunity. We saw Meredith be really vulnerable with Hayes when she first got sick about her fears of dying and falling asleep. They’ve talked at length about their spouses and their past relationships in a way she hasn’t with other characters. I feel like he is the perfect person to talk to about what happened on the beach because he won’t judge Meredith or take her desire to stay personally.

They’ve already established that Hayes is a supportive and understanding person who is happy to sit there and listen to Meredith talk about her experience of dating after death and past relationships and so I think he’s someone Meredith can open to about what it was like to see Derek again, what it was like to realize her ex-boyfriend was dying, what is what like to get closure with George, and gain wisdom from Lexie and Mark. I’m hoping that will happen in next week’s episode and if not in the finale.

We saw Helm having a tough time this episode. I think Helm moving in with Levi and Jo is a good idea. I think it will give Helm the support she needs and I'm glad Levi is there for her. We haven't seen Jo and Helm interact much so far, so I'm interested to see how Jo is going to feel about her moving in. Also, where is Helm going to sleep? Jo and Levi live in a one room loft where Jo sleeps in a large bed and Levi sleeps on the couch. I would have liked to have seen more scenes along the way building up to this as Levi and Helm haven't had a scene all season and now right at the end you see him trying to help her. I also really miss Parker as a character. I wish they brought him back as well as Helm.

Something I didn’t like was that they seem to be focusing on DeLuca, his death, and his absence more than they should. I get that the writers and people behind the scenes liked the actor who played him, but the character himself was pretty widely detested by the other characters for seasons 15 and 16 so having them talk about him like he was such a great guy that everyone was super close to and that they all miss feels hollow to me and kind of annoying.

DeLuca and Meredith were not that close. They weren’t friends and rarely had a scene together prior to Season 15. They stopped talking entirely after he broke up with her in Season 16 and they weren’t friends when he died. So, talking about how he would have been so happy for her and one of the first people to cheer her on is strange. Also, I felt like Jo’s comments to Carina were out of place. I get that when someone dies its customary to say nice things about them to their family and Carina is mentoring Jo and she’s grateful for that, but DeLuca was god awful to her.

They become really good friends after Alex attacked him but then they stopped being friends when she got back together with Alex. They stopped having scenes together after that until he took an interest in Meredith at which time Jo and Alex both made it abundantly clear to his face and behind his back that they disliked him, and they hated the idea of him and Meredith together. All he did was antagonize both of them during seasons 15 and 16 for absolutely no reason and then after Alex left DeLuca walked up to Jo at the Emerald City Bar touched her without her consent and attempted to kiss her and get her to sleep with him to the point that she wound up throwing a drink in his face to get him to leave her alone.

He then told the bartender she was crazy after she told him to get some help. That’s sexual assault and attempted rape and DeLuca should have gone to jail for what he did. Instead we never see it addressed, he never apologizes, and they don’t share a single together after that. My hope is that they will finally moving on from talking about DeLuca and his absence next season. It’s getting a bit ridiculous at this point and it’s time to move on.

Onto next week’s promo! We don’t get a lot of information from this one. We see Bailey talking about how she’s losing surgeons left, right, and centre and she can’t afford to lose anymore and Meredith talking about how she can’t operate if she can’t stand on her feet. She’s worried she might never get back to operating, but this is Grey’s Anatomy so we know she will. Link talks to Amelia about wanting more children which considering that Scout is only a few months old and they couldn’t wait to get out of the house full of children just last week is a terrible idea. Link finally calls Jo on the fact that she clearly wants to adopt Luna who promptly codes! Yikes!

Until next time!

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

There might be many planets with water-rich atmospheres An atmosphere is what makes life on Earth's surface possible, regulating our climate and sheltering us from damaging cosmic rays. But although telescopes have counted a growing number of rocky planets, scientists had thought most of their atmospheres long lost. However, a new study by University of Chicago and Stanford University researchers suggests a mechanism whereby these planets could not only develop atmospheres full of water vapor, but keep them for long stretches. Published March 15 in the Astrophysical Journal Letters, the research expands our picture of planetary formation and could help direct the search for habitable worlds in other star systems. "Our model is saying that these hot, rocky exoplanets should have a water-dominated atmosphere at some stage, and for some planets, it may be quite a long time," said Asst. Prof. Edwin Kite, an expert in how planetary atmospheres evolve over time. As telescopes document more and more exoplanets, scientists are trying to figure out what they might look like. Generally, telescopes can tell you about an exoplanet's physical size, its proximity to its star and if you're lucky, how much mass it has. To go much further, scientists have to extrapolate based on what we know about Earth and the other planets in our own solar system. But the most abundant planets don't seem to be similar to the ones we see around us. "What we already knew from the Kepler mission is that planets a little smaller than Neptune are really abundant, which was a surprise because there are none in our solar system," Kite said. "We don't know for sure what they are made of, but there's strong evidence they are magma balls cloaked in a hydrogen atmosphere." There's also a healthy number of smaller rocky planets that are similar, but without the hydrogen cloaks. So scientists surmised that many planets probably start out like those larger planets that have atmospheres made out of hydrogen, but lose their atmospheres when the nearby star ignites and blows away the hydrogen. But lots of details remain to be filled out in those models. Kite and co-author Laura Schaefer of Stanford University began to explore some of the potential consequences of having a planet covered in oceans of melted rock. "Liquid magma is actually quite runny," Kite said, so it also turns over vigorously, just like oceans on Earth do. There's a good chance these magma oceans are sucking hydrogen out of the atmosphere and reacting to form water. Some of that water escapes to the atmosphere, but much more gets slurped up into the magma. Then, after the nearby star strips away the hydrogen atmosphere, the water gets pulled out into the atmosphere instead in the form of water vapor. Eventually, the planet is left with a water-dominated atmosphere. This stage could persist on some planets for billions of years, Kite said. There are several ways to test this hypothesis. The James Webb Space Telescope, the powerful successor to the Hubble Telescope, is scheduled to launch later this year; it will be able to conduct measurements of the composition of an exoplanet's atmosphere. If it detects planets with water in their atmospheres, that would be one signal. Another way to test is to look for indirect signs of atmospheres. Most of these planets are tidally locked; unlike Earth, they don't spin as they move around their sun, so one side is always hot and the other cold. A pair of UChicago alumni have suggested a way to use this phenomenon to check for an atmosphere. Scientists Laura Kreidberg, PhD'16, and Daniel Koll, PhD'16--now at the Max Planck Institute for Astronomy and MIT, respectively--pointed out that an atmosphere would moderate the temperature for the planet, so there wouldn't be a sharp difference between the day sides and night sides. If a telescope can measure how strongly the day side glows, it should be able to tell whether there's an atmosphere redistributing heat. IMAGE....A study suggests that exoplanets close to their stars may actually retain a thick atmosphere full of water. Above, an artist's illustration of the exoplanet WASP-121b, which appears to have water in its atmosphere. CREDIT Engine House VFX, At-Bristol Science Centre, University of Exeter

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part four

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: super fun chapter, we got some more secret things revealed and some fluff and emosh AND some smut AAAANNNNDDD some drama so really, what more could ya want. thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoy. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one | part two | part three

When Bucky invites you to another party, you don’t pretend you’re not apprehensive about it. The last one didn’t go badly, per se, but it certainly led to some less-than-favourable events which you’d rather not repeat. Bucky pouts, though, gives you big blue puppy eyes and kisses down your neck and chest and across your stomach until his head’s between your legs and you’re saying yes yes yes without any awareness to what you’re agreeing to.

It’s not at Natasha’s house this time, and it’s nothing like that last party. Bucky takes you to a basement bar in Brooklyn, holding your hand as you descend the stairs behind him into moody lighting and deafening levels of classic rock. Something’s different about this night - you can tell in the stiff lines of Bucky’s shoulders under his leather jacket, the tight grip he keeps as he tugs you into his side, the way everyone seems to falter for a beat and stare as Bucky enters the room. There are a lot of scary looking people in here, you realise, and all their eyes are on you.

It’s a relief to see Natasha’s red head weaving through muscles and leather towards you, and that really says something.

To your surprise, she loops her arm in yours just like at the last party and tugs you from Bucky’s side. You hesitate, gripping Bucky’s hand tighter and looking up at him for some kind of nonverbal explanation. He releases your fingers, grazing his hand from yours in a slow slide, and just stares back at you. Sorry, he mouths, and then you lose his head in the crowd of equally tall, muscular men as Natasha drags you further into the bar.

“Let’s get some drinks,” she says, pushing aside two men twice her size to stand at the bar and tap her violet nails on the countertop. You are, as per usual around this woman, lost for words.

“Is Bucky-?” You don’t even know what you want to ask. You’re quickly realising this isn’t a party just to have fun with friends. This is something outside your world, something you don’t understand, and the way Natasha looks at you all shadowed and shuttered confirms it.

“He’ll be back,” is all she says, and nudges a vodka shot towards you. She doesn’t pay, you notice, just taps the glass on the counter and clinks it with yours before throwing it back. You do the same, hissing at the burn, and watch as she orders two more. It’s very Russian, you think, and file that away for later. You down your second shot without a flinch this time.

“Why am I here?” you ask Natasha, scanning the bar before you as if the answer will arise from the crowd.

“You want to be in Bucky’s life?” Natasha raises her eyebrows at you, gestures to the bar with a flick of her wrist and says, “This is a part of it.”

You hum in way of answer, letting that sit with the burning vodka-warmth in your chest starting to slowly drip down, down, down to your toes. This is what you chose - shady rooms with shady men and more questions than answers. A tormenting nightmare for someone as paranoid and curious as you, is probably what your dad would say if he was here but he’s not, so you ignore that little voice and try to find Bucky in the crowd.

Before you can, Sam comes barrelling over to the two of you with his arms held wide. Natasha shies away from him but he sweeps her into a hug anyway, her unimpressed scowl peaking over the top of a muscular arm and making you giggle despite yourself. Sam ruffles her hair and Natasha genuinely looks like she’s about to murder him - you cover your mouth with your hand, far too amused at the interaction for your own safety.

“Welcome!” Sam yells to you, also pulling you into a crushing hug. He moves away, leaving a hand clapped on your shoulder, and asks, “Having fun?”

“We just arrived,” you say, “But the shots are doing wonders for me.”

“Good, have more!” Sam says, and to your absolute horror, reaches over the bar and grabs the bottle of vodka to sloppily pour in your empty shot glass. He tops Natasha up too, and you must look as scandalised as you feel because she starts laughing and nudges Sam, who throws you a charming grin. “Relax! I own the place.”

“Oh,” you say, more than relieved. That didn’t come up on your search, you think, and try to squash that thought down as quickly as it comes. You’re not investigating them anymore, there’s no need to file information away on them like it’s an open case. Smiling, you say, “Well, in that case,” and down the shot Sam and just poured you. You’re on a one-way ticket to tipsy town and you don’t plan on hopping off anytime soon.

Sam leads you to a booth where Steve and one of the regulars from your time watching his tattoo shop sit. He’s got dirty blonde hair and a plaster on his forehead, waving his hands around as he tells a story which makes Steve belly-laugh. You slide in the end after Natasha, the seat opposite you open for whenever Bucky comes back. You wish he’d hurry up, ignoring their conversation in favour of searching the crowd for his dumb head. Out of your depth didn’t even begin to cover what you felt sitting here with Bucky’s friends in Sam’s bar with a bunch of bikers milling around, watching you all like hawks.

“New girl,” the guy you don’t know says, pointing the straw he’d been fiddling with at you. Natasha smacks him upside the head and he barely flinches, like it happens all the time. He says, “Verse me in darts.”

The entire table groans, and the guy throws his hands in the air and scowls at everyone as he cries, “What? None of you lot will play with me anymore.”

“That’s because you’re a master archer, you dickhead,” Sam says, throwing a balled up napkin at the guy’s head. He doesn’t bother dodging it, letting it hit him square on the nose as he turns to you and waggles his eyebrows.

“Whaddya say? No better bonding activity, I reckon,” he says. You dart looks around the table, catching Steve giving you a cut-throat motion and Natasha shaking her head with an eyeroll.

“I’ll start with your name first,” you say, “Then we can move onto darts.”

He introduces himself as Clint, reaching across the table and knocking over Steve’s glass in the process to shake your hand. Everyone devolves into complaints and arguments about Clint ‘taking advantage’ of new people and feeding his ego with ‘easy wins.’ Nonetheless, your small group vacates the booth and moves to the dart board near the pool tables at the back of the bar. The group already there stop playing mid-game and move off as you approach, which is weird and keeps happening so you think it might be something you’ll have to find the guts to ask Bucky about later. Right now, though, Clint is pushing darts into your hand with a smirk and lining up to go first, despite Steve’s exasperated yell of ladies first!

Clint lands a bullseye with his first dart and does a little victory dance on the spot. His friends groan, clearly having seen this too many times. Three bullseye’s later, he’s moving off the mark and opening it up to you with a low, theatrical bow. You curtsy and take his spot, earning a laugh out of Sam and Steve.

“Archery, huh?” you question as you line up your shot, tongue poking out slightly as you concentrate.

“Natasha calls me her very own Robin Hood,” Clint says, and you’re not facing him but you know Natasha throws something at him if his yelp of pain is anything to go by. Wheezing slightly, Clint adds, “Don’t feel bad when you lose.”

“Hmm,” you say, smirking at the dart board. But before you can throw, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye - close cropped hair and a familiar leather jacket weaving it’s way towards you. You turn to Bucky, leaning into him as he slides a hand up your back, over your shoulders to rest on the nape of your neck and tangle in your hair. You hate the way you melt into his side, because everyone’s watching and Natasha is smirking and you should be embarrassed, but. But but but. You missed him, just a bit, and you feel him relax with you in his arms like maybe he missed you a bit, too.

“How did Barton con you into darts, huh?” Bucky asks, looking down to you and the darts still clutched in your hand. You shrug as much as you can under his arm and grin, maybe a bit looser with the shots, but that’s nobody’s business. Bucky is laughing slightly at you but you can’t bring yourself to care when he uses his grip on your neck to spin you around, hands moving to rest on your hips and position you on the mark.

“Not fair! Interference!” Clint calls out, and you feel Bucky’s chest rumble with a laugh from where he’s pressed up behind you. Bucky is supposed to be helping but all you feel is distracted, hazy focus and burning heat starting from your toes and working up to pool in your stomach.

“Oh now you care about fairness,” Sam says, and the group behind you devolves into a loud argument with plenty of name calling.

You’re not paying attention to them, though, as you bring your arm up to aim and Bucky grips your elbow, fixing your form. His breath is hot against your ear as he ducks down, smiling into your skin, and you feel yourself shiver against him. Bucky says low in your ear, “Don’t close your eyes.”

“Thanks for the advice,” you say flatly, and finally shrug him off. He steps back with a laugh, dragging his hands from your hips slowly so you can still feel his fingers long after they’re gone. You take a steady breath and narrow your eyes at the board. You throw, and in a blink your dart is buried in it’s red centre. The argument behind you comes to an abrupt stop.

“Fluke!” Clint sputters in to the silence, pointing wildly at the board as you turn to him. You raise your eyebrows and he flails his arm, nearly smacking Steve in the face. “Barnes helped you!”

“Hardly,” Bucky snorts. You grin at Clint, all teeth, and Clint’s expression drops almost comically as you wink at him.

“Don’t feel bad when you lose,” you tell him, and then proceed to fling your two remaining darts into a neat little cluster on the bullseye in quick succession. Clint shuts up properly this time.

While Steve and Sam descend on Clint to heckle him to an early grave, Natasha grins over at you and says, “You are full of surprises.”

“Not really,” you shrug, “Just learnt to throw knives with my dad instead of throwing balls with my non-existent friends. Nothing interesting.”

“Respectfully disagree,” Bucky murmurs, and suddenly you’re drawn into that ocean-deep stare of his where the rest of the bar ceases to exist. Bucky steps closer and you meet him halfway, the shouts of his friends and the rock music blaring through the speakers and the clink of glasses fades to a dull buzz. Maybe you had one too many shots, because you find yourself swaying into Bucky as he tugs you by the belt loops, or maybe that’s just Bucky you’re drunk on. Now that you’d allowed yourself to fall you were falling fast, a weightless come-up, not a single thought about the crash waiting for you at the end.

Bucky doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, always tethered to you somehow, and its alarming how quickly you’ve grown used to having him next to you. Attuned to him, turning when he does and shifting to his every movement so you fit together, his hand in yours or your back to his chest or tucking yourself under his arm. Bucky is just so warm, is all, and under the bulk of his touch you can almost forget where you are, who you’re with.

That is, until a broad man in a leather jacket much like Bucky’s comes up to your booth and leans down to talk in Bucky’s ear. You’re pressed to his side, head tucked against his shoulder while you lazily follow Sam and Steve’s conversation with your eyes half-closed - the vodka is catching up and you’re getting sleepy as the night wears on. The smell of cigarettes and an unfamiliar voice brings you back to the bar, however, and you’re close enough to be able to hear Bucky and the man’s hushed exchange.

“S’done, boss,” the man says, “twenty-three-forty hours, no witnesses.”

“Y’sure?” Bucky murmurs, and the man must nod or something because you feel Bucky clap the man on the shoulder and he walks off, the cloud of cigarette smoke leaving with him. Bucky twists to look down at you on his shoulder only to find you already looking up at him. He is impassive as you stare at him for a few, silent beats before he asks, “Ready to go?”

It takes an hour to extract yourselves from Bucky’s friends and all the people he has to say goodbye to on his way out, and then you’re on Bucky’s bike with your head tucked against his back as he roars through the few blocks back to his apartment. Bucky busies himself flicking lights on and rummaging in his pantry for food while you collapse on the couch, flinging an arm over your eyes. After a few beats you feel him start to unlace your boots, easing them off your feet and throwing them towards the front door. You peak out from under your arm to grin at him, wiggling your toes in his face when your feet are free, and he shoves at them with one big hand and a smile.

Retaliation comes in the form of him throwing his huge, muscled body on top of yours and squashing you into the couch, knocking the breath out of you. He nuzzles his head into the side of your neck and lies there, snaking his arms under your body in a bear hug that leaves you breathless in more ways than one. The moment stretches on, both of you slightly dozing in the early morning hours, until the niggling in your brain gets too insistent and you can’t hold it in any longer.

“When were you gonna tell me tonight was an alibi?” you ask, hating the way Bucky’s body stiffens on top of you. He slowly raises his head, resting his stumbling chin against your collarbone and scanning your face with those puppy eyes you see in your dreams, now.

“You’re too smart for me,” he sighs, rolling off you slightly so you can shift onto your side and face him, two half-brackets on the couch. Bucky says, “You know what I do. You were- I said you could leave.”

“It’s not what you do,” you say, shaking your head of the concept of leaving. “It’s being kept in the dark. I just wanna know, I hate not knowing.”

“Too dangerous,” Bucky says, mirroring you as he shakes his head, “The more you know the worse it is.”

“Don’t care,” you say, raising an eyebrow in challenge when Bucky opens his mouth to argue. You press your palm to his cheek, scratching into the short hairs above his ear and dragging your nail over the silvery-scar there where hair won’t grow. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, eyelashes delicate against the papery skin under his eyes, and you marvel at how soft the looks up close. Only tough from far away, you think. Only soft for you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Bucky says, keeping his eyes closed.

“I figure out secrets for a living, Bucky,” you sigh, “I don’t wanna do that with you as well.”

He looks at you then, the world narrowing to his eyes burning your skin and his breath against your lips. He kisses you, rough stubble and soft lips. Your lips part with a sigh and he rolls on top of you again, hands rucking up under your top to grip your bare waist and hold you there, pressing kiss after kiss on your mouth like he can brand you with just his lips alone.

“You’ll stay?” he murmurs against your mouth, “The night?”

You know what he’s asking. Will you stay, will you listen to the terrible things he’s done and the things he will do and stay anyway, will you let him into your bed and your heart and trust someone you should be afraid of? You kiss him, digging your nails into the side of his neck to hold him there.

“Yeah,” you say, pressing your face against his cheek to kiss the rough skin, murmur words against the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile, “I’ll stay.”

***

The first time you wake up next to Bucky he’s still asleep, lying on his stomach with his cheek smashed into the pillow. One big arm is flung out over your stomach, trapping you to the bed as you blink awake but the heavy weight is comforting. You twist under him to lie on your side, tucking your arms against your bare chest, and watch him sleep like a genuine pyscho. You don’t care. His face is relaxed when he sleeps, peaceful - he looks so beautiful. You want to remember this forever.

Sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the tips of his short hair golden. Pouty lips part, soft in sleep, and there’s a tiny bit of drool pooling on the pillowcase you find yourself smiling at, even though it’s gross. He’s all tan muscles and tattoos lying naked next to you, and you take to tracing the ink on his skin with yours in an attempt to memorise them. His left arm is flung over you, the arm with the sleeve, and the closer you look the more you realise the tattoos cover not just skin, but scars. Old and faded but still there under swirling lines of storm clouds and skulls and the red star in the centre of his deltoid.

How had you missed this? Maybe you hadn’t been looking before, but you’re looking now. From surprisingly thin wrist to meaty shoulder where muscles are bunched and gnarled under a flowery piece which extends down his chest and across his back. His sleeve is a beautiful piece covering not-so-beautiful, painful looking burns and lines and marks you can’t tear your eyes from.

“Stop staring, y’creep,” Bucky mumbles into the pillow, startling you. He grins, eyes closed, and you reach out to whack his side. With the arm across your waist he drags you into him, rolling onto his back and dragging you across his chest without ever opening his eyes. He hugs you close, legs tangling, and doesn’t appear to want to wake up - rather he just holds you and attempts to doze off again, lips pressed against your forehead in a sleepy, lazy kiss.

That won’t do. You’re awake and now effectively trapped - Bucky doesn’t get to go back to sleep like this. With your new vantage point on his chest, you start kissing slow and heady across his skin. Under his collarbone, his shoulder, beside one of the wolves tattooed on his skin making up half his chest piece. Goosebumps form a trail where your lips have been and you grin, victorious. Bucky shivers as you drag your teeth from his peck to his nipple, giving it a quick flick of your tongue. That seals the deal.

Bucky grips the back of your head, fisting your hair and pulling your head up to look at him. Eyes cracked open and bleary with sleep, he glares at you but with no heat. Well, there’s heat. He licks his lips and you track the motion, hungry. Bucky’s lips stretch in a smirk as he watches you watch him. His other hand travels down your back to grip your ass and pull you up in a straddle across his hips.

He pulls you into a kiss and you go willingly with a hand braced on his chest, licking lazy into his mouth. He tastes like sleep and so do you but you really couldn’t care less. His mouth is hot and his skin is sun warmed, strong and smooth under your body, seeping into you so it feels like you’re holding the sun inside you. He pushes the warmth into you; tongue in your mouth, squeezing your neck, kneading your ass under one giant palm. Morning sex, you think, is possibly the best thing in this world.

Bucky hums against your mouth and shifts, sliding his hand back down your ass to rub his middle finger against your cunt. You gasp, and he bits your lip as you open to him. The contrast of pain and pleasure as he slips a finger inside you is brain-melting. All that heat is concentrated now in the pit of your belly and you roll back against Bucky’s hand, nipping at his jaw when he huffs a laugh at you.

You slide a hand up his neck and into his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp and leaving hot, open mouthed kissed down his jaw, neck, chest - wherever you can reach. When Bucky doesn’t move, just leaves you to grind against his finger, you get frustrated and start using your teeth. He’ll be littered with little bruises soon and he clenches his fist in your hair, tugging in warning, but you keep going. So Bucky groans, slides his hand around to your neck and squeezes until you come to a shuddering stop, panting against his chest. He pulls you up to look at him, smirking at the glassy look in your eyes, and pushes another finger into your cunt without warning.

That makes you moan, which makes Bucky grin because he’s a smug bastard and can never let you win. You can’t remember why you were frustrated anymore, though - you’ve got pinpricks of pleasure bursting all over your skin, from your nail beds to your scalp to the back of your teeth. Bucky tugs you by the neck until he can catch you in a sloppy kiss, tongue too deep and too much teeth but you live for it. He removes his fingers from inside you and you whine into his mouth, clenching your fingers in his hair and your cunt on nothing but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Bucky’s there, he’s pushing into you and you forget how to kiss for a second as all your executive function concentrates on the feeling of Bucky’s dick in you.

It’s slow, sticky with sweat from the too-bright sun on your back, sweet in the way Bucky releases your neck and lies fully back on the pillow just to stare up at you. You sit up in his lap and grind your hips slow, letting your hands rest light on his chest as the urgency dissipates into simple, syrupy-soft want. He runs his hands up and down your thighs and your sensitive skin erupts like starbursts, urging you to slide up and down on his cock just to feel the drag inside you that makes your eyes roll back. You lean forward on him, the angle gets deeper, you stop feeling your toes as the ecstasy snaps up your spine in hot waves.

“Look at me,” Bucky says, voice low and rough with the first words of the day. You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed and they flutter open, barely focusing on the pink pout of his mouth and hazy lust in his eyes. “Look at me, honey.”

“Bucky,” you say in response, any other words lost to you. He slides a hand from your thigh up your stomach, muscles clenching against his touch as you ride him, to cup one of your tits and squeeze. He rolls his thumb over your nipple and you moan, head lolling back on a limp neck and hair tickling your bare back. But you remember what he asked and you come back, eyes finding his and they seem to darken, then, as you keep yourself locked on him.

It’s spilling over. That heat that’s been building since you first woke up is trying to go supernova. Bucky moves to rest one big palm on your back and pushes, rising up to meet you as he squashes your bodies together, seam for sweat-slicked seam. You’re limp against him as he takes over and starts a faster, steadier rhythm. He pounds into you, the only sound in the quiet morning being the slap of your ass against his thighs and it should be kind of embarrassing but you’re way too far gone for that. You unspool with his arm wrapped around you, shuddering against his chest but he doesn’t let you go anywhere. Bucky comes soon after with a groan you swallow as you kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him until your lips feel numb and your muscles stop shaking.

“Good morning,” you murmur, licking into his smile as he laughs at you.

“Good morning,” he replies, and smacks your ass for emphasis. You yelp and jerk forward at the impact, still sensitive and he’s still inside you. He moans at the friction and you feel heat start trickling against your thighs. It should be gross but somehow it’s insanely hot and you feel yourself clenching just imagining what his come dripping out of you would look like - that’s when you know you need some divine intervention, because you are too far off the deep end.

Bucky holds you tighter to keep you still, leaning back into the pillows to glare at you and say, “Gotta stop that, honey,” because apparently he’s also too sensitive. You start to smile, a little evil and a lot still-turned-on.

“What, this?” You roll your hips slow, all you can manage since you’re a bit worn out yourself, and Bucky legitimately growls. With a very un-sexy screech you find yourself flipped and on your back, Bucky’s cock slipping out of you and his body pressing you firmly into the mattress. He rests on his elbows either side of your head, dipping down to kiss you, and you hum at the feeling of him sliding a thigh between your legs.

“You’re a menace,” he grumbles, eyes flickering open to mock-glare at you. He’s so close that you feel kind of cross-eyed as you stare back.

“I think you like it, tough guy,” you tease. Bucky rolls his eyes but he doesn’t deny it, and you count that as a win.

Bucky finger-fucks you like that, trapped against his mattress and his stupid-soft lips leaving kisses over every inch of your skin. He has to carry you to the shower when you come again, announcing your legs are jelly and it’s his fault so he has to help you or he’s a bad person. He swings you over his shoulder and slaps your ass, calls you a brat, and you bite his shoulder in retaliation.

The shower is more of a water fight than anything else, after that.

“I like waking up to you,” you say once you’re dressed and coffee-d and fed, leaning against his doorway with a squeak of leather from your jacket. Bucky leans against the doorframe over you, dressed in fresh sweats and really threatening your resolve to go get some work done today. You feel soft, undone after this morning, looking up at him and telling him things your self-preservation instincts yell at you to keep to yourself.

“I could get used to it,” Bucky grins, and you punch him on the arm but there’s no force to it. He tugs you in for a hug goodbye, arm slung over your shoulders and ruffling your hair with his stupidly big hand until you squirm away from him. He laughs and you push him, propelling yourself backwards into the hall - mostly so you don’t grab onto his t-shirt and never leave.

“See you later?” You mean it to come out as an offhand statement but your nerves shake through. Bucky’s kilowatt smile breaks through all that fear of rejection and he nods.

“‘Course,” he says, tilting his head, “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Shit,” you say, shaking your head and his laugh follows you all the way down the stairs to the ground floor.

You hesitate at the bottom the stairs. To your left is the laundry room and your familiar route out of Bucky’s apartment building, through the window and the gym parking lot to the block over. Knowing who Bucky is now, what he does, means you have even more reason than ever before to turn that way and keep being a paranoid freak. But it’s mid-morning, now. Someone walks past you up the stairs, the lobby is lit with sunlight, there’s traffic noise and people’s voices and life inside this building. Mid-morning feels very different to three AM.

You’ve just woken up next to Bucky because he likes you, like that, and that makes you brave. You turn right and push out the front door, jogging down the steps to the street with a stupid smile on your face. You shove your hands in your pockets because despite the sunlight it’s still kind of chilly, and you turn to walk towards your apartment for a fresh change of clothes before heading to the office. Your brain still feels like it’s lying in bed next to Bucky, but you try and focus yourself back to the present.

Theres a guy leaning against the building next to Bucky’s, and he stubs his cigarette out as you walk past. When you pass by a parked car a few more buildings down you see in their side mirror that he’s started walking your direction. Stop being crazy, you tell yourself, one time using the front door like a normal person and you freak out, but you keep tabs on him as you walk. Bucky and his room and his touch start to fade from your mind as the stranger does not fade - not into the crowd, not down another street or into a building. He keeps walking, because he’s following you, and that might be paranoia speaking but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

You reach into your pocket for your phone but find yourself hesitating before calling Bucky. You’d only just gotten to the point where you feel comfortable to stay with him, to push past your walls and Bucky’s and dive head-first into whatever this is going to be between you. Telling Bucky someone is tailing you from his apartment would probably build those walls right back up, from both sides. The dark, twisted part of your brain supplies - what if it’s Bucky who’s sent this guy to follow you?

The phone rings one, twice, and picks up on the third. There’s a shuffle, a muttered curse, and you smile before your dad says, “Kroshka, sorry, I dropped the remote. How are you?”

“Great, papa,” you say, a bit louder than necessary, turning your head slightly to look across the street and so your voice travels behind you. Out of the corner of your eye you see your tail slow down, linger back further, when he realises you’re talking to someone who would notice if you suddenly dropped off the line. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing, it’s early,” he says, sounding a bit suspicious, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, “Just wondering if you wanted to get lunch today.”

“Of course,” he replies, and you turn the corner to keep on your normal route to home. As you do, you notice your tail has disappeared. You don’t relax, per-say, but you do feel some relief. You barely catch your dad saying, “Wanna get sushi?”

“Sounds great,” you say, “I’ll call you.”

By the time you make it back to your apartment, the glow from this morning has faded. You find yourself in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror and trying to convince yourself this isn’t what you think it is. No one followed you, no one’s after you, and Bucky certainly isn’t having you tailed because that’s insane. But you’ve always been like this, chasing down threads that don’t need to be pulled and finding faces in shadows even when they’re not there.

You should tell Bucky. Your supposed tail is as much a threat to you as it is to him, since he knows where Bucky lives. But something is stopping you, and you don’t pick up your phone. You’re a private investigator, you tell yourself firmly. You can figure this out on your own.

Part 5

~~~

let me know what you think!! thank you all for reading xx oh and listen to the playlist i made pls its fire

[prettywordsyouleft]

Labelling Love | Part 1 (Collab)

Summary: Meeting you changed the way Eunwoo viewed romance and love entirely.

Pairing: Cha Eunwoo x female reader

Genre: university au / romance / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: Welcome to the second series in the monthly Love In Fours Ways collab with @jackiejacks923​ @noona-clock​ & @this-song-thats-only-for-you​ . In the final week of each month during this collab, we’ll be each sharing a mini-series using 4 of the pictures/concepts illustrated in the book that inspired our series that I’ve credited below. 

Credit to: Puuung - Love Is In The Small Things // #76 , #60 , #4 , #33

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 // Collab Masterlist

Part 1 - Not Being Able To Concentrate Because She's There

Cha Eunwoo didn’t believe in love at first sight. Or upon a second or even a third look. He was certain that it was nothing but a phenomenon of the hopeless romantic. A guise that someone who wanted to fall in love badly held over the top of feelings that could be more easily described as attractive or interesting. Eunwoo had met many people in his lifetime that he could easily commit to saying he was attracted to or interested in upon first sight. Such was the nature of being human, so he thought.

However, love was something that came with time. A feeling that grew with experiences shared together, not something you felt straight away. He was a firm believer of this.

So what exactly could he call the feeling that was making his heart beat erratically in his chest as he watched you right now?

Blinking forcibly in attempts to regain control over his physical reaction, Eunwoo licked at his lips, realising his breath was heightened. Now clamping his lips together, he did everything he could to tear his eyes away from your direction and back to the guide in front of him.

“This is the campus library. I hope you took down notes on how to get here because you’ll be spending a lot of your time cramming here. There are eleven floors and this place houses pretty much every book about absolutely everything you could ask a question about. This area here is known as the main study lobby. Most students find the second-floor study area pretty noisy though so if you’re…”

Eunwoo lost his focus again on the tour and slipped back to you at one of the tables quietly reading a book. Sliding your hand onto your neck to better support your head as you continued perusing the pages before you, Eunwoo gulped as his skin began to tingle.

“Its attraction,” he breathed out slowly, trying to claim the feeling overwhelming him as that. It didn’t feel like enough to say it was mere attraction though and Eunwoo frowned. “I’m interested too.”

“And I’m intrigued,” another voice announced, nudging Eunwoo playfully. Glancing at the fellow freshman at his side, Eunwoo cringed at his high school buddy Harvey overhearing his outspoken thoughts. “Who are you attracted to? The tour guide? She’s like forty, dude.”

“No, but if you are, by all means ask her out when we’re done.”

“So then who? The rest of us are guys. But hey, if you’re unsure and want to experiment-”

“Could you stop yourself from talking instead?” Eunwoo replied dryly, dragging his feet reluctantly as the group started to move along. He glanced over his shoulder back in your direction, blinking when he found the table you had been reading at now empty. Spinning around, he thought he saw the end of your ponytail descending the stairs at the front of the building but he couldn’t be too sure.

Harvey jostled him around. “Whoever she is, maybe you imagined her. She could be the girl of your college dreams.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off imagining up a new friend than having you around, Harvey,” Eunwoo commented before letting out a sigh.

Perhaps you were just a fleeting moment of temptation, after all.

Eunwoo was simultaneously relieved and horrified to find that you existed the following day at his first lecture. Harvey’s teasing had simmered down somewhat when the tour moved out of the library and Eunwoo began to believe maybe his friend was right and he conjured you up.

Seeing you in the flesh again solved the puzzle of whether you existed or not.

However, as the hairs stood up on his arms and his eyes fixated on the side of your head as you moved across the front of the lecture hall to the staircase, Eunwoo was troubled by seeing you in person again.

His physical reaction only felt greater this time as well.

Not this row, he begged internally as you came closer to where he was set up, closing his eyes when you diverted towards him. Of course, the universe was testing him right now. Still, he didn’t understand why you of all the people in this world had to cause his insides to implode with nervous excitement like this.

“Hello,” you greeted softly and pointed at the seat you had stopped before. “Can I sit next to you?”

“Oh uh um well uh-”

You grinned. “It’s just the centre of the room and the row, so...”

“That’s exactly why I chose this spot,” he admitted and you bit your lip to control your delight before sitting down.

“I’ve always been the only one who chooses by the environment on where to sit that I’ve known of.”

“Well it makes the most sense to,” he managed to comment and you nodded along eagerly. “You have to be comfortable in order to learn.”

“Precisely! I’m so glad to finally meet someone who thinks the same. I’m Y/N and you are?”

“Eunwoo,” he replied, taking the hand you held outstretched towards him.

He had to clamp his mouth shut before the squeak building up in his throat was expelled, his cheeks feeling hot with his efforts. You mirrored the flushed expression before letting go.

“It’s nice to meet you, Eunwoo. I hope this semester will be productive for the pair of us.”

The first lecture was anything but productive. Eunwoo couldn’t concentrate for the first time in a learning environment in years. And when he hadn’t been as focused in the past, it was due to being unwell and needing to be resting at home, not because a gorgeous girl had sat down beside him. He was well versed in ignoring others around him when learning.

It threw him completely to be unable to focus at all with you next to him.

Eunwoo chalked it up to first day nerves. Or anything else he could kid himself of. But after a second lecture with no true coherency of what was being spoken about in the class and then on the third being called upon and blanking over an answer he knew in great detail from previous study, Eunwoo knew it was due to you.

The problem was he liked you too much to try and avoid you. It wasn’t just the physical reaction now either. Every time you arrived early for class and you chatted over topics before the professor arrived. He was enamoured by the way you thought. Conversation was all too easy between you.

Which was why you didn’t hesitate to gesture to his empty page. “Another day of not taking down notes?”

“Hah, yeah.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those geniuses who don’t need to write down information to remember and ace all your tests,” you breathed, leaning towards him.

Eunwoo wished right now he was one of those types. He was immensely grateful that all lectures were recorded so he could cram in note-taking later when he was back home. Staring down at his blank page, he let out a nervous laugh. “Nope, that’s not me.”

“Then? Is the content too hard? I could help you during lunch today to get your head around it?” you offered, blinking softly.

He should have been honest with you then, however, the offer to have a meal with you seemed more desirable than anything else and he found himself nodding along. “Could you?”

“It’ll be my pleasure! I can’t have you falling behind so soon into the semester.” Eunwoo groaned out loud as you giggled. Glancing at you with a brief pout, he then grinned. “I’ll buy lunch then for your help.”

“Ooh, deal!”

It was evident even to you after twenty minutes of attempting to explain the situation that Eunwoo was distracted. You didn’t know why, however. At first, he was determined to make his way through the entirety of lunch fully invested in what you had to say. And for that matter, he had been invested enough to hear each word you spoke, they just didn’t make enough sense. Was it because of the perfume you had on today? It had been fragrant in class earlier on, but now squeezed into a tiny table at the back of one of the bustling campus cafes, it washed over him completely. Was it the way you brushed your hair away from your neck and placed it all to one side of your head, exposing your delicate skin? Honestly, Eunwoo couldn’t tell why he was being like this, and admittedly he was growing quite concerned for his sanity.

You were driving him down a path he had never wandered before.

Harvey’s remark about university being known as an experimental time in a young person’s life came to the forefront of his brain. Was his physical attraction to you that out of control that he couldn’t focus in your company? Or was it just you as a whole?

He whimpered with the lack of an answer.

Glancing away from your book, you placed down your pen and sighed. “This isn’t helping, is it?”

“No.”

“And it’s not the professor that’s the problem, is it?” you continued and Eunwoo shook his head sadly. “I bet the content isn’t that hard for you-”

“It’s you.”

“Excuse me?” you asked slowly, brows knitting together. “I’m the problem?”

Eunwoo opened his mouth, only for embarrassment to flare up within his stomach. How could he tell you that it was because of boyish feelings that he couldn’t concentrate in your company? He’d barely known you for a week now. It would haunt him for the rest of his semester if he confessed this early into things.

However, his lack of response had done enough damage, your hands hastily grabbing for your belongings scattered over the table in between lunch. “I’m sorry I’m such a problem. You should have told me earlier, Eunwoo.”

“No, it’s nothing like that!”

“I’ll sit somewhere else on Monday so you can concentrate on the lecture. Good luck with your semester.”

“Y/N!” he called out hopelessly, reaching out for your lower arm. You halted all movement and stared at his gentle grip over your arm.

He knew he had no other option.

“I can’t concentrate because ever since I met you, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

_________________

Part 2

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[albertasunrise]

Chance - Chapter 8

Summary: Working as an ER doctor, you don’t get much of a chance to meet new men and you’d never imagined that you’d meet your soulmate at work.

Warnings: Fluff, Childbirth, Smut 18+

Pairings: Frankie Morales/ Reader

~

You were a bundle of nerves as Benny walked you down that aisle. You’d never liked to be the centre of attention but as you walked towards your beaming Frankie, the eyes of your guests seemed to fade into nothing and you lost yourself in his. Your smile got wider and wider the closer you got to him and as Benny gave you a hug and a kiss on the cheek before taking a seat beside Will who bounced Sophia on his lap, you felt like you could burst with happiness. You were in a trance the entire ceremony, the two of you never looking anywhere but into each other’s eyes as you made your vows to one another. The reception was then at the house. A large white Marque filled the yard, adorned with colourful flowers and fairy lights that twinkled in the failing evening light. The tent filled quickly, music, alcohol and conversation flowing easily whilst people picked at the food that lined the back wall. Santi then announced that it was time for the Bride and Groom's first dance and you both took your place on the dance floor.

‘You happy?’ Asked Frankie as the two of you danced your first dance together as husband and wife.

‘Elated.’ You reply, kissing him sweetly.

Gradually people joined you on the dance floor, Sophia squealing with glee as her uncle Ben spins her around the floor. The two of you laugh as he pretends to waltz with her whilst blowing raspberries on her chubby cheeks and you find yourself resting your hand on your swollen belly. You were 5 months along and your bump was now very prominent but you’d been desperate to get married before the baby came along. You’d both decided that you didn’t want to know the sex which had received a mixed reaction from friends. Frankie had known that Sophia was going to be a girl and so she was the most spoilt baby before she’d even made her appearance into this world. It was Ben that complained the most but you stuck by your guns and so he, along with Will and Frankie, had started to decorate the nursery very much like the one at Fish’s cabin. As the night drew to a close you thanked your guests for coming and the Millers for taking the baby for the night so the two of you could enjoy your wedding night. As soon as the last person had left your lips collided with his, giggling as you tried to remove your dress and he, his suit. With a little assistance from your husband you managed to free yourself from your white frock before he was spinning you around, your hands braced on the wall as he placed hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and along your shoulder. There was no need for foreplay, you were both hot and heavy for each other and after shedding his underwear he sheathed himself inside you, the two of you moaning in unison as his hips started to move. You reach your hand back to lace it through his hair as he sets a dizzying pace, hitting that spot inside that had you putty in his hands.

‘Fuck baby I-’ You didn’t even get to finish your sentence before your orgasm hit and you screamed his name as your knees started to wobble.

He didn’t relent his punishing pace and you tightened your grip on his curls as you felt yourself teetering again. His hand came to rest on your swollen belly as his pace increased, desperate to pull another out of you as well as chasing his own release.

‘One more for me Hermosa.’ He growls in your ear and that's all it takes.

This orgasm hits you like a train and you’re glad he’s holding you or you’d have surely fallen to your knees. His release was right being yours and the two of you stood there a short while as you catch your breath, your nose nuzzling his cheek before he spins you in his arms so he can pull you into a loving, languid, kiss. You took a shower together, making love once more before collapsing bonelessly into the bed and curling up into each other's arms.

~

4 months later...

‘Shit shit shit... Come on Fish pick up.’ Benny was panicking as he drove you to the hospital, your screams ringing in his ears.

Frankie finally answered after the 3rd time Benny called, his tone a little irritable when he finally answered.

‘Ben this better be important.’

‘Doc’s in labour.’ He hurries out ‘I’m on the way to the hospital now. Will’s got Fee.’

‘Fuck... I’m on my way. Meet you there.’

You reached the hospital ten minutes later and Benny had you in a fireman's carry as he took you inside and pleaded for someone to help him. A wheelchair was quickly brought and you were soon being wheeled to the delivery ward, your hand crushing Benny's with each agonising contraction. It had been fortunate that the boys had been over to help you put together a changing table when your water had chosen to break. Will had offered to stay with Sophia, knowing full well Benny would want to be the one to take you to the hospital. You were then swiftly settled into a room but distraught to learn you were too far along to be able to have any pain relief so you continued to grip Benny’s hand as another contraction ripped through you.

‘Where the fuck is Frankie.’ You scream, your eyes squeezed shut and your face contorted into a mixture of anger and agony.

‘He’s here baby.’ Came a familiar voice and you burst into tears when you opened your eyes to see him stood beside you.

‘Right you’re almost ready to push.’ Says the doctor and suddenly you’re consumed with nerves.

‘I don’t know if I can... Frankie what if I can’t?’ You’re panic only makes him smile as he places a sweet kiss on your lips.

‘You can do it hermosa.’

‘Do you want me to go?’ Asks Benny and you both jump, forgetting for a moment he was there.

‘No.’ You say as you shake your head ‘Please stay.’

He nods and you mouth a thank you before the doctor starts ordering you to push. A guttural scream tore from deep within as you push, tears leaking from the corner of your eyes as you pant before being ordered to go again. Frankie and Benny both hold your legs up as your continue to push when you’re told and after what feels like an eternity to the three of you the room is suddenly filled with a different cry that's music to your ears. You catch sight of your baby before the cord is cut and it’s whisked away by a nurse to be cleaned. So you allow yourself to fall bonelessly back against the pillows as Frankie praises you.

‘You did so good baby.’ He says as he strokes back your sweat-slick hair.

‘Congratulations Mr and Mrs Morales... You have a baby girl.’ Say’s the nurse as she hands you the tiny little pink bundle in her arms.

‘Hell yeah!’ Exclaims Benny as he leans closer to you to look down at your new baby.

You and Frankie both chuckle at his reaction before you look lovingly at each other, sharing a chaste kiss before returning your gaze to your daughter.

‘She’s fucking perfect.’ Sobs Frankie as he places a soft kiss on her head.

‘She really is.’ You reply as you gently rock her in your arms.

‘You guys got a name?’ Asks Benny as he strokes the infant's tiny cheek with his finger.

‘Isabella.’ You reply, knowing instantly that that was her name.

‘Hey, Isabella.’ Says Ben as he beams down at her ‘I’m your favourite uncle, Benny. Uncle Will is okay but I’m better.’

‘Ever the ladies man.’ Chuckles Frankie as he looks up at his friend.

‘You wanna holder her?’ You ask softly, drawing back his attention.

‘Definitely.’ He replies, nodding eagerly before taking his wriggling daughter from your arms ‘Hey baby girl.’ He coos as he rocks her gently ‘I’m your Papi and I love you so much.’ He finishes as he brights her tiny forehead to his lips.

‘Another girl Fish.’ Pipes up Ben as he watches his friend ‘You’re well and truly outnumbered now.’

~

Sophia didn’t want to leave her new baby sisters side. From the moment you walked through the door, Frankie with the carrier in hand, she bolted over to you to see her new sibling. She’d held her tiny hand as Frankie carried her into the house and cuddled up to her as he held her in his arms. The two of you felt like you could burst with pride at how welcoming she was being. She hadn’t taken the news well to start off with, upset with the idea of having to share her daddy but seeing her now those worries disappeared like smoke in the wind.

Will and Ben had stayed for a few hours, getting in a few cuddles with Isabella and Sophia before heading out. Eventually, you managed to get Fia down and you were able to take a few minutes just to enjoy Isabella together.

‘I can’t believe we have another baby girl.’ You whisper as you stare lovingly down at her ‘You’re not disappointed it wasn't a boy?’

‘I could never be disappointed Hermosa.’ He replies, kissing your temple ‘I have everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m the luckiest man on Earth.’ He finishes, grinning when Isabella grasps his finger with her tiny hand.

You both sit and just admire her. You lose track of time as you gaze lovingly at the tiny life you brought into the world just the day before. The night Frankie had been carried into the ER bleeding out, you’d never imagined that that man whose life had literally been in your hands would end up being your husband. You’d never imagined that he would give you the best gift you’d ever received the day he asked you to adopt Sophia and marry him, or that you would be sitting here now holding this tiny thing that you’d pushed into the world in a symphony of chaos and love. You treasured this precious moment and everything that it symbolised. You’d been through a lot together as a couple with almost losing Frankie and Sophia and the mental strain that had inflicted upon you both but you’d come out the other side, stronger than ever and you knew that your life was now complete. It was perfect and you thanked the universe for that fact. Eventually, you both manage to drag yourselves to the bedroom, placing Isabella in her cot before collapsing on the bed. Both of you asleep within minutes and dreaming of the beautiful future you had ahead of you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Boys

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (rough sex, oral), deception, stalking, obsession.

This is dark!(cop) Steve and Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a break-in, the reader struggles with her trauma and paranoia but those meant to keep her safe might just be dangerous.

Note: Shout-out to @buckybarnesplumwhore​ who helped come up with this idea!! It was fun. We needed so cop Steve and Bucky and I needed a breather from Summertime Sadness. Hope you guys enjoy this wild ride. Love you guys!

Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

You watched the men in their dark uniforms. One examined the contents of your book shelf as the other walked around the long sofa. You still felt as if you couldn’t breathe, still felt the plastic digging into your wrists, the blindfold a shroud over your eyes. The world was a haze in your fractured mind.

If you closed your eyes, you were still on the floor. Hands bound, ankles too. The black cloth kept you from seeing the strangers on the other side of it. Their footsteps ominous as they trode across the carpet to the hardwood. You heard them moving things, heard them touching your stuff, exploring your small apartment. 

You took a shaky breath and turned away from the officers as they searched the living room. They’d shown up shortly after you were found by the landlord. After the intruders left and you squirmed your way to the wall and kicked for over an hour. The policed had the cut ties in a plastic bag, the blindfold too.

“Did they say anything?” The blond officer asked from behind you.

“Only shushed me,” You said quietly. “Pushed me around… but nothing else.”

“Anything missing?” The dark-haired cop intoned. 

“Nothing I can see off-hand,” You turned back and crossed your arms. “I heard the opening the cupboards but… obviously I couldn’t see anything.”

The blond nodded and looked to the other. “Any valuables you have hidden?”

“There’s an envelope in my dresser. A jewelry box on top. They're still there. Other than the TV and maybe the laptop, I don’t know what else they would take.” You answered.

“And they didn’t do anything else to you besides tying you up.” The brunette asked. You stared at him a moment. He was familiar. The other too.

“No. No…” You shuddered. “I don’t know…”

“No other break-ins reported,” He added. “Neighbours didn’t see anything odd.”

“So if they didn’t take anything?” You wondered.

“Maybe thought they’d find more. Maybe chickened out of what they had planned.” The blond shrugged. “We haven’t found anything out of place.”

“What they had planned?” You repeated.

“Well…” The brown-haired cop took a deep breath. “They tied you up… Could’ve done anything.”

“You know how many there were?” The other asked quickly.

“No, but had to be more than one. Definitely.” You said.

“Two, three, more?” The blond prodded.

“I don’t know.” You touched your cheek as you felt ready to sob. “It was just so--so--”

“It’s okay,” He said. “Unfortunately, all we can do is file the report and turn in the restraints at the station. Can’t promise much result.”

“Maybe get your locks changed. A deadbolt. Use the chain,” The other added.

“Right,” You nodded meekly.

“Hey,” The other reached into his pocket. “We know it’s not much. That’s just the way these things go. Unfortunately.” He flicked a card out and held it towards you. “You call the precinct, ask for Rogers or Barnes.” You hesistantly took it from him. “My extension’s on there too.”

“Thanks,” You sighed. “Rogers…?”

“Yeah,” He raised a brow.

“Have we…” You tried to place the name to the face. “I think I know you.”

“Oh?” He shook his head.

“Couple weeks ago. Down at Central Youth Club? Kid named Rodney?” You asked. 

“Sticky fingers,” The brunette snickered. “I remember you now.”

“Heh, what are the chances,” Rogers said. “How’s the kid anyway?”

“I think you scared him straight,” You replied. “He’s a work in progress though.”

“So you work at the youth centre?” Barnes asked. “Anyone there that might have something to do with all this?”

“No, not that I can think of.” You wrung your hands. “The kids there, they aren’t bad, just lost.”

“Co workers?” Rogers asked.

“No,” You scoffed. “No, never.”

“Mmm,” Barnes grumbled. “Well, we might look into it just to be safe.”

“You never know. Outside of that, there’s not much else for us to go on.” Rogers hooked his thumb in his belt. “We’ll let you know if we find any leads.”

“Sure,” You followed them to the door. “Thanks again.”

“You just take care of yourself,” Rogers turned back as Barnes opened the door. “Never hurts to keep an eye out over your shoulder.”

“Alright,” You took the door handle as they continued into the hall. 

“You have a good night,” Rogers said and Barnes nodded in shared sentiment. “And don’t hesitate to call.”

“Sure,” You waved the cars between your fingers. “I will.”

You watched them go and the pit settled in your stomach. You slowly shut the door and turned the lock before you slid the chain into place. They must’ve picked it as there was no damage to the door. You shivered and pressed your back to the door. You wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

⚫

“What’s she up to?” Bucky asked as he came in the door; a paper bag in one hand and a tray of cups in the other.

“As much as usual,” Steve said as he leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms.

A laptop sat on the coffee table, open and bright as the lamps glowed yellow against the night blackening outside the windows. The house seemed empty these days, since Sharon had filed for the divorce. That was over a year ago. 

Irreconcilable differences. Bullshit. It was his job she hated. He didn’t have enough time for her, she claimed. He brought his work home too often. Well, what was she complaining about? He’d paid the mortgage and filled her closet with overpriced labels. He’d seen it coming but it didn’t make it any easier.

“That’s why I don’t bother with ‘em,” That was Bucky’s supportive response. No, Steve knew Bucky bothered with women, just not for very long.

Bucky dropped the bag and tray on the table beside the computer. “Hmmm,” He grumbled as he looked at the screen. She sat against the headboard, a book in her hands. She didn’t read much before her head shot up and she was searching the empty room. She never sat still for very long. She was as frightened as the night of the invasion. That was good.

Steve dug in the bag and took out a burger. His leg swayed lazily back and forth as he unwrapped it. “Think we should check in on her tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?” Bucky sat up and took a burger of his own. 

“Pop by the apartment, make up some bullshit about another break-in, something or the other,” Steve said. “Fix the camera in the kitchen.”

Bucky shrugged. “Nothing going on in the kitchen. Better we let her stew. She’s antsy. Close.”

“Wait…” Steve swallowed as his eyes zeroed in on the screen. “What is that?”

They watched as she sat back. Her book was closed on the night table as she held up the bright pink shape. It was the same vibe Bucky found the night they’d tied her up in the corner. She stared at it then slipped down slowly on the pillow. Both men leaned forward. 

She pulled up her tee shirt and slipped her hand past the elastic of her panties. Bucky hit a button and the frame zoomed in. Steve let out a long breath as she let out a small gasp. They could see her moving the toy beneath the cotton, the mic in her lamp caught every wisp of air that slipped from her lips.

Soon she was panting and moaning. Her legs were bent and toes pointed as she coaxed herself towards release. She muffled her orgasm as she came, one leg shot out and her back arched. She twitched and caught her breath. She pulled the toy out and let it fall to the mattress.

“Well…” Steve smirked. 

“Mmhmm,” Bucky shifted on the couch. “See… we wait. It’ll all fall into place.”

“Fuck,” Steve took another bite and swallowed before he continued. “I don’t know how long I can wait.”

“Trust me,” Bucky took a fry from the bag and popped it into his mouth. “It’ll be worth it.”

⚫

Adam was one of several counselours at the youth centre. After the attack, he hadq offered you a shoulder and an ear. You took it, briefly, but found yourself unable to put into words the fear and dread which had come to enshrine your life. 

Since that fateful day, he had driven you home every night. You were thankful, the crowds of the New York streets and the trains sent you into a spin. That night, you watched the lights streak through the window as the engine hummed. The car rides had grown comforting. At home, you were always alone; always vulnerable.

Often, you were silent. At work, you could force yourself to be like the old you for the kids. You could smile at them and ask about their problems. Show them how to fold an origami star or lead the daily tai chi session. It was routine, it was safe, it was assuring. 

In your apartment, there was no normal. Couldn’t be. Those men could return, they could easily break your lock, even the new thick deadbolt, and could do exactly as they had done before. Even worse. And they did that in your dreams during those short spurts you managed in the all-consuming dark.

The glare of street lights cleared in your vision and you stared up at your building. You picked at the strap of your bag. You let out a shuddery breath and Adam shifted in his chair.

“You okay?” He asked,

“Yeah, I just…” 

You looked through the windshield and your vision drew to a pinpoint. The man in the hoodie crossing the street, another loitering by the post, a third just opposite you with a cigarette between his lips. Was it them? Were they watching you right now? Would they strike again?

“You want me to…” He hesitated. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through but I can hang around for a bit. We can talk or not.” 

You looked over at him and sighed. You rubbed your cheek and thought. It might help to have company, even if just for an hour. He watched you but not in a way that made you uncomfortable; unpresuming and cool. He had a way of measuring his concern. You never felt coddled with him but always heard.

“Coffee?” You offered. “Tea?”

“Sure,” The deep lines of his forehead receded as he smiled. “Coffee sounds great.”

⚫

Your coffee machine let out a final, grating snarl. Adam sat along the counter that divided your kitchen from the rest of your apartment. He leaned on his elbows as he watched you fill two mugs and approach the other side. You slid on over to him, between the cream and sugar. He added a bit of each and stirred slowly. You took some cream and watched the dark coffee pale.

“So…” He began. “You thought about some time off at all?”

“Time off?” You repeated.

“A couple of days? You know you can’t go on like this.” He said. “Look I didn’t come here to play counselor but… those kids need you but not at your own expense.”

“I… can’t.” You inhaled the scent of your coffee but your stomach soured at the thought of it. “I can’t be here all the time. Can’t be alone all the time.”

“You got family? Parents? You should go see ‘em.”

“They don’t… know,” You admitted. “I couldn’t-- My mom warned me when I moved here. She was right. It’s not safe.”

“So? You think she’d be happy to know she’s right? Or do you think she’d be mother to her daughter?” He challenged.

You shrugged. “I’m embarrassed. I don’t want to talk about it all the time. Don’t wanna think about it all the time.”

He nodded. “You do tai chi with the kids. Does it help?”

“The kids help. They have bigger problems and they’re so much younger and they’re so much braver.”

“Bravery is not a contest,” He pushed his coffee away. “You’re right, they have their own problems and you can’t shoulder them with your own. You should at least try to meditate on your own. Here. Reclaim this space for you. Don’t let them take it from you.”

“I can’t… breathe in here. It’s like walking into a furnace. I feel like I’m suffocating, like the flames are licking up at me. One wrong step and I’m nothing more than fodder.” You rubbed your forehead.

“You thought of moving?” He asked.

You laughed darkly. “Funny how that’s even more frightening. This place has become purgatory and yet, the outside, a world full of strangers, that is hell. Demons waiting with sinister thoughts; conspiring against me.”

“So… how do you get through the nights? You drinking?” He wondered.

“I bought a case of beer but couldn’t touch it. My neighbour offered me a puff but… not worth my job,” You said. “I just kind of am.”

“What about friends? It would be good to have someone with you,” He stood and slowly rounded the counter. 

“Busy. As always. Maybe they just don’t want to deal with the damaged victim,” You moped.

“So, is that it? You couldn’t save yourself so you save others from you?” He asked. “There’s nothing wrong with you. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t know that.” You breathed. “I think about that day, I should’ve known. I heard them, I swear, when I unlocked the door but I just ignored that stabbing in my chest. Door was locked, how could anyone be inside? But then… they were waiting for me and… so stupid.”

“No,” He touched your arm shyly. “No, you weren’t because how can anyone expect humans to be so needlessly cruel?”

“Anyone with a brain,” You frowned. “I should’ve listened to my mom.”

“You need to let go. You have to realize that you can’t change the past but you can change the present. You don’t have to be helpless.” He insisted.

“Adam,” You looked up at him. You searched his pale blue eyes and slowly placed your hand over his. You drew it away from your arm and clung to his hand. He watched you, patiently, intently. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Okay,” He said softly. “Okay.”

“No, you--” You shook your head and huffed. You stood on your toes and pressed your lips to his. You pulled away slowly and stared at him. “So?”

He blinked and his fingers fluttered across his lips. “So,” He uttered. “You don’t have to be alone.”

⚫

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Bucky asked, his foot up on the coffee table as he slumped back on the sofa.

Steve hung his heavy jacket up in the closet before he made his way into the living room. “What?” He asked as he checked his watch.

“She’s got some dude with her,” He said darkly. 

Steve could hear her voice but couldn’t discern her words through the small speaker. “Turn it up.”

“Don’t think I need to,” Bucky dropped his feet to the floor and looked closer. He switched cameras as he watched her pull the tall blonde man through her living room. 

“I know him,” Steve sat beside his partner. “Works with her.”

He went silent and his jaw ticked as the pair fell onto the couch, entwined together in a fervour. His hand balled into a fist as a wave of anger swept through him. Seeing her with another man was stunningly infuriating. She was his; theirs. They’d been watching her for almost a month. She had become a staple of their lives.

“Well, can’t say what it’ll do for their working relationship,” Bucky scoffed.

Steve nodded and pushed his tongue along the inside of his lip. He was livid. He felt worse than he had a week ago when he saw that photo of Sharon and the big lunk she had dropped him for. Irreconcilable differences, indeed. Well, he didn’t need her anymore, he had a new girl. One that wouldn’t be so unruly. He’d make sure of that.

“Hey,” Bucky elbowed him. “It’s good. Means she close. She’s gonna fuck him and then what? One night stands don’t encourage a healthy professional environment and you know how these things go. One night isn’t gonna fix what we did. Not gonna fix her.”

Steve let out a long breath from his nostrils. He watched them undress each other frantically. His blood boiled. Bucky chuckled in amusement as he watched the screen closer. Steve began to wring his hands, he wanted to barge in and pummel this guy. They had put in all this work and he was reaping the benefits.

“I can’t watch this,” He snarled. 

“Come on,” Bucky turned to him. “You telling me this isn’t getting you hot.”

Steve glanced at the screen again. She was straddling him, she rode him slowly as her moans droned in the speakers. He couldn’t deny that his body was responding. That he was getting hard thinking of himself beneath her like that.

“It’s not supposed to be him,” Steve rasped.

“No, it’s not,” Bucky smirked. “But trust me, we can use this.”

Steve shook his head, confused. He glanced between Bucky and the laptop.

“Look, go, calm down, and I’ll explain when you’ve… cooled off.” Bucky clapped his shoulder. “Alright?”

“Fine,” Steve pushed himself to his feet, quick to turn away as his erection bulged inside his navy pants.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back. Bucky’s eyes were glued to the stream and the gentle mewls mingled with a deeper voice. Steve cracked his neck and headed upstairs. He didn’t miss the subtle zip that followed his departure. 

Before, before her, the house was unbearably empty. He just came home, watched some old western, and fell asleep before heading back out to the streets. At least when Sharon had still been there, he could talk to her, even if it was about nothing. He could at least pretend like his life was complete. Like he had meaning. 

He thought it would turn around eventually. That Sharon would be expecting by now and he’d be working to be a father. Well, those plans had gone to shit. So that meant this time, he had to plan better.

He went to the bathroom but didn’t bother to close the door. Bucky would be distracted for a while. He undressed in a stupor. His mind was a flurry of anger and impatience. He hung his belt on the door handle and kicked his shoes towards the hall. He let his clothes pile on the tile and stared at himself in the mirror. He pushed his shoulders back and took a deep breath.

He turned the faucet and stepped into the glass shower. It was recently renovated. He’d replaced the frosted barrier with an entirely transparent booth. He wanted to be able to watch her whenever he wanted. When they had her at last, she’d never escape his sight. Never.

He planted his hands against the wall below the shower head. He leaned on them heavily and let the hot water wash over his muscles. He closed his eyes and thought of that day. They were careful and perfect. They changed out of their uniforms, pulled on the masks and gloves just outside her apartment. They had been certain to hide in the stairwell until none were around. Bucky picked the lock in seconds.

Inside, they began their work. They placed every camera and tested them. The mics too. Then they waited. Steve was just as hard then when he heard her enter. He held his breath as he listened to her moving around. As she entered the bedroom, he slipped out from behind the door and seized her. Her struggles had her ass rubbing against his crotch.

It ached just the same as he thought about it. His right hand slipped and his fingers wrapped around his cock. He thought about her tied up and blindfolded on the floor. They searched further. No weapons but some sex toys and other naughty secrets. Steve still had the pair of lilac coloured panties he’d stuffed in his pocket. He’d made sure to keep them in his jacket when they returned in their uniforms.

He stroked faster and faster as he thought of the fear in her eyes. The way she’d shied away from him and Bucky. Then she softened as they asked her questions, offered her help. She was easy. Too easy. He thought of the blond man from her work and growled. Thought of her bouncing atop him. His body shook and he cried out as he came.

He couldn’t wait much longer.

⚫

You were almost done for the day. Your small office was really a closet attached to the rec room. You sent off an email then finished tidying up the game pieces left out by the kids. When you were done, you lingered behind the door and peeked out. Things had been awkward since that night. Adam hadn’t driven you since. You avoided him and your own shame. A moment of weakness.

The coast was clear. You crept out and waved goodbye to the receptionist behind the window. She smiled and trilled her own farewell. You were quick to escape as you feared she would alert the man you were avoiding.

You hugged your bag as you sat on the subway. Your phone vibrated in your hand and the screen lit up with a new email. The sender was unfamiliar; no title, either. You opened it and your nerves began to flurry. They never quite stopped but they pinged around wildly as the thumbnail loaded for a video.

You muted your phone before you hit play. You quickly hid your screen as the footage began. It was you on your couch, on top of Adam. What the fuck? You stopped the video and read the single subtitle beneath; I know what you did.

You felt as if you would vomit. You closed the tab and locked your phone. Your stop was coming up. You jittered at the door until they opened and raced through the station. You didn’t stop, out of breath by the time you reached your apartment on the fifth floor. 

You barely got your key in the slot to unlock it. You slammed the door behind you and threw your bag against the wall. You began to search for any sign, any flashing light, any glare of a lense. You tore books off the shelf, moved your TV from its stand, pulled every picture off the wall. You lost yourself in a mania.

You only stopped when a knock sounded at the door. Your heart was in your throat. You grabbed the broom from the closet and went to the door. You peered through the peephole. You flinched, confused. It was the same officers as before. You carefully opened the door and set aside the broom.

“Hello?” You greeted with a frown.

“Hey, again,” Rogers stood with hands on his hips. “Noise complaint.”

“Noise…” You realized then how the crashing and stomping must have seemed. “Sorry I was just…”

“What’s going on?” Barnes glanced past you at the mess in your living room. “You okay?”

“Fine.” You assured them weakly. “Just lost...something.”

They looked at each other before they turned back to you. “You sure?” Rogers asked. “It okay if we come in and just look around?”

“Uh, yeah,” You stepped back and pressed yourself to the open door. They entered and you slouched in shame as you reluctantly followed them.

“Whatever you lost must be really important,” Barnes neared the television still on the floor.

“I just... “

“You think maybe it was taken?” Rogers spun to look at you. “Maybe you didn’t notice.”

You nodded and hung your head. “Yeah, maybe. Look, I’m sorry.” You walked along the back of the couch. “I’ll keep it down. I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”

They were silent as they continued to look around. They didn’t believe you. Well, you were a poor liar.

“I… Someone’s watching me.” You almost whispered.

“What was that?” Barnes footsteps were deliberate as he neared the other side of the couch.

“Someone’s…” You lifted your head and cleared your throat. “Someone’s watching me since… since the attack.”

“Watching you? What do you mean?” Barnes asked.

“There’s… a camera, somewhere. That’s what I was looking for and…” You gulped. “I sound crazy.”

“No, no,” Rogers stood at the other corner of the couch. “How do you know someone’s watching?”

“I just… know it,” You cowered. “I… can’t tell you how I know.”

“Well, you’re going to have to if we’re gonna do anything about it.” Rogers said.

You chewed your lip and shook your head. “Nevermind. I’m just… crazy.”

“If you have proof of this, you need to show us.” Barnes crossed his arms.

“If you have anything that can support these claims and your withholding it, you could be charged with obstruction.” Rogers warned.

“Your case is still open,” Barnes added. “Anything you can give us will help it from being shelved.”

“I… no, it could ruin my career.” You shied away. “If you submit it then… I could be fired.”

“Well…” Rogers said and shared a look with his partner. “Say you show us and we don’t report it. An unofficial lead. Just between us.”

“Show you…” You quivered. “I…”

“I’m sorry, Miss, but if you have nothing to back up these claims, we can’t bother following up,” Barnes said. “And you could be charged on a false report.”

“What if I just promise to keep it down?” You asked.

“That’s not how this works.” Barnes shook his head. “Look, we responded to a call here. We need something.”

You were silent for a moment. “Then I can take a fine for the complaint.”

“If someone is watching you, don’t you think it better to have us looking out for you?” Rogers insisted. “Especially after the attack.”

You blanched at the word. Attack.

“They could strike again,” Barnes stated.

You sighed and nodded. You passed Rogers and grabbed your bag from beside the door. You opened your phone and searched for the email. Your eyes stung as you held it up. His eyes rounded as he registered what was on the screen and you rescinded your hand. You pressed the phone to your chest.

“See,” You said. “They’re watching me.”

Rogers thought for a moment, his toe tapped as his blue eyes searched the wall behind you. “We can’t let you stay here. It’s not safe.”

“But… but you can’t… you…”

“We’ll keep that little video between us,” He said gently. “But in good conscience, I can’t let you stay.”

“So… you taking me in?” You asked. 

“They don’t process people for noise complaints,” Barnes assured. “And I doubt you’d want us to make up some other charge. Sure that would be quite the mark on your record.”

“So…”

“You got friends?” Rogers asked. “A couch to crash on?”

“Hmmm,” You opened your phone and scrolled through your contacts. 

Maya was out of town til Friday, Ashley didn’t have much room and her fiance wasn’t your biggest fan, and everyone else was outside the city. Adam was a definite no. “No… I… No one in the city.”

Steve pursed his lips as he thought. “Well,” He started carefully. “It’s a bit unorthodox but… I got a couch, a whole guest room actually. I could… see ya through the night and you can figure something out in the morning?”

“Oh?” You were taken aback at the offer. “I don’t know… I’d hate to… intrude.”

“You wouldn’t,” He said. “I’m on duty til midnight so I’ll drop you off, you’ll have the whole place to yourself for a couple hours at least.”

You furrowed your brow as you thought. “Couldn’t you get in trouble?”

“Only if anyone finds out,” Steve said. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are you, Barnes?”

Barnes chuckled. That was his answer.

“And if I say no?”

“Then we’d be obligated to seize your phone as evidence in the open case and we would charge you with obstruction.” Barnes stated plainly. “If we left you here and something happened, that’s on us.”

“Alright,” You relented. “Okay. I guess… you’re right.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “Why don’t you grab your stuff and we’ll wait for you in the hall?”

You nodded and attempted a smile. It fizzled as that same terrible doom nestled in your stomach. You shrugged it off as nothing more than the video on the phone and the unsettling knowledge that you had been under observation for so long. The officers closed the door behind them, their shadows loomed beneath the door. You’d be safe with them.

⚫

Rogers, rather Steve as he requested you call him, had a nice house. Barnes grumbled that his name was Bucky but was less insistent. Steve showed you in, a brief tour before he left. The place was neat; orderly even. The carpet in the living room was recently vacuumed, the television sat on a large stand with alphabetized movies lining its lower shelves. Every inch of the room was carefully arranged.

Except for the laptop. The computer sat on the coffee table, closed and lifeless. You wondered if he had left it there in a hurry or if that was just the place for it. You paced around the room and overanalyzed every inch of it. Anything to distract you from what had led you here.

When your nerves finally relented, you climbed the stairs to the guest room where he had left your bag. You changed into a pair of pajama pants and a cropped tee. You’d grabbed the wrong one. You tucked away your old clothes and left the bag against the wall. You closed the door and crawled into bed with your phone. 

You opened your Spotify and lowered the volume so that the tones floated through the air softly. You let the music lull you in this unfamiliar place. You wrapped yourself in the thick duvet and curled up on the bed’s edge. You drifted off and your dreams carried you back to your apartment.

You were roused once by footsteps passing your door. You sat up frantic and raced over to ease it open. It was only Steve. He disappeared through a door and you fell asleep once more; this time to the hum of the shower across the hall. This time, you didn’t dream.

When you awoke again, the sun shone in through the lace curtains and you sat up with a groan. You hadn’t slept so well since before the break-in. You stretched and stood with a yawn. You tidied your hair with your fingers and crept out to the hall. You listened for any hint of movement. Maybe he was still sleeping.

You carefully descended the stairs. You rubbed your eyes as you entered the living room. You stopped dead beside the couch. The laptop was open and on. The screen shone back at you. The air went out of you and you stumbled around and dropped down onto the couch. 

You apartment was clear across the screen. The cameras flicked between each room. The stream was live, the place was still a mess. You squinted and tried to understand. How? What was going on? You stood and scurried around the couch. Steve blocked your path and coffee splashed over the edge of the mug in his hand.

“Woah,” He grabbed your shoulder and steadied you. “I thought I heard you. I made you a coffee.”

“Steve,” You pulled away from him. “What the hell is going on?”

He didn’t seem bothered by your panic or your discovery as he smiled over at the laptop. He set you mug down on the table and turned to face you.

“What? I just wanna keep you safe.”

“How did you-- I don’t--” Your breath hitched as you backed away from him.

“Just sit down and have your coffee and we’ll talk.” He reached out to you.

“N-no, I… wanna go.” You gulped. “Steve, I’m going.”

He tilted his head, amused. You edged around the table to the other end of the couch. He didn’t move. But as you made to pass the sofa, you were blocked again. Bucky emerged from the kitchen. He closed you in as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“What the-- You… you better let me go or-- or---”

“You’ll call the police?” Bucky laughed. “Go ahead.”

You winced and looked between them. Your head spun. “It was… you. Wasn’t it?”

“We had to show you,” Steve said. 

“Show me?” You sputtered.

“That you need us. That you aren’t safe by yourself.”

“No, no, I was safe without you,” You spat. “You’ve been…. Oh, I’ve been so… stupid.”

“You’re lucky it was us. This city is full of scum. Could you imagine if one of them had picked your lock? You know what we’ve seen done to girls like you?” Bucky neared and you backed away, your leg knocked the corner of the table. “Those men, they do worse. Cut girls up and if they don’t just maim them, they kill them. Leave them on display as a little present for us.”

You were stopped suddenly. Steve pressed himself to you as his arms wrapped around your body. “We don’t want to hurt you,” He cooed. 

“No,” You wriggled and tired to kick at Bucky. “No, no, no. Please--”

Bucky caught your legs and lifted them. You continued to squirm as the men held you between them. “Now, we don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky grunted. “But if we need to, we will… we can.”

“Why are you doing this?” You whined. “Ple-e-ease.”

“Mmm, I love to hear her beg,” Bucky said as they angled you around the couch. “‘Please, Officer, he’s just a kid.’”

You struggled harder as he imitated you. Your veins turned to ice as you recalled that day. Uneventful but for their visit. You hadn’t thought much of it; you’d dealt with enough cops at your job. But they had taken it as more. As an opportunity.

“Now, stop,” Bucky squeezed your legs. “You’re gonna hurt yourself or we’re gonna have to hurt you.”

They carried you towards the stairs. You stilled but trembled in their grasp. “Please…” You croaked. “Please… don’t do this.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Steve’s arm hugged your waist as his hand brushed across the bare patch of your stomach. “You’ll be safe here. I made it safe for you.”

“Ugh, no,” You wriggled again but it was hopeless. They were both too strong.

They ignored your resistance easily and past the door of the room where you’d slept. They took you inside the one at the end of the hall, a large bed inside. They dropped you on it and you tried to hop up. Bucky caught you by your arm and forced you back down. Steve grabbed your other wrist as they pulled you up the mattress.

There were cuffs attached to the posts. They forced your wrists into them and locked them tightly. You kicked your legs desperately as they pushed themselves off the bed. The metal dug into your skin.

Bucky crossed to the desk by the window and took a pair of scissors. He neared the bed again and Steve approached him. He held out a hand and they had a silent exchange. Bucky handed the scissors over and Steve smiled. 

Bucky grabbed your ankles and held them down as Steve got up on his knees and carefully cut along the side of your pants. He tugged them out from beneath you and tossed them away from him. Then he cut away your shirt and you sniffed back the tears as they burned in your eyes. Your panties were all that were left. 

Steve handed Bucky the scissors and climbed between your legs. He held them down as he bent to nuzzle your cunt through the panties. He inhaled and sighed. You quivered helplessly. “Steve, please,” You begged. “I’m scared.”

His hands slipped from your legs and you tried to kick him. Bucky caught your left ankle and squeezed. “I’ll break it. Now stop.”

You went limp and let out a pathetic sob. Steve’s large hands stretched across his stomach as he pulled aside your panties with the other. His cool tongue made you squeak as it delved between your folds. Shyly at first, as if tasting you, as if savouring you. You closed your eyes and clutched your hands in fists. It shouldn’t feel good. 

Bucky paced around the bed. You opened your eyes and found him watching. His jaw clenched as his eyes darkened. His gaze met yours and he slid his tongue across his bottom lip.

“You like fucking that dude on your couch like a slut?” He snarled. Your lips parted and you shuddered. Steve’s tongue plucked at your core. “Well, you’re gonna like this a whole lot more.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and bit your lip as you whined. Steve’s tongue circled your clit and he suckled. He dragged two fingers along your folds and spread your juices. Your thighs tenses and you bent your legs as you tried to fight the rising waves. You couldn’t. You succumbed with a long moan, rattled as you writhed. He purred as you came into his mouth.

He drew away slowly. He let your panties slip back into place and Bucky took his spot. He pushed your panties against your slick cunt until they were soaked. He grinned and pulled at the seams until they snapped. He ripped them out from beneath you and threw them at Steve who admired them and sniffed them without shame.

You let out a yelp as Bucky shoved two fingers into you without warning. He rammed them in and out a few times before he slowed. He turned his hand and curled his fingers as he pressed his palm to your clit. He squeezed and moved his hand frantically. You couldn’t help your yipes, the shock as the tension built again, this time quicker. 

He forced the orgasm from you and left you sore and groaning. He licked his fingers clean and shoved them in your again. This time he was slower but your body responded. He drew you to the edge and stopped. He pushed himself away and wiped his fingers along your thigh. He stood and patted Steve on the shoulder.

“You first,” Bucky said. “While she’s fresh.”

Steve nodded and rolled his tongue behind his bottom lip as he looked to you. You averted your eyes as he began to undress. Each piece of clothing fluttered to the floor loudly in the deathly silence. The mattress shifted and you still couldn’t look. He bent over you and his mouth closed around your nipple. 

He played with your tits for a while. Tended to them as if reluctant to move on. He plied kissed along your stomach, your hips your vee. He sat up on his heels and draped your legs over his thick thighs. His cock prodded at your cunt and he rubbed his tip along your folds.

He eased into you as he shifted closer. Had your ass off the mattress as he sank to his limit. You let out a moan, as much pain as pleasure. Your walls were snug around him and clenched around him. He began to rock slowly. Each time he wiggled his pelvis against you, sinking as far as he could.

As his pace mounted, you sensed movement at the end of the bed. Clothes thrown to the floor heavily. Bucky came around and stood at the side of the bed. He lifted a knee onto the bed and then another. He neared and lifted your head with one hand. You tried to turn away and his other hand went to your throat.

“Don’t even think of biting me,” He sneered. “Or you won’t have teeth left.”

“Hey,” Steve warned between huffs. “Be nice… Oh, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s hand went to your jaw and he squeezed until you opened your mouth. He slid his cock past your lips in a single motion and cradled your head as he thrust down your throat. He groaned as you gagged and spasmed. The static built and threatened to erupt as Steve sped up. 

Your eyes rolled back and you came, your cries muffled by Bucky’s cock. Slobber spilled out around your lips as he fucked your mouth and kept time with Steve’s increasing pace. You struggled to breath around Bucky as your body bounced against Steve. Then suddenly it stopped.

Steve pulled out and let out a groan. Bucky took it as a cue and slipped out of your mouth so quick you choked. Steve stood and went to the night stand. He opened the drawer and pulled out a key. He held it up and looked to Bucky.

“We’ll flip her.” He said and Bucky nodded.

He unlocked the cuff from around the bedpost and handed the key to Bucky who released your wrist from the other. They turned you over and held you down as they twisted your arms behind your back and cuffed them together. You were left face down on the mattress as they moved around you.

You were dragged back and Steve climbed up to sit between you and the bedframe. He lifted your head and rubbed his cock against your lips. You opened and he pushed himself to your throat. You were ashamed. Ashamed because that voice in your head told you to be. Because you body would not obey that voice.

You felt Bucky behind you. He slipped his hands under your hips and lifted your ass as he knelt between your legs. He guided his cock along your folds and plunged into you just as roughly as he had with his fingers. You were jolted forward and gagged on Steve’s cock as it hit the back of your throat. 

And they picked up their tempo again. They moved your body back and forth between them, your back arch painfully. Bucky’s hand spread across your ass and he slapped you. He pinched you and you groaned around Steve and Bucky spanked you again. Steve kept your head bobbing up and down as you knotted your fingers together behind your back.

You hummed as you came. Your walls tightened around Bucky and you felt the gush around him. He went faster, the sounds of flesh grew louder, and Steve’s voice flowed through you as he moaned. He swore and his hands clutched your head as he stilled you. He came with a twitch and spilled down your throat.

He pulled out and his cum leaked from your mouth. He traced his finger around your lips as he played with the mix of his semen and your spit. He pushed two fingers against your tongue until you sucked on them and he pet your head in approval. He rescinded his head and moved so that your head rested against his thigh.

Bucky didn’t waver. He fucked you even harder as Steve’s hand rubbed your shoulder. Bucky grunted then growled. He didn’t stop though and only did when he had cum entirely. He stayed inside you as he caught his breath. He rolled his hips and sighed.

“I told you,” Bucky said. “It would be worth the wait.”

[panda-noosh]

on the ocean {Leo Valdez x Reader}

Words: 9.8k

Summary: Living on a boat has let you see plenty of weird things in your life. Leo Valdez might be the weirdest, so you don’t really understand why you decide to help him when he comes running onto the boat you call home, crying out for help.

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: nothing

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - so this is a thing now.

----

The sea is nice this time of day.

  You've docked, thank goodness. The constant sway of the ocean can take it's toll on anyone – including someone who has lived on a boat their entire lives. It's nice to take a break from it every once in a while.

  Now, with the sun slowly dipping behind the skyscrapers of New York, you lean against the railing and watch the people clatter onto the boat you call home. They struggle with suitcases and fussy children. A woman drops her ticket and starts crying, clearly exhausted from hours of travelling. You watch the process with a fond little smile on your face, enamoured by the people who will soon be sharing your space, the people you may soon come to know as close friends if all works well.

  There's tons of them getting on at this stop, but it's always the same with New York; considering how beautiful the city is, you're always shocked to find so many people wanting to flee from it, so many people wanting to spend their time on the ocean rather than amongst the skyscrapers and hot dog carts that you've heard litter the streets of New York. You, personally, would love to have a look. Just once. Just a single day where you can clamber off this cruise ship and take a dander through the streets, seeing what all the fuss is about.

  But you like it here. You like the rock of the ocean sometimes. You like the swish of the wind as it catches in your hair on nights where you can't seem to drag yourself away from the decks railing, too enamoured by the oceans sway to move.

  The commotion down below does not faze you. It never does; you've been here long enough to have seen almost everything by now – children threatening to throw themselves into the harbour, people genuinely falling into the harbour, tickets getting lost, suitcases being tipped the wrong way so the poor passengers clothes go sprawling into the ocean. After so many years of unpredictability, you've become immune to surprises.

  Until you see him.

  You don't recognise him – not at all. His dark curls, his short demeanour, the oil stained overalls hanging from his lanky body; you would surely remember him if you were to have seen him anywhere else, but his face doesn't ring a bell. Neither does his voice, which reaches even your ears despite how high up you are in comparison to him.

  He sprints through the centre of the crowd, nudging shoulders with everyone as he yells apologies left, right and centre. He's grinning, despite the startled tone in his voice. He pushes right to the front of the line, where he is stopped abruptly by a hand slamming into his chest, very nearly knocking him backwards.

  You have to crane your neck to see what is going on. The strange boy stands panting in front of Arnold, one of the ships dock workers.

  “Look, man,” the boy says, jumping from one foot to the other. “You have to let me through. You have to.”

  “Ticket,” is Arnold's only response.

  The boy groans, glancing over his shoulder in desperation. You don't even know what he's looking at, but it's clearly something terrifying. Even without knowing what it is, your stomach does a nervous flip.

  “I need a ticket,” Arnold repeats. “Or else I can't let you on. I'm sorry, son.”

  “Oh, come on!” The boy throws his hands up. “Why are you so boring? You ever broken the rules in your life?”

  Shit.

  You're moving before you even know why – you don't know this boy, have never seen him before in your life, but there's something about the way he's stumbling over his words, something about the suspicious red scrape on his cheek that tells you he shouldn't be out in the open like that; something is wrong.

  You clamber down the steps until you reach the entrance. You shove past the new passengers until you slam into Arnold's back, nearly stumbling over your own two feet in your haste. Arnold spins, catching you before you can fall face-first into the angry queue of passengers still waiting outside, clearly angered by the disruption.

  “You made it!” you exclaim, looking directly at the startled boy in front of you. “You're a bit late, aren't you? I cleaned my room for you, and this is how you repay me?”

  “Y/N?” Arnold asks, tugging you back protectively. “You know this boy?”

  You raise a brow as if confused that Arnold does not know who this boy is. “Of course I do. He's my friend. Mum and Dad said I could meet up with him once we docked in New York.” You frown. “Did they not tell you?”

   Arnold's face goes red. “No, they did not.”

  “Weird.” You turn back to the boy, putting your angry expression back on again. “Come on. You've held up the line long enough.”

  The boy looks between you and Arnold, eyebrows high on his forehead; you grab his hand and drag him through the door before he can expose your act as the lie it is. He stumbles in after you, shooting a “Sorry, man!” at Arnold before you pick up the pace and trail him upstairs.

  This is so bizarre; you've just lied to Arnold for seemingly no reason. If he goes to your parents and asks about who this strange boy is, you're going to be in so much trouble.

  But too late now.

  And call it scandalous, but the only place you can think to take him is your bedroom, so that's exactly where you go. You push him through the door, slamming it closed before you spin and say, “What's your name?” because that seems like an important piece of information to have from someone who you have just dragged into your bedroom.

  “Leo.” He says it like he's in a daze. His brown eyes dart back and forth, inspecting your room. His fingers don't stop moving, fiddling with a piece of scrap metal you hadn't even noticed he was holding. “Uh. . . Pretty sick place you've got here.”

  “It's my bedroom.”

  “Your cabin, you mean.”

  You level your eyes at him. “My bedroom.”

  He stares back at you. His face is mischievous. Does that make any sense? He just has the expression of someone who could potentially burn the entire world to the ground, a smile sharp as knives, eyes bright and glittering.

  Finally, he hums and says, “Okay. Well, thank you very much for saving my backside out there; I don't usually like my first impressions to consist of screaming, but here we are.”

  “Why were you screaming?”

  He raises a hand as if to silence you and starts pacing back and forth for absolutely no reason. “That is a secret. Top secret. I'd have to kill you if I told you.”

   “Or I'd have to kill you.”

  He pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “I suppose. But less talk about murder, please, and more talk about why you just did that.”

  Your stomach curls. “You looked. . . in trouble.”

  Leo blinks. “I mean, good observation, but half the people with toddlers out there looked like they were in trouble, too, and you didn't shove them to the front of the line and give them a free ticket to. . .” He pauses, looking round your room like he expects to find a map of your route hung on the wall. “Where is this thing going, anyway?”

   “Northern Ireland,” you reply. “You didn't know that?”

  “I just saw a big transportation device and hopped right on it.”

  This conversation just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

  And this boy is weird, too, but in an endearing type of way. You watch from the door as he walks back and forth, picking up tiny ornaments, examining them with a slight frown on his face. At one point, he picks up your laptop and closes his eyes, before shaking his head and saying, “It's on its last legs,” and you're too stunned to even respond.

  Finally, it gets too much. You dart forward and snatch a pair of socks out of his surprisingly strong hands, tossing them on your bed. His eyes snap up, wide and startled.

  “Tell me what you were running from,” you demand.

  Leo frowns, slowly letting his hands drop back to his sides. “I already told you-”

  “Top secret, yes, I heard, but we both know that's bullshit-”

  “You do curse like a sailor!”

  You slap his shoulder. He laughs, pulling away. “I'm serious! I'm freaking out right now, alright? If my parents find out I let you on this boat, they're going to throw me overboard!”

  Leo rolls his eyes. “They're not going to find out. I'll stay super extra hidden, how does that sound?”

  “How are you gonna do that? You need a place to sleep-”

  “I can sleep in the engine room if you just show me where that is.”

 You raise a brow. “No one can sleep in the engine room; it gets very hot in there. You'll probably die from the heat.”

  Leo's eyes sparkle with what you can only recognise as amusement. “Well, lucky for me, I'm also very hot. I'll balance it out.”

  “I'm serious.”

  Leo groans. “Listen – you've done enough. You got me on the boat in the first place, so you can forget about me now, alright? I'll take matters into my own hands.”

   “You realise this is my house, right? I'm not just going to let you walk around; god knows what you'll get up to.”

  “The gods set me up in the first place.”

  You blink. “What?”

  Leo shakes his head, curls bouncing. “Nothing. My point is, I will be fine. I'll go play some table tennis with the retired ones out on the games deck, yeah? What harm could I possibly be doing?”

  You stare at him; it would be so stupid of you to just let him do whatever, but it was stupid dragging him on this boat in the first place – what's one more mistake going to do?

  You sigh and nod. “Fine. But please pretend you know me; if my parents ask-”

  “I'll say you fancy me and you wanted to impress me, it's fine. I've got this!”

  “No, that's not-”

  Leo walks towards the door, not once looking back. “I've got this-” He pauses, hand hovering over the door handle as he turns his neck to look at you. “What's your name again?”

  “Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

  Leo grins. “I've got this, Y/N L/N. You can trust me.”

  ----

  You should never have trusted him.

  Arnold doesn't always come banging on your door at nine in the morning, but when he does, you can safely assume the ship is going down. You've hit an ice berg. All hell is breaking loose and there is a ninety percent chance you are going to die.

  So when you are awoken this morning by the sound of him yelling your name, his fists slamming against the mahogany door, you're fairly certain this is it; you are going to die.

  You bolt upright, blinking rapidly. “What? What is it?”

  He stumbles into the room, wrinkled face bright red, sweat dripping down his temples. Slowly waking up lets you realise the ship isn't rocking quite as bad as it should be if you were going down.

  You rub your eyes. “What the hell, Arnold? What's going on?”

  He speaks through gritted teeth, spittle spraying everywhere. “That friend of yours, Leo Valdez; get him under control before I throw him overboard.”

   You blink, certain you've heard him wrong. For just a moment, you've completely forgotten who Leo Valdez actually is, but the moment of peace is shattered when the realisation dawns on you. Yesterday. Bringing that strange boy onto the ship, claiming he was your friend.

  Fuck.

  You stumble out of bed and follow Arnold all the way to the bridge.

  “Why are we here?” you demand, even though you already know the answer, even though you can already hear Leo yelling up above.

  Arnold doesn't respond; he simply shoves you forward and lets you take control of the situation, which is overall just a bad decision on his part. Still dressed in your pyjamas, you stumble through the door, your stomach dropping once you see Leo standing beside Anna, the ships captain, his head bent over the controls, his voice loud.

  “The alignment is way off,” he says. “If you'd just let me have a touch of the wheel, I could-”

   Anna shoves her shoulder into Leo's chest. “Would you fuck off? Who even let you in here?”

  “I found my way here,” Leo replies. “Because I couldn't help but notice that the alignment on your ship is shit, and-”

  You rush forward and grab his arm, pulling him away from Anna before the tall ginger girl can backhand him overboard. Leo stumbles into your grip, whirling around with a frown that quickly morphs into a big, cheeky grin once he sees you.

  “Y/N L/N! My friend! You'll tell your captain here that she should let me have a look at the wheel so I can-”

  “Leo, what the hell are you doing in here? Passengers aren't allowed on the bridge!”

  Leo frowns.

  “You are a passenger, remember?” you hiss. “Now, let's go before-”

  He shakes his head, slowly turning back to the wheel. Your grip tightens on his arm, ready to pull him back if need be. “I'm sorry, Y/N, but do you know how dangerous it is driving a ship with wonky wheel alignment?”

  “We'll call the mechanic in.” You tug his arm. “Let's go, Leo, seriously-”

  “Why would you waste time doing all that when I could just-”

  “Y/N, get him out of here.”

  You groan, finally putting all of your strength behind the next pull on his arm. It's enough to have him stumbling out of the bridge behind you, and you kick the door closed before he can even think of turning back and continuing with his havoc.

  He whirls on you as soon as the door is shut, Anna rushing to lock it. “I just wanted to help!”

  “Leo, do you know how dangerous it is for someone to be distracting the captain whilst she's driving?” You shake your head, running your hands through your hair. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Oh, many hours. Many, many hours. It's hard to sleep when-”

  “When a ship's wheel alignment is off, yes, we all heard you!”

  Leo huffs, folding his arms over his chest; he looks like a toddler, lower lip jutted out, eyes lowered as he kicks  the toe of his boot into the floor. His curls dip into his eyes. He looks kind of cute like this.

  You look away. “What happened to you just staying on the games deck with the retired old people?”

  “Mildred beat me at ping pong last night and told me not to come back.”

  “Leo...”

  He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides. “Okay, I get it. I stepped out of line. I do that when I'm on edge.”

  You raise a brow. “Why are you on edge?”

  He doesn't respond, which just irks you even more. Trying to get a straight answer out of him is seemingly impossible, so you don't even know why you're bothering – but you are. He just confuses you. There's so much you want to ask, but very little he's willing to share, and you suppose that's fair. It's up to him who he shares his secrets with.

  You decide to start small. “How could you tell the ships alignment was off?”

  A tiny smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, like it's a funny story. “I just know. It's kind of a special skill of mine.”

  “Oh? You spend a lot of time on boats?”

  “No.” He pauses. “Well, not technically, but I built a boat once.”

  You blink, certain you heard him wrong. “Sorry?”

  “The Argo II it was called,” he continues. “I loved that thing.”

  You look at him; he can't be much older than you, surely, and that is much too young to be creating entire ships. You've barely finished school.

  “You built a ship?” you parrot.

  Leo nods, distractedly looking at the soft play area on the games deck. Even at this time of morning, children are running and screaming as they dive from the top of it, landing in the soft blocks at the bottom.

  You, however, turn all your attention on Leo. “You're insane, you know.”

   “I've had my suspicions.”

  “I'm serious; you've just told me you built a ship. Like, an entire vessel, and you're acting like it's no big deal.”

  “It isn't a big deal.” Leo smirks, nudging you with his arm. “Unless, you know, you want it to be a big deal, then I will gladly take the praise.”

  “It is incredible.” You catch yourself and frown. “But you're still insane.”

   Leo laughs. It's a pleasant noise, a little high pitched, a little maniacal, but you find yourself smiling at the sound of it. It ends in a happy little “aaaah,” before Leo turns to you and says, “I really am sorry, by the way. I'll try and stay out of trouble from now on.”

  “Thank you, Leo,” you reply. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

  Just at that moment, his stomach awakens, growling loudly. He claps his hands against his abdomen and frowns, before turning to you and saying, “Apparently not.”

  “Come on.” You grab his hand and start towards the canteen. “I'll get Esmerelda to make us some breakfast.”

  ----

  Leo can actually be a lot of fun when he isn't trying to rip the controls of the ship from the captain's hands.

  He's funny, which is one thing you didn't expect; he just seemed too jittery in the beginning, forever fiddling with that piece of scrap metal, eyes darting back and forth, like his brain was never working at anything less than one hundred miles an hour.

  He's also very polite, with the occasional sarcastic comment thrown in the direction of someone who looked at him weirdly, which there seems to be a lot of. As the two of you stroll through the ship together, you can't help noticing the eyes that follow you, and honestly, you don't really blame them. Leo certainly is a bit different; he walks with this skip in his step, and his voice is always really loud, even when there's nothing to be loud about. He's still dressed in his oil stained overalls, his curls bouncing around his head with little to no care.

  You don't know why you find it so endearing.

  The two of you spent the day doing everything, and that is no exaggeration. You played ping pong, despite Mildred's protestations that the gaming deck wasn't big enough for both her and Leo. You ate ice cream. In fact, you ate everything, until Arnold was telling you to slow down and make room for dinner later.

  Dinner which you missed as you decided to spend the evening with Leo.

  He took you down to the engine room, claiming to have put some AC in there that wouldn't affect the mechanisms of the boat, but would simply cool the room down enough for him to sleep there.

  “Not like I need it,” he says, flicking on the lights in the corridor leading to the engine room. “I can handle heat.”

  “There's no way you installed an AC system into the engine room in a night,” you reply. “You're not that good.”

   Leo smiles playfully. “See, that's where everyone goes wrong – they underestimate me.” With that, he pushes open the engine room door, revealing everything beyond – the whirring machines, the chugging engines, the steam billowing from contraptions you don't even know the name of, which is a little bit shameful considering you've lived amongst this stuff your entire life.

  Where there should be smouldering heat, there is no such thing. Leo steps into the room and sighs in bliss, closing his eyes. You watch the curls blow away from his forehead. You reach forward, testing the air with your hand.

  Your eyes widen at the feel of cold air brushing against your fingertips.

  “How did you. . . Is this real?”

  Leo opens his eyes and grins, grabbing your outstretched hand and pulling you in after him. “I told you I was good.”

  “Leo, this is . . . You did this in a night?”

  “I did this in. . .” He frowns, glancing at his invisible wrist watch. “About three hours. It was easy enough once I figured out where you keep all your tools.”

   You can't even begin to form words; it's such a simple thing, an AC, but this boy is the same age as you, and he has been here not even a full twenty four hours, and yet he's improving the ship in more ways than you would have dreamed of.

  You turn to him. He looks right back at you. “You're quite good with tools, aren't you?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Where did you learn all of this?”

  “My dad.”

  You raise a brow. “Is he a mechanic?”

  Leo smiles; he does that a lot, though you're yet to learn why. “No. He's in the – uh – higher up's, I guess you could say. My mum was the mechanic.”

  “Was?”

  Leo's smile fades. He coughs and turns away. “Yeah. Was. Now, how about I show you where I slept last night?”

  Without any elaboration, Leo starts towards the back of the room, the hottest part of the entire ship. You remember your dad warning you, time and time again, never to step foot in the engine room at all, but especially not this part of it. You smell the smoke billowing from the coal shafts, hidden behind insulation. You feel the heat, even through the AC, pressing against your skin.

  Once you've walked far enough into the room for the heat to be prominent again, Leo reaches back to stop you going any further. Without looking at you, he says, “Don't think you can go much further than that, I'm afraid; I'll take it from here. I need to grab a few things.”

  You grab his hand. “Wait, you can't-”

  He shakes you off him and steps deeper into the engine room. Your chest constricts, panic seizing you; only professionals have ever wandered this deep into the ships depths, because they know what they're doing. They wear the protective gear. They've trained for years.

  Leo hasn't even been on the ship an entire day.

  “Leo!” you call out, stepping forward as much as you dare. “Leo, this isn't funny! Come back here!”

  “I'm fine.”

  The sound of his voice, unharmed and unwavering, makes the breath leave you. You slouch against the wall, craning your neck in any attempt to see where he is, but you only catch glimpses of his dark curls as he parades back and forth, the sound of metal on metal being heard with absolutely no context.

  You don't understand how anyone can walk so deep into what is essentially a pit of flames and come out unscathed; what's even weirder is the fact that Leo slept in there last night.

  “Please keep talking to me,” you call. “If my dad finds out I let you in here-”

  Leo pops his head around the corner, grinning from ear to ear. Black soot stains his nose, but besides that, he looks unharmed. Around his waist is a velvet tool belt that he definitely was not wearing before. You frown, gesturing towards it vaguely.

  Leo looks down as if only just noticing he'd put the thing on. “Oh, this. It's my tool belt.”

  “Yes, I can see that. But. . . why?”

  Leo shrugs and walks past you. “It's special. Shall we go? Now that you've seen I'm not actually lying when I say I put an AC in-”

 “Which is still insane, by the way.”

  “You've said.”

  Together, the two of you clamber out of the engine room and walk back to the deck. The dinner crowds are just starting to disperse now, people heading out onto the main outdoor deck for a few after dinner drinks with the family. Toddlers are perched on parents shoulders, falling asleep after such a feast. Around you, the lamps are being turned on to illuminate the impending darkness that will soon ensue.

  Leo hums thoughtfully, gazing up at one of the lamps; it's flickering.

  “That one's always been like that,” you say. “Nobody's come to fix it. Nobody really minds it.”

   “It puts the aesthetic off a little bit, doesn't it?” He shakes his head, stopping right in front of it. “No, we can't let that continue.”

   “What are you-”

  He reaches into his tool belt and pulls out a light bulb – just one, the perfect size and shape for the lamps lining the deck. You narrow your eyes, jaw dropping open as Leo starts climbing onto the railing, reaching his small arms above his head to get to work on the lamp in question.

  “Hold my legs, will you?” he calls down to you.

  And even though you're in a daze, growing only more and more confused by this strange man, you lurch forward and wrap your arms around his knees, keeping him from slipping off the edge of the deck and into the murky waters below.

  In seconds, the bulb has been changed and the lamp is working just fine. Leo hops back down beside you, grinning brightly as he tucks his screw driver back into his tool belt.

  You hook a finger through the pocket, tugging him closer so you can peak inside; at first glance, it looks empty, but you're certain that can't be right – he's just put his screw driver inside it. He's just pulled a light bulb out of it. How can it be empty?

  Leo laughs, gently prying your fingers off. “I told you it's special.”

  “Where did the screw driver go?”

  He presses his index finger to his lips. You scowl, swatting his arm until he throws his head back in laughter.

  “I'm glad you're enjoying yourself,” you grumble.

  Leo nudges you, his laughter slowly descending into a simple chuckle. “Oh, lighten up. The screwdriver is in there.”

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere.”

  “Who are you, Leo Valdez? Where the hell have you come from?”

  He swipes his tongue along the inside of his cheek, deep in thought for a moment. Finally, he turns to you and says, “I'd have to kill you if I told you.”

   “Or I'd have to kill you.”

  His eyes sparkle. “Or that, yes.”

  ----

  “We don't even know what they are. We've never had a warning signal like this before.”

  “Let me see.”

  Your dad shoves to the front and ducks his head down to see into the flashing screen in the control room; an emergency alarm had gone off in your room only moments before, startling you from a peaceful sleep. Another night spent traipsing through the ship with Leo had left you utterly exhausted, but hearing that high pitched beep woke you into full alert. You joined both your parents and the rest of the crew in the control room in seconds.

  “It's in the shape of a trident,” Arthur, one of the control experts, says, pointing at the glowing trident flashing on screen. “What could that even mean? Who's sending that?”

  Your dad frowns. “I have no idea. Is it some kind of prank?”

  “There are no other boats around for miles, sir. None are even showing up on the radar.”

  You fiddle with your fingers. You hate this unpredictability, especially when you're so far out to sea. There is nobody here to help you if all goes wrong, and anyone who can help is miles away; the ship will surely be in tatters by the time anyone can reach you.

  Your dad sighs, raking his nimble fingers through his slowly greying hair. “It's okay. It's okay. We'll figure it out.” He turns and catches your eye, stopping midway. “Y/N, go back to bed.”

  “What's happening?” you ask.

  “Nothing terrible.” He places a hand on your shoulder, gazing into your eyes lovingly, but it doesn't matter how he wants to play it off – you can recognise fear in your fathers eyes, and it's there now. He hates the unpredictability just as much as you do. “Go back to bed and get some sleep; if anything happens, I'll come wake you in plenty of time.”

   “What about the passengers?”

  He raises a brow. “Is this about your little friend Leo? Arnold was telling me all about him.”

  Your cheeks heat up, and you flick your eyes to the floor.

  Your dad sighs, squeezing your shoulder. “The passengers will be safe, too, Y/N. I wouldn't have kept my family on this ship if we didn't have the most state of the art safety precautions put in place. It's going to be fine. Don't stress about it.”

   Don't stress.

  That's so easy for him to say having been trained in the art of keeping a straight face for other people. You, not so much.

  Nonetheless, you leave the control room and head back out onto the deck. Your exhaustion is finally starting to creep up on you, but you know you won't be able to sleep. You'll sit in bed, tossing and turning with the waves, and your night will be made into hell; you don't really fancy that right now.

  And so, you walk along the outside deck, hair blowing around, the lanterns up above illuminating the path you have memorised by now; in fact, you truly think you would be able to walk through this very area in pitch darkness without a care in the world. The metal beneath your feet is so familiar, holding stories from your childhood, bringing you back to a time when you would walk across here, holding your parents hands, wondering why on earth anyone would want to live life on land over the sea.

  “I thought you'd gone to bed.”

  Your eyes snap up. You have to narrow them to see clearly, but you can make out the shape of Leo Valdez sitting on the edge of the railing, his feet dangling over the water, his knuckles white with his grip. His curls are windswept, brushed over his forehead. His cheeky smile is on full show, his glittering eyes running up and down your form before finally meeting your own.

  He frowns when he sees your expression.

  Quickly you avert your gaze, tucking your hands into the pockets of your massive hoodie; you don't even know where you got it from, just that you found it laying on the floor and threw it on before barrelling through the halls to see what all the commotion was about.

  “Is that my hoodie?”

  Your cheeks heat up despite the cold night chill. “No.”

  “Pretty sure it is.”

  “So what?”

  “Looks good on you.”

  You mumble a thank you.

  “You gonna tell me what's got you so glum?”

  You hollow out your cheeks, kicking a pretend stone. You imagine it flicking beneath the railing, landing in the water to make those mini waves you were once so fond of.

  The railing creaks as Leo turns his body to face you. “Hey. You alright?”

  “I'm okay,” you mumble. “Can I sit up there with you?”

  Leo holds out his arms. You waddle over, letting him pull you onto the railing beside him. Once you're seated, he keeps one arm around your waist, holding you close to ensure you don't fall head first into the water; you should probably let him know that you used to sit on this very railing every single night, that you know how to keep yourself up, but you don't. You instead move a little closer to him.

  “What's on your mind, champ?” he asks, jokingly ruffling your hair.

  You scrunch up your nose, swatting his hand away. “Just worried, that's all.”

  “Worried about what?”

  “The ship. The journey. We got a warning signal sent through to us, but no one on the crew knows what it means; they've never seen it before.”

  Leo's eyebrows knit together. “How have they never seen it before?”

  You shrug. “I've been asking myself that, too. My only guess is that someone's hacked the system from another boat and is sending random symbols through to mess with us, but Arthur said there's not another boat for miles.”

  “What did this warning signal look like?”

  “It was like that. . . that thing.”

  Leo leans forward, meeting your eyes; he looks almost desperate, his tan skin suddenly pale. “What thing?”

  “You know.” You click your fingers, trying desperately to remember the name. “That thing that god used to hold all the time. The . . . The big water stick.”

  Leo's eyes flash. He jerks back, arm falling from your waist so fast you nearly tumble into the water. “A trident?”

  “That's the word.”

  “Oh, gods.”

  Before you can say or do anything, Leo spins around and hops off the railing. He reaches up and grabs you, pulling you back into his chest, setting you on the floor despite your squeal of shocked protest.

  “Leo, what the-”

  “Go back to your cabin and don't leave,” he demands. “I mean it, Y/N. Lock the doors if you have to. Only come out when I say.”

  You blink, completely lost by now. Part of you wants to burst out laughing, certain all of this is some big joke, but Leo's eyes are wide, and he's breathing heavily, and you've never seen him act like this. Ever.

  “Leo...”

  “Go, Y/N!” He scrapes one hand through his hair, the other dipped into his tool belt. He mutters to himself as he pulls out the most random of things; bubble wrap, a pack of Tik Taks, a Stephen King book, multiple wrenches, one of which he throws overboard as his frustration grows.

  You grab his wrist. “Please explain what's going on.”

  His eyes shoot up. “I don't. . . . I can't really explain it without sounding crazy.”

  “You sound crazy all the time.”

  “Fair.” He pauses, glancing around nervously, before he leans in and says, “You ever heard about the Greek gods?”

  You pull away, frowning. “Leo, I'm being serious. You looked really scared-”

  “Have you ever heard about the Greek gods, Y/N? I'm asking a serious question.”

  “Of course I have, but-”

  “Heard of Hephaestus?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “Well, I call him dad.”

  You blink. Leo doesn't stop moving, continuing the search for whatever he's looking for inside his never ending tool belt. Under his breath, he mutters, “Please, please, please don't let it be them. Please, please, please.”

  Your silence must span an awful long time, though it only feels like seconds before Leo is flicking his eyes up, frowning and saying, “Why are you still standing there?”

  “What the hell does Hephaestus – the Greek guy – have to do with the warning signal we got?”

  “Oh, yeah, I could explain that, I guess.” He tugs another wrench out of his pocket and rolls his eyes, tossing it into the ocean. “That makes me a demigod; my mum's a mortal, my dad's. . . . Hephaestus. That means loads of monsters are constantly on my ass literally all the time.” He sends a pointed glare at the ocean. “I must have done something to tick off the sea nymphs-”

  “Sea nymphs?”

  “Because they've all been trying to kill me for weeks!”

  You shake your head. “Is that what you were running away from-”

  “When you saved me? Yes, it was, and thank you for that, really. Means a lot.” He grabs your arm, swirling you towards the exit. “Now, please let me return the favour by staying in your cabin.”

  He pushes you forward. You stumble, catching yourself on the door before spinning back to face him. “So you think these. . . these sea nymphs have found you? That's what the warning signal was?”

  “It makes the most sense,” Leo replies. “Rookie mistake on their part; they're giving me a lovely head start on-”

  Something slams into the underside of the ship.

  You're thrown into Leo, chest smashing against chest, chins smashing against chins. You're a tangle of limbs when you land on the floor, Leo on his back with you on top of him. Neither of you have a chance to even be embarrassed, though, before a melodic voice is drifting up from the waves, so appealing that it nearly drives you directly over the edge just to go and find it. It lifts your spirits. Everything is right in the world so long as you continue to hear this lovely, lovely voice. . .

  “Snap out of it!” Leo grabs your arm, pulling you to your feet. “Okay, so they have definitely found me.”

  “Come to us, son of Hephaestus, and we shall spare the innocent mortals on this ship.”

  Leo groans. “Always with the bargaining! Can't you guys just die already?”

  Your eyes widen. Your hands are trembling. This is too much for you to handle. “Leo, please don't make them angry.” You glance over the railing, seeing nothing but the swirling waters below. “Uh, hello, friendly sea nymphs; he doesn't mean that. He's a little bit cranky right now because he hasn't slept much, but I promise-”

  Leo hisses, tugging you away from the edge. “Would you just-”

  Another wave crashes against the ship, knocking you and Leo to the side. Your shoulder slams into the glass, and this time, the sirens go off. The entire ship is notified of danger. Soon, every deck on the ship will be flooded with innocent people, people who have no idea that any of this is going on, people who could potentially be in danger if these mystical sea nymphs don't get exactly what they're asking for.

  Leo curses, scrambling upright. “Okay, maybe we don't have as much of a head start as I thought we did.”

  “You think?”

  Another wave. Your feet slip from beneath you, sending you sprawling. Leo cries out your name, scrambling for your hand, but he's just as drenched as you are. He slips, crashing to his knees as you slide down the length of the deck, scrambling for anything to hold onto. Eventually, your feet crash against a barrel lodged against the wall, stopping your impending doom for a few moments longer. Below, passengers are screaming, and you can't even bring yourself to think about what is happening to them, what they must be seeing right now.

  “Leo!” you cry out, choking on water. “Leo, where are you?”

  “Leo Valdez is ours,” the melodic voice chimes in. “He has taken our existence as a joke for far too long; it's about time our people show him some respect.”

  “Okay, okay!” You gag, fighting to keep your head above the waves splashing into your face. “I get it! He's a little shit, but please, give him one more chance. I'll – I'll keep him in check as best I can. I'll-”

  “We don't want to hear it.”

  The ship rocks again. People scream. One more hit, and you're certain they're gonna go through the hull. One more hit, and this entire ship is going to go down, taking thousands of innocent passengers – and Leo – down with it.

  You can't let that happen.

  With difficulty, you lift yourself from the grip of the waves coursing along the deck. You do one final check for Leo, but he is nowhere to be seen – you can't even hear him, which really just confirms the severity of this situation. You need to do something quick.

  You say a silent prayer to Hephaestus, and you feel stupid for it, but you're willing to do anything right now just to make sure you get to see Leo's face again, that stupid grin of his, those bouncing curls you never got to touch because you were always so afraid it would seem too intimate.

  “Please save your son. Please let him be okay.”

  You spin on your heel and dart towards the exit.

  Throwing yourself into a crowd of screaming people is jarring, but you push through. Shoving your shoulder into anyone who gets in the way, you sprint for the bridge. You throw open the door, grab Anna's shoulders and push her out of the way. She stumbles, but she doesn't even have the energy to say anything to you; when you glance at her, you can see her pale face and wide eyes, her hands trembling as she utters, “I don't know what's happening,” over and over, a woman traumatised before she's even seen the severity of the danger.

  You turn back to the wheel and inhale deeply. You've done this before. You know what these controls mean. You have gripped this wheel plenty of times, steered this boat enough times to know what to do. Your hands tremble. Your mind is blank, but maybe that's for the best.

  You grip the wheel. As soon as your hands make contact, that voice drifts back into your consciousness, startling you to reality.

  “Son of Hephaestus is ours. In a battle, water always wins over fire.”

  You grit your teeth and yank the steering wheel. Passengers scream, but it's not their screams you're focused on. In the back of your mind, like the sea nymphs are right behind you, you can hear them squealing as the ship is yanked from whatever grip they have on it; you like to imagine you broke their arms or something.

  “Curse you!” they screech. “Mind your own business, mortal!”

  You yank the wheel again. Anna flies across the room, crashing against the window, screaming your name, but you have to keep going. You have to dislodge the ship from their magic before they take over entirely.

  You yank the wheel one last time, and finally the ship lurches forward. Passengers scream. Anna starts sobbing desperately, begging you for mercy, and the sound is heart-breaking; you don't understand why she can't hear the sea nymphs herself, because when they speak, they are clear as day in your head.

  “I'm sorry,” you grit out. “I'll explain later.”

  And then you slam your hand into that big red button on the dashboard. The propellers erupt, jumping into high gear. In your head, the sea nymphs scream. Outside, an explosion rocks the ocean, shaking the ship just a little bit before you press the engine button and send the ship forward.

  For a second, the world is quiet. Your headache fades away. The passengers are all silent, waiting for the next heart wrenching move to be made.

  You pry your hands off the wheel, spin on your heel and sprint out of the bridge.

  On deck, people cower on the floor. There are head wounds, and unconscious individuals, and you promise you'll apologise to all of them individually when you next see them, but for now, you need to see Leo. You need to make sure he's okay. You need to know that none of that was in vain.

  You sprint back to the outdoor deck, slipping only briefly on the water still crowded upon it. The ship rocks back and forth gently now, sloshing the water over the edge, making it easier to wade through it in search of the Valdez boy.

  “Leo!” you cry out. “Leo, where are you?”

  For just a moment, nothing happens. You are convinced the deck is empty. The tears erupt to the surface, spilling over your eyelids before you can stop them, because you're certain you've failed. You got rid of the sea nymphs – only by the grace of god – but you were too late to save Leo.

  And then something flickers in the far corner, just behind an overturned barrel.

  You squint, heart stopping in your chest. Part of you thinks you imagined it. That is until the flames flicker again, followed shortly by a groan of protest.

  You gasp and dart forward. You slip to your knees in the water, grabbing the barrel and rolling it out the way. Laying on his side beneath it is Leo, blood pooling from his side, a tiny flame dancing in the palm of his hand.

  You don't even question the fire right now – you can't. You press your trembling palms to the wound in his hip, biting your bottom lip in any attempt to look tough, but it's really no use – you're terrified. You don't know what you just did, how much damage you just caused, but you know for a fact it's going to take a lot of explaining to get you out of this one. You can already hear Arnold scolding you for letting Leo onto the boat, into your life. Someone like him is such a bad influence.

  But then his soft brown eyes flicker open, and you don't really care.

  A sob slips from your lips. Tears slip down your cheeks. When you speak, your voice wobbles, on the verge of cracking.

  “I thought you were dead. I thought I was too late, Leo.”

  He groans, more like a man getting out of bed than a man who's just had a piece of timber sliced through his hip. “I will be if you don't get me some nectar right now.”

  You pull back. “What?”

  “Nectar.” He clicks his fingers and points at his tool belt. “In there. Grab it for me, will you?”

  You dip your trembling hands into his belt, plucking out a gold bar about the size of your index finger. As soon as Leo sees it's unwrapped, he snatches it from your hand and pops the entire thing in his mouth, sighing in bliss once he's swallowed it.

  “You can let go of me now,” he says.

  “Huh?”

  He chuckles weakly, before wrapping his soft, gentle fingers around your wrists and pulling your hands away from his hip. Instead of letting you go, however, he holds them close to his chest, leaning his chin on your knuckles so the two of you can watch as the wound stitches itself up in slow motion.

  Your heart thunders. “So you weren't lying when you said you were the son of Hephaestus.”

  “I wish I had been lying.”

  “I think it's pretty cool.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” You swallow thickly. “Just don't be bringing that sort of trouble to my door again, or I'll throw you overboard.”

  ----

  Leo got his own cabin once your parents saw the damage he took.

  You were able to play it off as him having no part in the havoc. To your parents, and everybody else concerned, Leo was nothing more than a victim in the entire ordeal. Your parents lodged him in one of the spare cabins, giving him the medical treatment he needed, despite the nectar doing most of the job for him. All he was really suffering with was a bit of muscle pain, but for the size of wound he suffered with, you feel like he got away lucky in the end.

  You've been visiting him most nights, just because. His company is nice, and he seems to enjoy yours, and the two of you get on really well. You kind of dread the day you're going to dock in Northern Ireland, the day he's going to clamber off the boat and never look back. He'll probably forget about you.

  That thought really, really hurts, so you try not to think about it.

  Today, you decide to bring him some croissants Anna made. The plate balanced in your hand, you raise your other one to knock on his cabin door, only to freeze when you hear someone else's voice ringing through the dimly lit corridor.

  “So they just. . . killed the sirens on their own? Where the hell were you, Valdez?”

  “I already told you, Jason, I was completely out of it. I got hit with a wave and went flying backwards, right into a piece of broken wood. It went through me.”

  “Still. It's not everyday a mortal takes on a mythological monster on their own; how did they even see them?”

  Leo sighs. His bed springs creak. “I have no idea, but it was incredible. They're incredible.”

  Your heart flutters, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

  “Sounds like you've lost the battle, Valdez,” the unfamiliar voice says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. It sounds like you really like them.”

  Leo pauses. Your heart thunders; you shouldn't be so anxious to hear his response, but you'd be lying to claim otherwise.

  “I do.”

  You close your eyes, biting your lower lip.

  “Gods, Jason, I think I do. I don't even want to get off this boat.”

  “Man, you can't just go travelling through the sea your entire life.”

  “I know. I know.” Leo sighs again. “Maybe they'll agree to come with me; you guys are still sending that chariot to come pick me up from Northern Ireland, right?”

  “That's still the plan, yes.”

  “Do you think Y/N will come with me?”

  This Jason fellow pauses. Part of you wants to burst in the room and cry out “OF COURSE I'LL GO WITH YOU” but you hold yourself back, because would you really ever leave?

  Yes. Yes, you would.

  “Ask them,” Jason finally says. “But Leo, you realise long distance could work, right?”

  Leo scoffs. “Slow down there, pal. I don't even know if they like me back.”

  “You just told me you saw them crying over you when you came to.”

  “Emotions were high. They'd just killed some sea nymphs for the first time.”

  “Take it from me, Leo – they like you. All evidence points towards it.”

  Leo grumbles something beneath his breath before finally saying, “They'll probably be here soon, man, so I should go.”

  “Oh yes. The nightly visit. Have fun. Be safe.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bye.”

  Jason laughs. “Bye.”

  You take a few moments just to breathe; you're overjoyed, which is a weird feeling for you to have. The days following the sea nymph attack, you spent the majority of your time either in Leo's cabin or your own, struggling to come to terms with everything you did, all the people you hurt, the truth that was brought to your attention. It was such a struggle getting your head around it, and trying to certainly put you in a slump.

  But hearing this piece of good news has lifted your spirits, if just a little bit.

  Once you believe you've gathered your wits, you knock on Leo's door. He says, “Hellooooo?” and you enter, giving him the most subtle smile you can muster whilst showing off the plate of croissants.

  He sits up in his bed, the quilt falling from his chest; he's wearing a pair of cloud patterned pyjamas, provided by the laundry department of the crew. He rubs his eyes, trying to pretend he's just woken up, even though you know better than to believe him.

  You place the croissants on the table beside him before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He smiles at you, warm and a little bit awkward, so unlike the smiles he usually gives you. You can only assume it has something to do with the conversation you accidentally eavesdropped on.

  “What's wrong?”

  His smile falters. “What?”

  “You look a little weird.” You lean back against the footboard, folding your arms over your chest. “Something you want to tell me, Leonardo Valdez?”

  “That's really not my name.”

   You raise a brow, waiting for him to answer the question.

  He stares back at you, an eyebrow arched. “I really have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “Who's Jason?”

  Leo isn't even smiling any more – his expression is one of complete dread. “Are you kidding?”

  You giggle, nudging his foot. “Who is he? A friend of yours? He seems nice. Can I talk to him?”

  Leo throws his head back, crinkling his eyes shut as his cheeks burn a bright red colour. “Don't start. Did you actually hear all that?”

  “I was outside the door with my croissants. Heard every word.”

  “I'm gonna throw myself overboard.”

  “You can't do that.”

  Leo cracks open an eye, glaring at you like you've done something wrong. “I'll do whatever I damn well find necessary.”

  “If you throw yourself overboard, I'll never get to go to Northern Ireland with you.”

  Leo's head snaps up. “Wait-”

  But you push on. “If you throw yourself overboard, I'll never get to tell you that I like you, too.”

  “Y/N-”

  “If you throw yourself overboard, I'll never get to kiss you.”

  Leo swallows, eyes dipping to your lips. “Okay. You've got me convinced.”

  You kiss him.

  His hands travel to your jaw, calloused fingertips like butterfly kisses against your jaw bone. Your own hands find their way into his curls, a place they've wanted to be from the very day you met him. The kiss is small, timid, testing the waters more than anything else, but it's perfect just the way it is. Leo grins against your lips like he's won some award, the cat who got the cream. You're half tempted to pull away and tell him to stop being so cocky, but you decide against it when the feel of his lips drags you back to the moment.

  You pull away. “You should have told me you liked me.”

  “It works both ways.”

  “Fair.”

  Leo scoots over, patting the free space next to him. You bundle yourself beneath the covers, shoulder-to-shoulder with him, facing the cabin window; together, you watch the sea rise and fall, rise and fall, sending the mildly damaged boat to it's final destination.

  “I can fix the hull, you know,” he says. “It'll take me an hour at most.”

  “I know you can.” You tilt your head against his, inhaling deeply. “But I think I like you here a bit better.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mm.”

  He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. “Guess I'm bedridden for a bit longer, then.”

  ----

  Northern Ireland is really pretty.

  Leo Valdez is even prettier.

  He holds your hand as the two of you get off the boat. An emotional goodbye to your parents (and Arnold) has left your eyes puffy and your mood a little dipped, but your spirits are slowly beginning to rise with the realisation that a brand new chapter in your life has finally opened, and Leo is there to help you navigate through it.

  He squeezes your fingers as the two of you stand on the harbour, watching your home drift back to New York. The stars sprinkle the sky, little rips in the night sky, slightly dulled by the street lights dotting the Belfast docks.

  “You'll be back there soon,” Leo says. “I promise. I haven't kidnapped you.”

  You laugh. You're always laughing with Leo. “I know. It's just different.”

  “Yeah. I can imagine.”

  You swipe a hand beneath your eyes. Your home is now a mere dot in the distance. “Are your friends here yet?”

  “Probably.” Leo glances at his non existent wristwatch. “I can imagine they'll be making a pretty bold entrance right. . . about. . . now.”

  On queue, a golden ball of light emerges from the night sky. You flick your eyes around desperately, but the harbour is completely clear besides you, Leo and the dock worker who is too busy tapping away on his iPad to pay much attention to the spiralling ball of gold currently impending upon the dock.

  The chariot crashes to the floor, shaking the trees and the wood beneath it. Leo is grinning, his hand squeezing your own a little tighter in his excitement; it's been weeks since he last saw his friends, and from the stories he's so keen on telling you, his friends are more like his family.

  “That's them,” he needlessly points out.

  Together, you walk to the golden chariot. Six other demigods spill out of it, two of them slapping each other's arms, bickering about something.

  “-landed a little more gracefully.”

  “Oh okay, Percy, how about next time, you try controlling the wind with Frank snoring behind you!”

  “Maybe I will! I'd probably do a better job than-”

  Leo raises his hand. “Hey guys!”

   All six of the demigods spin around, their arguments now ceasing to exist as they catch sight of you and Leo. A girl with choppy, braided hair takes one look at your joined hands and immediately covers her cheeks, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Oh, I thought Jason was lying!” She throws herself into Leo's arms. “I'm so proud of you!”

  “Thanks, Pipes,” Leo grunts. “Good to see you, too.”

  “And you!” 'Pipes' squeals, throwing herself into your arms next. “You're so pretty! How on the gods green earth did Leo catch your eye?”

  “Woah, okay!” Leo pushes Piper away, scowling. “Leave them alone for a bit, alright? We're both tired.”

  “I'm sure you are,” the blonde haired boy in the purple shirt chuckles. “Come on. How about we go get some McDonalds?”

  The big dude with the baby face narrows his eyes, glancing over his shoulder at the golden chariot. “Can we get that through a drive through?”

  “We can if I drive!” Percy exclaims, snatching the keys off the blonde boy and darting to the front seat.

  The other demigods grumble their horrors, clearly not pleased with the idea of Percy driving, but they follow him anyway.

  Leo and you hang back a little bit. Leo squeezes your hand. When you look over, he gives you a wary smile.

  “Welcome to the family, I guess.”