#(I want to Punch some Certain People in the ducking stomach)

[nicoforlifetrue]

chapter two

read part one over here

read it on ao3 here

and read it on tumblr below

The second Red had seen the heat haze, his heart dropped into his stomach, and that feeling only grew with each passing second, made even worse when he found a certain poster and showed the group.

She fights so you can sleep safe! The poster bragged, with Cho’s picture front and center, looking only mildly annoyed to be there instead of the normal rage that seemed to soak the hollow’s every action— Purple’s question hangs in the air between the five of them, because that's the million dollar question isn't it? Last they’d seen Cho, she had told them she was going to do some soul searching, vanish into the wilderness for a while, and Sec had been receiving letters but…

“We need to get home,” Yellow’s voice came out hushed and strained; Second needed to know about this, as soon as possible.

“Alright, come on, if we hurry we won’t have even been gone for a minute.” Purple’s clearly trying to be soothing, voice calm and collected, and Green nods at the words, collecting themselves and guiding the others to follow the stick.

Red shoves the poster into his short pocket and follows, twisting his bandana anxiously, heart feeling like it was beating out of his chest. Everything in him still screamed something was wrong , bone-deep and chilling— he waves off Yellow’s attempt to offer him a hand, chewing his lip and watching people pass by as the group all but runs to Purple’s house.

He’s not the smart one, he would never want to be, Sec and Yellow have it covered and they cover it well, but… he can't stop noticing things. The air itself feels wrong, and every once in a while he spots another poster with Cho on it.

Then he sees something that makes him stop.

Sec was glancing around across the street, then ducked into an alleyway, and it had to have been Sec— same low short pony, same hollow head, same bright almost radioactive green eyes, the same bone deep thrum-like feeling when Red laid eyes on him— the only thing weird was the fact that he was missing their crew jacket, all the patches and pins and the big design on the back that green had stitched was gone, replaced by a boring orange hoodie.

He’s darting across the street before anything else clicks. He can hear the others protest ever so briefly before they too must feel the thrum that Sec carries with him, and soon enough they're making their way over as well. Quick as rabbits, they charge into the alley Red saw Sec vanish into. It splits soon enough, but all it takes is a moment of focus before he can feel the thrum again, darting to the left— did Sec get caught in the bubble too? He had been asleep so he probably just couldn't grab his jacket, they had to tell him what happened to them too, then they could get to Purple’s place and get home before Sec’s dad woke up.

“Sec, wait up!” Green calls out as the faintest sliver of orange fabric rounds the corner. Thankfully, Sec is still standing there when they round it as well, head cocked, hands in pockets, and confusion all over his face. “Oh thank fuck that worked.”

“Uh, yeah, hi?” Ever the way with words their leader had, honestly.

“Dude did you get bubbled too?” Red asks. Purple lands above them on a fire escape, wings stretching as the elytra supporting them creaks; they’d run rather fast, that had to hurt…

“…yeah, and you guys?” There’s hesitation in his voice, and Red knows everyone else clocked it— Sec always paused for a weirdly long time before lying, or if he had to really think about something,, he was probably still half asleep actually.

“Not our fault! We were just sparing and then this weird heat bubble just showed up, and next thing we know I��ve gotta punch us to freedom and we’re in the city!” Red explains, watching Sec’s head cock even further in curiosity, nose scrunching just slightly as he thought.

“That’s… really weird, the same thing happened to me.” Sec is glancing over them now, probably scanning for injuries, eyes squinted in thought.

“And that’s not even the weirdest part! Look at this!” He pulls the poster out of his pocket, shoving it in Sec’s face; he takes it, looking at the poster.

That is the moment when this too starts feeling wrong , because Sec looks over the poster and doesn't immediately gasp, or go pale, or even widen his eyes a little— instead he regards it with curiosity, eyes scanning over it once, twice, three times before he glances at Red and then again looks at the poster— not like he’s looking for an answer, but more like he’s searching for what he’s supposed to be seeing.

“Yeah, this is… very weird,” Sec says, and something like uncanny valley sends a shiver down Red’s spine when Sec looks up again. He knows everyone else feels it too, when he hears Blue pull out a potion, and Purple’s wings flex as if to dive— because Second’s eyes had always been the most neon of green, but he can see an ever faint glow on the bridge of Second’s nose now, lighting where eyebags should rest in a sickly radioactive color.

Yellow steps forward and Sec flinches, sealing the deal for the group.

“You’re not Second, are you?” Yellow asks, bite in his tone, Red can see him reaching for the staff.

“No— well yes, but— I mean, that's, my name?” Not-Second stutters, waving his hands in mock surrender. Now that Red’s looking closer, scrutinizing this apparent doppelgänger, he notices more— where was that scar on his lip from Rubeen, and hell, where were his ear piercings? The little pencil he kept in his industrial, or the little cursor chain on his other ear? He never took those out, not even to sleep— notices dozens of small, tiny details that are fundamental to Second. “But I, I have no idea who you guys are? But you seemed to know me, so I figured I had just,, I don't know, forgotten or something? And I haven't had a normal conversation with someone in ages, so I figured I’d just, ‘yes and’? That’s how you’re meant to talk to people yeah?”

Red puts a hand to Yellow’s chest, sending him a silent request in a glance, and then smiles.

“Yeah that makes sense, sorry for the mix up man, you wouldn’t happen to be willing to help us out though would ya?” He gets a glare from Yellow, but he can feel Green relax from his position to pounce, and hears Blue put the potion away— even Purple relaxes a tiny bit, wings settling and folding back up.

“Oh uh, yeah! No problem at all! What do you need!” Not-Sec is grinning now, and Red watches his shoulders bounce back up from his sort-of half-cower, rubbing his jacket sleeves as if cold. “I love being helpful, my favorite thing even!”

“Well, like we said we kind of got teleport-kidnapped? We think we know where we are, but everything’s shifted to the left, y’know?” He leans down, picking the poster up again and gesturing with it. “Like, we swear we know this guy, but the person we know would never work with rocket.”

Not-Second tilts his head, humming, before sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Well that’s The Chosen One, she’s been working with rocket for as long as I can remember, pretty sure she was there from the start even, be weird if she wasn't…” Not-Second starts rocking on his heels, frown marring his face as yet again his eyes squint in thought. “…and I’ve never heard of anything like the bubble you guys were talking about, and I’ve heard of a lot of things most people haven’t…”

“Your name’s Second?” Green piped up before Red could prompt to keep that train of thought going. “Like that's your full name, or?”

“The Second Coming Becker! But I just go by Sec ‘cause my full name’s a mouthful, my dad calls me Orange though.” Other-Second shrugs with a grin, seeming oddly delighted by the situation. “And I’m, kinda distinct y’know? Never met anyone else I could be mistaken for, much less with my name.”

“This can’t be possible…” Yellow mutters behind him, Red taking a deep breath to try and patiently wait out their curiosity, he had questions guys! He hears Blue pat his back before Yellow steps forward. “So what you’re telling me, is that you just so happen to look exactly like Second, sound like him, even have the same name, pretended to be him, and have no bad intentions, all while telling us Cho works for rocket and always has ?”

“I guess?” Sec once more tilts his head at Yellow’s cold and demanding tone, stilling his rocking and glancing over their shoulders before returning his gaze to them. “I’m not really sure what else could be happening here, unless you've got other ideas? And like I said, I just kinda panicked and went along with it! For all I know you guys were trying to kidnap me while I was alone! Or were some hallucinating druggies and were gonna stab me, or— I don't know! You try having someone you don’t know demand for you to stop.”

“Hey no, that makes sense,” Red interrupts, jabbing Yellow in the side with a glare that gets him to shut up. “We’re just kind of lost y’know? Two people we know suddenly have dopplegangers, names included, feels sort of like a trick right?”

“Yeah…” Sec’s head cocks the other way now, eyes wide as they look each of them up and down quickly. “Hey, if you don't mind me asking something crazy, are your Sec and Cho brothers too?”

At the myriad of nods he gets, Sec looks up at the sky, rocking on his heels again.

“That’s so weird, and after that weird dream I had… maybe if I ask nice enough… I’ll have to bribe them to stay shut about it…. Yeah that’ll work.” He looks back at them from the sky, a grin on his face. “I think we’re dealing with some multiverse stuff, lucky for y’all my brother’s been looking into just that, so I might have a solution if you give me, like, a day or two?”

“And why would you do that?” Purple speaks this time, resting their chin on their hand as they lean on the fire escape balcony. “You apparently don’t know us after all.”

“Like I said I like helping! And this sounds like a fun adventure y'know? Look, if you don't want my help just go on your merry way, but if you do there's this old cafe that got shut down last year after the owner died in the fridge or something, it’s on the back end of twenty eight, right past shell’s— no ones been in there but me since it’s been boarded up, you can hang out there and I’ll meet you there tonight to talk, okay?” He’s bouncing in place now like an excited kid, eyes bright and hopeful and internally Red locks the time and place in his mind, knowing he’s going to be there. “But I do have to go now, alright? My babysitter’s looking for me and if I don’t get back soon my brother is going to have my head on a platter.”

“Fine,” Yellow huffs, stepping aside, and the five of them watch Second run off, waving to them as he does so before turning the corner and vanishing “I don’t trust anything about this and we should keep heading to Purple’s.”

“All in favor of seeing where this rabbithole leads us?” Red asks instead, raising his hand and grinning when everyone but Yellow also raises their hand. “ Outvoted , let’s go find that cafe!”

[buysomecheese]

Fellas, tell me-

Is it very ESTJ, 6w5, 269 tritype of me to kin Upside Down & Inside Out (OK Go), Humpty Dumpty (AJR), Belonger (Maxton Waller), It’s Called: Freefall (Rainbow Kitten Surprise), Northern Attitude (Noah Kahan), All’s Well That Ends (Rainbow Kitten Surprise), Upside Down (Jack Johnson), I Won’t Let You Down (OK Go), Real Men (Mitski),? Is it?

[bcdwhcre]

I JUST HAD THIS IDEA LFFNJDKDKD you don't have to do it but I just really thought it would be funny how would (you can choose who you want) react after they kissed the reader for the first time on the lips. AHHH THANK YOU!! LOVE YOU!!

“First Kiss,” AOT Headcanons

Okay um, I didn’t know who to choose so we’re gonna do a headcanon of Levi, Jean, and Eren. Btw these are gonna be short and sweet.

Summary: The guys reactions to you two kissing them for the first time🥰

Warnings: none

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Levi:

It was unexpected, you two were in his office just looking through the paper work and he had asked for your opinion on things.

You two were sitting side by side, pretty close as you would lean towards him more to look at the paper. While you read, he would steal glances of you and you noticed pretty easily, he wasn’t subtle about it.

It would take maybe over an hour of helping him with the paperwork for you to get bored of his quick stares. That’s all Levi would do, he was too nervous because he wasn’t exactly positive if you had the same feelings for him.

Once you felt his stare, you instantly turned your head to meet his eyes and that almost startled him, he didn’t think you could tell when he was looking at you so now he felt pretty embarrassed for getting caught.

But you didn’t care, your eyes stayed on his and you randomly smashed your lips on his, catching him by surprise. Levi froze, was he dreaming?

When he felt your soft lips move against his, he was quick to join in and match your movements while his soft hands made this way to your cheeks, cupping them.

After you pulled back, he was still in shock and you could start to see the pink rising on his cheeks.

“Blushing over me?” You laughed, watching him roll his eyes and try to put a cold stare back on his face but it was impossible, he couldn’t help but feel the amount of emotions rushing through him.

“I’m not blushing.”

“You are.”

“No.” He scoffed, turning his eyes back to the stacks of paperwork and you noticed just how nervous he was, his hand was even a bit shaky.

“It’s cute.” You mumbled, reaching over to grab his shaky hand and he turned towards you again.

Levi is never the type of person to easily get so flustered and nervous but when it came to you, it was a different story. When you smiled at him, he would feel his stomach tingle from butterflies and when you finally kissed him, it was like fireworks.

He hated how soft you made him, you could easily put a smile on his face in seconds but he never complained. You were definitely worth it to him.

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EreH:

It happened during the training camp. You both had been training beyond what both your bodies can handle. You asked him for help on certain things and techniques and he even asked you to help him with balancing on the ODM gear.

It was dark outside, you both had gone out to help him with the wires. You helped buckle him in, your face inched away from his and this was the full time Eren looked at you fully, his heart racing.

You were too oblivious, you were simply paying attention to attaching him to the wires and went back to pull him up high enough to hang off the ground.

“Try not to overthink it, just let yourself hang there.” You tried to give him some advice, watching him already become wobbly.

“Don’t focus on your legs, pretend they aren’t even there and just balance your weight as a whole.” You tried to stifle a laugh at how wobbly he was, you knew he was going to fall forward at any given moment.

He tried his best to focus and after a few minutes of moving around, he finally found his balance and stayed still.

“Oh my god.” He said happily, almost making him fall back but he fled his arms, managing to collect himself.

After you had brought him back down and unhooked him, he was too excited to stay still. He had jumped around then randomly embraced you in a tight hug, his excitement was through the roof, adrenaline pumping before he unexpectedly kissed you.

You were completely caught off guard but you didn’t really hesitate when it came to kissing him back. When he stepped back, he was in complete shock himself then a sudden wide goofy grin appeared on his lips and he started jumping around again.

“I guess I did two things right today.” He looked at you, giving you a smile while your cheeks started to heat up.

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Jean:

Jean is the type of person who definitely does things at the wrong time. Like when something happens, he does this reaction where he does something out of nowhere.

That being said, he definitely acts like a baby in this situation.

The scouts were out on a expedition where they try to trap in the female titan in the woods which led to half the cadets being stuck up on the tall tree.

You were stuck on the same branch as Jean and all you could listen to was his complaining about being stuck up here like sitting ducks while the Titans below tried to reach up for everyone.

“Quit complaining.” You shot a glare at him, relaxing back against the tree as you looked below.

“Sorry but unlike you, I don’t like being here doing nothing.”

“We were ordered to be here for a reason, Jean. Just shut up and deal with it.”

He stared at you, this was the first time you had irritated him. Any other time he would try to flirt with you, ask you out but you would simply ignore him, some days you would entertain it- only if you were feeling lucky.

But you didn’t want to make it known that you had a crush on him, only because he was a pain in the ass that wanted to be right so badly that it made you want to test his patience.

Finally Jean had sat next to you on the branch, his eyes looking down and the fear that was in his eyes made you rest your hand on top of his.

“You’re worrying too much.” You mumbled, making his eyes connect with yours before he looked down at your hand.

“The more we sit here, the faster these things will find a way to climb.”

Jean started to ramble, making your eyes roll at his endless ranting about waiting here until you finally grabbed a hold on his chin, forcing him to look at you. The rough contact of your lips meeting was sudden, making him shut up right away and melt against you.

The way he’s been waiting to do this to you since the day he first met you always flooded his mind and he couldn’t believe that you, out of all people, would kiss him first.

When you pulled back, the thoughts of the Titans below had escaped his mind and a stupid smirk came across his face, leaning in to kiss you again and you accepted.

“Maybe we should escape these Titans and go somewhere else?” He mumbled, making you punch his arm and he moved back, frowning.

“Shut up, Jean.”

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Just a small cute headcanons 🥺

• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

[thisissirius]

spoilers for 4x04.

five people who love buck unconditionally and the one to whom love can’t describe everything buck is firefam + buck (buck/eddie)

. protection

“I wanted her to tell you.”

Buck’s tried being mad at Chim. He’s been mad at Maddie and his parents, Chim, Eddie. Everyone and everything, even when they didn’t deserve it. “I know.”

If Buck remembers anything from the past few days it’s this; Chim batting for him, a solid barrier doing his best to stand by his girlfriend and Buck all at once.

“Can I ask you a question?” At Chim’s nod, Buck stares at his hands. “How did it feel when—Albert arrived and you knew your father loved him in ways he never could you?”

It’s an unfair question and Buck knows it. Chims expression shifts into discomfort and then something that Buck doesn’t wanna name.

“I’m sorry. That’s not fair.”

“Hey, no,” Chim says, reaching over and taking Buck’s arm. “I’m not offended that you asked. I can’t imagine—okay maybe I can a bit. It’s not a great feeling. I felt unloved. So not so different.”

Buck smiles, but there’s no humour in it. “Yeah. It sucks.”

“Except,” Chim continues, catching Buck’s eye and holding it. “That I’m not unloved. And neither are you.”

.buckaroo

Hen keeps watching him.

It’s fair. Buck keeps scaring everyone; not that he means to. Maybe he’s just that fucked that things will keep happening to him. Buck hopes not. He’s not sure there’s much left of him to take.

“You can ask.”

Hen raises her eyebrows. “Ask what?”

Buck waves a hand. “Whatever it is you wanna ask.”

“Buckaroo,” Hen says, and that name hurts. He ducks his head, feels an invisible hand squeeze his heart. Hen touches his thigh, squeezes. “Is it the name?”

“My mom doesn’t like nicknames,” Buck says, looking away. “She’s never liked that I call myself Buck. Chim had to call himself Howard just because he didn’t wanna put them out!”

Hen nods. She doesn’t move her hand. “I heard. Do you like the nickname?”

Buck nods. “I wouldn’t tell people that’s my name otherwise. I just feel—if I let everyone call me Evan, maybe she’d look at me for once and—“

“Love you?” Hen asks, her voice quiet.

Throat tight, Buck doesn’t know how to answer. He nods, feels his eyes burn with tears.

Hen shifts, sits on the couch next to him. “You’re my Buckaroo.”

Buck cries then, feels like it’s bursting out of him and through it all, Hen holds him.

.parental

Going into Bobby’s office never means anything good, but Buck finds some measure of comfort in it this time as he knocks on the door.

“Buck,” Bobby says with a smile. “I thought your first shift back wasn’t until—“

“It’s not,” Buck says, dropping into the chair opposite Bobby. “I wanted to talk to you. Well you and Athena but I didn’t wanna just turn up on your doorstep—“

Bobby raises an eyebrow. “That’s never bothered you before.”

“I haven’t doubted myself so much more,” Buck says before he can stop himself. At Bobby’s expression, he wipes a hand over his face. “Sorry that wasn’t meant to come out.”

“I’m glad it did.” Bobby pulls out his phone and Buck freezes, holds out a hand to stop him calling. The last thing Buck needs is to worry Eddie some more.

“You can’t call—“

“I’m calling Athena,” Bobby explains, but he smiles, amused. “Should I call someone else?”

Buck flushes, stares out of the glass to where he knows Hen and Chim are somewhere. To where Eddie is. “No.”

“Hmm.” Thankfully Bobby doesn’t say anything else. Buck waits, not even sure what Bobby’s calling Athena for, when the phone rings.

“Hey Baby,” Athena says.

“I have company,” Bobby says quickly, and Buck’s glad because no. He doesn’t wanna think about that.

“Oh?”

“Hey Athena,” Buck says, waving a hand even though she can’t see.

A pause. “Buckaroo! Where have you been?”

“Uh,” Buck starts.

“Bobby and I haven’t disappeared and I know you know where I live.”

Buck finds himself smiling, dropping his head. “I do.”

“Then I expect you on Saturday, you hear me?”

“I can’t,” Buck says. Before she can object, he continues, “I’m having dinner with Eddie and Chris.”

Athena makes a noise that Bobby shares. Buck deliberately doesn’t think about it. “Friday then. No objections.”

Buck meets Bobby’s eyes and smiles. “I don’t have any. I’ll see you Friday.”

“You better.” Athena’s tone is softer when she adds, “we love you, Buck, you know that right?”

Bobby holds his eyes and Buck feels warmth blossom up through him.

“I know.”

And he does.

.united

Buck takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. It takes a while, but then Maddie’s pulling it open. She looks upset, tired, and Buck feels awful. “I’m sorry.”

Maddie’s face crumples and Buck pushes into the apartment, taking her into his arms even as he shuts the door.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, kissing the top of her head. “I said united front and left.”

Maddie shakes her head, pulling back. “You had every right.”

“Maybe,” Buck allows. “But I should have talked to you instead of ghosting you. I know how that feels after all.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Maddie’s face as they sit down. Neither of them knows quite what to say, but Buck reaches out, takes Maddie’s hand in his.

“You were nine,” he says slowly, squeezing her fingers. “What they asked you to do—you didn’t do anything wrong.” It’s taken a long time for him to be aware of that; a long time and people talking to him, letting him get everything out. Buck’s learning his support network is bigger than he thought.

Maddie nods, pressing a hand to her mouth.

“You’ve always had my back. You left,” he says, but shakes his head when she tries to talk. “I don’t mean—you left because you had to and I won’t hold that against you. I wish you had come to me sooner but I know why you didn’t, why you were scared.”

Looking hopeful, Maddie says, “if I could have taken you with me.”

“I know.” Buck smiles, less sadness in him than he’s had since their parents showed up. “You’ve always done what’s best for me, Maddie. I believe that. I love you.”

Again, Maddie starts to cry. “I do love you,” she says, pushing forward. The hug is awkward but Buck hangs on, kisses Maddie’s head. “I love you so much.”

.the gift

The Diaz kitchen is a mess when Buck enters. “Is this the right house?”

“No!” Chris pokes his head around the door. “You’re early!”

Over Chris’ head, Eddie looks—Buck wants to laugh. He’s got flour on one cheek, mixture on the other, and his hair is slick with—is that milk?

“Eddie,” Buck says around a laugh. Then, to Chris, he says, “what’s this for?”

Chris looks at his dad, then back to Buck. “You were sad the other day. I heard you crying but Dad was helping.” Buck’s chest seizes. Oh god. He never meant— “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I don’t know why your parents didn’t get you birthday cakes, Bucky! I asked Dad to help me make one.”

Buck’s speechless. He looks up at Eddie, who’s smiling softly at Chris—and at Buck? Buck nods, reaches out for Chris’ shoulder. “That makes me really happy.”

“Good,” Chris says. “Because Dad says you have to show people you love them when they can’t hear it. Or don’t want to.”

Buck feels burning behind his eyes. How many times is he gonna cry this week? “Thanks, Christopher.”

His voice breaks, but he doesn’t have time to hide because Chris hugs him tightly. “I love you, Buck.”

Buck squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in Chris and says, “I love you too.”

Later, when they’re full of dinner and cake, Buck’s got a Diaz boy either side. Eddie’s been asleep for about a half hour, tipping closer to Buck with every movie scene. Chris is still wide awake, tucked under Buck’s arm.

“Did the cake make you happy?”

Buck smiles. “It did. Your dad can bake!”

“Abuela had to talk to him because he was going crazy!”

Buck can imagine it. Eddie flitting about the kitchen in a mood because he fails at anything oven related. “Well I’m glad she did.”

Chris laughs, hugs himself closer to Buck. “Were you sad because your parents are mean?”

Buck closes his eyes. To see the world through a child’s lens. “Yeah. They just—didn’t love me as much as your mom and dad loved you.”

Chris looks up at him and Buck hates that he’s gonna find out things that can hurt. Things like absence and disinterest. That he already has. “I can share Dad.”

“Chris,” Buck says, overcome., and kisses the top of his head. “You’re such a good kid, you know that?”

“Not always,” Chris complains, and Buck laughs.

“Most of the time.”

Eddie’s raised a good kid. Kindness that Eddie’s got buried deep, and despite his own parental issues, manages to bring his kid up that way. When he turns, Eddie’s looking at him. Buck’s stomach swoops. Eddie leans in, hugs Buck awkwardly. “We’ll talk when he’s in bed.”

It should be terrifying; Buck’s never liked those words, but while Eddie’s expression is intense, there’s more love and affection staring him in the face than he knows what to do with.

.mine

Buck feels calm despite what he knows is coming. Chris begs for a story from both of them, then Buck needs to leave the room. He tells them he needs the toilet but really he’s overwhelmed. Calm, but overwhelmed. Can you be both?

“Hey,” Eddie says, hovering in the doorway. “How was dinner with Bobby and Athena?”

Buck thinks back to the meal, to Bobby and Athena being themselves while still showing Buck he’s not alone. It’s a tough thing they’ve all decided to do, convincing Buck he’s loved. It’ll take time, but he doesn’t doubt them. He trusts them. “It was a lot. But I’m glad I went.”

Eddie nods, crosses the room to sit next to him. “And you? Any urge to punch things?”

Buck laughs, tips his head back against the couch. “No. Your advice was taken with enthusiasm.”

“Good.” Eddie’s quiet. He sits back, stares at his hands. “And you? What’s going on in that head?”

“Too much,” Buck admits. He sighs. “I feel better? Everyone’s being great. I know I’m loved.”

“But?”

Buck huffs. “Sometimes I hate that you know me so well.”

“No you don’t,” Eddie says, certain of himself.

Buck shakes his head, smiling. “No, I guess I don’t.” He looks at Eddie’s who’s staring back at him, closer than he was. “My whole life they’ve lied to me. Had me for one reason and then—forgot about me when I wasn’t what they wanted.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted them to love me,” Buck says.

“I know.”

They’ve had this conversation before and Buck hates that he’s still going over it, but he can’t make the thoughts stop. “How do I stop thinking about it?”

Eddie sighs, shifts closer so their arms are touching. “I don’t think you can. Maybe you try,” he amends. “But it’s always there, ready to take hold when you don’t want it to.”

“So what do I do?” Buck doesn’t know why he’s so desperate for Eddie to tell him.

“You deal with it,” Eddie says. “But you also give yourself other things; surround yourself with people who care, who love you. Find things you enjoy. Just—realise you’re more than your parents’ child.”

Buck nods, even though it’s hard to imagine he can ever do that. Eddie touches his face, bringing Buck’s head up.

“You’re so much more. The kindness you think I gave Chris? You have to know so much of it is from you as well. You have so much goodness in you, Buck, and I know it didn’t come from them. Which means it’s all you. Down to here.” Eddie presses a hand to his heart.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Buck says, voice tight. “Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing. Or who I am.”

“You’re Buck. A friend. A brother. An uncle,” Buck smiles. “A father.”

Buck freezes. “What?”

Eddie looks serious. “You’re everything I could hope for in anyone I choose to love, Buck. For Chris, I mean.” There’s a touch of red to Eddie’s face and ears. “If they could give him everything you give him, I’d be lucky.”

Buck swallows, suddenly nervous, and presses into Eddie’s hand against his cheek. “I’m messed up.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “But you’ve always been this,” he says, tapping Buck’s chest. “And I love you anyway.”

Oh. Buck hardly dares breathe. “I love you too.”

“The forever kind,” Eddie admits quietly. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“Okay,” Buck says. “Because I’d really like not to be alone.”

“Never,” Eddie promises.

Buck wonders later why they didn’t kiss, but in the moment, as Eddie holds him, nose nestled in his curls, everything feels as it should.

Right, for the first time—ever.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Make It Hard For Me | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  The hotel lost your best friend’s, Tom Hiddleston, hotel reservation. So now you are sharing a room. A room with one king sized bed. Add in that you are hopelessly in love with your best friend. This is a recipe for disaster. Tom has a very arousing dream the first night in the room which only further complicates matters.

Warnings: Dom/sub Undertones, Light BDSM, Sub!Tom, Female Dominant, Friends to Lovers, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Dom/sub, Light Dom/sub, Begging, Dry Humping, Grinding, Smut, Sharing a Bed

-

Tom shoved the heavy hotel door open with his shoulder, hands full with his luggage. You followed behind him, ladened with your own bags. Tom scowled and huffed when he dropped the bags just inside the door. You stumbled around him.

“I can’t believe the hotel lost my reservation!” Tom groaned. You put your bags down on the ground and sighed. Tom hadn’t stopped whining since he discovered they would share a room for the next two days.

“At least they didn’t lose mine.” you responded. “Then we would really be up shit’s creek.”

Tom stepped into the room. “Fuck. We are up shit’s creek.” He chuckled darkly.

You peeked around him to see what caused your normally composed friend to curse. You spied a single king sized bed. Your cheeks heated at the thought of sharing a bed with Tom.

“It will be fine. I’ll just take….” you scanned the room. “… that chair over there.”

Tom screwed his face up, and then his shoulders relaxed, taking a deep breath. “If anyone is sleeping in a chair or on the floor, it will be me, darling. It is your room.” He removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I apologize for my mood. I don’t travel well.”

You flopped onto the bed. Tom’s eyes widened as your boobs bounced. He stuck his hand in his pocket and adjusted while your eyes were closed. “I remember that trip to New York two years ago. You were an absolute bear until you slept.” you groaned, wincing as you dug underneath your hips extracting a TV remote. “Speaking of Schitt’s Creek, want to watch the latest season?” You waggled the remote at Tom, whose hand was still in his pocket. “I’ll even pay for room service.” you sing-songed the last sentence.

Tom’s lips curled in a smile and he chuckled, dropping his chin down. “Let me take a shower first and wash off the flight.” He headed towards the bathroom.

“Don’t use all the hot water!” you yelled after him, grabbing the room service menu and flipping through it.

Tom’s head popped around a corner. He gave a brief salute. “Yes, ma’am.” he smirked before disappearing again.

You fell back onto the mattress. “Fuck me.” you hissed.

-

Two hours later, Tom lied on the bed, his curls still half wet, eating room service chocolate cake and watching the latest escapades of the Rose family. You stifled a yawn next to him. Tom paused the episode.

“Sorry, the jet lag is finally hitting me.” you yawned again. Tom turned off the TV and stood up, pulling his shirt off. Your eyes widened in shock. “What are you doing?”

Tom stared at you, confused. “Getting ready for bed? I sleep in boxers.”

“Oh.” You squirmed under the covers.

Tom held out his hands. “Unless you are going to be uncomfortable—”

“NO!” you snapped back a bit too quick. “No. It’s fine. You are the one who has to work, you should be comfortable.” You flipped his side of the covers back. “Get in.”

Tom blushed, but slipped under the sheets just the same. You leaned over and kissed his cheek, ruffling his hair. His blush deepened. Tom turned onto his side to hide his face. “Night.”

“Night.” You snuggled under the covers and switched off the light before slipping into a deep sleep. Tom stared at the ceiling, too worked out to even consider sleeping.

-

Tom’s moans pulled you out of a restless sleep. The room was dark from the blackout curtains. You squinted to make out his form on the other side of the bed. He was on his stomach and grunting. It took several moments before you realized what Tom was doing. Your breath caught in your throat. You should have turned away, but you didn’t. Your friend, your crush, the starring role in all your sexual fantasies was grinding against the mattress next to you. Moaning.

“Please.” Tom whined in his sleep, hips rocking. “Please, ma’am, let me…”

You gasped, loud enough to disrupt Tom, who rolled onto his side. Whether or not he woke up was unclear. You rolled over in haste, not realizing how close to the edge you had scooted to stare. The loud thud of your body hitting the unyielding hotel room floor woke Tom for certain. He bolted from the bed and rushed to your side of the bed.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, his face masked with worry, brow furrowed. He was unaware of the raging hard-on stretching against his boxers until it was too late. Tom prayed you hadn’t noticed.

You had, but were in too much shock to say anything. “Fine. I’m fine.” You brushed off his offered hand, scrambling to your feet. “Just a nightmare.”

Tom straightened himself up and twisted his body into an unnatural position to hide his clear arousal. Still deluded that you hadn’t noticed. “Must have been some nightmare.” Tom chuckled and his laugh disappeared into the dark night, leaving nothing but an awkward silence.

“It was something alright.” you retorted, slipping back underneath the covers. You punched the pillow back into shape. “I’m going to get some more sleep. You?”

Tom couldn’t go back to sleep now, next to you. Not in such a state. He tried to remember what he had been dreaming about before you hit the floor. The dream drifted out of his mind like tendrils of smoke, but considering his state, it must have been a sex dream.

“I’ll hit the bathroom first.” He hooked his thumb behind him. “Don’t wait up.” He joked before ducking away.

You settled in and feigned sleep until Tom returned, and the two of you drifted off.

-

The alarm rang too soon for Tom’s taste. He groaned, reaching out for his phone, hitting the snooze.

“Five more minutes.” he muttered into his pillow.

You stood up and slipped into the bathroom to shower and get dressed. When you emerged, Tom still laid asleep. His bare back exposed to the air. You marveled at the form of him, wondering how it would feel to run your hands along the planes and angles of Tom’s body. Your body heated at the thought of what you would or could do to him.

“You’re staring.” Tom’s voice cut through your daydream.

You jumped a bit. “Sorry.”

Tom sat up and smiled, ruffling his mussed ginger curls. “It’s okay. Just not used to the stares coming from you of all people.” He reached over and grabbed his shirt from last night, pulling it on.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, boy.” You slipped the last word and smiled as Tom blushed at the moniker. As you suspected he would. You stepped toe to toe with him, tilting your chin to see his face. “Now go take a shower while I order breakfast.”

“I love it when you boss me around.” Tom smiled, trying his best to keep his body from betraying his true feelings.

You curled up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “One of the many reasons we are best friends.” You smirked as Tom slid past you, smacking his butt.

He spun around in shock. “What has gotten into today?” The corners of his lips twitching into a smile.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Maybe I thought you needed to be punished.” Your eyes twinkled. “Have you been naughty?”

The blood drained from Tom’s face. Had you seen something, he panicked. “No.” he choked out, digging through his luggage to find clothes for the day and ducking into the shower.

You stared at the spot where Tom once stood, hands on your hips. “Liar.” And then went hunting for the room service menu to order breakfast for Tom and yourself.

-

Tom ate his entire plate of pancakes and bacon, along with not one but two cups of coffee.

“Are you planning on running a marathon today?” you questioned as you nibbled on your fruit, having finished up some eggs earlier.

Tom wiped his mouth. “I don’t know when I will get time to eat again. Low blood sugar is a common problem at cons.”

“Well, we can’t have you passing out, can we?” you giggled.

Tom stood up. “Are you going to head over with me today?”

You shook your head. “Nah. I thought I would lie out at the pool for a bit.”

Tom nodded back. “Just as well. I’m only over there in the morning. Meet you back here for lunch?”

“Text me when you head back?”

“Will do.” He kissed your forehead.

“Good boy.” There goes that blushing again. “Have fun.”

Tom cleared his throat. “Right.” He pulled on his pair of well worn grey boots, grabbed his phone, sunglasses and hotel key before leaving the room.

-

The weather was hot, but a light breeze kept you from overheating poolside. You brought a book along to read but were too distracted to focus on William Joyce. This morning had brought some answers, but more questions. Questions about your relationship with Tom. By the time he texted you saying he was 15 minutes away, you resolved to clear the air once and for all.

No one noticed how distracted Tom was that morning. The perks of working with strangers. Had Luke or even being Benedict been around, he would have to explain why he couldn’t remember people’s names and his sudden case of butterfingers. Something was going on with you. That was all Tom knew. That and the fact he was hopelessly in love with you. Sharing a bed last night tipped him over to the point of confessing his feelings, just to clear the air. But he chickened out.

“Tom!” you called out from the bathroom as you heard the door slam to the hotel room. “I need help.”

Tom rushed to the sound of your voice. He stopped in his tracks when he spied you standing in the bathroom wearing just your swimsuit, still damp from your swim. It hugged your curves and Tom swallowed hard.

“I can’t get the strap undone. Will you help me?” You glanced over your shoulder at him. Tom blinked several times, not answering. “Tom?” You barely contained your smile. “Did you hear me?”

“What?”

“My suit strap.” You gestured around your neck. “Untie it for me.”

“Sure.” He choked out. “I’ll just…” You backed up until you pressed your body against him. You wiggled your ass against his crotch. “You are a bit too close.” He commented as he struggled to keep his fingers from shaking.

You jumped forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it hard.”

Tom’s fingers stopped picking at the knot. “What did you say?”

“I said I didn’t mean to make it hard, you know, untying the knot.” Tom finished undoing the knot, letting the straps fall on your back. His hands lighted on your shoulders, hot from the time in sun. You turned to face him, holding your suit up with your arm. How he wished you would move your arm. “What did you think? I was flirting?” You quirked an eyebrow.

Tom fidgeted, hands twisting in front of him, rocking back on his heels. “Well… no… of course not… that’s… you’re… and we are…” he mumbled and fumbled, cheeks turning a deep pink.

“Because I was.” You brushed past him, allowing the suit to drop as you stepped out of Tom’s sight.

It took Tom a second to register what you said. He turned on his heel to catch you digging for some clothes and pushed you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours. Your fingers weaved into Tom’s hair and you pulled his head away.

“So…” Your chest heaved against Tom’s, your nipples grazing along the fabric of his shirt.

“I want you.” Tom breathed, leaning to kiss you again. You tugged him away.

“I want you too.” You pulled him to whisper in his ear. “I saw you last night humping the mattress, begging. Will you beg for me, Tom?”

Tom gulped. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” You smirked at Tom, whose eyes grew wider every second.

“Yes, ma’am?” He ended his sentence with a question mark.

“Good boy.” You pressed your lips onto his as Tom moaned into your mouth. Tom’s tongue explored your mouth hungrily. Your hands slipped down to squeeze his cock through his jeans. “Very good boy.” you muttered, pushing Tom off of you. You shimmied out of your suit and took a seat at the edge of the bed. “Strip for me.”

Tom furrowed his brow. You frowned. “I don’t enjoy repeating myself, Tom. Now strip.”

The speed in which Tom peeled off his clothes probably broke records. You giggled as he hopped on one foot, tugging at his boots. You raised a single eyebrow and licked your lips when Tom pushed his jeans and boxers to the ground. “See something you like?” Tom responded.

“Just thinking all the rumors are true.” You leaned back onto your elbows and beckoned Tom over. He crawled on top of you to kiss you again. You pulled him away by the back of his head, pushing him down your torso. “Let’s find out how talented that mouth is.”

Tom pushed your legs open with his broad shoulders. His beard tickling your thighs. Tom sucked on the delicate skin before ghosting his lips over yours, earning a hitch in your breath. You tugged his hair hard.

“Stop teasing.”

“Yes. ma’am.” He licked a fat stripe along your slit. You shuddered and sighed.

“Yes. That’s a good boy.”

The praise only spurred on Tom’s efforts. His nose nudged your clit. You bucked up into him. As Tom sucked and licked you, your orgasm near.

“Tom, I’m…”

Your nails dug into his scalp when he sucked hard. You came with a scream and gushed onto Tom’s face, who continued to eat you out. You pulled him up and spun the two of you so Tom laid flat on his back. You teased the tip of his cock along your slit.

“You tell me when you are close.” You kissed his lips, his beard glistening. He tasted of you.

Tom nodded against you. You lowered yourself onto his cock. Tom hissed and grabbed your hips. You pushed his hands away. Tom whined.

“This is not about you. This is about me using you for pleasure. I will decide whether or not you get to cum, understood?” You stared down at him.

Tom twitched inside of you. “Yes ma’am.” You rocked against him. Tom bit his lip.

“I want to hear you.” You continued to ride him, flattening your palms against his chest.

Soon you could sense Tom getting close. “I’m…” Tom panted. You stopped moving on him. You clenched around him. Tom groaned, his eyes closing and his hands fisting at his sides.

“Do you want to cum, Tom?” You mock pouted.

“Please…” You clenched his shaft again with your walls and wiggled a bit.

“Please, please, please let me cum. I want to cum. I need to cum.” Tom pleaded. His eyes wide as you moved so slow on him.

You reached down to find your clit and rubbed it with your fingers. Your hips rocked back and forth frantically. You reached up with your other hand and squeezed your boob. You came with a gasp, squeezing tight around Tom.

“Come for me.” You hissed.

Tom bucked into you twice before spilling into you. You collapsed against Tom’s chest. He panted, his chest hair tickling your face. His hands reached up to draw swirls onto your bare back, goosebumps popping up. You rolled off of him to the side. Grabbing his chin and turning his head, you kissed his lips with a tender touch.

“I think we need to talk.” you commented with a smile.

Tom’s eyes fluttered open. “That is an understatement.”

The two of you giggled in each other’s arms.

[matildashoney]

𝐓𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 // 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ~ 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ~ 𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 ~ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @doubtfulwelshie, @meetmymouth, @theluketomypatterson, @morethanamelodyy, @hoodhoran, @nevertoooldtodancelikeamaniac, @rainbowparadiseharry, @glitterandharry, @summertimestyles, @millenial-teenybopper, @6616617228, @burberryharold​, @jesusidontcare1​

.・゜゜・ Harry  .・゜゜・　

Step left. Duck. Step right. Punch.

Step left. Block. Step right. Go for the gold.

The freedom of releasing bottled up anger loomed over Harry’s head, stimulating his need to showcase his overt power. Punch after punch after punch, delivered to his opponent's body and face, fueling the anguish he felt in his veins and the fury in his brain. 

“Okay! Harry, that’s enough!” a voice calls, but, naturally, Harry doesn’t listen. His ears are ringing, deafening anything outside of his own mind. Not that he can hear his own thoughts anyway as he blows hit after hit at Ryan, imagining it’s someone else he’s beating up instead.

His heart is racing as fast as his mind is swirling, his breaths shortening as his arms continue their relentless action on Dear Ryan, who can do nothing but just take it. “Harry!”

Then, there was the numbness. He felt arms tug him back forcefully, landing Harry right on his ass as he came to, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. Harry blinked once, then twice, then three times before taking a look around him. Mack, his trainer, was standing over him, a look of anger mixed with concern etched over his features as he gestured to the man laying flat on his back, spitting blood out of his mouth.

Only for a moment, remorse coursed through Harry’s body, because the last he remembered, they were both standing. It wasn’t the first time he’s lost control of his rage, and he was sorry that Ryan had to deal with the consequences of that, but at the same time, Harry didn’t give a single shit because it was Ryan’s job to play punching bag. 

“Do you wanna explain this?” Mack questions, helping Ryan up so he can go take a breather and get a look at his nose from the doctor. “Fuck, Harry, any more and you could’ve done serious damage to the poor kid.”

Harry hoisted himself up, rolling his eyes as he tugged his gloves off his hands. “Do you want me to win tonight? I sort of need to punch the shit out of people to do that.”

Mack stares at Harry with a cross look before scoffing, shaking his head as he places his hands on his hips, looking down to his feet. “Look, you need to get over her, H. All your focus is on Stella, but I need your focus on your job. That’s the most important thing.”

Technically if he’s focused on Stella, he’s better at his job, but Harry didn’t have the energy to start a fight over something ridiculous. Instead, Harry opted for a poisonous glare and bit his bottom lip to hold back any venom he easily could’ve spit out, walking past his trainer and making sure to bump shoulders along the way.

Mack has always been anti-relationships. 

Mack advised it from the start, when Harry signed up for his gym and kick started his career in boxing. “No dating. It’s not forbidden, but trust me, Harry, you don’t need them on your mind when you’re in the ring.” Harry never had to worry about that before, because dating wasn’t really his thing to begin with.

Until her. Until Stella. 

Harry decided he was done for the day, needing to rest up until his match that night. Not that he’d be resting much anyway, but he needed to get out of the gym for a bit, needed to clear his head.

Grey steel doors to the men’s locker room are no match for Harry’s unhinged anger, banging loudly against the wall behind it as they were forcefully swung open with a push from his hand. The few men in there jumped back a bit, heads immediately turning to the cause of disturbance.

Harry paid them no mind as he walked over to his locker, opening the lock and then swinging that door open too, causing it to bang into the one next to it. Despite the anger he released back in the ring, he still had enough resonating in his veins as he thought of her and as he thought of him. But immediately, as he glanced at the door of his locker, all anger dissipated for a couple fleeting moments as he stared at the filmstrip taped to the metal, the smile on her face, the smile on his face. All was better then. All was better when she was by his side. 

His Stella. Stella for star.

Sitting down on the bench behind him, Harry ran his battered hands over his face and then through his hair as he tried to stop thinking of her. But then the image of her smile taunted him, enticed him, tricked him into giving her another moment of his time. The pain in his chest and the pain in his head grew stronger as his thoughts spiraled, bringing up memories he tried so hard to push to the back of his head. 

Even when he was in the ring, thinking of his match later on, Harry couldn’t stop from thinking about her. He couldn’t stop his heart from sinking into his stomach at the thought of her face not being in the crowd cheering him on. He couldn’t bear it, knowing his Lucky Star wasn’t going to be there for him. 

That’s when all shades of red began swarming his sight, because she wouldn’t be front row, but instead with that fucking character she calls a duet partner. Then Ryan’s face morphed into his. Harry couldn’t stop himself. 

Shit, how he wished he could get his hands on that jackass. 

Harry nearly broke the wood holding him up from how tight his grip was on it, but, then one glance at her and his strength fell apart. 

And so did Harry’s mind.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring at her picture on his locker door, but when he finally gained back his grip on reality, he grabbed his gym bag and closed the metal, hurrying out of the stuffy room to get home. He ignored Mack’s lingering gaze, keeping his own eyes straight ahead as he stormed out of the building. 

Just when Harry thought he could catch a breath, a break, the warm weather outside touched his skin, nearly melting him to the ground.

Harry hated the heat. He much preferred the winter time because it always leveled his hot head, and the sweltering air mixed with his boiling rage never mixed well. Now, Harry was in an even sourer mood. Though, it slightly picked up when he realized the time on his phone.

Crossing the street, Harry began his walk in the opposite direction of home, quickening his pace so as to not miss her. He absolutely dreaded not taking his car to the gym that day. He dreaded it not only for the sweat dripping down his body, but because he had to pass a certain establishment on the shortest route to the studio.

Lucky’s Bar.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Harry had a bit of a habit of stopping time whenever he walked into a room. Or at least it felt like he did because despite the loud, rowdy music blaring through the tight bar, and everyone being focused on themselves and who they were with, all heads immediately turned to him when he stepped through the entrance of Lucky’s. 

“That never gets old,” Niall nudged Harry in the side, chuckling as people began to whisper to one another, sly-but-not-so-sly fingers pointing in their direction.

It wasn’t always this way. They really only started looking at him after news spread rapidly around campus about his new ... job. Otherwise, no one ever paid enough attention to notice he was in the same room. At first it was strange knowing people were watching his every move, but after a while, he stopped caring. 

One thing he learned over the past few months, is that not caring goes a long way.

Harry sat on the bar stool next to Niall, a bored look on his face as the bartender looked a bit starstruck because of who was sitting in front of her. “Two beers please. Bottled,” Niall requested, turning his attention back to his friend. “So, when’s your next match?” he wondered, mindlessly checking his phone as he waited for his girlfriend to text him of her arrival.

Harry thought about it for a second, not even remembering what day of the week it was. “Next Friday, I think. I don’t know, I’ll text you,” Harry shrugged, graciously taking the drink the bartender sat next to him, nodding his head in appreciation before taking his first swig.

They sat idly for some time, not wanting to join the masses standing on the dance floor. They could practically feel the humidity and sweat from the bar. Many girls tried coming over and flirting their ways into getting free drinks, but neither of the boys even blinked in their direction as they laughed over mindless nonsense and awaited Niall’s girlfriend’s arrival. 

And Niall’s girlfriend’s friend’s arrival.

A friend that was apparently a very good, a great match for Harry. Usually, Harry denied any setups Niall tried to throw his way, but this time the bloke wouldn’t take no for an answer. Apparently, Niall had a big feeling this one was going to be someone incredibly special.

Then that familiar text tone sounded, alerting them the girls had arrived, but they didn’t need the text to know that. Because - at least to Harry and Niall - time had stopped once again, but not because of Harry, but because of Libby and her friend.

Not that anyone else cared, but the two girls lit up the entire place. Their energy radiated a glow that was unmatched to anyone else in the room, leaving Niall and Harry in awe. Of course, they turned the heads of jerk offs that whistled when they walked by, but their eyes were set on the boys waiting for them.

“Hi, baby,” Libby greeted, quickly kissing Niall on the lips before giving Harry a soft smile and kissing him on the cheek.

The other girl greeted Niall just as happily - minus the kiss on the lips, opting for a hug instead. Her curly hair sat behind her in a low ponytail, a few front strands hanging loosely over her face. 

Then, her eyes met Harry’s.

Ever since she walked into Lucky’s, Harry had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her, and now that she was up close and personal, he took the time to really admire her features, her figure, her long legs that seemed to go on for miles.

Before she could introduce herself, Niall clapped Harry on the shoulder, waving his other hand between the two, “Harry, meet Stella.”

Much to his surprise, Stella leaned in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a warm greeting that he never usually received when meeting a girl. Usually, Harry was met with a bat of fake eyelashes and fingers tracing his biceps. 

She stepped back after a few moments, a kind smile stretched over her lips. “You must be the boxer.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Harry stands in front of the bar for a moment, thinking back to all the times he sat on the wooden stools with his girl and their friends and drank to celebrate the winning of another match. Of course, yeah, he’s been back since then, and he’s been back with his friends since then, but it’s not the same without his hand intertwined with hers and the feeling that he had when walking in with her tucked under his arm. Harry used to soak in the stares and the jealous whispers of other men and women when they walked in together, to know that he was the luckiest man alive, in those moments. His Stella, his Lucky Star, at his side, and yet he was the lucky one. 

Harry knew Stella liked the attention a little bit, too, as much as she hated to admit it. Stella liked knowing that her man was the champion, the star, the winner. Stella liked seeing Harry win. That’s why she was at every match, every single one. 

That feels like a lifetime ago, and it was barely a year ago. One year ago, when Harry royally fucked himself over with her and his world flipped upside down.

.・゜゜・ Stella  .・゜゜・

Aerial. Tombé. Pas de bourrée. Pirouette. Calypso. Aerial. Tombé. Pas de bourrée. Pirouette. Calypso. Aerial. Tombé. Pas de bourrée. Pirouette. Calypso. Aerial. Tombé. Pas de bourrée. Pirouette. Calypso.

That’s what Stella Smalls is going to do over and over until she can get it perfect. Until there’s not a hiccup or a side step or a misplaced toe or fingertip in sight, completing the perfect combination from her fingertips to her toes. That’s what Stella has to do, to be known as one of the best dancers in the world.

“God damnit,” she grumbles, wiping the sweat on her forehead on her hand and brushing her bangs away from her skin, heaving out a heavy breath and leaning over her knees, taking a minute to catch her breath. Her legs ache with how much she’s been practicing, and she’s happy to have the night off. 

“Come on, Stella,” she says to herself, psyching herself into repeating the combination a few times more. “Come on. This isn’t child’s play. This is the biggest competition you’ll ever do.”

Her words seemingly do the trick, the ache in her thighs and feet suddenly disappearing and fading into the background of her mind, her only focus going to the specific point in this song where this combination would play out to the perfect rhythm if she does it correctly. Her favorite song is playing over the speakers, the building bridge and chorus resounding through the mirror-lined studio, waiting for her to try and try again. Her song choice is making it all the more difficult to focus, especially with knowing who is across the street, and how much this song is about him, as well. 

It wasn’t their song, for the short two years they were together, that was something else, something a bit too hard to touch. Their song, “Undeniable You”, the song they danced to at two in the morning in her tiny kitchen and the song they played in the car on their way to the gym and the studio and the song they played when they were making love into the early hours of the night. That was their song and it was untouchable, their song that she truly couldn't use as her competition piece for the World Title.

Stella hadn’t originally wanted to do the song that she’s currently dancing to. That wasn’t her intention, especially not fresh after their parting ways and it was raw, so raw. However, when her instructor heard the song and was approving the World Title submission under her studio’s name, she suggested that she channel her emotions that she was feeling towards the song into choreography. Stella was competing for a world title under her studio’s name. Could she really say no? 

Nearly a year later, with the competition only three months away, River Daniels and Stella Smalls are practicing their duet for the world title to a song that she once associated with a man she was in love with, is in love with.

“Love,” Angie calls through the studio, walking into the quaint room with light bamboo flooring and three long barres hooked onto the walls amongst the mirrors, staring at the young girl with concern etched into her features, “maybe you should take a break. You’ve been here since eight, this morning.”

“What time is it, now? Have somewhere to be around three.” Stella wonders curiously, oblivious to how long she’s been at the studio and been working. Muscles ache inside her body, her feet crying out for a breather, and yet she keeps pushing, keeps forcing herself to repeat the combination until she finds it perfectly aligned with the rhythm of the song.

“It’s nearly two, Stella,” Angie says assuredly, sounding nearly disappointed in the way Stella has been pushing herself since she found out who her competition was for the title, and the stakes that are at large, waiting for her.

Should they win, Stella and River will go on a world tour with nearly a dozen other dancers, doing master classes and teaching young dancers the way to the title, and the money that would be split between the two of them would allow for her to finally open her own studio in town.

There’s this empty building that she has been eyeing for nearly five years, dreaming that one day it would be the studio of her dreams. There is space for three different rooms, three studios within one, and there are a multitude of opportunities waiting for her in this space if she just had the money. “The Lucky Star Academy”, she would name it, after the one that always told her that she would be the best studio owner in town. He wasn’t that clever for giving her the name.

Stella’s name does mean “star”, after all. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Harry’s knuckles were all bloodied and cut, the skin tearing and ripping at the base of his hand after rubbing against his gloves after he stupidly forgot to wrap his hands before the match. Typically, Stella reminds him, but today, she was in her head, worrying about the bank’s call and the meeting she had with the loan advisor and the conversation she had with her mother regarding how much she would offer as a loan until her business started and took off like everyone knew - or had a feeling - it would, and Harry was worried about comforting his girlfriend, to the point where they had to call him out of the locker room to make sure he was ready for the match. Stella was worried that he would lose the match because of how much worrying he was doing for her, but of course, Harry being Harry, won within the first ten minutes in the ring.

“Stell, the bank is going to approve you,” Harry said too surely for Stella’s liking when they were back in the locker room, cleaning his knuckles. “If not, like I said, I could give you the money. It’s not a big deal.” Stella glares at Harry for that secondary comment. “Okay, it’s a big deal, but I can loan you the money, Lovey. I’m not hoarding all this to myself. Makes sense to share it with the ones I love, does it not?”

“It does, but I don’t want to start my business by owing you money, Harry,” Stella says frustratedly, wiping the blood from his hands and kissing the skin of his knuckles sweetly. Stella was always the most gentle soul with Harry, even when he didn’t necessarily deserve it, and he cherished the way she loves him, the way she cares. “My studio can’t start that way. It’s just, I can’t.”

“Name it after what I call you, at least. Let me contribute the name, Stella Bella.” Harry grins so widely Stella can feel her heart giving out and falling into his hands, like it always does. “My Lucky Star. Maybe you’ll be somebody else’s, too. Mine first, always, though.”

“First and foremost,” she says, shaking her head at the nickname, one of many of what her boyfriend has called her over the years, and sighs deeply, laying the flannel on the sink beside her and letting his hands fall to her waist, holding her between his legs and kissing her shoulder, “you’ll always have me as your lucky star, the one and only.” Harry’s dimpled grin makes her stomach flutter with butterflies. “Secondly, ‘The Lucky Star Academy’, I like the sound of that.” Harry smiles wider, this time, leaning upwards and kissing her jaw. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Very nice ring to it,” Harry agrees, brushing her hair behind her ear and holding her chin between his fingertips, kissing her sweetly, deeply, smirking when she pushes his shoulder lightly and takes a step away. “Come on, lovey. One more kiss before you leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she says matter-of-factly, shaking her head and nodding towards where the door is swinging open with men walking in and out. “I’m leaving the room for you to get changed, you stink.”

“Come shower with me,” he whispers, standing on his feet and bringing her into his chest, the clamminess of his skin sticking to her fingertips as she lays her hands against his abdomen. “Not like any of these blokes actually shower here, anyways.”

“Girl in a locker room disappears into the showers and Harry Styles is nowhere to be seen,” Stella scoffs, shaking her head adamantly and brushing his hair away from his forehead, the floppy tendrils of his hair falling to his sweaty skin. “Very likely that everyone will know what’s happening.”

“Stella Smalls,” Harry says warningly, clicking his tongue and grabbing her face between his hands, “don’t ever call yourself just a girl, ever again. Hear me? Much more than a girl to me.”

“All right, all right,” she concedes, pecking his lips quickly and walking towards the locker, grabbing all his belongings and shoving the clothes that need to be washed in the tote bag he brings to every match. “Go shower, I’m tired and want to go home.”

“I’ll shower faster if my Lucky Star comes with me,” Harry teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and walking towards the showers in the corner of the locker room. “Come on, Stell. One time.” Stella sighs, looking between the phone, where she is impatiently waiting for a phone call, her belongings, and her sweaty boyfriend standing all too enticingly at the edge of the tile flooring. Stella begrudgingly sets their things in the locker, oblivious to the buzzing that’s vibrating from her phone, and hurries to Harry across the locker room floor, smirking as he says, “That’s my girl. My Stella.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Knocking on the studio door pulls Stella out of her trance, again, the song playing over and over again in her head with tears in her eyes as she forces a smile to the familiar man in the window. River is standing at the glass window, watching his partner perfect the leap combination for their routine without saying a word. Her knees are bruised and tainted a purplish-blue color that looks like it hurts like hell, and River silently reminds himself to schedule a day to practice even more to be on her level of dedication. River smiles at Stella softly, opening his arms and bringing her in close, hugging her tightly and humming contently as her arms tighten around his midsection and return the embrace.

“Looks great, Stella,” River smiles excitedly, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead and taking a step away, looking at her face and taking in the distracted glances she’s making towards the window to the outside. “Harry’s coming, isn’t he? Walks you home from the gym and all that.”

“Always on Saturdays,” Stella says shyly, almost slightly embarrassed by how much she looks forward to the weekly walk with her best friend, which happens to also be her ex-boyfriend, the person she’s choreographing this routine about. “It’s our only time to really talk, you know? Alone, at least. He’s so busy during the week, I’m busy teaching. It’s not going to distract me, River, I promise.”

“You say that, Stella,” he says concernedly, shaking his head and clicking his tongue, shrugging his shoulders slightly at the thought of the two getting back together when he’s started to develop feelings for her beyond their partnership and friendship. “There’s already chemistry there, though. That’s hard to deny when you see the way he looks at you, the way he looks at me when I’m with you. Like he wants me removed from the planet or something.”

Stella knows that Harry wants River removed from her life, completely. He doesn’t need to say anything for that to be abundantly clear. That doesn’t mean she’ll say that, though. “Oh, c’mon, Riv, it’s not that bad. He’s not that cruel.”

“If Harry knew that I liked you in any capacity, which is not me saying that I do,” River says with his hands held in the air in surrender, “I would be pummeled into bits. You know it as well as I do, Stella.” River says this surely, quirking his eyebrows at his friend and cocking his head to the side knowingly, shrugging his shoulders when she crosses her arms in front of her chest defensively and sighs. “Not your fault he’s protective of you, Stella. It’s not your fault he’s in love with you.”

“Harry isn’t in love with me. Not anymore, at least.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” River shrugs his shoulders, “Hell, what do I know, though?” He takes Stella’s hand and twirls her beneath his arm, smiling brightly when she laughs and falls into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Practice tomorrow?”

“Of course, yeah,” she says with a bright smile, leaning onto her toes and kissing his cheek, her eyes rolling slightly when she sees her ex-boyfriend nearly foaming at the mouth outside the studio at the sight. Harry tries to hide it, Stella knows this, and that’s why she never says anything when she sees his facial expressions change or the way his hands clenched into fists when he sees River with his hand on Stella’s back as they leave the studio. “Come to the fight, tonight. It’ll be fun to have everyone there. This is his last match before the International Rounds.” River nods silently and opens the door for Stella to walk through, Harry immediately grabs her hand and pulls her into a warm hug. “Hi, Harry.”

.・゜゜・Harry  .・゜゜・

With old memories rehashing in his mind - which brought him the most happiness he’s felt in a while - Harry for fucking sure wasn’t expecting to see that slime-ball hugging his girl, replacing those memories with the anger he thought he suppressed, for now, at least.

Harry knew his face contorted into a deep scowl, burning red as he saw the interaction happening before him, and he couldn’t help his knuckles turning white from his fists clenching insanely tight. He knew how furious he looked. Hell, he knew how crazy he looked, but that didn’t stop him from tugging her away from her partner the moment they walked outside. 

Harry wraps his arms around Stella’s shoulders, pulling her close to him, but keeping his eyes on River. “Hi, Harry,” she murmured into his chest, before she pulled herself away and looked up at him. For the first time in those fifteen seconds, he diverted his attention away from him and looked at his girl, a smirk lining his features. 

“Hello, lovey.” And, spitefully - arguably, without a single care - he leans down and places his own kiss to her opposite cheek. As soon as Harry stood back up to his full height, he could see in Stella’s eyes that she was pleading for him to not cause a scene. He decided to respect her wishes, this time, but that didn’t stop the threatening glare he sent River’s way. “C’mon, let’s get you home. Think I can take a nap there?”

Stella looked over her shoulder at her dance partner, giving him an apologetic look. She knew he wasn’t nearly as scared of Harry, as Harry would like to think, but that didn’t stop her from being worried. River waved her off unapologetically, saying, “I’ll see you, tonight.”

Harry’s head quickly snapped to look at Stella, eyes widening and mouth falling agape from his words. He, too, looked over his shoulder, then, just to see the man getting in his car and then speeding off down the road. Harry was confused. He was baffled. And of course, he was angry. 

What does that mean?

As far as Harry knows, they see each other for practice during the week, for tech rehearsals, and for the performances, but never for anything else. Stella and River were only dance partners, not friends. That’s right, isn’t it? 

That’s when his greatest fear started coming to life. The realization hit. Harry could lose Stella, for good.

Harry stopped in his tracks, no matter how badly he wanted to get out from under the blazing sun. Stella stopped, too, confused as to why he was just standing there. “What’s wrong?”

The real question was: What isn’t wrong?

“What did he mean by that?” Harry hissed, bringing his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down harshly on it, but surprisingly, not drawing any blood. Harry knows that they aren’t officially together, and no matter how much, how badly that eats him alive, he knows that she has free reign to be with whoever she wants. Stella’s his Lucky Star, though, and, truth be told, he doesn’t think he can ever be without her in some capacity, for as long as he’s still breathing, as long as he’s on this planet. And, truthfully, it pains him to think that she would want to be with anyone that isn’t him. 

Sometimes, Harry wonders if she feels the same way.

“By what?” she asked by raising her eyebrows, confused as to what he was talking about. Then, seeing Harry biting on his lip with an excruciating grip, seeing the anger bubble back inside of him, Stella put two and two together, and figured out that he was talking about what her partner had said. “Oh, seeing me tonight? Oh my God, Harry.” Stella started laughing at this, beginning her walk, again, to her apartment. 

Harry was stunned for a quick moment before he followed after her, falling into step with her. He kept his eyes locked on her, watching her shake her head and and keep her eyes trained on her squeaky clean, white shoes. “What?”

“He’s coming to the fight.”

Harry was tempted to stop walking, again, but knew she wouldn’t stop this time, and would probably leave him behind. “No, he isn’t,” Harry responded, completely dumbfounded to the idea of Stella bringing up his fight, and then going the extra mile to invite her dance partner to it. He didn’t understand why she would even think of doing that, because she knows he doesn’t like him. It’s almost as if she enjoys making Harry angry - which could be the only possible explanation for why she invited him.

Stella looked up at him, tilting her head to the side, “Excuse me?”

“He’s not coming to my fight,” Harry scoffed, pressing the button on the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to keep walking.

“Are you being serious right now?” she questioned, crossing her arms over her chest, turning to face him completely as they stood on the corner. Deep down, Stella knew Harry was being serious, but didn’t quite want to believe it. Harry’s always had this possessive hold on her, ever since they started dating. Honestly, when they were together, it was cute, it was funny, even, it stemmed from the love he had for her. Now, though, it’s infuriating, it’s toxic, and it’s painful. 

It’s also kind of sad.

After Stella, Harry closed himself off to the world again. He sticks to his same few friends. He doesn’t date. He continues to revolve his world around Stella. Constantly. Stella’s trying to grow, and move on, but he makes it impossible for her, because, truthfully, Harry has no one else. It’s sad, but it’s also insanely frustrating. “First of all, it’s a public event, so technically, River’s more than welcome to be there. Secondly, I’m not your girlfriend, H. I haven’t been your girlfriend for over a year. And Harry, you need to get that through your head, because I’m tired of telling you.”

Clicking of the cross-walk sign began, signaling it was time to start walking, again, which Stella happily did as Harry once again found himself stuck in place. This wasn’t how he imagined his day to go, and he certainly didn’t want to keep talking on the topic, but he couldn’t stop himself. It’s like a vicious cycle of trying to prove that she still wants him in some capacity, that she would choose him over someone else, even though she’s proven time and time again that she doesn’t, that she wouldn’t. Stella is over Harry, and Harry refuses to accept that.

Harry allowed a few moments of silence between them, a comfortable silence as they walked on towards her apartment, letting her think she had gotten the better end of the argument. Then, Harry continued. “Has he got a ticket?”

Stella sighed, “What?”

“For the fight. Did he buy a ticket? Or are you gonna use my name to get him in?” Harry’s association is the way she and any of his friends ever get in without paying. Tickets always sell insanely fast, near instantaneously, so Harry doubts River actually has one to get in. He knows Stella is going to get him in, and Harry’s lucky to have the upper-hand in the situation, because he can easily make it where there’s a specific guest-list - one that doesn’t have him on it. “I’ll tell the guard to blacklist him, Stell. He’s not coming.”

Stella rolled her lips into her mouth, fighting off the urge to spit venom that could put a wrench into whatever this relationship of theirs was. She didn’t want to continue moving backwards, but Harry made it really, very difficult to push forward. Stella shrugged, keeping her eyes ahead of her, “Fine, then neither am I.”

Stella only ever went to his fights because Harry asked her to, not because she had any actual desire to be there. Having to watch her once-boyfriend get punched in the face was never a sight she could fully stomach, and if his unwillingness to see her friend was this strong, then it only gave her motive not to go. 

Harry opened the door to her apartment building once she put the code in, allowing her to enter first. Quite frankly, he doesn’t care if she doesn’t want him to follow, because he does anyway. The idea of Stella not being there for his fight deepens the pit in the bottom of his stomach, and thickens his fear of losing her. 

It’s like this: when Stella is there, Harry knows he’s gonna win, when Stella’s not there, that familiar feeling isn’t in Harry’s gut, and all he feels is uncertainty. Harry can feel the victory gliding through his veins when he steps into the ring, seeing her front row, clapping and whistling and rooting for him.  Calling her his Lucky Star started off as an inside joke, simply because of the meaning of her name and where they first met. After she started coming to his fights, though, Lucky Star became quite literal, and he can’t go without her. 

“Of course you are. I need you there.”

And when they finally got to her front door, Stella inserted her key and unlocked it, but didn’t enter right away, confusing Harry. Stella stood there, facing him, his hand on the door nearly blockading her against the small wooden door, a small smile on her lips. “Okay. Then, River comes. He goes, I go.”

Harry and Stella held a staring contest for what felt like minutes, neither of them willing to back down - both, with the eye contact and the argument that hangs over them like a dark, miserable cloud. Finally, Harry sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his head so his chin hit against his chest. He was in no position to keep fighting her, especially if continuing meant jeopardizing her attendance, tonight, in particular.

His favorite smile, a full smile broke out onto Stella’s face, and she couldn’t help reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. Twisting the golden doorknob, she allowed them both into her home. “Did you still wanna take that nap?”

Harry rolled his eyes, stepping inside and shrugging off his tee shirt before the door could even fully shut. “I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Fifteen minutes until showtime. Fifteen minutes and Stella still wasn’t there.

Harry left her with plenty of time to get ready and to get her friend to come with her. He left her apartment nearly thirty minutes before they had to be at the gym, giving her enough time to get dressed - she was never one for makeup, if she wasn’t on stage - and make her way to the gym long before the match would start. Stella should be here, by now. She’s always early.

Harry was nervous, but not because of his fight - because there was no sign of Stella. Mack has tried to get his mind off of her, but he was basically talking to a wall as Harry kept pacing around the  locker room, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“She’ll be here, H,” Libby tried reassuring him again, but like Mack, she was ignored. After Harry left Stella’s apartment around four, that was the last time he saw or heard from her. Usually, she would send him a text that she’s on her way, but he’s received nothing. The only reason Harry could think of why this is happening, is because of that prick of a dance partner. Harry always drove Stella himself, before their separation, and afterwards, she always sent a text when she was coming. 

Now, the one time River decides to tag-along, there’s no word from her. If Harry didn’t hate him already, he certainly does now.

Niall offered Harry a beer, which he greatly accepted, gulping it down in seconds before crushing the metal of the can in his palm. Then, the locker room door swung open, and a frenzied Stella walked in with a sheepish look on her face.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, there was a crowd outside that was impossible to get through,” Stella rushed out, coming straight over to Harry and engulfing him in a hug, knowing he must’ve been worried, ignoring the concerned looks on their friends’ and her friend’s faces. Stella was cutting it close to when Harry had to get out there, and she just blamed it entirely on the traffic and drunk crowd of old men, and she knew that wasn’t going to stick with Harry.

“Great! Stella’s here, now. Can you fucking sit down?” Mack hissed, rubbing his temples as he could feel his headache fading away. Stella shyly pulled away from Harry, ignoring Mack’s hardened stare, and made her way over to her friends, greeting them in her usual manner before snagging her own beer from the cooler; and when she pulled out another, that’s when Harry realized the leech that was in the room, too.

Taking a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, Harry did all he could to ignore River’s existence. He had to remain civil for Stella’s sake. That was the condition of her being there, after all.

“Stell, you didn’t text me,” Harry spoke up, gaining back her attention. 

Stella looked at him with a furrow in her brow before patting her jean pockets and then reaching into her small purse hanging off her arm. “Shit, I forgot my phone back at my place. I’m sorry,” she apologized, only then realizing that she completely forgot her phone and, therefore, forgot to text Harry and confirm her appearance, like she usually did. Stella stepped closer to Harry, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. “I told you I was gonna be here, though.”

Harry looked down at his shoes, biting his lip, biting back his words. Harry wanted to tell Stella he was nervous that she wasn’t gonna show, wanted to tell her that he was worried, wanted to tell her so much. Instead, Harry reached over to the bench where his duffle bag was, pulling out his gloves and offering them to her. “Can you put my gloves on for me?”

It was a bit of a tradition for Stella to put Harry’s gloves on his hands. As if her being there wasn’t enough luck, this action was also a tiny good luck token that Harry always needed before he went out. Stella hesitated for a brief second, not knowing if this was actually a good thing. There was essentially no harm in it, but knowing his reasoning - that it was for good luck, she is his good luck - kind of felt like a punch to her gut. Of course, though, she reached for them anyway, slipping one and then the other on his fists before tightening the straps and knocking the fists together. 

“Good luck, H,” she murmured, giving his right and left fist a little kiss, before dropping his hands all together. 

The little kiss sent a shock through Harry’s spine, because that was something she never did before. A wide smirk formed on his lips, his nerves completely vanishing as confidence swarmed his veins. He stood back up to his full height, saying, “Don’t need it now that you’re here,” just loud enough for her friend to hear on the other side of the room.

“Alright, let’s go!” Mack shouts from the locker room door, holding out Harry’s robe and guard for his mouth.

Harry’s black robe was slipped over his frame as they all walked out of the locker room and into the hall. The bass-driven music was pounding throughout the venue, eliciting a roar from the crowd, because the fun was about to begin. The announcer could be heard, hyping up the audience as he waited for the cue that opponents arrived to their positions. 

Niall, Libby, Stella, and River separated from Harry and Mack, making their way towards their reserved seats in the front row. Harry was barely paying attention to whatever Mack was telling him, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and cracking his neck as they waited.

Then his name was called. And everything became a blur.

The crowd erupted, he walked to the ring, Mack put his mouth guard in for him, and then the familiar bell of the match sounded. His opponent was no bigger than he was, which was good for him because it called for an easy win. The guy managed to get a few good moves in, delivering a hard right hook straight to Harry’s jaw. All he could see was black for a couple of seconds, but once he regained his composure, the first thing he saw was River’s arm wrapped around Stella’s shoulder.

She was motionless as she watched Harry, hands clasped together and under her chin as she hoped for him to win. It was like she didn’t even notice his arm was on her, and Harry can’t decide if that makes it worse.

The anger from earlier today at the gym, and from picking Stella up, and from Stella being late boiled back inside of him. The look on his face was a deadly one as he spat on the ring floor, raising his fists back in the air, ready to strike. His opponent looked terrified for a quick second, but he too raised his fists, nowhere near ready to give up.

Harry won.

Scary part is, he doesn’t even remember it. 

One moment he’s standing there, the next his arm is being raised in victory as the referee declares him winner. His breathing is heavy, his heart is beating rapidly, and his body is drenched in sweat. He feels hot and disgusting, so he walks over to Mack in the corner, who’s waiting with a towel for Harry to spit his mouthguard on to.

He receives compliments left and right as he makes his way backstage, but he practically ignores them all as he searches for the only one that matters. Her face pops up within seconds out of the crowd, and then she’s making her way towards Harry, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, not caring about the sweat and the stickiness of his skin. “Knew you’d win.”

“I always do when you’re here,” he hums, pecking her cheek and shrugging his shoulders, leaving one arm slung around her, raising his eyebrows in a cocky manner, basically saying I never lose. Stella hums in response, shaking her head at the cockiness, before needing to find the nearest bathroom, stating she’ll be back in a few minutes. 

Niall and Libby didn’t stay for long after the fight, so all that was left was Harry and River. Alone. Alone, while Stella was in the bathroom. Harry tried really hard to ignore him, but being alone fueled the fire in his mind, and couldn’t help himself. “What do y’think you’re doing?”

River was surprised at this, because as far as he knew, he wasn’t doing anything. “Excuse me?”

Harry scoffed, unraveling the tape on his hands, clenching his jaw as he looked up. “Never seen you two so … close, before.”

River shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders. If he was supposed to feel intimidated by Harry, he wasn’t. Who Stella decided to be around was her own decision, and it wasn’t any of Harry’s business what their personal relationship was. Not that it was anything more than friends, Harry didn’t need to know that. “Well, someone has to be there for her. Y’know, after all the pain you caused.”

After all the pain you caused. Harry swallowed at the thought. Their breakup weighs heavy on him, and not a day goes by where he doesn’t think about the pain he caused, the pain that ensued afterwards. He knows he hurt her badly, and he’s not so sure anything could ever make up for what he did, but knowing that others know he hurt her made him feel uneasy. The worst part of it all? Knowing that he wasn’t the one she cried to, confided in, needed support from. 

River was, any of her friends were, but not Harry.

He gripped the bench he was on, mulling over the idea of Stella seeking River out to talk about her relationship problems, and praying Stella would come back quickly before he does something he regrets. Before he could say anything back, River made the decision to keep egging him on, leaning his back against the wall by the door. “Harry, you gotta let her go, mate. I think we both know this will always end badly between the both of you. ”

Harry stood up from his seat, stalking across the room, ending up right in front of River, barely a foot of space between them. Harry doesn’t like the way he says his name, venom and distaste found in every syllable, almost as though she could never see it. “You don’t know shit about Stella and I.”

“Don’t I? I know a lot more than you think, Harry Styles. If you love Stella, you’d stay away from her,” he spat back, narrowing his eyes into slits, taking his hands out of the pockets of his jeans. 

Harry wishes it was that easy. If Harry could physically stay away, he would. She doesn’t deserve the trouble he brings and he most certainly doesn’t deserve her. Love isn’t that easy, though. It can’t be that easy. Stella’s his girl. There’s no one else for him. He can’t let her go.

“You’re bad for her. Can’t you see that?”

And just like that, Harry’s fist came in contact with River’s cheek. The dancer’s body was thrown off his arrogant balance, nearly toppling over onto the floor from the brute impact. Harry gripped the back of his shirt, throwing his back against the wall he was just perched on, taking hold of his jaw so he had nowhere else to look but at him. Harry tilted his head to the side a bit, leaning in just a bit closer so his hushed words could be heard, just between them two.

“You’re gonna go. Stella is my girl, and I won’t go down without a fight - which we both know you’ll lose. So you’re gonna leave her alone, got it?” Harry hissed, tightening his hold on River’s jaw, which any tighter, he could probably break.

River wasn’t happy, that much was evident, but he knew when to give up. Harry was a force he had no time or effort to reckon with, so unwillingly, he nodded his head. His face was dropped, and Harry stepped back, clapping him on the shoulder with a condescending smile as he pointed towards the door to the locker room. Holding his tender face, River gave Harry one last middle finger before walking out.

Harry let out a sigh of relief, knocking his head back so he was facing the ceiling. The deep pit that had been nestled into his gut all day finally vanished, and he finally felt at peace. He could finally get the idea of Stella with anyone else out of his head and maybe, just maybe, get their relationship back on track to what it used to be. For that to happen, though, Harry needed Stella to fully trust him again, and he was still struggling with how to gain her forgiveness. Because anyone that knew Stella knew that she could hold a grudge.

He didn’t get much time to think about it though, because after a million years, Stella finally came back from the bathroom. “I swear, I just don’t think today’s my day. I went into one stall and it didn’t have toilet paper, and the next one didn’t either, and ... Hey, where’s River?” she suddenly wondered, stopping mid-ramble to look around the room, seeing it was just Harry in there.

“Said summat about not feeling good, left a couple minutes ago. I’ll drive you home,” Harry disclosed, tugging his clean clothes out of his bag so he could go take a shower quick before they left.

“Oh, that’s odd. He seemed fine before. I hope he’s better for rehearsals tomorrow,” she spoke worriedly, making a mental note to text him when she gets home. They only had three months until the competition, and they haven’t really performed the dance together yet. They’re already on a time crunch, so him being sick really didn’t help their case.

The whole time they were alone together after Harry’s shower, not a single word was exchanged between them. It wasn’t a necessarily awkward tension between them, but it wasn’t the most comfortable either. The journey across the parking lot to Harry’s car was silent, and then the car ride was only filled with the quiet lull of the music on the radio.

When they arrived outside her building, Harry put the car in park, but Stella didn’t jump to get out just yet. She played with the ring on her finger - that actually used to be Harry’s, gnawing at her bottom lip gently. She was pulled out of her thoughts when Harry placed his hand on her thigh and smiled slightly, and Stella knows exactly what Harry’s going to say. It’s the same every week, every match.

“Thank you for coming.” 

Stella glanced up at him, pulling a small smile across her lips, slowly nodding her head. For some reason, she could feel tears and anguish building up inside of her, causing her to look away quickly as she reached for her purse on the floor between her feet. She placed her hand on the door handle, ready to pull on it before turning back around to face him for one last time in the night. “Congratulations, H. I’ll see you soon.”

Then she was gone, and that unmistakable pit in Harry’s stomach resurfaced. 

.・゜゜・ Stella  .・゜゜・

Stella can see her anger. That’s all she can see at this moment. Bright red. Burning anger. Fueling rage. Usually, Stella knows how to channel her anger, to calm herself and bring herself back to Earth and level herself out without making a scene. However, right now, Stella absolutely cannot. All of her rage is targeted at one person, one person that she swore she’d never take the time to be this angry at ever again. 

Harry.

Stella hasn’t been this angry since she and Harry broke up over a year ago, since the moment she stepped on the stage and realized that the one person that she wanted to be there wasn’t there at all. Stella hasn’t been this angry since Harry blamed it on oversleeping and forgetting, since he lied to her face and tried to win her back with broken promises and empty words. Stella hasn’t been this angry ever in her life, and it’s beginning to make her skin hot and her face sweat with the rush of it all. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

“What do you mean you’re through?” Harry asks angrily as he begins pacing around the bedroom that he and Stella practically share at his apartment. Stella’s old place was nearly empty by the time they were dating for six months and she was about to sign the final paperwork to end her lease and move in permanently with him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Stella says harshly, shaking her head and sucking back tears that are threatening to fall. Stella can’t cry. Not right now. Harry can’t see how broken she is over this, over everything.

“Is this because I missed the performance? Is that what all this is about?”

Stella sets her clothes in the suitcase and looks at Harry with tears in her eyes, biting back a laugh and sucking in a deep breath, one singular tear falling down her cheek as she stares at him. Harry looks broken, as if someone’s dug a knife into his chest and twisted at the seams. In a way, Stella is glad he feels this way, this hurt, this pained, because maybe, just maybe, Harry would understand how she felt to win and be completely alone, without the one person that she wanted there.

Stella’s mind goes back to the memory of the competition, of how she felt. 

Stella stepped onto the stage with nothing but joy and pride in her eyes. Stella’s first national title was about to be won as long as she scores high enough, and that would mean she would be one step closer to earning the money to open her own studio. Her mother, Luna, is in the audience, Harry’s mother and sister, all of their friends are there ready to cheer her on. Harry should be there, his flight landed nearly an hour ago, and he said he was going to come right there to watch her. Harry promised that much.

Stella performed her very best, danced the best she’s ever done, earned a standing ovation from the audience and the judges and a perfect score on her sheets. Angie hugged her tightly as she came off the stage, River shortly behind, her eyes looking expectantly out in the crowd to see her family and friends and searching rather impatiently for the one person that she wanted there the most. Harry wasn’t there. Harry wasn’t there at all.

“Of course, that’s what this is about, Harry! Are you dense?” Stella shouts without meaning to, frustration lacing her voice and making it nearly impossible to keep level headed. “You missed the most important competition of my career. For what? Because you overslept? Because you didn’t want to fly?”

“Stella.”

“Wait, were you sleeping with that one girl? What’s her name? Molly? The one that’s been following you around to all your matches, lately?” Stella seemingly has made up her mind before Harry’s even opened his mouth to respond. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“No, Stella. I have never and would never cheat on you,” Harry says sternly, shaking his head and taking a cautious step forward, his chin dropping to his chest when Stella takes a step away from him. “Don’t believe me, that’s fair, but I swear to you, I never cheated. I overslept. I got lazy and missed my flight. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“God, Harry, grow up! You’re such a fucking hypocrite!”

“I’m not a hypocrite,” Harry grits through his teeth, shaking his head and cracking his knuckles, clenching and unclenching his fists to try and gain control of his anger. He always had a bit of a temper. 

“How would you feel if I missed one of your matches? One of your biggest matches, because I was too tired from dance and from work and didn’t want to get on a flight.”

“I would understand, Stella,” Harry lies, trying desperately to soften his eyes and make her believe him. He wasn’t trying to manipulate her into staying, per se, but he certainly wouldn’t admit that he would be furious at her, that he wouldn’t take an apology and would likely need a few days to cool off from how angry he would be. “Maybe I wouldn’t understand, I would be angry. I wouldn’t break up with you, though.”

“No, Harry, you’d just give me the silent treatment until I begged you to come home and apologized for days,” Stella says confidently, anger lacing every word that she’s spitting out and making him all the more able to see that he won’t be winning this argument any time soon. “I know you, Harry Styles. I know you better than anyone, and I know how angry you’d be at me. Harry, you wouldn’t speak to me for days if I missed a match. And yet, you can miss my biggest competition, which I won, by the way, and try to get away with it scott free, without any repercussions. It doesn’t work like that, Harry. Life doesn’t work that way. Just because you’re good looking and a good boxer doesn’t mean you can just get away with anything!”

“I’m not trying to get away with it, Stella. I said I’m sorry!” Harry booms, his voice travelling around the bedroom and echoing in her ears, the velocity of his voice against the thin walls making sure their neighbors must’ve heard everything. Stella, frankly, doesn’t care at this moment. All Stella cares about is getting the hell away from Harry Styles. “Stella, please don’t go. I need you. You’re my lucky charm. I’ll fuck up if you’re not there.”

“That’s it? That’s why you want me to stay - because I’m good luck?” Stella asks astonishedly, shaking her head and zipping her suitcase even faster than she originally planned on it. Stella thought about making things dramatic, dragging it out slowly and surely, but of course Harry had to go and say something absolutely ridiculous to make her even more angry. Harry doesn’t know how to watch his mouth. “Fuck you, Harry.”

“Stella, I love you,” Harry says as a final plea, taking her wrist in his strong grip and turning her around, forcing her to look into his eyes. Stella’s expression is lifeless and cold, her honey eyes darkened and worn with anger. Harry doesn’t recognize this Stella, he doesn’t recognize her at all. This isn’t his Lucky Charm, his Stella Bella, his Stella. This isn’t his girl. This woman hates him. Hates him a lot. “Stella, I’m so fucking sorry. I love you. I want you because I love you. I don’t care about the stupid, bloody fights.” Stella looks at Harry knowingly. “Okay, I care a little bit. It’s how I pay for my life. It’s my job, Stella. I was tired, and I thought it wouldn’t matter if I missed one competition. I wasn’t thinking. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Harry, you need to grow up. I would do anything for you, quite literally anything, and you couldn’t even get on a plane to see me perform on the biggest stage I’ve ever performed on, for a national title, for me. I lied to your family for you. I lied to my family for you. I lied to our friends. I told everyone your flight got delayed and you were watching the livestream. I won’t do that again. I won’t lie to the people I care about for you, ever again. I’m not going to put myself in that situation,” Stella says sternly, shaking her head and yanking her wrist away from Harry’s grasp. “Maybe one day we’ll make it work, but you need to grow up. Harry, you’re jealous and immature and you think the world revolves around you. News flash, it fucking doesn’t.”

“My world doesn’t revolve around me, Stella,” Harry shouts as Stella begins walking out the door. “It revolves around you! Everything I do is for you, Stella.”

Stella looks at Harry longingly, as if she wishes that the words were enough to make her stay. “If your world revolved around me, Harry, then you would’ve been there, and I wouldn’t be walking out the door, right now.”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Knocking on Stella’s door came early, a bright seven in the morning with the sun freshly risen, a few hours before she was meant to meet River at the studio. They were meant to rehearse for a few hours at the studio, before Stella would go to the gym and meet Harry for his training for the match that was in a few week’s time. That Stella knew. That was all in Stella’s mind as she wrapped a robe around her figure and hurried to the front door where the knocking was incessant and repetitive.

This, though. This, Stella had no idea about. 

Stella opened the door, dazed and confused by River’s appearance, hurrying him inside and making a cup of coffee for them both. River had a bruise the size of a fist on his cheek, and a scrape along his forehead that makes it seem like he was smacked into the ground.

Immediately, Stella knew. Stella Smalls instantly knew who the culprit was and why it was happening. It made her furious. Harry always had a bit of a temper, a bit of a jealousy issue when they were together, but it was never anything that she couldn’t handle by herself. This, though, was too much.

“Look Stella, I love you. I love you as my friend,” River says softly, taking a sip of the coffee she’s set in front of him apologetically and running his finger around the rim. “I love you as a dancer, I love you as a partner, I do. I don’t want you to think that I don’t.”

“River,” Stella says hesitantly, knowing exactly where he’s going with his sentence, going exactly where she doesn’t want him to go. This could ruin her life, her chances at winning the title, of opening her own studio this year. This could ruin everything. All because of Harry.

“I can’t be your partner anymore, Stella.” There, River said it. Stella knew that was going to be it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting like a bitch. “Can’t be your partner, Stella, not if you’re going to be friends with Harry and he’s going to be around all the time. Harry is, quite frankly, Harry is a mess to deal with and a temper and a lot. Know that it’s not fair to make you choose, and I don’t plan on making you choose.” River is too good for Stella. Way too good. “I think you need to do this piece as a solo act for the world title. Stella, it’s so good. It really is. You’re going to perform it wonderfully on stage.”

“Except you can’t do it with me,” she says, toying with the rings on her fingers and clenching her knuckles together into fists, fighting the urge to smack her hand against the marble counter.

“Right,” he says regretfully, dipping his head to his chest and letting the air puff out between his lips. “I’m so sorry, Stella.”

“I, um, I think I need to be alone,” Stella sighs, saying every word with regret and shame and anger, sadness lacing every syllable. “I don’t understand, not really, but I’ll try to. Honestly, though, I just want to be alone, right now.”

River simply nods quietly and stands from the barstool at her kitchen counter, walking towards the entryway of her apartment and opening the front door. “I’ll see you at the studio?”

“Mhm,” she hums without saying a word, discontentedly drawing a circle around the rim of her mug and not daring to look away from the ceramic cup in her hands. 

“Bye, Stella,” River says as he walks out the front door, regret and sadness lacing his voice. Stella wants to punch him in the other eye for feeling pity for her. He should’ve been stronger, acted tougher, not let Harry get to him. Maybe Harry should’ve left him alone. “I’m sorry.”

Her head slowly nods and her eyes stay cast on the marble counter that she’s leaning on. Stella doesn’t want River to see her cry. Angry cry, that is. 

All of Stella’s anger is channeled towards Harry. All of it. Every ounce. There is not one bone in her body that isn’t infuriated with Harry Styles, that wants to punch him in the face and yell until her cheeks turn blue. Harry ruined her chance at the World Title by doing this. He’s ruined her chance at opening her own studio. He’s ruined it. 

Harry is at the gym, that’s easy to know. He always is. This calms Stella, knowing exactly where to go and what to do. Maybe not what to say, but that will come with her anger as she ruminates in the frustration. Stella wipes her tears from her cheeks, readies herself for the day - which includes wearing one of his training shirts and jeans and trainers - and hurries along to the gym down the street, rushing inside and bursting through the doors to see the man of the hour, pummeling away at a free-standing punching bag, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

“Harry Styles,” Stella shouts, walking in and commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “Harry Edward Styles!”

“H,” Mack says, ripping an earphone from Harry’s ear and nodding towards where his ex-girlfriend is angrily walking towards them, hands balled into fists. “Got a visitor. An angry one.”

“Stell, what are you doing here so early?” Harry wonders confusedly, brushing his hair away from his forehead and sucking in a deep breath, slowly taking the gloves off his fists and tucking them under his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Stella scoffs, throwing her head back in a thick and pained laugh and lifting her hands in the air with a smack to her thighs. “Am I okay? River quit today. Quit the whole fucking routine. All because someone made one too many threats about being with me.”

“Have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry shrugs, walking away and pushing the door into the Men’s Locker Room open, waiting for the yelling to diminish, especially considering how many people were staring in the center of the gym. He reaches his locker, ignoring the calling of his name behind him and opens his locker, shoving his gloves and mouth guard into the metal container and taking a towel and wiping the sweat clinging to his forehead. His hand slams against the locker next to him, causing a banging sound to resound through the quaint space. 

“Don’t walk away from me, Harry,” Stella shouts from outside the locker room door, waiting rather impatiently for him to exit, and when he doesn’t in a near thirty seconds, she’s storming inside after him, ignoring the calls and squeamish shouts from the grown men changing in the midst of the room. “Fuck, Harry, you’re such an asshole, you know that! Making my partner quit on me, three months before my competition!”

“Awfully cozy with someone that’s just your partner, Stella,” Harry says sarcastically, drawing out every syllable and taking a step away from the locker, and standing with his hands on his hips as he stares at her, taking in the beauty that she gives off so effortlessly. “Not to mention, I didn’t make him quit. I simply said that he needed to take a step back. Coming to my fights with you. Kissing you. Making a show with you. That’s not what a partner does.”

“Harry, I’m not your girl anymore! I’m not someone you get to be jealous over and fight over! Get that through your thick head!” she screams angrily, huffing a breath and ignoring the stares that she’s receiving as the remainder of the men in the locker room leave the two to argue quietly.

Harry cracks open his locker and reaches for his water, his eyes falling to the photographs that are still stuck on the inside of the metal door. “Of course, that’s what you think, Stella, but, you’ll always be my girl.”

Harry can’t shut the locker door before Stella sees the photostrip, the three photographs of the two of them from their anniversary two years ago. “Is that?” Her eyes well with tears at the thought, the photographs that she searched high and low for after their breakup to try and hide away with all of the other things that she saved in a wooden box beneath her bed, all the photographs and memories that she wanted to keep for the day they, maybe, got back together like she had thought about, at first. “Have you kept them all this time?”

“Not like you were going to want them anymore,” Harry says spitefully, slamming his locker shut and walking towards where she is, setting his hands on either side of the locker that she’s standing against and holding her between his arms. “Not like you wanted me anymore.”

“Harry, don’t,” she says sadly, slinking beneath his arms and walking towards the locker, turning his birthday in the pin and opening the combination, her hands reaching for the photostrip and running her fingers along the tattered photographs, reminiscing sweetly on the memory. “Did you know I looked everywhere for these? I wanted them.”

“Wanted them for what, Stella? To what? Throw out?” Harry is angry, clenching his hands into fists and getting ready to take the photograph out of her hands before she can take them and run away with them. That’s the last thing that he has of Stella that isn’t broken and shoved in a bin beneath his mattress. That’s the last thing he has left of when his Lucky Star was his.

“No,” Stella sniffles, wiping her eyes and sticking the photograph back on the metal wall of the locker door. “I wanted to keep it for when we got back together, you prick. I thought, I thought we’d get back together. I didn’t think we’d stay apart.”

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Stella,” Harry warns, stepping around the bench separating them and leaning one hand on the locker next to Stella’s head, her thumbs tracing over the photographs where she’s hiding in his neck laughing and he’s holding her tightly, the one where they’re kissing and smiling and they look happy, because they were. Harry and Stella were so happy together. Harry softens looking at the tears on her cheeks, and cautiously leans forward to wipe a stray tear from her skin. “Stella Grace, look at me.” 

Cautiously, Stella lifts her head and meets Harry’s stare, his intense green eyes staring back at her longingly and - dare she say - lovingly, his thumb going under her chin and holding her face to his. “What, Harry? I’m not sure what else you could possibly want from me. Especially now, when I have no duet partner and the World Title is only three months away. You’ve royally fucked me over, Harry.”

“I am so sorry, Stella. I didn’t think River would quit.” Stella looks at Harry knowingly, threateningly, as if to say, I will leave if you don’t tell me the truth, and that whips Harry into shape. Harry can’t let her leave. This is selfish of him, of course it is. Harry loves Stella. Love can be selfish sometimes. Can’t it? “Okay, well, I hoped he would. I wasn’t thinking about you, though. That was selfish of me. I’m sorry. I love you, Stella. I act selfish and stupid when I think about you with someone else. It makes me do crazy things. Stupid things. Tell me what I have to do to make it right, Stella.”

Stella thinks for a minute, really contemplating all that Harry has said and how she feels and the emotions that are rushing through her in that moment, everything feeling a bit too much and like she needs to break away and find herself in the studio dancing over and over until she can make sense of everything. That’s what Stella does - Stella dances to make sense of everything. That’s when it hits her.

“Dance with me.”

“Huh?” Harry chokes out, shaking his head immediately and wondering how in the hell Stella came up with that as what he needed to do to win her over. “Stella.”

“Harry, you need to dance with me, or you need to leave me alone. That’s it.”

[depressedacadamia]

Tell me ‘I love you’

Prompt + pairing: Aged up AU, ‘sunshine’ + Solangelo

A/N:  HEHEHHAHAHAAA, I shall post this one on time. I am going to dedicate this to @hua-lian-sho234 coz my baby seemed like they needed some cheering up- SO FAE, THIS IS FOR YOU. As for the rest of yall, I hope you enjoy and commment! <3 from ~phi phi~

Read on A03           WtitersMonth 2021         Masterlist

“Daaaaaad!” Bianca cried. “ The puppy keeps on licking me!”

Will, knowing that Bianca called him ‘Dad’ whereas called Nico the same thing but in Italian, quickly ran over to calm down the sobbing 6 year old.

“ Bianca darling, the puppy is trying to be nice- he’s licking you because he likes you!”

“But Daad- who licks someonbe to say they like them?”

Nico, who walked into the room at this very line, took a loud sip out of his rubber duck shaped mug and mumbled, “ Your dad does, that's who.”

Will could feel his cheeks turning pink at Nico's deadpan expression- How could this dude say these sorts of things so nonchalantly?

“Stop teasing,” Will grumbled as he picked up the puppy who was now yapping away at Bianca. She frowned at the puppy, crossing her arms and huffing heavily before heading out of her parents room and back into hers so she could play with the new empty cardboard tube she had collected.

“I love youuuu!” Bianca squealed as she yelled into the void of the cardboard tube and both her parents chuckled slightly to themselves. It was always a relief to hear her laugh, to know that she was doing well. But as those words resonated in the air, Will couldn’t help but feel a bit empty after the words faded- when was the last time he had heard Nico say ‘I love you?’

How long had it been? 2 years? For some reason Will suddenly felt like punching Nico directly in his perfectly handsome, seductive and somehow adorable face. His mood instantly dropped and it felt like his day, due to his overthinking, had already started badly.

The rest of the day was spent cursing out Nico- It was hard because they b oth worked in the same University- teaching students. The worst part was watching Nico smile and get on with other people the entire day- So you have time for them but not for me, huh?

Will’s day only got increasingly worse. Fuck you, student whomade that homphobic comment. Fuck you, teacher who ate my lunch. And most of all, Fuck you- Nico di Angelo.

Because it seemed that his certain day was determined to make Will want to die, he ended up working overtime and by the time he got home, his precious Bianca was already put to bed and Nico was sitting at the dinner table all by himself.

The soft padding of Will’s footsteps alerted him of his newfound company. He looked up to see his husband and boy, did Will get even madder from that simple movement. Who gave him the right to look so gorgeous doing everything? And why was the last time Nico said ‘I love you’ approximately 2 years ago?

“ I made dinner.”

“Did you ruin the kitchen?” Will immediately asked.

Nico clenched his jaw.. “ No. A thank you would have been nice. I’m not that bad a chef.”

Will cautiously took a seat and dug in. Sure, Nico wasn’t well versed in cooking but Will was starving and didn’t feel like arguing- not with the intense overthinking that was happening in his head.

“You seemed like you were having a bad day,” Nico commented.

Will swallowed vigorously. “ What made you think that?”

“The fact that eveytime I saw you, you looked like you were about to murder me.”

“Why does everything you say somehow come back to death?”

Nico shrugged. “ What’s wrong?”

Will, immediately realising how stupid his reasonging would sound, suddenly caved in his body. “ Nothing.”

“There’s obviously something wrong,” Nico pointed out as he shoved his fork into his food.

“You’ll laugh at me….and besides, it’s stupid.”

Nico scoffed, “Dya think I married you without knowing you’re stupid? C’mon, spill.”

“It’s just…” Will paused, looking away as his cheeks burned. “I haven’t heard you say ‘i love you’ for two years.”

Nico stared at Wil, his jaw dropped and the room utterly silent. And suddenly he threw his head back and started cackling, his laughter so loud, Will worried that Bianca and the puppy may both wake up.

“Thats what you were worried about- That’s so dumb, Oh my-”

“-Hey! You said you wouldn't laugh- C’mere!”

Will, sick of Nicos relentless teasing, got out of his seat and reached over to hit his husband on his arm. However, it seemed that Nico had more intention to fight than Will- and therefore the next thing they both knew, they were on the floor wrestling with each other until Well managed to hold Nico down and straddle him.

He leaned forward and put both his hands on the floor, cagin around Nico’s head.

“I win!” Will exclaimed in glee.

Nico smirked as he looked up at Will, “Indeed, it seems you have sunshine. Now can you get off- your kinda heavy… though the view is great.”

“Not until you say ‘I love you’!”

“I… I …” Nico stuttered. “I LOVE MY RUBBER DUCKY MUG MORE THAN I LOVE YOU!”

“You said it!” Will smiled.

“Did I? Oh yeah…” Nico mused as Will smirked.

“Now say it again!”

“But I just di-”

“-I love you too,” Will smiled as he leaned his head down. His long hair curtained both of their faces and their noses brushed gently. Nico could feel butterflies pounding at the walls of his stomach and his heart rickeheting against his ribs. Their lips were only a breath away but suddenly, Will was off him as quickly as he was on him.

“Hey, who taught you how to tease?” Nico grumbled as he got off the floor.

Now it was Will’s turn to shrug. “ Meh- I’m married to a sadist who loves to tease me 24/7- I pick some things up ya know.”

Nico grumbled as he thought things over. “ Damn it, maybe I should tone down the teasing for a bit.”

[katieraven]

SOMEBODY TO DIE FOR

Summary: Elizabeth Jones is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent frequently on missions with the Avengers. When one mission backfires, she is left to deal with the resulting trauma and some unresolved affections for a certain Sergeant ...

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/OC

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+ smut, language, graphic depictions of violence and torture, implication of non-con elements (on the antagonist's side), self-destructive behaviour, so much angst and trauma, eventual fluff and happy ending

Word count: 14638

Notes: Hello there, fellow Bucky simps, it is wonderful to see you.

I started writing this thing shortly after watching episodes 1-3 of The Falcon And The Winter Soldier, although this fic has nothing to do with the series at all, it simply served as inspiration. The story got a little out of hand and was originally meant to be a short, self-indulgent, silly little thing, but well, here we are. I do hope you enjoy it. If you want, you will find this fic on AO3 here.

Love,

Katie

P.S.: @sventeen-daybreak, in case you were wondering, this is the fic I was talking about that I couldn't shut up with.

P.P.S.: Also I am apparently overly motivated, I made a playlist for this, and there is a second moodboard.

~~~

The room is pitch dark. I hate the dark, hate when I can’t see. I can hear Steve in my earpiece, trying to coordinate this mess of a mission.

Boy, did it go wrong. So quickly, too. Civilians cry and scream above me in the upper levels. I hope they get them out before it’s too late.

“Steve, civilians on the second floor, western wing”, Bucky’s voice crackles over comms. I release the air I’ve been holding. They will get them out. I know they will.

“Got it”, Steve answers.

“Top floor’s clear”, Sam notes.

Carefully, I take a step forward. All my senses are heightened in the darkness. Gun out in front of me, I advance further into the room. Back against the wall. Slowly, my eyes are getting used to the dark, dusty room. It smells like old plastic and metal and reminds me of the copy rooms in the library I used to go to as a kid.

I start to make out the shapes of old computers around me. Lines of shelves full of old folders and crates. Jackpot.

“I found something in the basement. Looks like they used the hostages as a distraction, there’s all kinds of data down here.”

Steve’s answer crackles into my earpiece seconds later, “Anything of value?”

I step up to one of the hulking grey computers on the nearest table. My eyes are adjusting more and more to the darkness surrounding me. As dusty and unused the rest of the room looks, the computers are surprisingly clean.

“They’ve been used recently.”

“You alone down there, Jones?”, Bucky asks.

“Seem to be. Can’t hear anything other than the scuffle upstairs.”

“Be careful”, he just huffs, then I hear gunshots cracking in the distance.

It feels wrong. If the hostages really are a distraction, why would the basement be deserted?

“I don’t like this, Steve. It’s too quiet.” I murmur.

“Can you get in there, Jones? Find what they’ve been hiding?”

I hesitate. It’s not that I think I wouldn’t get in, but I’d have to let my guard down. The bad feeling in my stomach builds.

“Sam, can you have Redwing scan the basement for heat signatures? Make sure I really am alone down here?”

“Sure thing, J. Gimme one sec”, I hear him grunt.

I wait, gun in both hands. Then, “All clear.”

The gun placed next to me on the table, I gently lower my fingers on the keyboard. Clean, too. Not unused, though, the letters are fading. I reach into my pocket to pull out a flash drive and shove it into the PC's slot. The machine begins to whizz, then the screen lights up. Within a few seconds, I have a scanner running. Nothing.

“Seems they prepared for this kinda situation; I need more time if I’m to get something outta these things.”

“You have three minutes, then we have to get out of here. Take what you can get. Anything else we’ll have Tony have a look at later at the –“

An explosion shakes the building around me. I instinctually grab the gun. Dust falls around me like snow.

Then everything happens at once.

“This is a distraction, they’ve set the place to blow, Steve!”, Bucky shouts over comms. I curse, sticking the flash drive into my pocket.

“Get out of there, Buck! Jones, you too!”

Gun drawn, I make my way over to the door.

“Shit, Jones, you’ve got company!”, Sam shouts and I freeze.

Down the hall, I can hear the shuffling of boots. Three. Maybe four.

“How many”, I murmur into the earpiece.

“Four, more coming from the other side!”

I’m surrounded. This was a trap the entire time.

“Stay low, I’m coming.” I can hear the strain in Bucky’s voice, a grunt as he fights his way down to me.

“They blew the stairs, Bucky, we will have to find another way-“

“Five more from the east, Jones! Get out of there!”

I flatten my back against the wall. Breathe. You’re not going down like this. This is not the end I tell myself, feeling my pulse quicken. This is a trap. I am trapped.

Comms are silent. The first HYDRA agent steps through the door and I shoot him in the neck. He goes down and the next one follows. Shouting words in a language I only know broken pieces of, he dodges my bullet, going for my legs. One shot misses, I react only on reflex as I kick his legs out from under him and lock him between my thighs, firing at the next one.

“I’m coming, Jones.” Bucky huffs over comms.

“Busy”, I growl as the next guy pulls out a knife and swipes at my arm, narrowly missing the skin.

The door on the other side of the room bursts open and gunfire erupts around me, Bucky, I think, but I am only greeted by more Russian. Scrambling, I duck behind one of the office chairs for any kind of cover, bullets coming from both sides. One of them just misses by mere millimetres and punches a hole through the soft backrest of the chair.

It is then that I pick up what the agents are saying. It’s only bits and pieces, broken sentences, but I hear hostage and leverage and take her alive and then I hear winter soldier. And I understand.

“I can’t get to her, Steve, I can’t – I don’t know how –“ I hear him over comms. I can’t allow him to get down here. They can’t get him.

“We’re gonna get her out of there, Buck, just –“

“Listen to me!”, I grunt as an agent slams me to the ground and I barely roll out of the way of his fist coming down.

“They’re here for Barnes, you can’t come down here, they are only here for you, you need to leave –“

“I am not. Leaving you, Jones.” Bucky growls.

“It’s a fucking trap, Barnes! Quit playing hero and get out of –“ A bullet catches me in the abdomen and all the air leaves my lungs in a pained yelp.

“There’s too many of ‘em, Steve, she can’t take ‘em all!”, I hear Sam’s voice in my ear.

They’re closing in now. I scramble for my gun, but someone kicks it away against the wall. I curse and grab the knife from my belt, slashing at the arms that try to grab me. I lost track of the entire situation, I don’t know how many are in the room with me and the low, thrumming feeling of despair in my stomach tells me what I already know. I am not escaping this. I can’t get out.

“Leave,” I croak over comms again, trying desperately to at least have him not run into this trap like I did.

“Please, you need to leave –“ a second bullet pierces my shoulder and I hiss at the sharp pain erupting in my upper body.

“No fucking way, Jones.”

“Buck she’s right, this is exactly what they want, we have to find another way!”

A fist meets my jaw, my head snaps back against the wall and I taste blood from where I bit my tongue. I try to deflect the next blow but the knife in my hand swings wide, then someone twists it out of my grasp. I look up into cold, green eyes.

“Jones? Jones, do you copy?”, Bucky’s desperate voice shouts into my ear and I pray to anyone who will listen that he stays far away from these people, that Steve has some common sense. He can’t allow them to take him.

Another fist throws my head against the wall and I feel a light, warm trickle of blood tingling in my hairline. My vision is blurry. The faces before me swim and merge into one, then break apart into a million.

“Please”, I whisper.

“Jones? Tell me you’re still there. Please, Jones, I –“

“You need to leave, Bucky, please –“

I feel myself being lifted up from the ground, hands under my arms, my feet dragging on the ground. The wound makes my shoulders scream in pain. I think I’m crying.

“Promise he’ll be safe”, I manage to get out. A slap against my bruised cheek. “Stop talking”, one of the agents commands in broken English.

“Nobody will hurt him, Jones.” Steve answers calmly, but I can hear the fear below.

“No, Jones, no, please, Steve we have to help her –“

Muffled voices around me. Pain shooting through my shoulder and abdomen, my head pounding.

“Jones, please, answer me.”

My throat refuses to work. The agents keep dragging me down the hall. My eyes flutter closed.

“Jones?” Bucky’s desperate voice pierces my heart. But he will be safe. I know Steve will make sure of it.

“Jones, please. Lizzie. Tell me you’re still there.” Tears push past my eyelids. He will be safe, I keep telling myself.

“Baby, please, I’m begging you –“, a muffled sob shoots through comms and my heart breaks for him. There is so much I want to tell him, but I can’t bring my mouth to obey me. The air around me changes, the stuffiness of the basement gives way to something cleaner, more polished. They will take me and hold me hostage for the others to come save me. This is all part of their plan; it must have been from the beginning. I can’t allow them to use me to get to Bucky. He has worked so hard to be free from HYDRA, it can’t all have been for nothing.

I feel myself being placed on the bottom of a van, the motor rumbling through the metal beneath me. My eyes blink open. I can’t let them use me. The man next to me has his gun leisurely dangling from his hand. With all the strength left in me, I push myself up into a kneeling position and grab the weapon.

I repeat the words in my head like a mantra, I can’t let them use me, fear rushes over me as I put the gun against my temple and try to pull the trigger, but my fingers slip, the last bit of strength I had leaving me when I need it the most. The men around start to shout, the nearest one kicks the gun out of my hand. Another one pushes me to the ground. I know they will use me. And I can’t stop them.

“I’m sorry, Bucky”, I whisper before they rip the earpiece out. My last link to him gone. I sink down to the ground and something heavy hits my head, sending me into oblivion.

*

The first thing I feel is the light. It sticks pinpricks through my lids, no matter how hard I clench them shut. Artificial light piercing my brain.

The second thing I feel is the pain. My whole body aches as if I’ve been run over by a truck. I can feel the place my head hit the wall, the blood now crusty and tugging on single hairs in my neck. I feel the gunshot wounds on my shoulder and my abdomen, searing pain creeping through my body.

The third thing is the cold. They stripped me down to my underwear. I shiver against the freezing metal chair beneath me. Drawing a slow, wheezing breath I dare to open my eyes.

More sharp, artificial light. A tiled room. Someone standing over in the corner across from me, casually leaning against the wall in stark contrast to the environment. Glancing to the left and right, sensing the empty space behind me, I seem to be sitting in the middle of the chamber. I breathe in and out again, coughing as the air hitches in my dry throat.

“Oh, you have awoken”, a voice rasps in broken English and it takes me a few seconds to realise it belongs to the person across from me. The man saunters over to my chair and stops just short of touching my knees. I have to look up at him. He wears a lazy smile and his green eyes glint in the harsh lighting. My mind flashes back to earlier in the basement. The same cold, green eyes. His tac suit has been exchanged for something more put together, a collared shirt and suit pants. He feels overdressed.

He curls a calloused finger around my chin and lifts my face higher until my neck hurts from the unnatural angle. The muscles in my shoulder twitch and a pained whine escapes my lips. It only broadens his smile. I hate myself for it. I want to scream at him, claw his eyes out, punch him, anything. But my body won’t obey me, and I’m strapped to a chair.

His fingers stroke my chin and I turn my head away to somehow try and escape his touch. “Now now, don’t get all pouty on me.”

I keep my eyes locked onto a chipped tile in the wall. It has the tiniest piece broken out of it, in the top right corner.

“Pretty thing”, the agent whispers above me and a chill runs down my spine. I don’t want to know what comes next.

His hand slides over to the back of my head where my hair is still caked in blood.

The crack in the tile almost has the shape of a star if you look at it the right way. Like the star that used to be on Bucky’s arm, my delirious brain thinks. God, I hope he stays as far away from these people as possible.

“They will come get you, pretty girl, and then he will be ours again.” Please god, make him stay away from them.

“Maybe we can have him kill you. Just for fun.”

He told me what they did to him, once. On a balcony at Stark Tower, at three a.m.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Bucky’s metal fingers clink onto the railing as he steps out to the balcony.

I shake my head. “Nah.”

The sounds of New York at night-time are rushing below us like a river, dampened only by the height we are standing at.

“Tough mission?”, he asks, and I nod absentmindedly. Too much death. Too many casualties. It was supposed to be a stealth mission in an empty warehouse and then suddenly it was outside. Crowded. The screams and looks of terror are still burnt into my brain.

I sigh and turn around, elbows propped up on the railing. I look over to him on my left.

“And you? Tough mission?”, I repeat his question.

He shakes his head. “Nightmare.”

His eyes are underlined in dark purple, his hair a mess, he is standing out here in a pair of sweatpants and a dark shirt. Must have just gotten up. He notices me studying him and looks over. I lift an eyebrow.

“Wanna talk about it?”

I can see him hesitate. His eyes dart over my face. “Intense stuff. Wouldn’t wanna keep you awake with it, too.”

I snort. “Not like I can sleep anyways.”

My eyes fall to the scratch on my arm. “I just …” Sometimes I feel like I don’t suffer enough for all the lives I fail to save. I don’t dare tell him.

“I heard what happened today.” His low rumbling voice smoothes over a rough patch on my heart, and suddenly the lump in my throat is just the tiniest bit smaller.

“There weren’t supposed to be civilians.”

I close my fists and feel the familiar sting of the nails pressing into the soft skin of my palm.

“It was supposed to be a quick mission. In, out. Just the files. No death. And especially no civilians.”

He extends a hand to my left fist and carefully pries it open. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

I look at the red crescent moons my nails left in my skin and can’t help but remember the red hole in a young woman’s forehead. My stomach lurches and I press my hand over my mouth, biting my tongue. Tasting blood.

“It’s not your fault.”

I want to believe him so, so bad.

“How do you know?” My eyes search his face for something, anything to reassure me in the fact that I couldn’t have saved them.

“How do you know I couldn’t have done better?”

His fingers still cradle mine and rub calming circles over my hand.

“Because I know you by now, Jones. And I know you always give your all.”

But it’s not enough.

“You can’t do more than that, Jones. None of us can. All we can do is do our best and save as many people as possible.”

The screams still won’t leave my brain, though.

“I see them when I close my eyes, Barnes. I see their scared faces, their still faces, empty eyes turned upwards and I can’t –“ A violent sob breaks out from my body and I curl my arms around my chest, trying to keep myself from falling apart.

Bucky slowly walks over until he’s standing in front of me, gently placing his hands on my arms.

“Jones. Hey.”

But all I hear is screams of innocent people, all I see is lives cut short. My knees give.

He catches me as I fall and then we’re sitting across from each other on the metal floor.

“Sometimes I wonder if I deserve to have this, Barnes, to live, while all their lives ended before their time”, I manage to push out. I never told anyone this before. But I feel like he would understand.

“Hey, look at me, J.”

I try to steady my breathing and look up into his slate grey eyes, cool and soothing. For a few seconds, we just sit there silently, no words, as the hiccup sobs die down slowly.

“This is our job, Jones, we try to save as many people as we can. Think about how many more had died if you hadn’t been there.”

“None, Barnes. If I hadn’t been there, if there had been no mission, they would have just continued living their lives.”

He sighs.

We don’t talk for a while. Above us the dark night sky of New York, below us the bustling nightlife.

“You still wanna know about my nightmare?”

I look up at him, pulling my arms tightly around myself. And nod.

With a sharp twinge of pain, I get pulled out of my memories.

“You listen when I talk to you, bitch.”

Three other men have moved into the cell, one of them stepping close to the agent in front of me and quietly talking to him. I can’t make out the words, but as the agent steps back, the man before me is smiling a violent smile. I can see a chipped front tooth.

“They will come get you, darling, they just need a little motivation.”

I feel the punch coming. It still hits me unprepared, head flying backwards as pain blooms from my jaw. My ears are ringing.

The agent pushes back his sleeves and pulls a phone out from his pockets.

“Look alive”, he trills as the sharp light of a camera flash hits me. I squint too late, shapes dancing over my closed lids. A second punch hits me, the eye this time. Suit-guy chuckles gleefully as he slowly stalks around me. When he crouches down next to the chair, I shiver, his lips against my ear.

“You know what we will do now, darling?”

I couldn’t answer if I wanted to. Flashes of torture ghost through my head and sickening fear crawls up the walls of my stomach.

“We’re gonna call your friends and see if that doesn’t quicken their pace. I don’t wanna sit around here waiting for Mr. Barnes to show up. We got work to do.”

My stomach lurches. “No”, I cry, and “Please”, but he just grins down at me menacingly, holding the phone out in front of him.

The room is silent except for the beeping of the call. He put the phone on speaker.

“Who is this”, Bucky’s voice shoots out after not more than three seconds and I have to bite my tongue to not cry out.

“I’m sure you figured that out by yourself, Sergeant. We have something you want. Come and get it.”

Biting my lip, I shake my head. Please don’t come. Please.

“Where the fuck is she”, Bucky growls through the speaker, and I can almost see him clench his teeth.

“Oh, don’t worry, she is right here. Darling, won’t you say hello to your friends?”

I press my lips together and glare at him. In the background, I can hear low voices, Steve, and Tony too.

“I’m not going anywhere until I know she is alive.”

One of the agents steps behind me and places both hands on my shoulders, thumb pressing into the wound. I feel the bullet under my skin, wedged deep into the flesh. White-hot pain shoots through my body and I wince, desperately trying to be quiet. I can’t give them what they want.

“Listen to me, Barnes. Here’s what is gonna happen. You will come to a location I will send you shortly, and you will come alone. You won’t put up a fight and then, maybe, we will let her go.”

The cold, thin blade of a knife is placed against my throat and my breath hitches. My nails push into my palms as I try to stay quiet, refusing to make this any easier for them.

But then the agent pushes his thumb back into my shoulder. And I can’t move away because of the blade at my throat, and I try, I try so hard not to make a sound, but the pain is blinding, and I cry out.

“See, she is here. Stubborn though, I see why you like her –“

“I will kill each and every one of you. I will make you suffer until you wish you never set foot on this godforsaken continent.“

“Fine by me. As long as you come alone. We can take you, Barnes. You’re not invincible.”

And with that, he ends the call.

The knife is removed from my throat. The thumb from my shoulder. And I hate myself. I should have pushed against the blade. They would’ve stopped, they need me alive. Instead, I caved. Made him hear me.

Because I know he will come. But I also know he will be blind with fury, and they will take him, and make him their Soldier again. All because of me.

“See, darling, that wasn’t too hard, now, was it?”

Slow, hot tears roll over my cheeks. He has the audacity to wipe them away.

“It’s amazing what love can do to people. Almost too easy to break him, now.”

I scoff. Love. “The fuck do you know about love”, I snarl at him, and he smiles, as he crouches down again.

“Enough to see it in people. Enough to use it to my advantage.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

He downright wheezes with laughter, and I hear the others chuckle underneath their breath.

“Sure he doesn’t. And here I was, thinking you were smart …”

He doesn’t love me. I’m his partner, part of the team, he’d do this for anyone. We stick our heads out for one another, it’s just how this works.

“I guess I should thank you, darling”, he muses as he gets up and saunters off to the door. “You made this almost too easy for us. He’s gonna walk right into our trap, the fool. All heart-eyes and blind.”

He stops before leaving and turns around in the doorway. “The best part of all this is that he thinks he’s saving you.”

I look at him, head pounding.

“He thinks we’ll let you go when he’s here. I don’t see why we should. Two flies with one stone, you know. No, we’re gonna bring the Soldier out, and then he will kill you. Slowly, and painfully. See, that’s the best part. He knows what he’s doing, deep down. He’ll know. He just won’t be able to do anything against it.”

With that, he turns to leave.

“Hey, Viper”, one of the agents calls after him as they begin to leave the room.

“Lemme play with her a bit?”

The “Viper” seems to contemplate, before shrugging.

“Sure, why not. Just don’t break her. We don’t want her dead too early now, do we?”

A shuddering fear runs up my spine. The others leave the room, save the one who asked. As he closes the door behind him, a wicked smile on his face, for the first time I truly understand what HYDRA does to hostages.

*

My throat is hoarse and dry from screaming. Every single muscle in my body is aching, the sharp pain of the gunshots burnt down to a dull, rolling pain. I can barely keep my eyes open, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The agent before me grins violently, teeth bared. He opens his mouth, but I can’t hear, it feels like my head is wrapped in cotton. He drags a knife along my shoulder, my arms, down to my wrist, just enough to make me feel it. The cut is shallow, a burning line along my body. It barely registers. I feel like I am floating above myself, looking at the scene from a stranger’s perspective. Out of touch. Aloof.

He slaps me. I know my head flies to the side, I know blood spatters onto the ground. I know all this. But I don’t feel it. My wrists are still bound. They’ve gone numb by now.

After the first hour, I couldn’t cry anymore. After the second hour, I couldn’t scream anymore.

He left me then, for a while, leaving me to drift into merciful, dreamless unconsciousness. Then he was back. He looks like a shark in bloodied water, frenzied, thirsty for the pain he greedily drinks out of my voice, my eyes, the way my body reacts without me having any say in it.

I lose track of time. The windowless room, tiled top to bottom, claws at my sense of orientation and slowly pulls the ground from under my feet. It feels like days since I last saw daylight.

This was not how the mission was supposed to go. It was supposed to be a small thing. Minor hostage situation, yes, high stakes, sure, but nothing the four of us couldn’t handle. Nothing HYDRA, just a drug cartel. We went in fully prepared. But then it went tits up, too many opponents, more than there were supposed to be.

My nose registers a sharp smell, something wet touches my nose. My conscience is being dragged back to earth, to this broken room, this broken body. My eyes flutter open.

“Don’t you fall asleep on me, pretty.” He is back. His shark grin broadens as he sees my eyes register him.

“Can’t blame the Soldier for wanting a piece of this.” His fingers slide along my face, curl around my chin to lift it up so I look him in the eyes.

“You know, I been thinkin’, why should we let him kill a pretty thing like you right away? It’s not like we get girls this easy ‘round here often. Gotta use the opportunity.”

My stomach roils and I can taste bile in the back of my throat. Please, no. Not this. Please.

His hands let go of my jaw and glide lower, over the sweat-and-blood-soaked underwear they graciously left me, and he pushes my legs apart. I am shaking, I realise, I can’t even stop myself. Cold terror washes over me at the sight of his hungry eyes. He reaches out to grab my hips.

And then everything happens all at once.

A metal arm wraps around his throat, lifting him up away from me and sending his hands scrambling to free himself.

“Touch her again and I will rip you limb from limb.”

The arm sends him flying against the wall, a sickeningly wet thud as his head impacts.

And then he’s there. I must be hallucinating. He is there, and he is alive, and he is himself. He is there. Bucky’s there.

“Fuck, Lizzie, please tell me you’re still in there. Please.” He sinks to his knees and cups my face gently, so gently. It can’t be real. I can only stare at him, drink him in, some kind of fever dream.

“Baby”, he whispers. His hands reach behind me to cut the rope they bound me with, and the lack of suspense sends me falling. But he catches me. I can feel his hands keep me from crashing to the floor and a tiny piece of me returns. He is real. He is here, Bucky is here, and they didn’t make him the Soldier again and he came. He came to save me.

“We need to hurry, this place will be crawling with agents in a few.” I recognise Steve’s voice and as my eyes blink into focus, I see him guarding the door.

They came for me. I’m still shaking, I realise, as I feel my teeth chatter against each other. Bucky’s eyes look heartbroken.

“Can you stand, Lizzie?”

I don’t trust my knees. I don’t trust my voice, either. Bucky takes that as a no.

“I will have to carry you, baby. Is that okay? We have to get you out of here.”

“Buck”, Steve’s voice is cold with warning.

I nod. I can do that, so I nod, the tiniest movement. But he understands.

Slowly, he stands back up, hands still holding me so I don’t double over, and he ever so carefully picks me up, cradling me against his chest. I feel his steady heartbeat through is tac suit. It feels like it slowly drums the life back into my body, pushing the numbness further and further away. God, my feet are cold. My whole body is cold. No wonder I’m shaking.

He carries me out of the room with Steve walking ahead. I curl up against him, closing my eyes against the bright neon lights above. I am safe now, right?

Right?

Shots echo in front of us. Bucky pulls me against him further.

“It’s okay, Lizzie. Everything will be okay. I got you now.”

“All clear”, Steve comments, catching his shield, and we continue. My head is thrumming. The feeling slowly returns to my body but with it returns the pain.

We round a corner and Bucky curses, ducking back around it and shielding me from the gunfire ahead. His metal arm pushes against my wounded shoulder and I cry out, cold sweat coating my forehead. Then it’s quiet again. Inside, my head feels like it’s about to burst.

We round another corner. Fast footfalls follow, then an impact. We tumble and he pulls me against his chest as we fall, but my head meets the ground with an angry thud. Black dots dance over my cloudy vision and Bucky snarls on top of me. The sounds of fighting ensue. I can only lay there, breathing shallow, feeling warm blood trickle down my head, wound newly torn open.

Then he is above me again, hands cradling my face.

“No, Lizzie, stay with me”, he whispers as my eyes flutter shut.

“You have to stay with me, please. Baby, please. Look at me.”

But the warm darkness is so welcoming, if I could just let myself fall …

“Lizzie, baby … please, I need you to stay with me.”

His hands pick me up so carefully, pulling me close against his chest again.

“I need you to stay awake, Lizzie. Please.”

I want to, so bad. But I can’t will my eyes to open. The darkness is all over me now. And I let go.

*

Dark, thick boots in front of me, barking voices, a hand grabbing me by the throat and pulling me up, up, up, until I look into a shark-toothed smile again.

“When I’m done with you, pretty, you’re gonna wish we’d let him kill you.”

Tears roll over my cheeks as he grabs my shoulders, knees giving out from under me as I crash onto the ground, the pain, god the pain, I can’t take it anymore, it’s too much, please let it end, please –

I startle awake, hands frantically pushing up until I’m sitting. Breathing heavy, fists curled up into something soft. The room is warm, welcoming even. There’s no sound apart from my breaths. I am alone. That’s good. Nobody can hurt me if I’m alone.

Then the pain registers and my upper body implodes. I gasp and my arms give out from under me, having me fall back down to the bed.

There’s a knock at the door. It startles me, and immediately I am on high alerts again.

But HYDRA wouldn’t knock.

“Yes?”, I try to say, and wince at how quietly and croaky it comes out.

Nevertheless, the door opens, revealing a tousled head of red hair. Natasha.

“Hey, Jones.” She’s quiet as if trying not to spook me. Like a wounded animal. “How are you?”

I look around the room. This must be Stark Tower. The peace is in such harsh contrast to the last … hours? Days? I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real. How am I supposed to know if this is happening? If it’s really, truly happening, or if I’m just hallucinating? But Bucky saved me. Right?

“Is this real?”, I rasp out. Natasha studies me carefully.

“Will you believe me if I say yes?”

I don’t know, will I? But would it be so bad if it was a dream? It’s so quiet.

“Where are the others?”, I ask. Where is Bucky?, I mean.

“Safe.” She understands. “Strewn all over Stark Tower, working to shut that base down they kept you at.” She slowly approaches me, studying my face.

I try and carefully sit up, much to the dismay of my ruined muscles.

“How did – why were – what happened?”, I try to form a coherent sentence.

“Well, for starters, going in alone anywhere in this kind of situation is a no-go, so fuck that.” She wears a half-smile, pulling a chair over so she can sit, far enough from the bed to give me my space.

“I’m not gonna bore you with the details here, but long story short, someone kidnapped our friend, and we kicked their asses.”

I attempt a smile. Not sure if it works, if it doesn’t, Natasha doesn’t let on.

My throat is dry. I can’t remember the last time I drank something, I realise, right before my lungs explode into a coughing fit. The gunshot wounds pulse red-hot pain through my body and I collapse onto the bed again.

“It’s okay, Liz, here. You’ll be okay.” She reaches over and grabs a glass of water from the nightstand, before handing it to me and carefully stabilising my upper body. The cool water runs through my parched mouth and somehow it calms my panicked nerves.

Right as she places the glass back on the nightstand, the door opens again, gently, and a small whimper leaves my throat as I see him. He’s safe. He’s here with me and he is safe.

His eyes widen. “Thank god you’re awake”, he breathes and rushes over, falling to his knees next to the bed.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

My hands reach out to him and he grabs my fingers, carefully pulling them close. Something inside me shatters.

“You’re safe, you’re okay, thank god you’re okay, I –“, my words fail me as I break into sobs, “I failed you, Bucky, it was all my fault, I –“

He looks up into my eyes. “Shh. Don’t say that. I’m just glad you’re here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

*

It’s better, now. I don’t question my sanity anymore, my reality. When I wake up at night, drenched in cold sweat, asking FRIDAY who is on my floor and she tells me it’s Steve, or Natasha, or Bucky, I believe her. I know they can’t get to me anymore.

But I have gotten wary. Paranoid, even. Sometimes I ask FRIDAY to list the people in the tower over, and over, and over again. She does. An AI’s patience, I guess. I still wake up in the middle of the night, throat screamed hoarse, seeing monsters in the shadows. Or in the too-bright lights. Feel phantom fingers press into my shoulder and force my legs apart.

The gunshots have healed well, thanks to the skilled hands of the Stark Tower’s med bay. They still hurt, sometimes. It’ll be a wrong movement and a twinge of pain will shoot through my shoulder or my stomach. I’ll grimace and pull through.

There’s new rules, too. Nobody goes in alone. Anywhere. Ever.

And I’ve been avoiding Bucky. He spent the first days keeping vigilant watch, at my bedside or outside the door. His absence hurts somewhere deep inside of me, a deeper pain than the gunshots, something the pain killers can’t reach. But I can’t look him in the eyes. If I hadn’t gone into the basement alone, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have endangered him.

There is an empty feeling in my chest that I will start to notice whenever it gets too quiet, whenever my brain has time to roam. I miss him. I miss our late night balcony talks when we both can’t sleep. I miss the bickering at the start and end of successful missions. But I can’t go back on missions yet. And worse than missing him is the guilt.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, told me it wasn’t my fault. Steve got all emotional. Fury short and to the point. Natasha with a sharp look in her eye. She understood. To Sam I almost spilled my heart out, he has that effect on people. And of course, Bucky. Again, and again. In the first days, when he didn’t leave me for longer than two hours, and later on, too. The few times we do meet in a hallway, when my eyes look anywhere but into his. I know he says it to ease my mind. I know that he probably even believes it, but I can’t.

He told me, once, that he remembers every single person he killed while under HYDRA’s influence. Every target, every civilian that got into the crossfire. He told me of the torture they put him through. The cryo. And because of me, he almost fell back into their grasp. And I just can’t make myself not feel guilty about it.

Some days I wordlessly stand on Sam’s doorstep, running shoes in hand, hair in a ponytail. I think he understands the need to run from my thoughts, from my brain writhing and clawing at itself. I know he wants to talk about it. He knows I don’t. And he won’t push.

The gym is empty as I step into it quietly, pulling the door closed behind my back. My eyes roam around the room.

“FRIDAY, anyone in here with me?”

A short pause, then: “You are currently the only person on this floor, Agent Jones.”

I breathe out the air I held in anticipation. I go look for a place slightly out of sight from the door, that still allows me to quickly observe the entire room. Waiting for another few seconds, I ask FRIDAY again. Still alone. Just me.

Mechanically, I go through stretches. Lunges. Sit-ups. I don’t listen to music while working out anymore, too distracting. Too easy to be surprised. Instead, I concentrate on the rhythm of my heartbeat.

Still, my mind wanders. The last couple of missions have not been great. Mostly successful, yes, but too many casualties. Not to mention the last one. I was clumsy. Careless. Not quick enough, not strong enough. Not good enough.

I find a punching bag and let loose on it. Throwing punch after punch, blow after blow, until I’m panting and sweat is dripping off my forehead, plastering strands of hair onto my skin.

Next punch.

Crying hostages.

My fist flies into the bag again.

A young woman running in front of me, staggering in her panic, then a stray bullet hits her in the head. Her vacant eyes come to rest on me as she falls.

My knuckles curl and I punch the bad again.

Bucky’s voice over my earpiece, pleading, begging.

“Jones, please. Lizzie. Tell me you’re still there.”

Skin connecting with fabric.

A green-eyed agent, sneering down at me.

“You made this almost too easy for us. He’s gonna walk right into our trap, the fool.”

I grit my teeth and my fists meet the bag again.

And again.

And again.

Dark spots dancing before my eyes.

I continue. It’s all my fault. It wouldn’t have happened if I had been stronger.

One more punch.

If I had been faster.

I feel myself swaying.

I’m not good enough.

*

I’m not out for long. My first thought when I come to results in a frantic question to FRIDAY.

The AI answers patiently. “You are currently the only person on this floor, Agent Jones.”

Same answer as always. It’s soothing, a sense of normality. Of routine. I take a look at the clock. Nine p.m. Time to take a shower and go to bed, I suppose. Not that I expect to be able to sleep. Walking to the elevator, I contemplate having Natasha knock me out cold so that I can for once experience the benevolent veil of unconsciousness.

Halfway up to my floor, the elevator stops and the doors open. Immediately I step into a defensive stance before I realise it’s just Steve. Just sweet, kind Steve, whose heart I can see break in slow motion when he sees my reaction.

“Hey, Liz.”

I sigh and my shoulders drop.

“You okay?”

I’m not sure if I will ever be the same. I’m not sure if I will ever not flinch anymore when someone I didn’t spot moves too quickly. I’m not sure if I can ever look Bucky in the eyes again. I’m not sure –

“Yeah.” I attempt a smile, but it crumbles before it can become convincing.

The elevator picks up speed and Steve leans against the wall.

“I feel like things between you and Buck have been … strained, lately.”

Putting on my best façade, I throw an innocent look his way.

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, lifting his eyebrows at me, but indulging my little act.

“The two of you were different, before. Partners. Joking around, and I do understand it’s hard to fall back into it after what you went through, but Bucky …”

My eyes snap towards him.

“… I don’t know. It’s not my place to say anything.”

Whatever the hell that is supposed to mean.

“Everything is fine between Barnes and me, Steve. Same as before. I just don’t go on missions yet, so we don’t see each other as often. Right?”

He studies me for a moment, arms crossed.

“Right.” I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

When the elevator stops again, we’re on my floor, and I make my way out of the doors. Just before they slide closed again, Steve puts his foot between them.

“Liz, wait.”

I turn around, back against the wall.

“I just …” He struggles with what to say and what to keep to himself.

“Don’t let this ruin something good. Don’t let them break you, still.”

There is an ache in my chest. Deep-rooted, a few inches below my left shoulder.

“Yeah”, I manage. He studies me for a few more seconds, then he steps back and lets the elevator close between us. As soon as he is out of sight, my shoulders slump forward. Don’t let them break you, he says. They already did.

*

I wake up with a gasp. Silent terror behind my eyes. My brain making up scenarios.

Bucky came alone in this one. Unarmed. Prepared to offer himself up for me to be let go, but I know they won’t. They told me.

So they take him, and break him, and then they let him loose on me. I don’t have enough strength to run, to fight. Not like I could.

He is upon me quickly, metal arm around my throat, squeezing until there are tears escaping from my eyes.

But his eyes are his own. Tortured look behind the cold façade, eyes wide in terror. I can see he knows what he is doing. The panic of not being able to stop his body from complying.

I shake my head. Brush my hair off my sweaty face. The usual question to FRIDAY. The usual answer.

My gym clothes are still lying in a pile on the ground next to my bed and I slip into them. Need to get the images out of my head. Try to, at least.

The gym is empty. No surprise, if I am honest, it’s the middle of the night. The same time Bucky and I used to meet on a balcony, each fighting our own ghosts.

I find the punching bag again. It feels good to have an impact on something, an ounce of control over something that can’t hurt me. My muscles still burn from the last time I was down here. The bag gets pushed to the left, to the right, and I feel the skin on my knuckles heat up. Then crack open. The sharp pain crawling over my hands feels good, too. It is nothing, compared to the pain I put innocent people through. To the pain I almost put Bucky through.

The familiar dark, dancing spots creep into my vision. They beckon me with honeyed lips to give in, and I grit my teeth through the oncoming dizziness.

Behind me, a door falls shut, and I flinch and whirl around, staggering at the too-quick movement. Dark hair, slate eyes, underlined in violet. Bucky, my brain registers, before my vision blacks out for a second and I feel my knees connect with the mat below me.

He’s there in an instant, hands steadying my shoulders. The touch sends shivers down my arms. My vision clears again, and I attempt a carefree expression. The look on his face tells me he is not convinced.

“It’s fine. I’m fine”, I try to tell him with a reassuring smile.

He is on his knees before me, reluctantly letting my shoulders go. Eyes still studying my face, he huffs out a breath of air.

“So are you gonna tell me what you’re doing down here in the middle of the night?” He sits back onto his heels, still kneeling on the ground. I want to reach for him, touch him, pull him so close to me that nobody will ever get to him. Instead,, I just curl my hands into fists and cock an eyebrow at him.

“What about you?”

“Can’t sleep”, he explains, and I shrug.

“Well, there you have it.”

I can’t look directly into his eyes. He is too good at reading people, something born from trauma and survival instinct.

His hands are resting on his folded legs, metal fingers calm on top of his right hand. He’s wearing his “I woke up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep” outfit, sweatpants and a black shirt. Reminds me of the nights spent talking on the balcony. It’s like HYDRA took this from me, too, this small refuge after a day spent trying and failing to save people. The time he spent putting all the pieces of myself back together.

“So you go down here and punch a bag until you collapse?”

I shrug again, trying to keep the raging storm that is my mind inside for nobody else to see. His shoulders sag a little and he angles his head so that he can look me in the eyes.

“Can you at least look at me, Lizzie?”

Something compels me to do so. Maybe it’s the pet name. He is the only one who ever calls me Lizzie, everyone else says Liz, or J, or Agent Jones. Bucky usually only uses it when we’re alone. My mind races back to a few weeks ago.

“Jones, please. Lizzie. Tell me you’re still there.”

His broken voice replays in my head.

“Baby, please, I’m begging you –“

I only just now realise. He never called me baby before, either. I feel like I’m missing something, like the pieces are there, just out of my reach. It frustrates me.

“You’re not fine, are you?”, his smooth voice is the last straw, gently pushing into the walls I put around my heart in the last few weeks until they burst. There’s a lump the size of a tennis ball in my throat as my breath hitches and my shoulders sag and then hot tears spill out of my eyes and I can’t stop it from happening.

“Lizzie, no, hey, come here.” He holds his arms wide open and waits for me to give him permission to touch me. No pressure, just an offer. I feel my hands reach out and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to his chest. My fists clench into the soft fabric of his shirt and I curl up tighter around my aching chest. He just holds me. Gentle hands stroking soothingly over my back, up, down, up again, down again. And fuck, he feels like home.

The sobs die down into quiet hitching breaths, dull stitches in my sides. Bucky remains where he is, not saying a word, just holding me.

“I feel like they broke me”, I finally gather the air to whisper into his chest. He presses his lips against my hairline, silently waiting for me to continue.

“I’m sorry, Bucky.”

He stirs, then.

“What for?”

“I let you down.”

It’s the first time I am saying this to anyone. I don’t know what it is that makes me tell him, of all people. But it feels right.

“No, Lizzie, you didn’t.”

I look up, blinking the tears away until I can see his eyes.

“I put you in danger. They almost got to you because of me.”

Bucky sighs. “They almost got to me through you. Not because. None of this was your fault, you know?”

I roll my eyes. “Everyone keeps telling me it wasn’t my fault and yet I let them take me, and I was the reason you came to them and for some reason, you got fucking lucky enough to not fall right back into their hands!”

His face is calm, collected, even, but I see the pain in his eyes.

“None of that happened because of you. It happened to you. What were you supposed to do, fight ten of them and get out unscathed? Nobody does that, Lizzie. It was a damn trap.”

I fist my hands into his shirt. “And I walked right fucking into it, didn’t I?”

“We all did. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“You don’t get it, do you? It was my fault. I knew something was wrong and I stayed down there in that goddamn basement!”

“What did you do wrong?”

I pause. He looks directly at me, eyes locked onto mine. “Tell me what you did wrong.”

Something inside me cracks.

“I let them take me even though I knew they would use me to get to you.”

My fingers are still closed into his shirt. “I tried to fight them off, I even tried to –“ My voice breaks and I swallow against the lump in my throat.

“I knew they needed me alive, so I …”

His eyes are studying me carefully and I can see the slow realisation of what I am about to tell him dawn in the back of his mind.

“One of them was careless with his gun. I tried to put a bullet through my head”, I whisper, not daring to look at him.

He inhales sharply. “Lizzie, no …”

“I was too slow.”

“Baby …”, he whispers, in a voice I have never heard from him before. He sounds small. Broken.

His arms wrap around me carefully, as if scared I might shatter if he pushes too hard. His scent envelops me, pines and leather and metal, underlined by clean linen and sweat. It’s strangely soothing.

“Please promise me you won’t do that again. I can’t – I wouldn’t even know what to do without you.”

My hand flattens against his chest, heart pounding underneath.

“It wasn’t your fault”, I whisper against him.

“No, it was. They were there for me. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

I want to grab him by the shirt and shake him, remind him it’s not his fault, it’s them, that he never did anything wrong. Instead, I just shake my head.

“We weren’t careful enough, Lizzie. We should all have expected it to be a trap. Me, Steve, Sam, too.”

“Don’t say that”, I mutter into his shirt.

“Can I tell you something?”

I nod.

“Can you look at me while I do? Please?”

I sigh, but look up at him, skin itchy from the drying tears.

“You can’t keep putting the blame on yourself whenever something goes wrong.”

My shoulders slump.

“It doesn’t make anything better, you hear me? It doesn’t help anyone. It just makes you sink deeper and deeper into your guilt. And trust me, I know what that’s like.”

He pries my fingers from his shirt and gently folds them open. His thumbs smooth over my palms, circling around the crescent scars in the soft skin.

“There is enough pain in this world, Lizzie. And you’re putting yourself through enough already. Don’t blame yourself for what happens to me, too. It’s not your fault.”

When I fall into bed later, it’s the first time in weeks that I sleep through. Probably just the exhaustion.

*

I lie awake again, the next day. This time I never even fell asleep. There’s too many faces when I close my eyes. Too many screams. The voice of a green-eyed viper.

A noise outside my room spooks me into sitting up. Slow, sluggish steps on the corridor. They stop right in front of my door, then it’s silent.

“FRIDAY, who else is on this floor?”

The AI answers dutifully. “Currently, you and Sergeant Barnes are on this floor, Agent Jones.”

Bucky? It must be Bucky outside, then, anything else security would have picked up on.

A few seconds later, there is a quiet knock. I rub my eyes and fully sit up in the sheets before I answer. The door opens, just far enough for him to stick his head through.

“Heard that you’re awake. Can I come in?” His eyes look haunted.

“Sure.”

I pull the blanket closer to my body as he kneels down next to the bed.

“You can sit on the bed, you know?”

His chin resting on his left arm, he slightly cocks one eyebrow. “I did not.”

But he doesn’t move. He just looks at me and I at him, until his intense gaze gets too much to hold. My eyes roam over his face, the stubble on his chin, the curve of his jaw, the worried lines on his forehead.

“I’m so glad you’re safe”, he whispers, and my eyes return to his.

Something compels me to reach out and run my fingers through his hair, along his temple. His eyelids flutter closed. My palm comes to rest along his cheek, and he melts into the touch, my thumb caressing his cheekbone.

We just stay like this for a few minutes, for once not battling our inner demons. Savouring the peace we have in this moment, knowing the other is safe here.

It’s me who breaks the silence.

“Why’d you sit outside my door?”

He blinks a few times, adjusting to the soft lighting in my room, too bright after the darkness behind closed eyelids.

“Had a bad dream. Wanted to make sure nobody would hurt you”, he mumbles against my wrist. He lifts his right hand and I reach for it, fingers intertwining.

“I’m okay”, I whisper and he squeezes my hand.

“Sometimes I ask FRIDAY if you’re safe”, he admits and I smile. Seems we both use the AI as a support system. Although that’s what she’s there for, I guess.

He’s still kneeling before me and I shake my head.

“Come on, the ground’s a little cold, don’t you think?” I pat the blanket next to me.

“You sure?”, he mumbles and I nod. He sits up, still holding my hand. “I wouldn’t want to – “

I roll my eyes, “I offered, Bucky”, and shoot him a small smile. He shrugs and smiles back, standing up and crawling across the blanket to where I’m leaning against the headboard. The warmth he emits slowly engulfs me and it feels so safe, so much like home, that I move closer to him almost subconsciously.

“C’mere”, he mumbles and tentatively puts his right arm around my shoulders. He pulls me closer until my head lies on his chest. Intuitively, I inhale his scent, so undeniably Bucky, and sigh. Slowly, we both sink deeper and deeper into the bedding until we’re both lying down, and I curl one leg over his, foot threading between his shins. My arm comes to rest over his stomach and I feel his slow, steady breathing. It feels so right, my body against his. Like we’re made for each other.

I feel tempted to shake my head at myself for that thought. I’m tired. No idea how late it is but considering he had woken up, it has to be at least midnight. Probably past that.

“Can you promise me something?” His low voice rumbles in his ribcage, amplified by my ear pressed against his chest.

“Hm?”, I answer, half asleep.

“Next time you wanna punch a bag until your legs give out, tell me?”

I huff against his shirt. There’s a part of me that wants to scream I’m not worth his time, his concern, but the other part just misses him so fucking bad. And I’m just glad to have him back, so I nod.

“Good. Thank you. Now try and sleep, you need it.”

His steady breathing gently lulls me in.

*

The bed next to me is empty when I wake up. Immediately, I jump, heart pounding, but then I hear the shower running. He’s still here. I try to calm myself down again. The shower is turned off, and a few moments later Bucky walks through the door, hair still wet, wearing only his sweatpants. He pauses, towel in hand. A few stray droplets of water catch the light, glistening across his bare chest. I can’t help but follow the trail of muscles down, down, until my eyes get caught on the waistband of his sweatpants. I blink.

“’morning”, I rasp, clearing my throat.

A grin ghosts over his face, and I swear there is a smug glint in his eyes. “Good morning to you, too. Sleep well?”

A blush creeps up my cheeks and I avert my eyes, stretching to cover up my embarrassment. “Yup.” Had to get caught ogling my team partner, didn’t I.

“For once”, I add.

His smile turns softer then, and he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m glad.”

We just sit there for a while, stealing glances at each other’s faces. After what feels like an eternity, he clears his throat. “Breakfast?”

*

My fists fly into the punching bag. This time, it’s not being pushed around. Bucky is standing behind it, holding it firmly in his grasp, watching me closely and giving advice when he sees fit. It’s not the first session we share. Over the last few days, we have developed some sort of a routine, one of us showing up at the other’s room wordlessly, silent terrors behind tired eyes.

My time in the gym has become less self-destructive since, with him there to keep a close watch so I don’t push myself until I black out. Instead, he eases me off my adrenaline high, pulls me back out of my spiralling brain into reality. The time spent with him slowly fills the hole left by our nightly meetings on the balcony. It helps me tire myself out, I get to sleep through most of the times I go to bed afterwards.

“I just remembered something", I start one time we take the elevator back up to our respective floors.

He’s leaning against the wall across from me, elbows propped up on the railing. Sweat still glistening on his forehead, his hair a tousled mess, despite its shortness.

His eyes flicker over to mine. “Hm?”

I clear my throat. “When I was … held hostage by HYDRA, their commander said something, I never quite understood why.”

It feels … unsettling, to talk about that day. Bucky just looks at me patiently, without pressure.

“He said it was amazing what love could do to people.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow.

“He was talking about you. Us. He said that it was easier to get to you because they had me.”

There is something in his eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on. He looks taken aback, almost. He flexes his right hand, still looking right at me.

“And I told him he was wrong. They thought they had you all figured out, you know? Thought they could convince you to come alone just because they had me, of all people. I mean, I guess Steve would’ve been harder to catch, but you know …”

He still hasn’t said a word. I start to squirm under his gaze, slate eyes intently watching me, a muscle in his jaw twitching. It dawns on me, then, that bringing up HYDRA playing mind games is probably not the best thing. Sure, he knows, but did I have to remind him of that? I want to punch myself at the pained expression on his face.

“I’m sorry I brought it up”, I murmur, not daring to meet his eyes. He slowly exhales, and part of the tension seems to leave him.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He attempts a smile. It fails so miserably it almost hurts.

The elevator doors open with a quiet ring. As if being startled awake, Bucky suddenly straightens up and walks through the door, muttering a “Goodnight” under his breath.

I look after him confused, doors sliding closed. It feels like I lost some small part of him. The elevator picks up speed again and I make for the door as it opens on my floor.

*

That night, my dreams are haunted by the pained expression on Bucky’s face, mixed with what my brain pieced together from the few things he told me about his time with HYDRA. I wake up shaking and sit up, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead.

“FRIDAY, can you check in with Sergeant Barnes? If he’s safe?”

“Sergeant Barnes shows no sign of physical distress, Agent Jones.”

Seconds later, there is a knock. I get out of bed and walk over, opening the door. Bucky looks at me with tortured eyes that widen with worry as he takes me in. “You okay?”, he asks softly, lifting a hand to brush my hair out of my face. I nod and take a step back, allowing him into the room. He closes the door behind him and I wrap my arms around my torso, still feeling guilty for the conversation we had earlier.

He’s standing in the middle of the room, as if he doesn’t know where to sit – or if to sit at all. I sit down on the bed and study him for a while. We both start talking at the same time.

“I’m sorry that – “

“I shouldn’t have – “

We stop, sheepish smiles ghosting over both our faces. Something flutters in my chest. It’s quiet then, for a while, until he opens his mouth again.

“I’m sorry that I just left like that. Earlier.”

I shake my head. “No, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a step towards me, gesturing over at the bed. “May I?”

I nod, making room for him on the blanket next to me and he sits down, his weight shifting the mattress. He looks like he’s debating something in his mind, torn between one thing and another. I gently touch his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He stills. Then he sighs. It breaks my heart seeing him this way, tense shoulders, eyes lined violet. He draws a slow and deep breath until he looks over at me. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

I blink, startled. He takes my surprise as hesitation and makes to get up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you – ” Before he can get up entirely, I wrap my hand around his wrist. He pauses, eyes flying to my hand and then to my eyes.

“Bucky.” He slowly breathes out. “Of course you can stay.”

I let go of his wrist and crawl up to the headboard, leaning back against it.

“C’mere.”

He follows, but instead of sitting next to me, he lies down, curling up with his head on the pillow. I extend my left leg and he inches closer, left hand coming to rest on my thigh. My left hand finds its way to his shoulder, tracing soothing circles over it and slowly up his neck until my fingertips are tousling his dark hair. I can’t help but muse over its softness. He sighs against my leg and I can almost see the tension leaving him, shoulders slowly slumping.

“Thank you”, he mumbles, barely audible.

“Any time, Bucky.”

*

I wake up later, barely, to his hands stroking my shoulders.

“Lizzie, hey.”

I squint and try to open my eyes further.

“Everything is fine, I just … your back is gonna hurt if you stay like that the whole night.”

I’m still leaning against the headboard.

“Mkay”, I mumble, eyes fluttering closed again. I think I hear him chuckle, then he gently picks me up and places me down on the mattress so that I’m in a proper sleeping position. My eyes blink open again when he comes to rest next to me, face inches from mine. “Thank you”, I whisper, and without thinking about it, I place a kiss on his cheek. The surprised look on his face barely registers with me, before I sink back into unconsciousness.

*

When I wake up again, it’s morning. Bucky has assumed the position I was in last night, leaning against the headboard, a hand softly placed on my shoulder. I look up at him and smile, eyes not yet fully open. He smiles back, the softest look in his eyes.

“Morning, Lizzie.”

I yawn and rub my eyes, rolling onto my back.

“You know, Bucky, I always seem to sleep better when you’re next to me.” My cheeks heat up as soon as the last words leave my mouth and I scramble to say something less embarrassing, I shouldn’t be allowed to talk until I’ve been awake for at least ten minutes, for fucks sake, but then he smiles.

“I do, too.”

The soft morning light makes him look ethereal, his eyes almost silver in the direct sun. He squints down at me, eyes roaming over my face, before settling somewhere below my eye line.

“You’re beautiful”, he says softly and I pause, before I sit up, his eyes following every movement. I can’t help but stare at him, painted in golden light, and yet he tells me I’m beautiful.

I move towards him until my knees almost touch his legs. His right hand slowly reaches out, carefully, as if to not startle me, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. He cups my cheek, thumb smoothing over my cheekbone and my eyes flutter closed. He moves closer, bedsheets rustling beneath his knees, and then I feel soft lips on mine. The ghost of a kiss pressing against me. My eyes fly open and immediately, he pulls back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I just – I can’t –“

His hand leaves my cheek and it feels strangely cold. Before he can pull back further, I grab his hand. Gathering all the courage I have, I look him in the eyes.

“Kiss me, Bucky.”

He draws a shaky breath and then he is there, lips pressed against mine. I close my eyes, curling my arms around his neck, and he grabs my hips, pulling me closer, closer, onto his lap. His hands slide over my thighs to the small of my back, and then upwards, until they flatten against my shoulder blades, holding me like he needs me to live. Maybe he does. Maybe I need him, too, I wonder, as my hands find their way into his hair, pulling gently.

He pulls me closer, rocking me against his abdomen and a small, breathless sound escapes my throat. Bucky moans in response, teeth nipping at my lower lip. His tongue follows and I melt into him, hands pulling him closer towards me. Almost on instinct, I roll my hips against him again. His fingers curl into my shirt as he groans, sending a rush of blood down into my core.

We pull apart then, panting, dizzy from the lack of oxygen. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. I shudder when his gaze meets mine. We’re still so close to each other, noses almost touching, breaths mingling between us.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been wanting to do this”, he whispers against my lips, and goosebumps trickle down my spine.

“You have?”

He nods, tongue wetting his lips. His right hand slides up around my neck, thumb smoothing over the sensitive spot right below my ear, following the curve of my jaw. I let my head fall to the side, baring my neck, eyes closing. He places a barely-there kiss against the skin, then another, tracing a line down to my collar bone.

“I’m a simple man, Lizzie. Give me a beautiful woman in a tac suit, and I’m done for.”

I chuckle and open my eyes, facing him as he lifts his head to look at me. “Really that easy, hm?”

He nods earnestly, corners of the mouth twitching up. “If she can also handle a gun? Man …” He sighs. “I suppose I’ve been in the military for too long.”

I shrug. “Well, me too, then.”

One eyebrow shoots up, then he grins, “How long you been here, Lizzie?”

I roll my eyes at him. “You know what I mean, Bucky.”

He acts as if contemplating whether or not he needs me to elaborate, then he gets a smug look on his face. “Yeah, I’ve seen how you look at me sometimes.”

I groan, hiding my face in his shoulder. His low chuckle turns into a hum when my lips meet his throat and I work my way up the same way he just did. My hands on both sides of his face. His fingers curl around my wrists and I look into his eyes.

“It’s not like I do much to hide … anything, really.”

“Anything?” He kisses the palms of my hands, holding them against his face.

“You just look good in black, Buck. Don’t tell me you don’t know it.”

He cracks a crooked grin, looking up at me through his lashes and I draw a shaky breath.

“No, I know. I’m old enough to see when a woman looks at me and likes what she sees.”

I roll my eyes at him and he chuckles.

“I’m kidding, Lizzie.”

He pulls me towards him and gently places his lips on mine. I sigh and can’t help but smile into the kiss, fingers playing with his hair. His tongue caresses my lips and I open my mouth to let him in. His hands drop to grab my hips, rocking me against him again and heat shoots through my body, lips suddenly become sloppy and desperate, my hands trying to get a hold of as much of him as possible.

He tips us to the side, keeping me close with his right arm and holding himself up with his left. Then he carefully places me onto the bed, lips never leaving mine. His fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, leaving butterfly touches on the skin below it. His mouth wanders, pressing kisses to the corners of my mouth, the underside of my jaw, underneath my ear, down the curve of my neck.

I bite my lip and my hands curl into his hair, following his movements slowly down my upper body. All the while his hands slowly push up my shirt, exposing the tender skin of my stomach. His fingertips ghost along the underside of my breasts. My breath hitches.

“That okay?”, he mutters into my ear, lips fluttering against my ear. I have to bite back a moan and can only nod. “Talk to me”, he adds.

“Fucking hell, Buck, just take my shirt off.”

He chuckles against my ear and pulls the fabric up, up, over my head. I open my eyes and catch his, roaming over the stretch of skin now exposed to him. He dips his head low to place a kiss on my chest, and then his hands are on my sides, tracing upwards. His thumb rubs over my nipple, cold metal in stark contrast to the fire inside me that he keeps feeding with each touch.

My hands pull on his hair and he moves up to me, lips pressing down and fingers caressing the soft skin. The clash of his cold hands on my chest and his warm lips against mine send a rush of blood into my lower body and I sigh into his mouth, before he leaves again. I complain until his mouth is where his fingers were just seconds before, closing around my hardened nipple, tongue rolling against it. A twinge of pleasure lets the muscles in my stomach contract and I gasp, my back arching up into him, reacting on reflex only.

His hand pushes me back against the bed, his mouth still kissing and nipping on reddened skin. Then he looks up at me and parts my legs with a knee, pushing upwards, gaze fixed on my face. He pushes further and my mouth falls open, making an effort to keep eye contact with him while he moves against me, coaxing a slow moan from deep within me. Still, I am looking directly at him. His lips part. I prop myself up on my elbows and only when my mouth meets his, I close my eyes.

“You’re gonna drive me insane, one day”, he mumbles between kisses and I smile lazily, lowering myself back down.

“Am I, now?”

I like the feeling of having him wrapped around my little finger and he knows it, sees it in the glint in my eyes and the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Hands placed on both sides of my body, he moves his knee against me again and I gasp.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Lizzie.”

Then he dips down, kissing a trail down my stomach until he hits the hem of my sweatpants. He sits back onto his heels and hooks his finger into the waistband, cocking one eyebrow. I nod again, and he pulls them down, off my feet, leaving them to fall somewhere next to the bed. His hands slide up my legs until they meet the line of my panties and my breath hitches when his rough fingers touch the soft skin of my thighs. His lips follow his hands and now I am panting, head falling back when he follows the outline of the fabric against my skin. His hands placed on my thighs, his mouth placing lazy kisses against my stomach, and suddenly his thumbs stroke down my core, my back arching off the bedsheets.

He takes his hands off me, then, and I groan, propping myself up onto my elbows again.

“Quit teasing.”

He hooks his fingers into the band of my panties and cocks an eyebrow, waiting for my reaction.

“Talk to me, Lizzie. What do you want?”

I draw in a shaky breath, looking down at him with heavy eyelids. “Take them off.”

He obeys, pulling the fabric off along my legs and discarding it as well. He looks at me again and I groan, head falling back. He just waits until I’m squirming under him, and even then he doesn’t touch me. I lift my head again and he brings his head down to my thighs, peppering them with small kisses, just enough to make me breathe heavily but not where I actually want him.

“Bucky …”, I whine, and he hums against my skin.

“What do you want, Lizzie?”

“For you to use that snarky tongue of yours.” I get a chuckle from him for that.

“You’re bossy”, he mutters between kisses and I huff, hands closing into the blanket below me. “I like when you’re bossy.”

Before I can complain, he dips his tongue between my legs and licks upwards in one long stroke. I moan loudly before I can bite my tongue, hands flying into his hair. His tongue laps over my clit in a steady rhythm and all the air leaves my lungs, hands scrambling to hold onto something, anything, and clenching into the sheets.

“Bucky …”, I moan his name and he hums against me in response, sending goosebumps down my legs.

“Happy now?”, he teases, before going back to kissing and licking and I chuckle breathlessly.

“Almost.”

This time I don’t have to explain. He understands anyways and slowly slides a finger into me. I almost see stars for a second. Then he curls his finger upwards and I do see stars, the knot inside me coiling tighter and tighter with every lap of his tongue. I press myself against him, relishing in the white-hot pleasure shooting through my body. My back arches off the bed, thighs pressing against his cheeks. His left hand holds me in place and he adds a second finger, following the rhythm set by his tongue. I whisper his name over, and over, and over, like a prayer, and he responds with a hum, tingling against my overly sensitive skin.

He slightly changes the angle of his fingers and I gasp, the rising feeling inside me almost at its peak.

“Bucky, wait –“, I pant, and he stops immediately, lifting his head, concerned eyes meeting mine.

“If you go on like this I can’t promise to keep it together much longer.”

He licks his lips, the sight of him between my legs alone almost enough to send me spiralling. “I don’t mind.” He dips down again and I moan loudly and pull at his hair to get him to look at me again. He looks up at me, continuing to move his fingers and I swear I’m going crazy.

“But I do”, I pant, and he stops. I tug at his hair again and he pulls his fingers out of me, before crawling up to meet me. I sigh into the kiss, butterflies in my stomach at the taste of his tongue. I pull back just enough.

“I do, because I want you, Bucky.” He blinks, inhaling sharply.

“You sure?”

I kiss him in return, not bothering with a vocal answer. He takes it as a yes, kiss deepening as my fingers fumble along the hemline of his black shirt. He leans back, takes it off, and comes back to me again.

“You got a condom?”

I nod and roll over to reach for the nightstand while Bucky takes off his pants, before leaning down and pressing soft feathery kisses along my spine. I allow myself to savour the feeling of his lips against my skin, then I turn back around. He rips the condom open with his teeth. I sit up when he lies down, his hand reaching out.

Our fingers interlace with each other, he tugs and I follow until I feel him hard against my core. I suck in a breath and he places his hands on my hips, pulling me towards him. I lean forward and reach for him, and then he is there, slowly pushing into me. His fingertips press into my skin as I slowly lower myself down. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are watching me intently. I can’t seem to look away, he’s holding me in his gaze and we both moan at the same time.

Then I place my hands on his chest and roll against him, my hair falling into my face. His hands leave my hips and reach for my breasts, pinching and thumbing over my nipples, sending sweet jolts of pleasure down to where our bodies meet. My breath comes heavy, and when he starts moving with me, my mouth falls open. He grabs my hips again and holds me in place, before he suddenly flips us so that I’m below him. My hands fly up to the headboard, trying to find something to hold on to and he grabs them, pinning them above my head. My back arches of the bed and the angle changes slightly, I can almost feel it, he almost hits the spot, just –

His metal hand reaches for my knee and pulls my leg up against his hips, pushing my thigh back against me. It’s the exact change I needed. He hits the spot again, and again, and my head falls back, a string of nonsensical words leaving my mouth. He curses underneath his breath.

“Look at me, baby, please”, he whispers and I can’t help but obey him.

He thrusts into me and my hips roll against him, meeting him halfway.

“Fuck, Bucky, I –“

He groans in response, brows furrowed, sweat on his forehead. Every muscle in my body is tense in anticipation, I feel myself tighten around him. He moves his hand from my thigh to where we’re connected, thumb smoothing over my clit, jaw set as he adjusts the angle of his hips again. He hits the spot. Once. Twice. My hands strain against his grasp and my back arches and then I feel myself explode. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes snap closed.

“Dammit, Lizzie …”, he growls as I contract around him and then he follows me down, hand gripping my waist. His breath leaves him shuddering and his hips buck. One last swipe of his thumb that has me trembling underneath him, before he removes his hand and lets go of my wrists. My hands snake down and I grab both sides of his face. He lowers himself onto his elbows, one on each side of my head, and eases into a long, satisfied kiss. His hands curl into my hair that’s sprawled around my head on the pillow and I melt against him. Then he pulls back. Opens his mouth.

“I love you.”

I pause. Did he really – my eyes open, slowly, to not break the moment. Suddenly I’m staring directly into his eyes, noses mere inches apart. I open my mouth. Close it. He sighs, pulling away to better look at me.

“I’m sorry if that was a bit … forward. But I’m tired of hiding it. And I wanted you to know that this”, he nods his head down at our entwined bodies, “means something to me.”

He loves me. All the small moments I have been repressing for the last weeks come crashing over me like a tidal wave. “I am not. Leaving you, Jones.” Suddenly I understand why he reacted the way he did when I told him about HYDRA’s comment. “It’s amazing what love can do to people.” And I really didn’t see it. Hell, even HYDRA knew. His reaction when I told him I tried to end it. “I can’t – I wouldn’t even know what to do without you.” The times he spent in the gym with me, at night. On the balcony before that. The times he sat outside my room, just keeping watch. “Had a bad dream. Wanted to make sure nobody would hurt you.”

“Can you … say something?”

I blink. Maybe I should react. That would be appropriate, I guess.

“That’s –“, my voice is rough and I clear my throat, “unexpected.” Bullshit, fucking hell, Jones.

He pulls away, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have … goddammit I had to ruin it, didn’t I?” No, you didn’t ruin anything, I just don’t know –

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, I –“

I sit up and grab his arm, pull his hand away from his face. I take his other hand, too.

“I was wondering when you had started calling me ‘baby'.”

He huffs out a breath of air and closes his fingers around my hands.

“It just … slips. I don’t even do it on purpose, I just …”, he shrugs, a pained expression on his face, and I realise what this must be like for him. He sleeps with the woman he loves, tells her, and she freezes. I take a deep breath. Fucking hell, I’m an idiot.

“I love you, too, Bucky.”

The moment I say it, I realise its truth. Its utter, crystal clear truth. His eyes go wide.

“I’m just bad with my emotions. I’m sorry”, I try to salvage some of it.

He lifts a hand up to my cheek, staring at me in utter disbelief. His thumb smoothes over my cheekbone and I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. Of course I fucking love him. I would’ve died for him. Didn’t even hesitate.

The softest of kisses brings me back down to earth. To where I am sitting naked on the bed with the man I love. I melt into it, arms curling around his neck, pulling him towards me.

“Don’t apologise for things like that”, he mumbles against my lips and touches his forehead against mine.

Then he squeezes my hand, “Be right back”, and with a peck on the lips, he gets up in the direction of the bathroom. I sigh and let myself fall back onto the sheets. There is a slight, sweet burn between my legs, a gentle reminder. I yawn, stretching in the sun like a cat that just woke up. When I open my eyes again, there’s a shadow in front of me. I blink up at him as he’s just standing there, watching, a soft smile on his face.

The sun is behind him now, lighting up bits of his hair like a halo. Sunshine suits his eyes, I realise.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking beautiful, Bucky?”, I mutter and he comes crawling over to me. There’s a slight heat to my cheeks but hell, I’m naked in front of him, and after what just happened it’s not like I can’t call him beautiful. He doesn’t seem to mind, at least.

“You’re cute, Lizzie", he responds, kissing my nose. I smile at that and pull him back down to me. We roll over onto our sides and he grabs the blanket, tucking me in and planting a kiss on my forehead. And finally, I feel like I can maybe, someday, be whole again.

[much-ado-about-exy]

familiar ghosts

whumptober day 1: “you have to let go”

ao3

Dick is… tired. Although he can’t exactly remember why. There’s this bone-deep, crushing exhaustion in his limbs that feels too heavy for a fifteen-year-old kid to bear - although, being fifteen also feels sort of wrong for some reason, which is weird. But old ladies at galas for Wayne Enterprises tell him that he’s got an old soul, sometimes, so maybe that’s what that’s all about. Maybe his very old soul is chafing under the awkwardness of adolescence just as much as the rest of him is.

He does his best to shake off whatever it is, anyway. Today’s a really cool day, because Wally, who’s been his best friend for years and his crush for at least a couple months, give or take, finally asked him out on a date, and they’re meeting in Central City this afternoon. School’s just let out and Dick is already halfway to the closest Zeta-Tube to Gotham Academy, the chatter of his recently-dismissed classmates quickly fading behind him. 

The coordinates for the Zeta-Tube down the street from Wally’s house are as familiar to Dick as his own cell phone number - he’s been visiting Wally this way since before Batman even trusted him to be using the Tubes on his own, which - he’d certainly gotten in trouble for, at the time, but it had never really stopped him. He punches in the command impatiently and even though the transport is near-instantaneous, he can’t shake the restlessness in his limbs that overtakes him as he’s spat out of the Tube and into Central.

He pauses for a minute inside the phone booth that disguises the Tube’s entrance, changing from his school uniform into normal-people civvies before ducking out and sauntering determinedly unsuspiciously - spiciously? Maybe not - out of the alley and down the street. 

Wally’s waiting for him on his front porch already, of course. With the time difference, he’s been out of school for over an hour by now. He looks nice - he always looks nice, of course - although his hair is brushed kind of weird - it strikes Dick that maybe Wally dressed up a little, for this date, and that maybe Dick should have, too? But it’s Wally, his best friend, he hadn’t thought- well, there’s really nothing to be done about it now. Jeans and a short-sleeved shirt will have to do. 

Dick bounces on the balls of his feet once, twice, three times, suddenly anxious, before Wally’s down the stairs and standing in front of him. 

“Hey, dude- er, is dude still okay?” Wally scratches the back of his neck, face slowly turning red. 

“Duh,” says Dick. “Dude, nothing has to change that we don’t want to.”

“Right, yeah,” says Wally, grinning. 

He reaches out for a fistbump, but Dick pulls him into a hug instead. He’s still shorter than Wally, although by less than he had been a year or two ago, and he can hear the speedster’s heart pounding through his shirt as Wally’s arms tentatively close around him. It’s Dick’s turn to blush, now, and he lets go just as quickly as he’d grabbed on to begin with. What had he done that for?

He hastily bumps his fist against Wally’s loosely curled hand and turns to lead the way down the street, hoping it’s not obvious how jittery he is. 

“Dick,” says Wally, easily catching up and grabbing Dick’s hand, “you’re about to start cartwheeling down the street, man. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I am!” Dick sounds defensive even to himself. He sighs. “I’m just… Nervous. We’ve been friends forever! But it feels like… Things are supposed to feel different, now? On a date? And I don’t know how to do that right. What’s supposed to change?”

“Dude, you said it yourself.” Wally stops walking, drags Dick to a stop by their joined hands, and turns to face him. “Nothing, that we don’t want to. We’re still best bros - we can just, like, hold hands and kiss and stuff if we want to, now.”

That last bit comes out in a rush, Wally’s gaze dropping to the pavement. Dick grins. He’s spent enough time daydreaming about kissing Wally the thought of it hardly phases him anymore, except for the electricity that it sends down his spine to know that he can now.

“Totally,” he says, tugging on Wally’s hand to get them moving again. “You ready for me to kick your ass at roller skating?”

“Roller skating isn’t a competitive sport, you dick! And you’ve never been before, either.” 

Dick totally kicks Wally’s ass at roller skating. 

But something feels… Off about it. It’s not like he’s ever been inside the Central City Rollarama before today, but he has the strangest sense of deja vu about it. And he’s… Honestly better at skating than he probably should be, even given his solid sense of balance and acrobatic inclinations. And so is Wally - Dick has an itchy phantom memory of Wally landing on his ass over and over again on skates, laughing through a fake scowl every time Dick hauled him to his feet, but he knows - he knows - that they’ve never done this together before. Right?

He’s very purposefully continuing to ignore the sinking wrongness he’s been feeling all day, though, because he’s having fun, dammit, and whatever vigilante-dread-sense weirdness is going on can wait. Wally clings to his shoulders and appears to be doing his level best to drag the both of them to the ground as Dick tows him in circles around the rink, and Dick’s own laughter has him doubled over enough of the time that he’s sure Wally’s going to succeed.

Miraculously, they survive two hours of this - with no major injuries, no less - before Wally’s stomach starts to growl. 

“Ice cream?” Dick asks, guiding them toward the rink’s exit so they can take off their skates. 

“Babe,” Wally says, looking at Dick like he hung every star in the sky, or completed a titration with a margin of error less than one percent, “you read my mind.” 

It’s a good thing they’re near the wall by now, because Wally calling him babe just about knocks Dick off his feet, and the only thing that saves him from a bruised tailbone is the railing he grabs onto before he tips too far backward. 

“Cool,” he says, breathless. Please, god, don’t let Wally have noticed that. “Let’s go, then!”

While they swap out their skates for shoes, for just a second, Wally flickers into someone older, someone tired, and so does Dick. And then they’re back to normal again. 

They hold hands on their way to the ice cream shop down the street. Wally’s hand is warm and a little sweaty, and just a bit too small- too small? No, it’s just right. Their hands fit together as if they were always meant to hold each other. It’s perfect, so perfect that Dick barely keeps from skipping with how happy it makes him. 

Wally orders a strawberry cone, and Dick gets chocolate in a cup, but they’ve hardly even walked away from the shop with their ice cream when Wally sneaks up behind Dick and steals several bites of his. 

Dick gasps dramatically, whirling around to face the thief, who has already swallowed his stolen goods and returned to his own ice cream. 

“Wally,” he whines, “you jerk!”

“It’s good manners to share.” Wally turns up his nose and looks down it at Dick, smile lines betraying his stern expression.

And, really, Dick doesn’t even like strawberry ice cream, but that sort of behavior simply can’t be allowed. So, it’s strictly on principle that he grabs onto Wally’s arm and hangs off of it, switching tactics to try to clamber onto Wally’s shoulders when Wally passes his cone to his unassailed arm.

“Let go, you goof,” says Wally, dancing backwards out of Dick’s reach and holding his ice cream aloft. 

“What?” Dick asks, laughing. “Can’t handle the heat?”

But Dick blinks and something’s changed - Wally’s face is serious now, where it had been creased with smile lines half a second before. It’s alarming enough that Dick whirls around in a circle, certain that some supervillain is trying to get the drop on him, but there’s nothing there. 

“Dick,” says Wally, voice grave, and suddenly he seems much less corporeal than he had just a few seconds ago, shimmering like hot air over pavement, “let go.” 

“What?” Dick’s voice is higher, younger, less confident than some part of him knows it should be. This is wrong, it’s all wrong, this isn’t how today goes, but he doesn’t want to think about what that means, not now, not when things are so good. “I let go, I’m all the way over here now. It’s fine, see?” 

“You have to let go,” Wally says. Electricity sparks across Wally’s chest and his very existence seems to flicker with it. Old and then young again. Here and then gone. “It’s time, dude.” 

“Time for what?” Dick asks. He’s panicking now, unable to calm himself down. He hates being confused like this, hates being left in the dark, hates knowing even more. But he gets no answer. 

Wally’s ice cream splatters to the sidewalk, stray droplets landing on Dick’s beat up sneakers, as the boy holding it vanishes without a trace. 

---

And Dick, nineteen, alone in the oppressive dark of his Blüdhaven apartment, wakes up. 

[jackest-jack]

I would very much like to hear about your spooky scary Sirens, pretty please 🥺

AJKSJAKISJAJAJF Ok so I almost had a heart attack when I saw you were following me because YOU’RE SO COOL so thank you

I already wrote about my spooky scary sirens over here, and they have pictures and I would be willing to write a short thing with them later but for right now I’m gonna pick a different thing and blab about it.

The most fleshed out and cohesive thing I have is the vampire band nerd slasheresque story with a police chase followup as well as a separate zombie apocalypse thing, so ig I’ll go with that. More under cut and warning for like a lot of gore and death and angst. I’m also only doing the first part of that because this is taking a long ass time

I came up with this in junior high, and I was in band, and I noticed that each instrument section had different personalities sort of, so I made characters around that and put them in a horror plot where they all die horribly, because what else are you gonna do? This is gonna be a plot rundown and it might get real long. (It is no longer a rundown. Its just unedited word vomit.)

anyways a bunch of friends, who I’m just gonna call by their instrument names, go camping in the woods for a couple weeks. They all take one car and set up in the middle of fuckin nowhere.

Clarinets a vampire pretending to be a high schooler for kicks, because she was 15 when she turned 5 years ago and got dragged away to the magic underworld (basically a series of safehouses and towns for the supernatural) and she wants a letterman goddamnit.

She gets adopted into a friendgroup despite her best efforts, and gets dragged along on the camping trip in the small car and close quarters with a buddy system and she hasn’t eaten anything substantial in like two months and its proving to be a problem when she starts thinking of her friends as snacks instead of people.

one night, percussionist gets up to go on a 3 am lake walk. But, the buddy system. So he takes Clarinet, who never seems to sleep anyways, with him.

They’re on the edge of a lake littered with huge old chunks of driftwood, looking out over the water, when Percussionist steps on something sharp. It went straight through his sandal and he pulls it out without much trouble, but “that nail looks kind of rusty and I’m Pretty Sure I’m bleeding a little bit, oh I hope I don’t need a shot-“

she falls on him like a cat on a wounded songbird. She has enough of her mind left to cover his mouth and stop the screams as he slowly loses blood.

He tries to fight back. He does. he jams the nail deep into her throat and twists away, but she catches his wrist and slams him backward, a sharp stick going through his stomach, sticking him bloody at the base of an old driftwood branch still attached to its old tree.

She stops draining just before he dies. And she waits, and waits, and waits. Finally, hours later, the corpse takes a deep gasp and its eyes fly open. It begins the excruciating process of pulling itself off the tree.

his wound is closed less than a minute later.

he comes to and sees her sobbing on the ground, bloody streaks under her eyes from where she tried to wipe away her tears with hands soaked from putting pressure on his stomach in a feeble attempt to save him.

“Vampires, huh?” He says, half joking, half looking for an explanation.

—-—

they’re sitting around a small campfire, and Clarinet tells him that he’s a vampire, he needs blood, he cant go back to camp or he will eat his friends. She leaves to find him something substantial before he loses it.

back at the original camp, its around sunrise. Flute notices a small trail of smoke not far off, realizes that Percussionist is missing, and gets French Horn to help him look for their idiot friend (and maybe put out a small fire.)

They make it about 3/4th of the way to the smoke when flute trips on a tree root and scrapes his knee. About a mile away, Percussionists head perks up.

He distantly realizes that he just left the campfire that he’s supposed to stay at, but he can‘t seem to care. The hunger doesn’t gnaw at him or hollow him out. Its not like looking for a fix either. Its an itch in his whole body, a near unavoidable function of his being. The hunt is as natural as a cough, a spasm of muscles to take away the awful itch.

He moves faster than he ever could before, and just to see if he can, he jumps up and begins running across the branches of trees. Its slower, but sneakier; his prey won’t see him coming.

Finally, he reaches them. He jumps on the smaller one, sending it crashing to the ground. It’s blood is what brought him here. He sinks his hollow teeth into its neck and begins feeding.

There is a scream and a crash as the taller one runs away. Thats ok. He only needs one.

———

French horn, for her part, is freaking the fuck out. The sun had just peaked over the horizon and orange light was streaming through the trees when everything went to shit.

The pale thing had fallen on Flute, and the noise he made… she was almost certain he was dead now.

She kept running. If she could make it back to camp, then maybe she could get help, or maybe leave before the rest of them died too.

She charges through a thicket, sharp thorns scraping and tearing every inch of her as she shoves her way through. She shuts her eyes as she goes, to avoid the thorns poking them out.

When she comes out the other side, she feels her gut sink.

She doesn’t recognize the trees or bushes around her. She doesn’t see a path.

She’s lost.

She wants to break down, to scream and cry the injustice to the heavens, to kick and punch and fight the thing that killed her friend, to sit down and rest and have a moment to breathe, to be home-

She picks a direction and runs.

———

Percussionist stops draining Flute just before he‘s dead, following the instinct that drove him to where he is.

He wants to be horrified. He does, really. But he was so hungry, and the itch is still there, waiting beneath his skin to pounce on him again. But for now, its gone, and he can think clearly. He can move without the instinct tainting his every twitch.

He turns to look at the person he drained and sees-

He sees his friend. And it hits him all at once.

He killed a person, a person he knew, a person he cared for, and he had been powerless to stop it. He didn’t even know- he didn’t realize- he would never have done it if he-

but he knew he would have. Even if he knew. He would’ve killed Flute, and he hates himself for that.

So he sits by the body of his dead friend, maybe in solace, maybe because some instinctive tick tells him to. He doesn’t want to know. He refuses to.

When Flute sat up and gasped, Percussionist could‘ve sworn he had a heart attack (even without a functioning heart.)

To Flutes credit, he made it through Percussionists halting and confused explanation before letting himself ask about the smell.

”what smell?” Percussionist asked, and lifted his nose to the air.

He got his answer. The smell of blood, salty and sweet and with a coppery tinge to it drifted through the air, leaving a hunger and odd comfort sitting in his gut. It reminded him of smelling baking cookies from the kitchen as a kid.

A leaf crunched, and he snapped out of his trance. Flute had stood up and broken into a run, faster than any human could’ve gone. After the person that had been with him.

After his friend.

Percussionist sprinted after him.

——

He had the chance to notice how fast he was really going, now that he could think through the hunger. He practically flew through the forest, leaping over a fallen log half his size that blocked his way. He ducked and dodged branches that threatened to slash his face, and if he were running for something else he may have threw his head back and laughed.

As it was, he was following the occasional red flash of a windbreaker that he could barely keep up with without being hit by a tree.

He could heal now right? Did he really even need to be worried about being hit by trees?

He let one slap his face just to test, and he felt the stinging pain all across his face as a deep cut opened across his nose and eyes. He faltered as his vision went red with blood. A second later, it was gone, and he could see again. ….And he‘d lost flute. Great.

He sniffed the air, remembering how he’d been able to smell the blood, and tried to look for his friend.

He could smell the whole forest. Sap and pine and rotting leaves, rotten flesh and mushrooms and a skunk miles and miles off, the sweet sting of honey and dew and campfire smoke, and over it all, the most lovely smell-

Well, looks like he couldn’t find him that way. He thought for a moment, and groaned. He could just follow French Horn and get to her first!

He began running again.

———

Clarinet had just made it back to the campsite, a live deer kicking around over her shoulder. She would’ve killed it, but she couldn’t quite figure out how without losing any of its blood, and since she drained and seriously injured Percussionist he would need a lot of blood-

and the campfire had a suspicious lack of vampires around it. Great. She could only hope that no one had cut themselves-

She stopped as the scent of blood hit her nose. She cursed and took off running, dropping the deer as she did.

——

French Horn thought she was going to die when she heard a bush rustle and snap behind her. She had stopped for a rest, thinking she was safe (if very lost). She was braced for her death when Percussionist crashed through the bushes.

”Oh, good, you’re still alive. We need to go like right now.”

Before she could protest, he grabbed her wrist and began pulling her away. With his very cold, very pale hand.

”Wait. Was it you?” She said, planting her feet.

”Yes.” his voice was solemn, and his eyes downcast. “But unless you want Flute to get you, we need to go”

She tore her wrist out of his grasp.

“Flutes dead. Flute’s dead and you killed him!”

And Flute hit her from the side. He sank his teeth deep into her neck, but only for a moment. Then he pulled back, looking horrified and ran away.

French Horn stands up dazedly. “That was…”

”Yeah.”

she lifts a hand to her bleeding neck where the bite is still gushing blood.

A rustle of trees comes from the side, and Clarinet skids to a stop in front of them. She takes in the situation and drops to her knees, tearing loose a piece of her shirt and holding it to the holes in French Horn’s neck.

”Wheres the third?”

French horn points to the copse of trees he disappeared into.

”I think we might actually be jinxed.” A pause, then “That was supposed to be a joke. Go after him. He’s heading towards the camp, and chances are he won’t be able to stop himself a second time.”

Percussionist nods, and then stops. “How do I get there?”

”just run straight! GO!”

and he does.

———

Clarinet gently explains to French Horn that vampires are real, and that she is one. When asked why she isn’t bloodthirsty, Clarinet answers that she has a lot of blood left in her still, and that she’s not all the way changed, and that the change will, in her words, “Stink. Its kind of the worst thing you’ll have to go through, and it’ll take way longer since you have blood, and you may not notice at first.“

French Horn pursed her lips. “Theres no way to stop it?”

Clarinet shook her head.

”Okay. Okay, shouln’t we help Percussionist?”

Clarinet swore. “You won’t be much help in the state you’re in, but I can drop you off by the camp. Pack our things and be ready to go.”

Clarinet scooped French Horn up and took off into the woods.

———

Percussionist got there just as Tuba was ripping Flute off of his neck.

Despite Flute being the smallest out of all of them, and Tuba being the strongest, he was struggling to keep the scrabbling, biting Flute away.

So, Percussionist did the only logical thing and full body tackled Flute, trying to hold him down. It worked, sort of. Long enough for Tuba to start running. Long enough for Sax and Trombone to see what the ruckus was.

Flute burst out of Percussionists grip, grabbed Trombone and ran.

Sax sprinted after them, and percussionist was left in the dust, standing dumbstruck as they all dashed off. He snapped out of it when Trumpet pressed an axe to his shoulder and told him to not move.

———

Flute knows this: he is very hungry. He also knows that blood tastes very good.

His last two meals escaped. He thinks he let the first go, but he can’t seem to remember why. The second was ripped away from him by someone like him, which was rather rude.

But this one won’t get away. He is far to hungry to let that happen.

He feeds as he runs, draining the squirming thing dry, pinning its flailing limbs against his chest. It stops wailing eventually.

He slows as he becomes able to think clearly again. He holds the body in his arms and revels in the fact he is no longer hungry. Then, he looks at the thing he drained.

And it’s his friend. He feels his stomach drop, and a hollow pit grow in his chest. His friend is dead, and it’s his fault. He tells himself there’s nothing to do but run, so he does.

Really, though, he just doesn’t want to see what she’ll become.

———

“What did you do to them.” Said Trumpet, each word slow and dangerous. She lifted the axe off his shoulder, and he felt relief before he realized she was lining up to take off his head.

He may be able to heal, but he did not want to see how far that ability stretched. Not like this, at least.

He swallowed his fear and asked, ”What makes you think I did something?“

She barked out a harsh laugh. “You go missing in the middle of the night with Clarinet, who still isn’t back. Flute and French Horn go to look for you and have mysteriously disappeared. Tuba came running from this direction, bleeding like a stuck pig. And here I find you, in the center of it all.”

Ah. He was fucked. Time to implement the worst plan ever, considering how fast Trumpet was.

”that’s- that sure is some pretty overwhelming evidence that I did something. I swear I didn’t, though but I know you won’t believe me so I’m just gonna RUN!”

He ducked under the axe she swung at his head, and took off running into the trees. He glanced behind him to see her struggling to keep up, and grinned. He was actually getting away with his head, and beating Trumpet in a footrace for once-

He turned back around just in time to see the tree that crumpled his skull.

———

He wished he could say he didn’t feel every excruciating twitch of his skull righting itself as he laid there. As it was, it was painful enough he was functionally passed out.

Which is why he was surprised to see trumpet dragging him by his feet deep into the woods.

Not half as surprised as trumpet, who dropped his feet and swore when he sat up and gasped.

”What the hell? You were dead! that killed you!” She yelled.

Percussionist was still reeling from how much growing his skull back sucked, and latched on to the first thing he noticed.

”Did you steal my shoes?”

”what are you?” She asked in a tone that was decidedly horrified.

He fiddled with a piece of grass somewhere to his left. “A vampire, as of yesterday. Really though, why do you have my shoes?”

“Not important. What do you mean as of yesterday?”

”Last night, really. Me and Clarinet-“

”Clarinet and I.” She said.

”Whatever. We went on a walk and turns out she’s always been a vampire, and then she did the vampire thing, and now I’m a vampire, and things have just been spiraling from there-”

”That explains a lot, actually. Who else is a vampire?”

Percussionist, feeling slightly more alive, realized they weren’t by the camp anymore.

”Where are we? Why do you have my shoes, and why are you so calm about this?”

”oh.” She said. “I may have made an action plan for something like this. You know, in case of murderers, or if supernatural stuff was real.”

”thats cool. Why steal my shoes?“

”I was framing you for murder.”

an awkward silence settled over them.

”We should get back to camp. Stop more people from getting vampired and all.”

”Yeah. Lets do that.“

———

Sax skidded to a stop in front of Trombones body. She was limp, and pale, and by all accounts dead. He whipped out his phone to call anyone, anyone at all, and pitched it into a tree when it read no service.

He sat, and he cried by his best friend, who always made the shittiest puns, who was the worst at sports, who thought anything with soulmates was stupid but still read all the stuff he suggested her. Who was dead.

He was still crying when she sat up and latched onto his neck, draining him dry.

———

French Horn and Clarinet ran across Tuba, who was holding gauze to his neck where he had been bit. French Horn was starting to feel slightly feverish, but otherwise okay.

”Guys! Are you okay? The weirdest thing just happened.” He said.

”We need to leave.” Said Clarinet. “Now.”

”No argument here. Have you guys seen Flute? He was with you last time I saw him.“

French Horn and Clarinet shared a look.

“I’ll go find him. You two pack. we leave before dusk.”

They watched as she disappeared into the leaves.

”Whats going on?” Asked tuba, a hint of worry in his voice.

French Horn took a deep breath in before saying “Vampires are real.”

Tuba burst out laughing.

“Oh. You’re serious.” He said as he hefted a tent into the back of the van.

”you don’t believe me.”

“How could I? I haven’t seen any proof that they exist.”

She threw a bag of trash in the van with more force than nessecary.

“What attacked you then?”

At this he paused. “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a vampire.”

———

Percussionist and Trumpet made it to where Trombone was crying over Sax, the late afternoon sun reflecting off of their now pale skin.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. He’ll be alright.”

Trombone looked up at him and snarled, all teeth and rage, and Percussionist jumped back.

”He’ll end up like me, won’t he.”

Percussionist nodded.

”I don’t know what world you’re living in, but this isn’t fucking alright!”

Trumpet walked over and knelt in front of Trombone. She held out her hand, and Trombone scrambled away.

”I don’t believe you would hurt me. Not right now. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

”so what?” She scoffed. “I still did it. Should I just go on existing as whatever I am now? Just kill people so I can live?”

”Actually,“ Percussionist said, “we can live off of different types of blood.”

Trumpet looked back and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shut up you twatwaffle, can’t you see this is a delicate moment?”

”just figured it would be some good information to have.“ he said.

“Are you seriously telling me my angst fest was for nothing?” She asked.

Percussionist leaned against a tree. “Oh, don‘t worry.” He said. “Theres still plenty of angst about the immortality.”

“Sax did always say he wanted to be sixteen forever.”

Trumpet rolled her eyes. “Lets go home.”

Trombone reached out to take Trumpets hand, and Sax shot up and clamped his jaws around her throat. Trombone grabbed Trumpets wrist and pulled her away as Percussionist peeled Sax away.

”Let him.“ choked out Trumpet. “I‘ll be one of you either way.”

”Absolutely not!” Said Percussionist. “Trombone, go find literally anything else with blood.” Sax kicked and snarled in his grip. “Hurry! I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him.”

———

“Flute!” Yelled Clarinet. She had been looking for him for an hour now, and still couldn’t find him.

She was walking along an old trail that went out of use years ago when she almost tripped over him. He was curled up in the shade of a tree, hiding away in a hollow.

“What do you want.”

”I want to take you home.” She said.

he laughed. “Something like me doesn’t deserve a home. I killed people, and I knew there was another way, but I did it anyway. Just leave me here to rot.”

She remembered when she’d been like this. She had forgotten to eat, had slipped up. Its not a hard thing to do. When you’re a vampire, you brain tricks you into feeling fine by your old standards until you‘re so hungry you can’t stop it.

She believed it was all her fault, though. The only way someone had gotten through to her was something they had called twisting the knife. She had always called it shitty.

She sighed. “I wanted to say sorry.”

He poked his head out a little, peering up at her. “You didn’t do anything.”

”But I did.” She said. “I drained percussionist dry last night, and then I left him to find you. I watched while you attacked your friends, and now, I’m giving you a chance to fix the harm we caused. What will you do with it?”

”You made me like this?” He asked.

”Yes.”

he lunged at her face, fingers clawing for her eyes. She turned around and ran for the campsite, making sure he was behind her, and praying that he would forgive her for the stunt she just pulled.

———

The campsite was packed, and Percussionist and Trombone had made a game of who could catch the best songbird for Sax. Sax was less murderously inclined, though it was hard to tell if it was because the blood he had consumed or trumpets growing nonhumanness.

After the third or fourth time of watching Sax suck down a bird or squirrel like a juice box, Tuba was forced to admit that maybe vampires were a little real.

(He noticed his neck wound had already scabbed over and was halfway gone. He was afraid to ask if he was becoming one.)

The sun was slipping behind the tops of the trees when Clarinet charged out of the forest, leapt over the van, And yelled “Flutes trying to kill me!”

Flute burst into the clearing and lunged at Clarinet. Percussionist stepped in the way.

”What happened?“

”She did this in purpose! She said she dropped you in the woods to kill us!”

Percussionists blinked. “No she didn’t. She told me to stay where I was while she got something for me to eat.”

he stopped yelling. Now, he just looked confused. “But she turned you.”

”Yeah? It was an accident. She obviously regretted it.”

Percussionist backed off, and Flute looked at clarinet.

”why did you say all that then?”

“You were’t gonna come with me if I didn’t. Besides, you were spiraling and this was the easiest way to stop that.”

”Sounds like the shittiest way to stop it, too.” Scoffed Tuba.

She sighed. “Yeah. It was.”

”Hey,” asked sax. “Are any of us still human? I know me, Percussionist, and Trombone aren’t-“

”Percussionist, Trombone, and I.” Said Trumpet.

”-And I saw you two jump over my van, but whats up with the rest of you?”

”Basically,” said Clarinet, “anyone who was bit is or will become a vampire, depending on how much blood they had left in them after the bite. Was there anyone who wasn’t bit?”

everyone was silent as they all glanced at each other, looking for anyone who could say yes. It quickly became awkward, and was broken by Clarinet muttering “Fuck.” quietly under her breath.

”Who all, um, died today?”

Flute, Sax, and Trombone slowly raised their hands. Clarinet squinted at Percussionist, which prompted him to say “What? I died last night.”

French Horn yelled “past twenty four hours, dingus.”

He rolled his eyes and raised his hand.

”Alright. You three,” -she made a sweeping gesture towards the three with their hands down- “Are going to have the worst couple weeks of your life. Take a few days off of everything. Don’t go to the hospital. Stay isolated. Call me when the pain’s mostly over.”

Tuba’s lips pursed. “What, exactly, is going to happen to us?”

”The way it was explained to me was that your body slowly cannibalizes itself. It sucks.”

”hm.” He said. He looked very troubled.

They got in the van and drove through the night.

For now, they rest. A short break, before they have to figure out the rest of their lives.

[rodeo-boots]

Hello hello!!💖💖😊 hope you're doing alright and your day's going fine and smoothly over there, dear!😊🌺💐🌻🌹🌺💐🌻🌹

For writing requests, can I request a morbell story??☺ at the first of chapter 2 when gang is going to live in horseshoe overlook, Dutch sends Micah with Lenny to Strawberry and then something happens which ends with Micah in jail. But I want it to be 'Dutch sends Arthur with Micah to Strawberry' so! Just imagine what will happen😆👀. Boys probably end up in jail anyway but I think..maybe with Arthur, Micah would act different..?

Fluff is always welcome and I don't mind smut too at all! And I'm ok with any tags too like blood/gore, angst, different kinks or..

Love you and thank you soo soo much!💜💗💜

I'm sorry this took a hundred years, but I still hope you'll enjoy this!! I hope you've had some wonderful days yourself, Merry <33

Rating: T

Words: 2221

Warnings: one instance of a homophobic slur, off-screen murder

AO3

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Dutch and his plans. His great plans that had gotten them in this entire mess to begin with. Arthur couldn't believe him these days, could only watch in bafflement as his mentor spoke one ridiculous idea after the other; but this one took the cake.

Why have a safe operation for once, right? Why send Arthur and Lenny to scout ahead and make sure West Elizabeth wasn't all swarmed by Pinkertons when you could have Micah, the very man who had gotten them in this situation to begin with. The man who's judgement had led them astray and towards the butchered ferry job in Blackwater, who's fantastic information had killed several of their people – with no telling if Mac and Sean were still out there, somewhere.

Obviously, Arthur had objected the instant he's heard what he was supposed to do. He had tried to talk to Dutch, to explain that Micah would find a way to turn even the easiest scouting mission into a bloodbath. Really, he had tried everything to convince him otherwise, to send him alone, for Goodness sake, but to no avail. Dutch's mind was made, and so he let his two best men ride out, in pursuit of information or fortune or anything, Arthur hadn't cared to ask.

–

"Oh, don't soil your britches, princess," Micah held onto Baylock's reins with a loose grip, his grin lopsided where he glanced at Arthur from the corners of his eyes. Of course had he caught onto his less than ideal mood, ever the observant type as he was. "We'll be havin' fun at the end of the day, I promise." His voice was syrupy sweet, almost sickeningly so, though Arthur had stopped listening to him a long time ago either way, staring ahead and onto the road in an attempt to accept his current fate.

He answered the man with a grunt, not overly eager to amuse himself. If it was up to him, they'd be in and out of the settlement within an hour, would take a look around and go, without being noticed in the best of cases. Those seemed rare these days, though.

"Lighten up." Arthur flinched when the man tossed him a bottle, barely catching it in his hands, an irritated gaze meeting Micah's smirking visage. The booze in Arthur's hands certainly wasn't the best, moonshine with a questionable label, glinting copper under the sunlight. His eyebrows furrowed, but he kept the bottle either way.

Maybe it was just what he needed now, a welcome distraction from the day Micah had planned for them to enjoy. Arthur was certain he'd enjoy it all the more if he witnessed as little of it as possible.

He uncapped the bottle, squeezing his eyes shut as the liquor burned down his throat, tipping it back further before tossing it aside. The glass shattered at the side of the road, Micah's own likely joining the shards where they lay, the man already reaching for another drink from his bottomless saddlebags. "See? Much better already." And this time, Arthur couldn't help but return his grin.

Arthur had been unable to keep track of time, with Micah's unrelenting talk, the bottles he passed him along the way. Strawberry was drawing closer by the moment and he knew it, traffic higher with every further step. It seemed to be a busy town, workers passing them by without a glance, whistling as they did the tasks of the day. Oh, how Arthur wished he could lead a life like theirs at times.

"You up for a meal, Morgan?" Micah clambered off his horse, shooting him another bright expression, his lids appearing heavier by the liquor he had consumed already.

"Dying of starvation," Arthur mumbled, a little heavier and slower as he dismounted his mare, holding onto the saddle to keep himself from falling gracelessly. He seriously had to overthink his approach to the drink some time, not as used to booze as he had been in his better days, wiping at his brow now before trailing after Micah and towards the hotel.

Even though they were new in the area, Micah seemed to know his way around, greeting the man behind the counter like an old friend before ordering their meals. Arthur didn't understand how he was standing straight after drinking all the way here, he himself barely holding onto the back of a chair. Hopefully with something in his stomach, his head would stop spinning again.

"Now, Mr. Morgan–" Micah waved his arm around in a great gesture of chivalry, pulling a chair out for Arthur to take. "Will you take this seat, and sit down with me?"

He grunted, plopping down onto the hard wood. Maybe if he followed along without complaint, Micah would take mercy on him and spare him more of his bluster. A single look at his self-satisfied smirk was enough for him to tell that that wouldn't be the case, however.

Their plates had emptied at a rapid pace, Arthur scarfing his food down eagerly, enlivened by the taste and the sensation of something in his stomach – something more agreeable than the liquor. He was chewing his second to last bite by now, glancing over and towards Micah and his plate with a furrowed brow. "Y'ain't hungry?" He asked, swallowing before he rubbed at the corner of his mouth. "S'real good–"

Micah had his eyes set on something else already, waving at him to be quiet before turning with a secretive stare. "You up for a game?" He asked, his drunkenness slowly manifesting in the drag of his voice, though the glint in his eyes was prominent as always.

Arthur shrugged, placing the fork in his hands aside, his gaze following the other man's. Upon seeing what he was seeing, however, his cheeks heated up in a cherry red, Arthur averting his eyes all at once. "The hell you on about?" He grumbled in irritation, not looking back at the woman Micah had focused on. Or rather, her cleavage.

"I bet'chu, I can hit her right in between those beauties." The corners of his mouth quirked up further, Micah taking his own fork in hand to prepare it as a makeshift catapult.

"You finally lost it now?" But Arthur couldn't help watching, not moving to stop the man as he took aim, his tongue peeking out between pursed lips. One second the fork was still loaded with mashed potato, the next, Micah tossed his head back with a shattering laugh, a scandalized gasp from the other table indicating that he had hit his target dead on.

The woman stood all at once, forcefully enough to make her chair tumble to the ground, not letting herself be stopped by the man at her side as she marched out of the building. Her face had been colored by embarrassment, by disgust, and while Arthur had every intention to feel bad for her, he couldn't. Instead, he found himself laughing along with Micah, giggling like the drunken fool he was, having to hold onto the wooden table as to not keel over.

–

Micah was a man of many ideas; few of them good. He seemed keen on seeing how far they could go before being kicked out of the establishment, doing the most in making those around him uncomfortable to elicit a response, Arthur rising to the challenge by doing just the same.

"Y'know what I could do?" Micah whispered, leaning closer to him as though his words were confidential, the lopsided nature of his smirk indicating that they were truly meant for all to hear. "Could lay you out on this table." His hand wandered up Arthur's thigh from where it had formerly rested upon his knee. He hadn't even noticed that. "I could fuck you silly for all these fine folks to see," he smiled, satisfied with the blush spreading over Arthur's cheeks and the tips of his ears.

He pushed the hand off his leg, keeping hold of the other man's wrist. "If that's what you want, I might just lay you out instead," he grumbled, though the threat within his words was lost in the slur of his voice. "Punch you out, s'what I mean."

They stared at one another for a tense few moments, Arthur's grip remaining firm around Micah's wrist.

With a sputtering laugh, he had to let go, however, shaking his head and reaching up to rub his eyes. Micah was quick to follow along, cackling like a maniac in his own right, even if his own words hadn't been all empty.

"C'mon, let's get outta here." Micah pat his knee in encouragement, grunting when he pushed himself to his legs. "I'm bored," he added, his eyes glinting mischievously. Arthur didn't care for his oncoming plans now, either way, keen on leaving the hotel to spare himself of further embarrassment, uncertain as to what he might've done already.

The past minutes, or hours, weren't as prominent in his brain as he would've liked, the influence of the drink undeniable in his every action. He didn't pass the bar-man another look, following after Micah as he ducked through the door, squinting when his eyes were met with darkness instead of the sun he had expected.

"How late's it?" He slurred, glancing at Micah in uncertainty, not at all remembering when or if Dutch would expect them back at camp.

Micah tugged him down the stairs, the grip he had on his sleeve almost desperately hard. "Don't worry your pretty little head," he cooed, glancing back at Arthur with an almost alluring gaze, pulling him closer to offer him some more stability. "We got all the time we need." But Micah's eyes were no longer trained to his. Instead, he had focused on his lips, licking his own almost nervously.

"I always meant to tell you, Arthur–" his hold started to feel a lot more like an embrace, Arthur swallowing lightly as he watched the emotions pass over the other man's face. He was much too drunk to make sense of them, releasing a tense chuckle when Micah didn't continue.

"Meant to tell me what?" He eventually asked, his own arms slowly smoothing around the other man's frame. From this angle, he almost looked good, less crazed than what Arthur usually saw of him, more like the person he kept hidden from plain view in front of everyone else.

He didn't receive an answer, blinking in bafflement when Micah leaned in to press his lips against his own.

Arthur stood frozen for a couple moments, unsure if this was yet another game of his, another attempt to make the people around them uneasy like they had succeeded in doing before.

Micah didn't pull away with a smirk at his lips, however, in fact, he didn't pull away at all, deepening the kiss instead. He tilted his head, moving his lips so uncharacteristically sweet against Arthur's own that he had no choice but to melt.

His hands pulled the man closer, their bodies flush, chests pressing against one another. It was like a lover's embrace, like the last thing Arthur had ever expected to share, least of all with Micah Bell. Here and now, it felt more than just right, though.

He pulled away with a soft exhale, brushing a strand of hair out of the other man's eyes, his motions gentle. "What was that all about?" He asked, though his tone wasn't teasing. If anything, he wanted to know if he understood correctly, wanted to be certain that Micah had enjoyed this kiss for more reasons than his drunkenness; the question of a possible repetition already sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Before he could formulate any of his thoughts, however, another voice broke the tranquility around them.

"If that ain't van der Linde's very special queens," the man slurred himself, the Irish accent still clear in his tone of voice. "This is O'Driscoll territory, we ain't wanna see the likes of you perverts 'round here." Arthur had heard worse in his life, not expecting anything better from the likes of Colm's boys. But a look into Micah's eyes was enough to tell, that he wasn't about to let this slide.

He loosened his hold on Arthur, turning to the man slowly, his stare narrowed at the O'Driscoll. "Run that by me one more time?" His voice was low, the shyness from before wiped clear away now that he was facing the person who had seemingly ruined their moment.

Without Micah's assistance in standing, Arthur plopped down to the muddy ground, staring at the man's back until the spinning of his head became too much. He laid back, letting Micah handle this on his own, smiling dumbly at the distant thought of him protecting his honor.

The shots were faint, just like the voices drawing closer once they had pierced the silence, once they likely had pierced the O'Driscoll's skull just as much.

Arthur felt Micah's presence by his side again, the man dropping down next to him, tossing his weapons aside mindlessly. "Guess that marks the end'a our night," he chimed, his voice drowning out the calls of the sheriff, the law cautiously surrounding them. "I told you we'd have fun, though," Micah spoke up again, chuckling at this small success of the day.

[dirt-cup-draco]

Cedric x Reader- Mistaken Adoration

Zhi! can i request cedric x reader and smth with a love potion? sorry it's pretty vague 😅 i am IN LOVE with ur writing btw 💖

It was inevitable, falling in love with Cedric Diggory. His sharp jaw, his observant eyes, his wicked body. You withheld a giggle as you watched him during quidditch practice. You were his friend, not just some fangirl. And that’s what made what you felt real. You knew he was more than his looks, that was just a bonus. Cedric wasn’t an airhead or naive but he saw the best in people and he was a legitimately good guy. 

After all, you’d been without a friend on your train ride to Hogwarts and Cedric had been the one to poke his head into your passenger cart and ask if any of the seats were taken. Part of you thought he might’ve known that you weren’t waiting on anyone. Cedric seemed to be in tune with everything going on around him. He had a big heart and open arms for everyone and you were certain that was why everyone adored him so. You wondered then why he was so blind to your affections.

“Alright then Y/N?” Cedric greeted as you met him after his practice finished. He was quick to throw his arm over your shoulder and you leaned in to him without hesitation. Under his arm had been a familiar place to be lately and it stirred up the butterflies in your stomach that you wished had stayed dormant. You couldn’t fight the blush that bloomed on your cheeks as you hung your head low, dodging his gaze.

“Was until you rubbed all your sweat on me,” You jested, ducking underneath his arm as Cedric barked out a dizzying laugh. You loved his laugh. You smiled to yourself and Cedric playfully bumped his shoulder into yours. 

“You going to tell me why you’re head is in the clouds?” Cedric asked and you stared at him in shock. The man always knew your slightest mood changes, when you were feeling up or down or somewhere in between. He knew when your mind was racing and when you were feeling pleasantly thoughtless. He knew when you needed a hug and when you’d punch him if he got too close. So surely, it wasn’t too hard to imagine that he knew your feelings. Right? 

“Only if you can guess, Diggory,” You winked at him and strolled a few steps forward to try and wipe the giddy smile off of your face before he saw it. You were trying to flirt, was this flirting? You two had been playful since your friendship started and it was getting hard to distinguish between your jokes and your flirtations. 

“Zacharias?” He tried, nodding to his chaser who was a few paces away. 

You snorted and nearly tripped over your feet, having to pause to let out a loud laugh. “Oh Cedric, my dear, you could not be more wrong,” 

“Not a Hufflepuff then, got it,” Cedric pretended to look thoughtful but you saw his lips twitch into a silly smile. Despite his prodding and teasing, you were beaming bright. Was he trying to find out what, or rather who, was on your mind because he wanted to be that person? 

You shrugged, lip tugged between your teeth. “I didn’t say that,” 

“Vague today, aren’t we?” Cedric lamented and you sent him another innocent shrug before you split from his side so he could go clean up before dinner. 

“Alright, see you tonight then,” Cedric shook his head laughing, as you were already halfway across the hallway with no chance of hear his quiet muttering. You were a curious one. 

--

“Later” meant the party that the Ravenclaws were throwing. The kids who were interested in getting some rest were already tucked away in their dorms. Some were awake with fiction books open, others with textbooks. The other handful of Ravenclaws, the artists and poets and the geniuses who procrastinated, were currently throwing a party to avoid the fact that Snape was supposedly giving everyone a popquiz the following day. 

Cedric had been quick to tell you that you ought to come knowing full well there was some excuse already halfway out of your mouth. Last time you’d gone to a party you’d had a bit too much firewhiskey to impress a certain Hufflepuff. You’d kissed the wrong boy (probably for the better), and gotten sick all over some sixth year’s shoes. Ever since then, you’d stayed shy from any type of party.

But he was looking at you like that and you couldn’t possibly say no. “Alright, I won’t make you beg,” You’d teased, pretending to be put out but buzzing with delight and some trepidation. You knew you could contain yourself this time but that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t somehow make a fool of yourself. 

“Oh hello Y/N,” Came Luna’s whispy voice, “You’re look particularly orange today,” 

You giggled as you pulled the girl to you in a quick hug. “Thank you?” You tried not to sound confused and she didn’t seem to notice. From speaking with Ginny, you were pretty sure that meant you looked...cheerful? Or it could mean you looked sick, you couldn’t quite remember. Luna was darling, if a bit confusing. 

Cedric was off around the corner, another kid tucked underneath his arm as he ruffled their hair. His smile was bright as always and your stomach flipped. You were pulled from your staring as a girl gripped your elbow lightly. Turning to her, you recognized her as a girl in Cedric’s house. Tamsin Applebee, if you weren’t mistaken.

 “Hey, could you give this to Cedric for me?” She extended a cup of what looked to be firewhisky yet there seemed to be a pearly sheen to it. You must be seeing things.

You were tired of girls trying to go through you to get to him. It totally wasn’t jealousy. “Oh I’d love to but-” 

“Thanks!” She cheered, shoving the drink into your hands and then running off to her friends to laugh. You sighed and rolled your eyes. You hoped you didn’t act that oddly around him. 

“Hey Cedric-” You sighed, extending the cup as your friend lit up at the sound of your voice.

“Oh cheers!” He smiled, taking the drink from your hand and throwing it back in one go. “Thanks love, I needed that,” 

“I think I’m going to get going,” You tried to sound convincing. “Too loud,” You smiled but Cedric shook his head, hand gripping your shoulder and shaking you slightly. 

“C’mon it’s just starting!” He swept his stupid, perfect, hair from his eyes and fixed you with an intense look. “Please stay? For me?” 

Your heart jerked around violently but you nodded slowly. “Fine, just to make sure you don’t accidentally hurt yourself seeing as you’re already plastered,” 

“You’re wonderful,” Cedric smiled, pulling you close and pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. You shoved him away and he frowned. 

“Sober up Diggory, I’ll be talking with Luna,” 

--

Cedric felt warmer than usual when the drink you’d given him had settled in his stomach. The room seemed to slow down a bit, the music and voices dimming until your’s was the clearest. It was a shame though, when he watched you walk away and talk to that Ravenclaw girl. 

A frown worked it’s way onto his face. “Don’t get why Y/N can’t just chill with us,” He grumbled and his friends look at him oddly. 

“Why you like her or somethin’?” One joked and laughter rippled through the group. 

Cedric’s eyes were trained on you. The answer that he thought he was going to give was no but as he looked at you, you seemed to glow in the lights of the Ravenclaw’s common room as you smiled and laughed with your friends. Since when had your smile been so pleasant? And had your hair always been so shiny? Cedric swore he could smell your perfume in the air and it made him feel good. 

“What if I do?” He asked and the boys around him gaped with open mouths and bugged eyes. 

“Ced, come off it,” One jabbed his shoulder. 

“I thought you were into Cho?” Another asked. “Keep talking ‘bout Y/N and you might kill your chance,” 

Cedric decided listening to them was the last thing he wanted to do. You looked far more inviting, a lovely tint on your pretty cheeks. As he got closer you looked at him and he wondered when your eyes had begun to shine like stars. Merlin, you’d gotten pretty. 

“Doin’ okay Ced?” You asked out of concern as the boy came stumbling over to you with a wide and somewhat vacant smile on his face. He nodded, his hand reaching up so he could twirl a strand of your hair around his finger. 

“I’m doing wonderfully,” He grinned and he took a step closer. What was that about? 

“Maybe too wonderfully, let’s get you some water,” You said, grabbing his hand. Cedric seemed to have few complaints as he squeezed back. It wasn’t an oddity to hold his hand but it was strange of him to stroke his thumb against your skin. It was tender, caring. It had you in shambles. You shook his hand free.

“Y/N~” Cedric whine indignantly, grabbing your hand again. “Why’d you let go?” 

“You’re drunk,” You pointed out as you shook free again and filled a plastic cup at the bathroom sink. “Now drink,” 

Cedric took the cup from your hands and pressed it to his lips. “Anything for you,” He winked and you would’ve laughed if it hadn’t knocked the air from your lungs. 

“What’d you do to my Cedric,” 

“Oooh, my Cedric, I like that,” Cedric commented, setting the plastic cup down to rest his hand heavy on your hip.  You gulped but couldn’t find it in you to pull away. 

“You do?” You croaked, mouth gone dry and palms sweaty. 

“Course I do,” Was all Cedric had to say as he pulled you closer, hips pressed together as he nudged his nose against yours. His lips were so tantalizingly close that you kicked yourself when you dodged his advance. 

“A-are you serious or are you drunk? Because this isn’t some game to me Ced... I have to know,” You needed to make sure that this wasn’t some mistake, that tomorrow morning he’d avoid you because he’d kissed you when drunk and you’d let him. You couldn’t take advantage of him.

Cedric kept his hands on your hips but gave you the space so that he could look in your eyes and give you a chance to breathe. His eyes were glazed over but he spoke clearly, not wavering on his feet and barely smelling of alcohol. “I’m serious, more than I’ve ever been,” 

It was all you needed to trail your hands up his broad chest and around his neck. His hands flexed on your hips and squeezed you affectionately. You smiled and tangled your fingers in his hair. “Kiss me then,” You asked and Cedric did just that. You whined softly against him and he drank it all up, lips hot against yours. It was everything you’d imagined and so much better. 

“I really like you,” You gasped as he nibbled at your neck. He hummed against your pulse and it spiked considerably as you giggled. 

“Like you too,” He mumbled and you couldn’t have felt higher.

--

Cedric woke when the sun purposefully broke through the blinds to glare into his eyes. He dragged a hand down his face and furrowed his brow trying to remember all of last nights events. He hadn’t even had that much to drink, then you’d given him something and-“Fuck,” He groaned, fingers rubbing against his still swollen lips. 

“You got smashed last night!” Zacharias laughed. “You’d been goin on about Y/N, then we found you two snogging in the Ravenclaw’s bathroom. Dragged you back here,” 

The boy’s interruption into his crisis wasn’t welcomed and he groaned more. “That’s rubbish,” Cedric tried convincing himself. “I wouldn’t do that, didn’t even drink that much,” 

“You got pretty chuffed after Y/N gave you that firewhiskey,” Ernie poked fun and the color drained from Cedric’s face. He wouldn’t have kissed you, well he might have but he hadn’t been planning on it and he hadn’t been drunk despite feeling terrible this morning. He feared the worst as he got up from bed, on a mission to put you in your place.

--

You were beaming as you put your breakfast together that morning, hoping Cedric would be up before noon so you could catch him before you had to get to classes. You hadn’t gotten the chance to talk last night, his friends had found him and offered to take him back to his dorm and you’d figured it would be best. He had wanted to stay but you knew he needed the rest. 

When Cedric barged into the Great Hall you were a bit surprised to see his barely restrained anger. Once his eyes landed on you, your smile was stolen as that expression darkened. He took long, meaningful strides. 

“Come with me,” Cedric demanded, hand tight around your arm as he tugged you from his seat. “Now.” 

“Cedric-” You began, confused and a bit frightened. You’d never seen him like this before. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” He scoffed as he pulled you past a group of first years that were entering the great hall. They stared as Cedric continued to drag you. You practically had to jog to keep up with him. You were nearly to Mrs. Sprout’s greenhouse when you planted your feet into the ground.

“Cedric stop! What’s the problem?” 

“You’re my problem!” Cedric roared and you felt small underneath his ferocious look. His cheeks were red from frustration and his chest was heaving with his quick breaths. “I would expect it from anyone else but you... I can’t believe I was so fucking blind!” 

“Ced-” You teared up, confused. Had you done something wrong? You thought that last night had been nice. He’d told you he’d barely had anything to drink so what was wrong? 

“No, no, no!” Cedric laughed bitterly. “You don’t get to cry, you don’t get to act like the victim because that is exactly what you made me! You are just like all of the other girls Y/N... I feel so violated, do you know how that feels? To be manipulated and made to do and say things you don’t mean?” 

“Please, I don’t know what your talking about!” You gasped, trying to hold your tears back at his request but failing miserably. You tried reaching for him but he stepped back, eyes stone cold. 

“Yes you do!” Cedric shouted back. “You betrayed my trust because, why? Because you like me? Guess what Y/N! I will never like you, and no stupid love potion can fix that!” 

You nearly stumbled back with the force of his words. Your heart that was already cracked from his anger was now properly shattered as he brought the hammer back down. I will never like you. I will never like you. I will never like you

“Wait? L-love potion?” You choked out, eyes burning and hands shaking as Cedric stood before you in a similar state except he was full of rage and you were feeling oddly empty. 

Cedric pinched the bridge of his nose, his anger fading but his frustration not lessened any. “How many times do I have to say it? I know what was in that drink you gave me last night,” 

You paled immediately, raising a shaking hand to your lips as you let out a cry. “Oh god,” 

“Yeah...” Cedric scoffed. 

“N-no, you don’t understand,” You sniffled, stomach in knots as you felt like you were going to be sick. “Tamsin handed me that drink to give to you- Oh god, I swear I didn’t know,” 

Cedric paused as your words sunk in. This was Tamsin’s doing? He searched your eyes and he found what he always did when he looked at you: honesty and affection. Yet, the longer he looked at you the more he saw the damage his words had caused. “Y/N-” 

You shook your head, chewing on your lip as your nails dug into your palm. “Don’t worry about it C-C-. Don’t worry about it,” Your voice trembled and you couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“I thought that you- I wouldn’t have yelled if-” Cedric fumbled for words now as he saw you creep back into the same shell he’d found you in when no one had sat by you on the way to Hogwarts. 

“I get, it’s fine. I’m gonna go, yeah?” YOu gave him a weak smile but it wasn’t convincing in the slightest as tears ran down your cheeks. 

It wasn’t fine, you can’t even say my name or give me a proper smile. Cedric wanted to say but the words didn’t exit his mouth fast enough and you were running, actually running, away from him. He knew he’d been terribly cross, but now that the misunderstanding was cleared up shouldn’t you feel better?

And then it hit him. You’d kissed him last night, you’d made sure he was sober enough to know that he wanted to kiss you... Hell, he’d told you he liked you back.I will never like you, and no stupid love potion can fix that. He’d said in his rage. 

Cedric took a shaky breath as he drug his hand down his face. He’d just doubted his best friend, who was apparently interested in him, and broken her heart completely. How could he get out of this one?

--

You’d never felt more low, you realized as you bolted past Cedric without waiting for a response. You weren’t sure what hurt more, that he thought you’d take advantage of him like that or that he had said the words you’d been anticipating since your feelings first made themselves known. It was heartbreak like you’d never known before and you couldn’t keep from crying even as curious and worried students watched you sprint past them. 

“Alright, Y/N?” Tamsin asked and you halted to fix her with a long and miserable stare.

“I really hope you’re happy with yourself,” You sobbed before shoving past her. You made it to your dorm room and threw yourself on the bed. Classes be damned.

You cried until there was nothing left to cry.

--

Cedric knew you were his best friend. You were always there to watch his quidditch practices and always there to crack a joke. You were there to give him a hug on his bad days and give him a pep talk when he lost a match. You were there to reassure him he’d find someone better when a fling fell through and he worried no one would ever like him for anything other than his looks or popular status. 

Now, you weren’t anywhere. 

It had been a whole month since you’d run from him, sobbing. He’d tried speaking with you since but you ate meals as close to the great hall’s doors as you could so if he approached you could make a quick exit. He hadn’t seen you at a quidditch game once let alone a practice. When you were in classes you sat as far away as you possibly could and didn’t even spare him a glance. 

It would have been bearable if Cedric knew that you were happy, but it was so clear that you weren’t. You looked like you hadn’t slept since he’d blamed you for his foolish teammates “prank”. She’d been suspended from quidditch games for the rest of the school year for fooling around with a love potion but it still didn’t feel like enough of a punishment .She had put Cedric and you in between a rock and hard place and your friendship was dying out because of it. 

Your smiles were so rare now that he found himself replaying memories in all of his sleeping and wide awake hours. Memories of your smiles that could light up a whole room, just because he’d walked in and you’d caught his eye. Memories of you wrapping your arm around his waist whenever he set his arm over your shoulders just so you could give him an affectionate squeeze. Memories of your eyes sparkling because he had complimented your outfit during a trip to Hogsmeade. 

Cedric hadn’t realized how good he’d had it with you until you were gone. All of your warmth had vanished from his life and he felt sick. I will never like you, and no stupid love potion can fix that. The words played in his mind day and night. The words had come from a place of hurt, from a place where he thought maybe you had violated all of his boundaries and given him a love potion.

Cedric now knew you’d never needed a love potion to make him fall for you.

--

You were on autopilot day in and day out. It wasn’t that you didn’t have purpose or friends outside of Cedric but he was your best friend and he added so much to your world that couldn’t be replicated by anyone else. You wanted to move past it, wanted to see a Hufflepuff scarf and not panic, wanted to go to a quidditch game without feeling like you’d been hit in the gut with a bludger, wanted to go to class and not feel like crying just because Cedric fucking Diggory walked in. 

He’d made his feelings for you very clear in the sense that he had none and never would. Anything he’d said to you that night was a lie, his kisses and compliments and praises were all fabricated by the drink Tamnis had spiked. The drink that had ruined the best friendship you’d ever had. 

You were hiding in the library when a charmed airplane floated through the shelves, searching for the person it was meant for. It hovered over you for a moment before nose diving between the pages of the book you were currently trying to hide from reality in. It was so much easier to imagine fictional characters resolving their problems when you couldn’t do the same for yours. Huffing in annoyance you opened the note. In not-so-neat block letters read:

Please come meet me at the Black Lake after dinner.

There was nothing else to it but it made you feel miserable all over again. You knew Cedric’s handwriting from a mile away. It wasn’t so much the note that worried you, it was the contents within that made your chest constrict with discomfort. What could he possibly have to say? It had been a month, a whole god damn miserable month, and now he had something to say? 

Maybe he was finally going to bury your friendship, lay it out in clear words that he didn’t want anything to do with you ever again. You tore the piece of paper into several bits then discarded them into the bin. You’d be a fool to go see him, you’d been a fool to fall in love in the first place. 

--

Dinner had ended nearly an hour ago and Cedric was half frozen out by the Black Lake. The breeze had picked up into a more substantial wind and it chilled him to the core. It might have also had something to do with the fact that you weren’t here. You weren’t here and he really needed you to be, he wanted you to be. 

Everyone had exited the great hall some time ago and he hadn’t seen you enter in the first place. You sat in the spot closest to the great hall’s doors ever since he’d broken your heart but tonight you hadn’t been there. Had his letter even gotten to you? He was positive it had, but that brought up another possibility that riddled him with guilt and remorse. 

It was possible you’d seen it and decided not to come. He hadn’t signed it but you two used to pass notes during class and he hoped you could recognize his hand writing. It was also possible that Cedric couldn’t fix his blunder with a note. 

You might not go to him, but he could go to you. 

Cedric was fueled with determination as he snuck past the prefects monitoring the halls. He was always updated on house entry passwords (it paid being popular) and it was simple enough to enter your common room. What was less simple was explaining to those in your room why they had to leave and why he had to talk to you. 

Despite his worries his feet carried him to your door but his knock was stalled by a voice behind him. “Don’t do it,” 

Turning around he feared it was a prefect but he was much happier to realize it was one of your roommates. “Pardon?” He asked, hand still raised to the door. 

“I said ‘dont do it’, not unless you’re going to fix things,” She said with a sullen glare. 

“You know?” Cedric winced and her resounding scoff didn’t help ease his guilt.

“You two were glued to the hip then suddenly she’s crying herself to sleep every night and you’re nowhere to be seen. That’s all I have to know,” 

“I’m here to fix things I-” Cedric paused, seeing the way your roommate squared their shoulders in a somewhat intimidating stance. “I was a complete git but I’m here to make it better, please just let me have some time alone with her,” 

Cedric wasn’t used to asking for things more than once, he was usually just given things but this was to be expected. What hadn’t been expected was the news that you’d been crying every night for a whole month and he’d been too scared to speak to you. “Please,” He tried again, voice cracking as his stress got to him. 

“Give me five minutes to get the other girls out, but I swear to god Diggory if you hurt her again I’ll send a bludger right into your pretty face.” Ah. Cedric remembered where he knew your roommate from. She was your house’s quidditch captain and beater. That explained her wicked biceps. 

“Thank you,” Cedric sighed but his palms began to sweat. What was he going to say? 

True to her word, she had your other roommates out in five minutes time and now it was his time to make things right. You were curled up under your sheets, shoulders shaking softly as you tried to make no noise. Every few seconds a pitched whimper would leave your lips and your sobs would start anew. 

“Did you get my note?” Cedric decided was the best way to interrupt you but it turned his blood cold when you went instantly silent. Your body stilled completely but then you slowly sat up. You kept your back turned to him but even seeing your hair, the shape of you lit up with a halo of moonlight, was comforting to him. 

“I thought I’d better steer clear, in case you were worried about me slipping you any banned potions again,” Your voice wasn’t bitter. It was empty and cold and it cracked over a cavern in Cedric’s chest. 

“Merlin, Y/N,” Cedric sighed, eyes burning with emotions that were quickly flooding him.He decided to cut to the chase in case he psyched himself out. “If I’d known it wasn’t you I wouldn’t have said any of that,” 

You gave no reply. 

“I’m so sorry, don’t you see that?” Cedric offered. He was prepared to say more when you cut in.

“No. I don’t see that,” Finally you faced him, eyes swollen and red with dark bags underneath. “The person I cared for most, the person I loved, hasn’t spoken to me in a month because they will never like me and no love potion can fix that, right? I am just like all of the others and I scheme and I hurt you and I use you and I’m just so fucking awful, yeah?” You cried out and Cedric moved to stand before your bed but didn’t dare sit beside you yet. He didn’t want to make it worse.

 “I-I” Cedric thought, knowing he had to find his words carefully if he was going to keep you talking. “I’ve been given a love potion before. I meant it when I said it felt like a violation, a betrayal. Truth be told, I don’t think I would have kissed you had I not been given the drink. I felt like I wasn’t in control again and I hated that, so when you seemed the most logical option I took it out on you.,” The truth was bitter in his mouth but it needed to be said. 

“I get that Ced,” You sniffled. “Of course it’s a violation and you shouldn’t have had to go through that. But, I’m hurt that you thought I could ever hurt you like that.” 

“I didn’t know what else to think,” Cedric offered. “You gave me the drink so the love potion made me see you differently. I didn’t stop and think that you had just been used like I had,” 

You wrapped your blankets around you tighter, curling back up against your pillows as you watched Cedric. 

“Please say something?” He begged. 

“What do you want to hear?” You asked, brows furrowed. “You know how I feel, you know that you don’t feel the same. Talking about it wont make it disappear, so lets just agree to never talk about it again,” 

“No,” Cedric found himself saying, crawling on the bed to place a worried hand on your knee. You didn’t pull away. “Because if we don’t talk about this, you aren’t ever going to talk to me again and I cant- I can’t lose you Y/N” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Bit late for that now, isn’t it?” 

Cedric shook his head, hand squeezing your knee to calm himself. “I don’t want it to be too late. I was stupid and I thought that I could let you go. I thought that it was better if we just cut our losses but that was my guilt telling me to bury the past and forget my negative feelings. I didn’t allow myself to feel guilty until suddenly it was all I could feel. I’ve thought of you every day and night for the past four weeks... I miss you,” 

“You just miss how I treated you,” You snapped, looking away from him.

“I miss you, Y/N. I miss your laugh and your smile and how your arms get swallowed up by the sleeves of my sweater when you put it on. I miss pulling you against me after quidditch practice and having late night study sessions. I miss how you treat me like I’m everyone else, but also that you treat me like I’m someone to be treasured. I miss how we used to be and I miss what we never got to be because I was an absolute git,” 

“W-what does that mean?” You interrupted, feeling as if he had given you whiplash. “It’s easy to say you miss me but how do I know?” 

“Trust me,” Cedric begged softly, hand finding yours and not letting go. You stared at your intertwined fingers, your rebel heart skipping a beat. 

“Like you trusted me?” You had to ask. Maybe it wasn’t fair after his apology, but you needed him to know how hurt you’d been. If he didn’t feel the same, fine, you’d eventually get over it but how could he think you’d ever want to use him and manipulate his feelings? 

“Y/N... I can’t change the past. I may want to, but I can’t. You are my best friend and I royally fucked up when I thought you’d given me the love potion... I want my best friend back and more than that I want you. It's been hell without you love, I didnt realize what you meant to me until I'd ruined my chance,"

You stopped breathing. Cedric looked...honest. Honest and hopeful and like he might cry if you turned him away. He wanted you back in his life and you were trying to process all that that meant.

"Youre an asshole," was all you could think to say.

Cedric nearly laughed at the abruptness of your statement. "Yes, yes I am" He agreed, a frightened smile toying with his lips. You hated those lips almost as much as you missed them.

"Im not going to lie and say my feelings havent changed," You began and Cedrics heart sank.

"I understand," He tried to smile and it was almost painful to see how badly he failed.

"But!" You added, sending him a pointed look. "I care for you Cedric and I understand you were dragged into a real uncomfortable situation by me even if I didnt know what Id done..."

You squeeze his hand, letting your thumb stroke the back of his hand as hed once done to you. It had made you feel so loved even if the love itself had been manufactured and a mistake.

"I need time, I think we both do. We have to learn to be friends again before we can even hope for anything else," you laid down the law before he could get ahead of himself. It seems youd said something right as he lit up like a christmas tree, a bright and wonderful smile on his face.

"I agree," Cedric nodded quickly, then added. "But can I kiss you?"

And for the first time in a month, you laughed. You laughed like it was the only response you could give, like youd just been told the worlds greatest joke, like you had to laugh unless youd cry.

"For how much I love you, sometimes I really hate you," you laughed until tears sprang to the corners of your eyes. Cedric looked sheepish, embarrassed even. It chipped away at some of the ice that had taken over your heart.

"Its late you should get back to your dorm," you advised.

He simply nodded, letting go of your hand as you followed to the door. He felt triumphant and melancholy as he mumbled "Goodnight,"

"Goodnight,"

"Oh and Cedric?" You caught his attention and he turned back to you. You set your hands on his shoulders and you could both feel yourselves relaxing at the contact youd missed for weeks. Standing on your toes, you kissed his cheek and his eyelids fluttered closed when your lips lingered. "Dont stop trying, I'll come around," You advised.

Cedric let you close the door behind him before he could answer but it didnt stop the smile that was spreading onto his face. Things werent perfect, he hasn't expected them to be, but he had his best friend back and maybe on day youd be something more, without the help of a love potion.

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary @cleopatera

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 21/?

Part 20

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

XXI

Martin doesn't wake up with a start. His heart isn't hammering in his chest and his breathing isn't shallow and hurried; his nightmares are not the kind that makes you feel in danger, the kind your body wants to wake up from.

They're... gentle.

Calm walks down into a soft grey expanse where he knows nothing can hurt him, because he is alone asides from his thoughts, and the sadness that permeates his every step.

He guesses it must show somehow when he's dreaming of the Lonely, because he usually wakes up to Jon or Gerry's gently concerned voices, and a hand nudging at his shoulder until he decides it's time to come back.

Funnily enough, it's the lack of those what does it this time; if neither of the two is waking him up, that means it's one of those rare, blessed nights in which the three of them were able to sleep, and they're going to be pretty sad if they wake up and find that Martin dreamt himself into the Lonely.

He wants to think they'd be at least, even if it's a bit selfish.

It's with that want that he opens his eyes to the darkness of the bedroom, and he turns to Jon with a slow-spreading smile when he hears him muttering something about a cat in his sleep. He doesn't Watch people's nightmares on the nights Gerry feeds him, and it's nice to know he's just having a regular dream. It feels... normal. Like what Martin wants the rest of their lives to be.

He looks over Jon's shoulder, to see how Gerry's doing, and his stomach flips when he notices the man is not in bed with them.

It's okay, it doesn't have to be something ominous, Martin thinks. His heartbeat is speeding up now though, as he climbs off the bed and investigates the empty bathroom, before risking the rest of the cottage. People go for midnight snacks, that's a normal thing to do. Even if Gerry doesn't get hungry, he still likes to eat.

He jokes and says it makes him feel like a person, though Martin thinks he's the most human of the three of them, whenever he watches him hold Jon in his arms, looking down at the man like he's surprised he's still there, and the soft light of the cottage projecting a golden hue over his dark hair, making Martin's hands itch for a notepad and a pen.

His stomach knots tighter and tighter over itself, when he moves down the corridor towards the kitchen, and finds the entire cottage is encased in darkness.

"Martin?" a voice asks from the pitch-black kitchen, and Martin jumps, his chest flooding with the mix of exasperation and relief that has become synonym with Gerry in his mind.

"Why are you in the dark?" Martin asks, his voice soft. It feels important, for some reason, that they don't disturb the silence too much. As Martin's eyes get accustomed to the darkness, he can make out Gerry's form against the far end of the kitchen, his hair messed from restless sleep, his face tired, a steaming mug in his hand.

"Don't need it to see," Gerry whispers back with a shrug. "Why are you up?"

Martin makes his way over to him, leans on the counter by his side. It's hard to say if Gerry's radiating warmth, or if Martin is just too cold. "Nightmares."

"...Ah. Sorry." Gerry reaches over to place his mug on the table, and turns to face Martin. "Are you- I could make you a cup of tea. Can't promise it'll be any good, though."

His tone is genuinely apologetic, and Martin feels his lips curl into a smile. "Well, you had to be bad at something, didn't you?"

"Is my lack of tea-brewing ability a deal-breaker?" Gerry's voice carries the hint of a smile now, and his fingers brush against Martin's on the counter. "I'm willing to take some lessons, if that's the case. I happen know the perfect teacher."

"It apparently isn't a deal breaker, because you're both hopeless at it." It's mind-blowing, to think they're just... here.

Alive, standing at the kitchen in the middle of the night, the scent of coffee curling around them like a blanket as they make quiet jokes about a relationship that they haven't discussed, but that is somehow there anyways. The tension of looks exchanged over Jon's head, of brushes of skin that feel loaded with electricity and the knowledge that the other will be there, steady and reliable like the sunrise every morning.

"Well... the offer still stands, or if you want some of my coffee-"

"I shouldn't." Martin shakes his head. "It gives me anxiety, and I was hoping to go back to sleep."

"Oh." Gerry looks sideways and up at him, looking at a loss of what to do. Martin finds it endearing; of course Gerry can't deal with the thought of not fixing something; can't even fathom the thought that just his presence is doing wonders to ground him. "Can I do something, then?"

Martin looks down at him, at the faintest gleam of moonlight that comes across the dusty windows -they need to clean that before Jon takes it upon himself to do it- to only insinuate the beautiful mix of blue and green of his sweet, concerned eyes.

"You could kiss me, Mister Keay."

The embarrassment of being so blunt is more than worth it, when Gerry's eyes fly wide open, and a surprised chuckle escapes him, almost sounding like it was punched out of him.

"I- would that help?" he asks, but he can't keep the smile off his lips and Martin is so taken by the sight of him that he nearly leans down to do it himself.

"I think there's one way to find out." Martin smiles.

Gerry's hands are careful when they finally land on him; one on the back of his neck, one on his cheek, just like he's seen him touch Jon a handful of times before they kiss. Martin's heartbeat speeds up, and he might be drunk on the feeling already, the thought of being wanted almost as intoxicating as its counterpart.

He lets himself be pulled down, lets his face be tilted to the side, and the hand on his cheek pushes his glasses up his forehead so they don't get in the way.

It's a bit poetic, to kiss this ghost of pain and ink and love under the quiet glow of moonlight, and know that the only lonely thing in this kitchen is the mug of coffee cooling on the table.

They separate slowly, like waking up on a lazy morning, and Martin's wet lips tingle with want and with the weight of words it's far too soon to say.

"Did that help?" Gerry sounds cocky and pleased, but also a little bit breathless, and Martin rolls his eyes as a wave of warmth washes over him.

"You know, I'm not so sure," Martin taps a finger against his chin. "We might have to try again to confirm."

Gerry laughs quietly, probably to avoid waking Jon up, Martin thinks, and the words threaten to spill from his lips again. "Well, we have to be certain, don't we?"

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

"She knew these were not her children, and this was not her home. But they kept calling her mum, and there were many, many pictures on the mantle showing the happy life they lived. Feeding the ducks at St. John's, having a picnic by the lake, playing at the beach, practically every moment of their life documented in carefully crafted snapshots. She did not remember having a spouse that captured those moments either, but surely the pictures couldn't be lying to her, could they? She'd had a bad night's sleep, she was confused, and she needed to make breakfast for her children, what kind of mother would let them go hungry? She swore she'd never be like her own." Gerry readjusts his arms as Jon shifts on his chest in seek of a more comfortable position, and he reaches forward to kiss the crown of his head before continuing. "She started breakfast as she usually did, eggs on toast, and two slices of grilled ham, one for her and one for Dusty. Her hands stilled over the sizzling pan as she contemplated the name that felt so natural in her mind but that didn't fit with the reality she was currently living. She had two children, a house, and a lovely spouse with a lens for a face. She did not have a playful little mutt with ash-colored fur and a long lolling tongue, always with a chewed up stick by his awkardly large paws-"

"So what you're saying is you can escape the fears with the power of quiche and the power of puppies?" Martin asks, his voice tinged with amusement.

"That's exactly what I'm getting from it too, Martin, thank you." Jon snorts, and Gerry squeezes him in retaliation before looking at Martin. He finds him by the window, sitting at the little table they dragged there, with a notepad and a steaming cup of tea before him.

"Don't encourage him, that's how you end up having to pull him from coffins and alternate dimensions."

"In his defense, it was hardly his fault that he got hit on the face with that bat."

"See? Martin knows when things are my fault, that one wasn't."

"The coffin was definitely your fault, though." Martin points at him with the spoon he used to stir some sugar into his drink. "Is this a mixed one?"

"It definitely sounds like it. Spiral, Stranger, Eye... I'm thinking it's the house itself." Jon shifts some more on his chest to look at Martin too, before squeezing Gerry's forearm. "We'd known if someone would just finish the statement."

"So demanding." Gerry rolls his eyes.

"The hungry, hungry Archivist," Martin mutters under his breath as he blows on his cup of tea, and Gerry snorts over Jon's offended 'Martin!'. It's- it's good to see Marting feeling comfortable enough to joke around. "Sorry, sorry! Finish it, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't apologize," Gerry chuckles. "Where was I?"

"The power of puppies," Jon grumbles.

"I'm going to stop feeding you, sir."

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

"You should treat me to lunch or something, I've been sitting on a bus for eleven hours," Tim groans as he stretches his arms over his head to pop the kinks in his back.

"That's kind of your fault though," Martin chuckles. His shoulder feels cold where he bumps it against Tim's, a reminder that none of them really escaped the Institute intact. "You could've come through Helen."

"And miss the chance to feel like a regular human being? Martin, please." Tim bumps his shoulder right back as they walk down the main street. The little town is quaint and quiet, picturesque in a way Tim knows both Martin and Jon are suckers for, which he supposes is good enough. Martin deserves to end his story in a place like this. "How have you been?"

"Hm? Oh, we've- we're doing well. It's- it's good. We're good." There's a spot of color to Martin's face when he smiles, and Tim rolls his eyes. "What?"

"You've really got the worst taste in men, it explains why you were never into me."

"I hope you'll be able to forgive me," Martin laughs. "How are things back home?"

Tim shrugs, shifting the cardboard box he's carrying to support it on his hip instead. "It's going. Elias is still nowhere to be found, not that the police are really looking for him anyways. Basira could probably find him, but she's got other things to worry about now."

Martin lets out a slow exhale, his shoulders growing a bit heavier. "Still no luck with Daisy?"

"She knows how to find her just fine, and Daisy's leaving a trail of dead avatars that's pretty clear to follow even for regular people." Tim sighs as well, running a hand through his hair. "Daisy moves too fast though. There's no way to predict where she's going next, she's not following any pattern."

"Yeah... Jon said as much. He's tried- he says the things he Sees in her mind make no sense, it's all impulse and instinct, nothing logical that he could understand."

"That sounds about right," Tim mutters. The thing that broke out of Daisy's skin, that launched down the tunnels in a clash of claws and fangs and blood along with the other two... he doubts there's much human thinking going on with any of the hunters right now. "I suppose it's not too bad as long as she's only hunting avatars, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Martin says quietly. "I don't- things don't feel as black and white anymore, if you ask me."

Tim snorts.

"Some of your best friends are avatars?" He asks. Martin arches an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look, and Tim feels the teasing smirk on his face turn pleased instead. "Yeah. Okay."

-------

The place looks nice enough, a little stone fence with a wrought iron gate and a path made of stepping stones leading to a door whose blue paint has long since chipped and faded under sun and wind and rain. It looks... inoffensive, a little slice of the countryside to escape the chaos of the city, or whatever terrible plans your eldricht monster of a boss has weaved for you. Cozy and warm and welcoming, a place where one could make a home.

Martin pushes the door open, and Tim freezes at the very familiar scent coming from inside.

"...Tim?" Martin turns back to look at him when he doesn't follow him in. "What's wrong?"

How to explain it to Martin that nothing is wrong, or rather nothing he can put to words?

He remembers this smell, and the last time he felt it, the sound of rain spattering on the windows, and a movie on the background. He remembers teasing (back when he thought he was healing, that maybe one day there would be more to his life than just mourning his brother) about feeling like he was being set up for something, and then the hurried announcement and yes, don't be ridiculous, of course I'll move to the Archives with you, does that mean I have to call you boss now?

The thrill of being a safe space for someone, even broken as he was.

"Tim, are you-"

"Martin? Did you bring- oh." Jon stops just short of actually stepping out of the kitchen, looking at him like he's a ghost and the Desolation inside him burns, though whether it's Jon's sorrow or his own that he's feeding off of is anyone's best guess. "I'm- hi."

I hate you. I miss you.

"Hey," Tim pushes through a dry throat. "You- you made barg?"

Jon nods slowly. "I understand, if you don't want to eat with m-"

"It would be very stupid, though," interrupts a third voice, and Gerry's stepping out into the living room from somewhere deeper into the cottage. "You'd have to go all the way back to town to find yourself a sandwich or something. You look like crap, but I guess a long bus ride will do that to anyone, even fear avatars huh?"

His voice is somewhat terse, and Tim wonders if he can feel the hurt in Jon's voice just as intensely as Tim himself can. The air in the room grows heavy as every eye settles on Tim, waiting for him to reply.

"I'm- yeah. I think I'll ask Helen to give me a ride back. I can stay in her for a while to make it up to her," he says finally. Things are never going to be the same. Tim doesn't want them to be the same. The friendship they shared once was rooted in pain too, but this is different. "I could eat something, I guess."

-----

"I'm- I brought some statements," he says later that night, after they've had dinner and cleared the plates away.

"Oh?" Martin arches an eyebrow where he's dropping an armful of blankets and a pillow on the sofa.

Tim averts his eyes.

"I just- I know you have other ways to feed now, but I thought it would be a good idea to keep your boyfriend from running dry too soon." He can feel their eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze on the little radio on the table by the window. "We don't want you going out to hunt random people."

"Thank you, Tim." Jon says quietly, carefully. Tim doesn't have to look up to guess Jon isn't looking at him either, or the small lopsided smile.

"Hm," he says. "Dinner- it was good. Thank you."

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

"Gerry? Martin wants to know if- what are you doing?" Jon's words taste like surprise and laughter, like warm honey, like so many emotions Gerry has never had aimed at him before, and that feel like coming home. "You've got dirt on your nose."

Gerry looks up to find Jon leaning out the open window, looking down at him with bright eyes and a brighter smile. He's suddenly very aware of how he must look, the aforementioned dirt on his nose, and his hair done up into a messy bun to keep it out of his face, kneeling on the ground with a pile of badly pulled weeds by his side.

"I'm- I've never had a garden before." Gerry shrugs. It's not so much the words he's embarrassed about, but the implications. Like painting the door, like oiling the gate, building a garden is not something one does for a temporary place. "I just thought it would be fun to try- whoa, careful!"

He reaches up to hold Jon's forearm as he all but climbs out the window and comes to crouch down by his side.

"Have you started thinking about what you will plant yet?" Jon asks. There's not a hint of compulsion in the question, despite his eyes lighting up with the eerie green of his powers. "Maybe a raspberry bush, carrots... some potatoes later on?"

Gerry snorts. "Did you just use the Beholding to Know what veggies we could grow?"

"It's high time it was useful for something." Jon shrugs, giving him a coy little grin. When Gerry reaches over to pull him against his chest he comes easily enough, laughing. "You're going to get dirt on me."

"Get used to it." Gerry presses a kiss to his cheek. "I love you."

Jon turns his head then, to kiss the corner of his lips. "I love you too," he says.

The words pour into Gerry like warm water over a sore muscle, and they settle in his chest right where his heart should be, bright and warm and so sweet with emotion that Gerry can't bring himself to answer in any way other than squeezing Jon tighter against his chest, burying his face in Jon's mess of soft dark and grey hair.

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

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

"I thought you were done with the pining, sir," Gerry whispers into his ear, the grin clear in his voice.

Jon merely smiles and moves along on the sofa to make some space for him, before he turns back to look at Martin.

He's practically nose-deep in the old transistor radio they found back at the toolshed, his sleeves rolled back over his forearms and a streak of dust across his forehead where he scratched absentmindedly a few minutes ago.

"I'll give it to you, it is a nice view," Gerry adds. He's got no regards for subtlety of course, and Jon smiles wider as Martin's cheeks flush a little, though he keeps his gaze stubbornly focused on the inside of the radio. "Are you sure you don't want us to get a new one?"

"This one is perfectly good, thank you." Martin rolls his eyes. "It just needed some cleaning."

The satisfied smile on his lips when he flips the switch and the speakers crackle to life is a memory Jon will treasure for a long while.

"You continue to surprise me, mister Blackwood." Gerry chuckles. "What are we listening to?"

"I don't really- oh, this is good." Martin smiles again when the radio picks up a frequency. The music is somewhat static-y, but still recognizable as some old 70s rock. The tempo is fairly upbeat and cheerful, and Martin bounces a leg to it. "The silence was starting to get to me."

"We can't have that," Gerry nods solemnly, climbing to his feet. "C'mere."

"What?" Martin chuckles, but his hand comes to rest on Gerry's offered hand as the song picks up in rhythm.

"I'm asking you for this dance, sir." Gerry grins and pulls him up and against him in a twirl that has them tripping over each other and stumbling to regain their balance.

Jon smiles softly to himself as he watches them fall into step with each other, laughing all the way like a couple teenagers that have had one too many beers.

Gerry leans up to kiss a freckle on Martin's cheekbone, and Martin's eyes slide over to pin Jon, brighter than ever and making his heart skip a couple beats.

Jon stands no chance when large hands wrap around his wrists to yank him to his feet, but realistically, he wasn't really going to put up much of a fight.

'You can't dance and stay uptight' indeed.

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

"It just doesn't make too much sense, if you ask me," Melanie says. She's not terribly worried about it, but it's been on her mind for a while now. "Jon feeds from you now, Helen has me or Tim in her corridors sometimes, I don't think I've ever seen Tim feed... I thought these things forced you to hurt people. Like the Slaughter did with me."

"I don't think anyone really knows, firecracker. The entities don't come with a manual, no matter how many old idiots have tried to write one." Gerry taps her knee softly with something cold and hard, and Melanie wraps her hand around the cider can. "Jon still has statements sometimes, so he and Helen are still feeding off of other's fear. My best guess is that Tim is feeding the Desolation with his own."

"What's Tim afraid of?" Melanie arches an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink. It's both sweet and tart on her tongue, a good contrast to the bowl of salty chips Gerry placed on her lap when they came to sit at the garden.

"Jon, mostly," Gerry grunts. "Or rather, Jon mourning the way he was before. The Desolation is about sorrow and loss too, and those two have enough of that."

"Wow, I didn't know you were still so bitter about him ruining your first date." Melanie hides her grin behind the can; she can practically see Gerry rolling his eyes from the scoff he gives next.

"I think I'm allowed to be wary of an avatar of the Desolation holding a grudge against Jon."

"Or thinking he does."

"Or thinking he does," Gerry agrees. "What I'm saying is- I don't think even the avatars themselves know how this works, asides from 'feed your entity or you'll have a bad time'. What Gertrude and Dekker knew, what I thought I knew- even what the Eye lets me Know now is very limited when it comes to this."

"What about Martin?" Melanie asks.

"What about him?" Gerry asks right back, his voice careful. Melanie rolls her eyes.

"Does he feed too?"

"Not quite," Gerry says quietly after a moment. "He's neither here nor there, you know? Lukas forced him into the Lonely, but then he chose it himself. He's like Basira, or you when you had the bullet, only there's nothing to pull out of him to fix it."

The disappointment at this fact is clear in his voice, and Melanie remembers once again the kind of person her friend is.

"I'm sure having you helps." She shrugs. "All of us, I suppose."

Including herself in it feels weird, but right. Georgie's laugh comes through the window, mixed with Jon and Martin's quieter chuckles, and a crackly radio playing old classic rock. The garden smells like moist dirt and the cool, crisp highland air, and she can hear Gerry digging around with what she guesses must be a spade.

"I wanted to kill you when I first met you, you know?" she blurts out. And now I'm here sitting with you while you work on your dumb little garden, she thinks, but doesn't say.

"I did get that impression, I don't know why. The knife, maybe." Gerry chuckles, and his spade thuds on the ground before he comes to sit against the wall with her, bumping their shoulders together. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Yeah." Melanie goes to take another sip of her cider to soothe her suddenly dry throat. She knocks her foot against Gerry's leg. "Yeah, me too."

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

What with his mother, his general insecurities and the whole 'comiting to the embodiment of loneliness' thing, Martin has had very few opportunities to live with people in his adult life. He's surprised to find that he likes it, despite the constant itch of frustration coming from the bits of the Forsaken buried feel within him.

There's something to be said about hearing Gerry whistling to himself as he works on the garden, or waking up from a nap to the scent of whatever Jon is cooking for supper.

There is notoriously less to be said for stepping on a wet towel at four in the morning when he's just trying to go into the bathroom to pee.

"Gerry!" he snaps, trying to keep his voice to a whisper because even if Jon isn't asleep or even in the room right now, it's four in the morning.

"Martin? What happened?" Gerry asks a second after, his voice just the slightest bit shaky still, which Martin would take pride on at any other time. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you insist on leaving your wet towels on the floor?"

"...Oh. Sorry?" Martin can practically hear Gerry's sheepish smile. "In my defense, I mostly lived in motel rooms?"

"Yes, and then you lived with Jon for like seven months." Martin rolls his eyes, straightening back up. "I'm going to have to do something about it."

"Oh, are you? What will you- oompf!" Gerry's low, teasing voice is cut short when the balled up damp towel finds its mark, and Martin closes the door to the bathroom with a satisfied smile.

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

"We should start thinking of what we're going to do, I think." There's something to Martin's voice when he says it that gets Gerry into high alert mode immediately, which is a bit ridiculous, considering they're standing in front of the produce rack at the farm shop while Jon chooses some vegetables.

"About what?" Gerry asks.

"Well mostly I-" Martin stops and clears his throat. "I just-"

Martin stops again, this time with a little chuckle that sounds more nervous than amused. Jon turns around, eggplant in hand and eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Martin?"

"This is probably the weirdest way I've asked 'what are we?' in my life," Martin says after a couple seconds, shaking his head with a smile. "But mostly- are we staying here? At the cottage, I mean."

Oh.

"We can't keep living off of our savings, and I somehow doubt Elias is going to keep paying me and Jon a regular salary," Martin continues far more casually now that he got past the initial awkwardness, seemingly unaware of Gerry's brain blanking. "It does get a lot cheaper with the two of you not needing to eat, but I should probably try and get a job to, you know, feed myself and the like. I guess my question is if you'd rather stay here or go back to London or...?"

Gerry feels his eyebrows raise as what Martin is asking slowly rains down on him. It's- it's one thing to entertain his normal, boring life fantasies, and another one completely to hear someone else voice them.

"Hm. I suppose we do have to return to London eventually, to help look for Daisy." Jon taps his bottom lip with the eggplant's stem. "Whether we stay there or not is another matter entirely, I suppose. I don't really have a preference, Gerry-"

"The carrots won't be ready to harvest until next year," Gerry blurts out when they both turn to look at him. It feels important, for some reason.

These past three months have been a dream, so pleasant and calm Gerry has caught himself thinking on more than one occasion that maybe- maybe he's done, and he can rest now, here at the end of the world with these two.

Maybe he's earned this.

Jon and Martin are still staring at him, the former's eyes are gleaming with something that looks like fondness, and the latter's got a hand up to hide his grin.

"I mean- we can go wherever-" as long as they're together, that is, but he's not about to say that, not after using carrots as his excuse. "Just-"

"He does have a point, Martin." Jon interrupts him with a shrug, coming closer to slot himself under Gerry's arm.

Martin nods sagely. "We can't just leave the carrots."

"Stop," Gerry snorts, shaking his head as Martin comes to lay a kiss on his forehead. I guess that's a yes on the job hunting, then. I could try to get something too."

"Huh." Martin blinks, and his shoulders shake with a little huff of laughter. "Gerry, I think you might be the one person on earth whose CV could look worse than mine, even with the unverifiable previous job."

"What a blast of an interview though, can you imagine? 'It says here you haven't had a job since... Pinhole Books around ten years ago?' 'well yes, I was off stopping terror rituals and killing people, and then I was dead for four years, but I got better.' "

"I think I'd hire you just for having the guts to lie like that," Jon says from under his arm, before accusingly pointing the eggplant at Martin. "And your previous job is hardly unverifiable. I actually think your previous boss would give you a sparkling review."

"The one you killed after he put me in a nightmare dimension?" Martin asks, an eyebrow arched and his lips curled into an amused grin.

"I'm trying to flirt with you, sir," Jon deadpans. His voice has the light, tangy aftertaste of his bittersweet jokes, and Gerry squeezes him a bit against his side.

Martin's grin turns pleased as his face colors slightly, which makes Gerry smile when he realizes Martin was just fishing for the confirmation.

"I could give you a recommendation letter too." Gerry tangles his fingers in Martin's free hand. "Martin Blackwood? Overqualified for any job you throw at him, his only areas of opportunity are the occasional arson in work premises and the fact that he's very bad at keeping people out of his office."

"Certain people," Martin says, butting his forehead against Gerry's with a smile.

"You two are ridiculous," Jon chuckles. "Let's get home already."

Home, the word rings in his chest like a bell, like the heart he wasn't given back but feels the pull of at every waking moment.

"Yeah. Let's go home."

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

The creature -it is shaped like a human, but the hunter knows better, can smell the monster in it- squirms and thrashes in its jaws, though what end it hopes to achieve is a mystery to the hunter, because the only thing it gets for its trouble is for said jaws to clench down tighter around it, until yellowed, long fangs pierce skin and stain red.

It tastes like dirt.

The hunter despises the taste of dirt, and even more so the feeling of it sliding down its throat, far too evocative of another time, another life that might as well have lasted forever, were it not for the prey it let escape, that for some reason came back and clung to it as tightly as the hunter now clings to its newest victim.

Deep down in the hunter's chest something sparks to life at the thought, the memory of thin hands pulling at it even as pointed stones dug into their skin. The prey has a name, or at least it used to.

The hunter shakes its head, trying to rid it if the useless, confusing thoughts.

It too had a name one day, but that does not matter now. It is the hunter, and what it does is to chase, to kill.

It lets go of the broken body between its jaws, just as another scent drifts into its nose.

The hunter changes tracks, and starts the chase again, leaving behind any thoughts of previous prey, named or not.

Jon sighs, blinking the black and white and red of Daisy's vision away.

It's nothing new, he had an inkling of what he'd See even before he looked, but it still hurts. With each day that Daisy passes under the thrall of the Hunt her mind grows more and more distant, far from any reach they could have.

They need to go back to London soon. Between himself, Basira and Gerry, they might be able to pin Daisy's location before she bounces again.

It hurts. Jon is more than aware that after so much fighting to become something else, what dragged Daisy back into the pit she promised to not to return was her fondness for him.

The darkness in the room recedes a little when he opens his eyes again, the green glow casting eerie, menacing shadows out of every unassuming object, like trying to convince Jon he's not the most dangerous being to ever sit in this living room.

Down the little corridor come the sounds of Martin's soft snoring and whatever it is that Gerry's mumbling in his sleep, and Jon sighs. The tape recorder still runs somewhere in the living room, waiting perhaps for a declaration.

"I'm- I'll breach the topic with them tomorrow." He says in the end. Talking to the tapes has always felt grounding. "We just have to find Daisy, and then we'll be free to come back here for however long we want."

For the time being... there's no use in worrying, Jon guesses.

Out the corner of his eye he catches Martin's notebooks on his little table by the window, and he feels his lips arching into a smile despite himself.

They've come a long way from Jon fishing out discarded poetry from garbage bins, he thinks to himself as he pulls one of the notebooks. Thankfully, Martin has said he doesn't mind them reading his things as long as he isn't in the room, so this will make for a nice distraction.

"Good things", Jon reads aloud from the page he opens at random, which he notices has a lot less crossed out sections than the others. Apparently Martin found his words pretty easily after a few stumbles at the beginning. "You'll- you'll have to forgive me, Martin," he tells the recorder, chuckling. "I've never had a voice for poetry, in my opinion. But I'll leave it to the jury to decide."

He clears his throat, holding the notebook open with two fingers, Martin's neat, tight handwriting illuminated in green.

'Good things, by Martin K. Blackwood.

There is something interesting to be said About things that come in threes.

Like coins in a fountain rings to a circus, or stars to Orion's belt, Like three acts parts to a story that is not finished yet.

Why is it that three's a crowd, yet Good things come in three's? People always say hello, Jon. My apologies for interrupting whatever it was that our mutual acquaintance managed to sneak this into, but I thought it better to let her arrange the delivery as she saw fit.

Hopefully this finds you alone; I shouldn't speak ill of a gift from our patron, especially with how well he served his purpose, but as useful as he's been in keeping you alive and encouraging you to develop your powers, your dear Gerard is quite adept at getting in the way, no doubt he gets it from Gertrude. Though I do suppose I should stop underestimating Martin by this point, shouldn't I?

I must admit, I neither expected nor wished to watch him walk out of the fog with you. It is far too late in the game for unwanted variables, but by this point I suppose I must simply sit back and hope that the Mother's blessing is enough to keep him out of my designs.

By this point I suppose you have attempted to stop reading, I don't recommend it, you will only hurt yourself. I thought your little retreat had lasted enough already, and you could use some help getting back into the flow of work.

Let us begin then, just one more, for old times sake.

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

[elderbwrry]

Even if he doesn’t say so - Chapter 4/?

Kylo/Hux/Poe Witcher AU

Chapter summary: Poe gets into a barfight - minor warnings for blood. (word count 2141)

Chapters 1, 2, 3 and on ao3

Kylo and Hux were on their way back to the tavern where Poe would be giving his latest performance...

They had spent all the afternoon consulting with the mayor of this backwater little town as to what services they could possibly render him. He was an odious man who didn't seem to know exactly what he was talking about, and prattled on for hours about werewolf sightings – Kylo was almost certain that the mayor's reports were only rumour – before changing tack to ask Hux a million pointless questions. It had taken so long that it was now almost night. The least he could have done, if all he wanted was to be able to say he'd met a mage and a Witcher, was compensate them for their time. Still, it had been fun to see how politely Hux could insult him.

There was a considerable noise coming from somewhere ahead of them on their path, and, as they rounded the corner, it became clear that the source was the tavern. The place was full to bursting, people crowding in the door and standing on tip toes to see in. The music which should have been flowing out of the place was instead replaced with shouts and jeering. Hux and Kylo figured out what was happening at virtually the same time, quickening their pace.

The place smelt of spilt beer and sweat, and the loud, human noise bit at Kylo's senses with an acidic tang between his eyes and at the back of his neck, making his fists curl. Hux shouldered his way forward, but the crush parted easily for them, creating ripples of, “It's the Witcher!”, “that horrid magician,” “mutant freaks.”

If everything had stopped when they arrived, the solid blow of flesh hitting flesh kickstarted it all again, sending forth another round of jeers as everyone turned back to the commotion at the centre of the room. The last layer of people peeled back, and the cause of it all was revealed.

Poe, his lute and doublet discarded somewhere, was squaring up, fists first, to another man who was both younger and larger than himself. The sleeves of Poe's shirt were rolled up to expose his forearms, the collar of that same shirt flapping open lower than usual, his knuckles of a shade suggesting that a number of blows had already been dealt. His hair was in disarray, sweat sheening his skin, and there was a bright red split freshly on his lip. It was... handsome. It made Kylo angry.

Growling, he took an abortive step towards Poe's adversary, only to be blocked by a surprisingly firm hand on his sternum. Hux.

“What is the meaning of this?” the mage asked the room icily.

“They're voicing their unwanted opinions,” Poe told them, and it was with such hostility that Kylo would scarcely believe it could come from him, if he didn't know that Poe had a righteous streak a mile wide.

“We don't take kindly to things like you coming to these parts,” someone said.

“Witchers and their murdering.”

“Mages and their sin.”

“We've heard the stories!” another added, and noises of assent scattered around the room.

Kylo had been in situations like this before. He'd been known to act badly in them. Rashly. Angrily. He cast his gaze around, and people seemed to shrink back from it. He could only imagine how he looked, pale skin, red scar, irises a sick, blank yellow, like a vulture. Finally, he found himself facing the man Poe had been fighting.

“Inhuman thing,” the man looked Kylo up and down with disgust and spat at his feet.

Kylo could have had the man in a choke-hold in a matter of seconds, but a determined blur shot forward, ducking under the fists the man's slackening stance had let weaken. Poe punched the man hard in the stomach, causing him to double over enough that Poe could then bring a knee up into his nose, letting loose a fountain of blood. The man yelled in pain, grabbing a hold of Poe's shoulder. Kylo had never intervened faster in his life, hitting away the man's arm and standing in his way.

“You need your pet monsters to save you, huh?” the man taunted even though he was clearly scared, or at least wary, his eyes flitting between Poe and his reinforcements, his speech clodded up with his nosebleed.

“Watch your damn words!” Poe shot back. “My friends are better men than you'll ever be.”

“Pussy.”

Kylo had to stop Poe's lurching attempt at an attack.

“Everyone out!” Hux ordered, his voice almost impossibly loud. People began to slink out of the door, but slowly enough that Kylo decided to take matters into his own hands and bundle Poe off in the direction of the stairs. He went with a few firm nudges, snatching his lute and doublet up from where they were stashed by the bar as he went. His tendons stood out where his grip on them was so tight.

“Go to the room,” Kylo hissed at him, lingering on the stairwell in case Hux needed backup.

It was quickly revealed to be a pointless consideration.

Hux already had backed Poe's assailant up against a wooden wall, the point of a dagger to his throat, his other hand glowing at his side. Kylo was almost certain that was the initial stages of a nasty hex, more than was required to intimidate some bigoted peasant.

“He started it-” the man was saying, and Hux was shaking his head with a sneer.

“That could not matter to me less. If I hear a single word from you I don't ask for, you will regret it. Do you know you laid hands on a lord?”

The man's throat bobbed. Of course he hadn't known Poe was nobility.

“In his kingdom,” Hux continued, turning the dagger so the edge was on the man's clavicle, “he is known as a good man. A righteous man. You angered- no, you infuriated a good man. Riled him up enough to do this.” Hux's tone changed, getting impossibly sharper. “I am not like him. I could raze this pathetic spit of matchsticks, if I wanted to. And you,” he dug the dagger in a little, skirting the man's jugular, “would be the one to blame, for harming someone I hold precious.” He let the threat sit for a moment before stepping back, the glow by his hand dissipating. “In fact, you had better check your house isn't already up in flames.”

The man made to scramble for the door.

“And next time,” the man paused, the hate in his eyes now significantly dwarfed by his fear as Hux spoke, “I suggest you remember that a mage's wrath is far worse than our sin.”

Kylo got up to the room before Hux could catch him watching on the stairwell.

Poe was pacing restlessly. When Kylo entered, he stopped, tapping his foot. “You should have let me beat the shit out of him.”

“You should have let me beat the shit out of him,” Kylo replied, his voice curling into a growl. To hear the way the townspeople spoke about himself wasn't unusual – he'd lashed out before, and it was one of the reasons he stayed out of towns as much as possible – but it was the first time he'd heard someone speak about Hux that way, and it was the first time Poe had come to blows that Kylo wasn't there to stop before he'd sustained damage. Crossing the room and lifting a hand to carefully tilt Poe's head to the side, examining the bruising on his jaw and temple, Kylo asked, “Did he hurt you?”

“Just bruises,” Poe replied, his teeth gritted more, Kylo suspected, from residual fury than from pain. No, that would hit later when the adrenaline dissipated. “Those things they were saying about you – fucking rude. And untrue.”

Kylo hummed some assent. “You both should be treated like royalty,” he muttered, thinking it only true; Poe wasroyalty of a self evident sort of virtue, and Hux was both powerful enough and well respected enough to demand that sort of praise.

Poe laid his fingers on Kylo's wrist. “And the things about you,” he insisted, his brow furrowing in a way that said he was concerned in a new direction. “You don't believe them, do you?”

The disbelief in Poe's voice made Kylo want to deny it. Luckily, Hux joining them in the room saved him from stumbling his way some verbal deflection.

“Did he hurt you?” Hux asked immediately.

“Just bruises,” Poe repeated as the mage approached, before protesting with a weak “Hey!” as his shirt was unceremoniously lifted by Hux to inspect him for more bruises, wincing as his surprised twist to the side made something twinge.

“What if he'd had the presence of mind to pull a knife?” Hux reprimanded him, noting with disapproving exactitude the red patches by Poe's ribs.

“Well he didn't, so it's fine.”

“That is not-” Hux cut himself off with an irritated sigh, heading to where Kylo's pack was by the table and picking through it without asking. “In the future, please remind yourself of your mortality before throwing yourself into something so foolish as a tavern brawl.”

“You sound like Leia.”

“I desperately hope not,” Hux replied drily, and, having found the vial he was looking for, returned to stand before Poe, looking over his bruises again. He popped open the vial – Kylo recognised it as one of his own healing potions, too strong for Poe just to drink – upturning it with his finger over the top, before dabbing the liquid onto the bruises.

Poe hissed at the contact. “Look, you can't expect me to just stand there while people insult you!”

“That is exactly what I expect-”

“Don't ask me to, Hux. I won't.” Poe's dark eyes flicked up to Kylo again, anguish creeping in to the set of his features. “Not when Kylo believes those things.”

Hux froze in what he was doing and straightened up, turning his own piercing eyes onto Kylo. “You do?” Voice as fine as wine, Kylo could detect in his tone notes of disapproval, mild shock, and, surprisingly, genuine pity.

Kylo had been standing there quietly until now, trying not to do anything to bring Poe back to that subject. “Well I...” he fumbled, casting around as if for an answer, pressure mounting as he could feel their attention trained on him, “I'm... it doesn't...” His eyes began to sting and – fuck that – he didn't. He didn't need to be pitied, by Hux, by Poe, by anyone else, no matter who they were to him. He knew what he was, and, though it made his blood boil to hear commoners who hadn't known half the fear and pain he had throw words around like they did, it only hurt so much because he worried they were right.

Poe was reaching out for his wrist again, and the contact made Kylo snatch his arm away and stalk over to the window with a snarled, “Just leave it.” He gripped the window sill and the wood of it creaked with the strain.

Three open-palmed bangs on the door, and the landlord hollered through to them, “I want you out! Out, you hear?”

A few more bangs had Kylo whirling round and snapping, “Fine, now fuck off!” Footsteps hesitatingly retreated, the landlord no doubt wondering whether they actually would go, but there was no way they would stay; there was an even chance Kylo would hit the next person who bothered them, and an only slightly less likely one of Poe doing the same.

“I'll fetch my things,” Hux said. They'd taken two rooms, and, as usual, Kylo and Poe were sharing while Hux got his own. “We should head north a mile or so,” he continued to lay out the reasoning for a sheltered spot he'd noticed, tending to the last of Poe's wounds.

He crooked a finger at Poe, who leaned forward a little. Hux dropped a little of the healing potion onto his thumb, and placed the pad of it tenderly onto the split on Poe's lip. It was just a moment, but though Hux was all business, Kylo noticed Poe's shoulders drop and his eyes flit to Hux's lips momentarily. When Hux removed his thumb the merest of seconds later and turned his attention to recapping the vial, Poe's tongue laved over the spot, which had already faded from red to pink under Hux's care.

The scene made Kylo want – he wanted to touch them, to patch the two of them up when they needed it, to look after them. He gripped the windowsill tighter. Next time, he'd be the one defending them.

[aj-draws]

Addictive - Ch. 1 of Guns and Roses

Summary: A Mafia AU with Khun as a mob boss and Bam as a cop who may or may not take on the role as his bodyguard in the future.

Word Count: 2,367

---

Bam never had a first love. He was the top of his class, graduating at a police academy with exceptional grades and excellent combat skills. Though he knew exactly what he fancied when his gaze lingered on a particularly handsome man passing by, the kind of job he had left no room for romance.

Bam had never known failure. He handled his work with diligence and all of his cases so far had been handled successfully. It was true that he had his fair share of problems, but with the help of his clever captain, no case of his was left unsolved. 

So on one fateful night, he had the pleasure of experiencing two things he had never felt before.

It all began with a heist and a plan that went wrong.

After a case was assigned to him about the development of a mafia gang, Bam had spent the last two weeks meticulously gathering information. All he had were photographs and names of some of the supposed members, but he knew he needed more.

Captain Hwaryun had arranged for him to go undercover as a dealer in a gambling den that all of the gang members would be at. It wasn’t clear what their objective was, but since he had never been able to see all of the members at work in the same room, Bam was ecstatic.

He struggled to keep his cool as he folded the collar of his button-down with trembling fingers. Bam stood in the break room and contemplated his outfit in the mirror, hoping the clothes Hwaryun picked for him were fitting for the occasion. Glancing at his watch, he grabbed his suit jacket and tossed it onto his shoulders before exiting the room.

Bam approached the woman he was covering for, who retreated from the table and left him to set up. He worked at a leisurely pace, trying to focus more on counting the playing chips rather than his jittering nerves.

Once he had settled into a game of poker, Bam let his eyes slowly wander the room. He was intent on recognizing the familiar faces from his case files, and sure enough, he spotted the charming con artist who went by Endorsi and her fellow pickpocket, Shibisu. Those two were the only ones who had been seen by the public eye on multiple occasions but were not caught by the cops. There was a third member who Bam had very little information about because he was pivotal to any robberies that took place. While the gang’s thief was busy picking locks, Endorsi and Shibisu served as distractions.

However, their boss was nowhere to be seen.

There was no sign of the infamous, cutthroat man who left an officer in the emergency room after they crossed paths. His name, Khun, was the only thing known about him, and that was the information given to Bam when he took over the injured officer’s case.

When Bam spotted Shibisu making his way to the bathroom, he quickly finished his game to pursue the brown-haired man. He opened the door and locked it just as Shibisu was walking over to the sink. Bam rushed forward, unsheathing a knife from his pocket and pressing it to the man’s back.

Before Shibisu could make a noise, Bam snatched his earpiece and crushed it under his foot. “Don’t move.” He ordered.

“W...What do you want?” Shibisu managed through gritted teeth. He lifted his hands, bottom lip quivering as he did so.

“Why are you here?”

“As if I would tell y-”

Bam interrupted him by slamming the knife’s tip on the sink. Shibisu inhaled sharply, eyes bulging when he noticed how close his side had been from being stabbed. 

“Please choose your answer carefully.”

“A heist,” he blurted out. “We’re stealing from really arrogant people so if you’re looking for money or retribution, we-“

“That’s not necessary. I’m not here for the money.” Bam cut him short, pausing to choose his next words. He swallowed before asking, “Where is your boss?”

“On the second floor.”

His stomach dropped.

No..that couldn’t be. Their boss never went on missions with the other members. He never needed to. The job always got done. Why was...he..here?

He had to find out himself. It was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

Bam tied the man’s hands to the faucet with his belt, making sure the knot was tight and secure. He discarded Shibisu’s phone in the garbage and gagged him with the handkerchief in his breast pocket. 

He hurried outside and rushed to the elevator. Passing by a hallway full of doors, Bam stopped in his tracks when he heard a scream. The door was ajar, allowing him to peek inside, where a man was being threatened by someone with black hair. The frightened man was revealing a code and Bam was suddenly torn between stopping a robbery and confronting a mafia boss.

Then Shibiu’s words echoed through his head and his mind fixated on the phrase ‘arrogant people’. Bam made his decision, letting out a sharp huff before spinning around and pushing the elevator button.

As soon as the doors opened, Bam was tugged inside and engaged in a fight with two heavy-set men in black suits. The elevator rocked under his feet as she darted from side to side, blocking punches and delivering jabs to the neck. As soon as he saw an opening, he whipped his leg around and kicked one of the men right in the jaw. He crumpled to his knees and Bam flung his heel over his head, knocking him out.

He took out his knife and eyed the remaining man expectantly. Bam wiped the sweat off his forehead, springing into action with a swing of his blade. One second he was ducking his head and the next he was standing over two limp bodies. The ding of the elevator signaled the end of the bumpy ride and he walked out, leaving the knife lodged in the man’s throat.

Bam stepped forward and surveyed the room. His gaze passed by the door to a bathroom, the bed, and the window until he caught the dazzling blue eyes of a man sitting down on a sofa.

The man was currently preoccupied with snipping off a rose’s stem, leaving the petals to lay on a nearby table next to two glasses of dark wine. Locks of silvery-blue hair framed his face, curling around his broad shoulders and brushing against the pearls dangling from his ears. His navy blue vest clung to his hips, the silky fabric shifting as he leaned back into the sofa’s plush cushions. His lips were painted with a cherry red and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He ran his fingers along his cobalt necktie and gave a radiant grin, adjusting his leg to cross it over his other one.

Bam forgot how to breathe.

He lost all reason when the question slipped out of his mouth, “Who are you?”

He wasn’t thinking clearly. Bam knew the answer, but he needed to be sure. He wanted to be certain his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.

“My name is Khun Aguero Agnis.” He spoke, picking up a wine glass in each hand and standing up. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

The click of his heel snapped Bam back to reality. He drew his gun from the inside of his jacket and pointed it at the man. Khun simply continued walking, his footsteps bold, despite his threats. Bam stood his ground and cocked his gun, arching an eyebrow.

Khun stopped in front of him, sighing loudly. “You can put the gun down. Look, I don’t have any weapons.” He gestured to his empty belt with his hands, which were currently occupied by wine glasses. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re too valuable.”

“Valuable?”

“I’ll cut to the chase since you’re itching to leave.” The man flashed him a devious smile, offering a glass to Bam. “I want to recruit you.”

Bam eyed the drink curiously and remained still. “I refuse.”

Khun raised his arm. The sudden movement made Bam’s finger fly to the trigger, but all the man did was down his glass in a single gulp. “I thought you’d say that. I suppose you need some convincing.”

The last thing Bam saw was his wink before he got blinded by a wave of dark red liquid. 

The wine burned his eyes and he squeezed them shut, grunting in annoyance. His hands, which were cut by the glass, throbbed with pain. The gun slipped from his fingers and Bam quickly swiped his sleeve across his face. He bent down to pick up the gun when a kick to the stomach made him double over. A frustrated noise erupted from his throat as he moved to attack Khun with swift punches. Bam’s fists made contact with air and it was confusing him that Khun was now taking the defensive, dodging with his hands tucked behind his back.

When Bam paused to catch his breath, Khun was back on the offense without a second to spare. His fighting style was something foreign to him-polished to perfection and incredibly unpredictable. He didn’t want to believe it, but he began to tire, his muscles taut and overworked. 

Khun wasted no time to take advantage of this. He landed one solid punch and Bam was knocked onto the bed, clutching his side.

All of a sudden, Khun was on top of him, grabbing his wrists and slamming them onto the mattress. He tried to move his leg, but Khun was quick to pin him down, the heat of his thigh causing Bam to tense up.

“What is your name?” He demanded, leaving no room for negotiation or defiance.

“I...I’m Bam.”

“A cop.” Khun spat with a viciousness that made him shudder.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I started working there recently.”

“So you’re a newbie. How interesting.” The anger Khun previously displayed had dissipated, replaced with a thoughtful sparkle in his eyes. “I think you’re wasting your remarkable talents.”

“So...what do you want from me?”

“You,” Khun spoke, his voice a velvety purr. 

The gentleness of his words greatly contrasted the powerful grip on Bam’s wrists.

“...What?”

“Be my bodyguard.”

Bam stared up at him. The shock in his expression brought on Khun’s laughter.

“If you worked with me, I could grant you the freedom that the police could never provide. There would be no more of those pesky rules to hold you back. All I ask in return is that you fight for me. I don’t need your protection, but I have a feeling that I’ll enjoy having you by my side.”

“But...I-“

“You can’t say no.”

“Why not?”

“I won’t allow it. I can’t let something so...impressive out of my sight for a second longer,” Khun leaned in close, his floral cologne tickling his nose. The more Bam fought against his grasp, the tighter he clutched his wrists. “Besides, I know you want to. I can tell.”When Bam stopped struggling, he let go of him. Khun’s fingers trailed down his arms until he got to his cheeks, which he cupped in his palms.

“All of your desires are displayed right in front of me-from the clenching of your jaw to your erratic heartbeat,” Khun smirked, bringing their faces closer together. “I could hear it from a mile away.” His thumb lightly touched his bottom lip. Bam shivered under his warm body and bewitching stare.

Khun’s head dipped and Bam squeezed his eyes shut. He let out a shaky breath as he felt Khun’s lips press on the corner of his mouth. His fluttering eyelashes grazed Bam’s cheek and his breath was hot against his neck.

Khun murmured into his ear, “Join me. I could show you a fun time.”

Enthralled by the softness of his voice, Bam barely registered the faint click of handcuffs from the bed frame.

Wait.

Wait, wait...handcuffs?

“I’ll give you a day to think about it.” Khun sat upright, slipping a card into his breast pocket. “Give me a call, will you?”

Bam frowned silently. He knew he had lost, but that didn’t mean he liked it at all. The man slipped off the bed and Bam felt his eyelids close, the scent of sleeping gas and a hint of roses being the last thing she remembered.

---

Hours later, Bam regained consciousness. A woman stood over him, shining a light in his eyes and giving a relieved sigh when he stirred.

“So...did you finally..get some?”

Bam gave a pout and Hwaryun responded with a lighthearted chuckle. As she picked the lock of the handcuffs, he tried to wrap his head around everything that happened. Once his wrists were free and he was sitting in a police car with Hwaryun at the steering wheel, Bam came clean and confessed to his captain about meeting Khun Aguero Agnis. He told her the important details, like how he got his ass kicked, skimming over the part that made him blush. Bam left out Khun’s offer entirely.

“I should stay away from him.”

“Yes.”

“He’s dangerous and I should avoid him at all costs.”

“Exactly.”

“But there’s a problem,” he thought to himself.

Bam brushed his finger along the corner of his mouth, where Khun’s scarlet lipstick stained his skin. His fingertip lingered for a moment before he bit his thumb, the heat burning from his flushed cheeks.

“I can’t stop,” he whispered.

He was charmed, intrigued, but worst of all-

-he was addicted. 

---

Later that night while Bam pondered over his decision, he fished the card out of his pocket, blue rose petals spilling out when he did so. He gaped at the petals sitting in his palm and let a small smile rest upon his lips.

The rose was a symbol of the mafia gang. Khun had claimed him as his own.

Bam grew flustered at the thought and left the petals on his desk. He fell asleep with a pounding in his chest and the realization that he had been marked by a mafia boss.

[dayas]

187 + dimya

187. “I know I kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right. Can I try again?” 

Babies. Absolute babies. This was supposed to be pure but I accidentally knocked some spice in so 👀👀👀👀 Let’s get it!

—

The grand duchess Anastasia Romanov should know how to kiss by now. It’s just one of those things you know, like how to ride a bicycle or how to match your clothes. Unfortunately, her high and mighty status has robbed her of the opportunities to learn how to kiss the right way. To be clear, she’s been kissed before. A few rushed moments with a couple dukes, sloppy and stunned, overeager because of just who they were kissing. For them, it was a highlight. For her, it was yet another moment that she didn’t gain anything from an opportunity she took, save for maybe some hilarious yet embarrassing commentary from Maria when she returned to the assembly with her face flushed and lips slightly swollen.

The point is, she doesn’t know how to kiss, which is why it’s almost a relief when she sneaks out to the city and finds a club to drop into, because people are kissing everywhere. Literally everywhere. And to be honest, it’s a little much. Okay, a lot much. But it’s better than being holed up in the expansive Romanov palace. Her clothing is tight, absolutely not fit for a princess (or her family’s ideas of a princess). Instead, it speaks to her wilder side. The side that longs for freedom, for a life outside the one that’s chosen for her. Everybody thinks being a princess is a dream come true. And in some ways it is, but in other’s... it’s a nightmare. Trapped in the old ways with no choice but to adhere... that’s not the life for Anya. So she rebels from it, casts it off. It isn’t part of her when she leaves the palace walls.

She slips in nearly unnoticed, save for one stranger who’s gaze seems glued to hers. To her credit, she holds it (although she’s not really sure she can look away even if she wants to). Anya’s never been pinned by just a look before, but this is something else. Someone jostles her and the moment shatters as she ducks around the rest of them, shaking her head at herself. She’s here to have fun, and it’s about damn time that she did.

She ends up on the dance floor, right where she belongs. At balls, she always whirled around, going from suitor to suitor before leaving them all to dance with her father. He certainly wouldn’t approve of the moves she’s pulling right now, but a few likely prospects for the night seem to. None of them catch her eye, although one is brave enough to paw at her waist.

“Hey,” he says, wearing a sleazy grin and she moves away immediately, tensing up. A terse, “Hi,” leaves her lips, but apparently the guy is bad at reading signs because he moves closer.

“Where you goin’? Come dance with me.”

Anya can already see this unfolding and she doesn’t like the outcome, so she thinks up the quickest lie that comes to her tongue.

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend.”

Nice going, Anya. Might as well tell him you’re the Grand Duchess while you’re at it.

“Hey, is this guy bothering you?”

The new voice in the mix is the stranger from earlier. Up close, she understands why she was so mesmerized. He’s gorgeous. The harsh lighting of the club dulls his features a bit, but they’re strong. Dark hair swooped back, a broader build, quite taller than her.

“Nah, we’re just talking,” the other guy responds, and Anya wants to roll her eyes.

“Yes, babe, he is,” she pouts, leaning against him and putting her head on his chest. His eyes widen in minor confusion but her tell him to just go with it. Thankfully he does, wrapping a protective arm around her waist and glaring daggers that look a little too pointed to be entirely fake at the skeeze in front of them.

She can’t explain what comes over her in the moment, but she tells herself it’s for the act. “Babe,” Anya murmurs (mostly because she doesn’t even know his name, which she would use to make this look more real but it’s all she’s got), “thank you for coming back so quickly.” Anya doesn’t give herself time to think, merely leans up and kisses him. It catches them both off guard, but it’s quick so he doesn’t have a chance to kiss her back. And she feels a little bad about it (she’s not the type to go around kissing strangers! Unless they’re super hot, she’s super drunk, and both of them are cool with it), but it’s the lesser of two evils here. His grip on her waist had tightened in that tiny window of time, and he doesn’t relinquish it as he mumbles, “No problem,” to her with a smile that makes her heart beat in a few places she’d rather think about later in her bed. The stranger returns his attention to the guy who is still watching them and growls, “Leave her alone.”

Anya feels a strange flutter in her stomach intensify.

“Oh come on,” the other guy says, reaching out and grabbing her wrist tightly, “We were just talking.” Her instincts kick in, a few years of training for self defense with the guards. She’s done with the audacity, and after the couple of drinks she’s had, she’s a little looser than normal. So Anya cocks her arm back, hand curling into a fist, and punches the sleazy guy across from them right in the nose.

“Ow! Crazy bitch!” He yells, staggering back and Anya jumps into gear, grabbing the hot stranger’s hand and running through the club. Oddly enough, he runs with her, and they escape, spilling out onto the street. They don’t stop running until they reach a park about a mile away, laughing at nothing and completely out of breath. Anya’s hands go to her knees as she tries to inhale and exhale, and the stranger leans against a lamppost as he recovers.

“Where did you learn to punch like that?” He’s impressed, maybe even a little turned on. (At least, she that’s how she hopes he feels). She shrugs.

“You don’t grow up like I do and not know how to defend yourself.”

It sounds sadder and more serious than it is, and concern flickers in his eyes but she physically waves it off in hopes of avoiding further probing or suspicion. She winces, curling her fingers gently. Now that the adrenaline of the chase has worn off, her hand stings.

“Can I see?” He asks.

“Only if you tell me your name,” she answers, and he laughs.

“Dmitry.” Russian. She ignores the little part of her brain that’s happy to have found someone who shares a heritage with her, and the part that figures her family would enjoy that particular fact.

“Anya.” His hands probe around gently, brushing along her skin. They’re cold, but every place he touches erupts in flame, as though she’s thrust certain points into a fire. The constellation pattern of his movements leads to the conclusion that, “It’s not broken,” which makes her sag a little in relief. Explaining how she broke her hand to her family would cause even more trouble than explaining why she was out.

“Thank you,” she says, soft as the light above them. She can see him clearer now, haloed in the glow from the street lamp.

“You’re welcome.”

He hasn’t let go of her hand. He realizes he hasn’t let go of her hand at the same time she does and they both drop away at the same time, awkwardly avoiding each other’s gazes.

After some time, he says, “Well... it was nice meeting you, Anya. Don’t expect too much of your future fake boyfriends, though; it’ll be a hard comparison.”

The cheekiness of his grin lights her up, so she rolls her eyes to hide it. Still, decorum goes out the window when he turns to leave and she says, “Wait!” Her hand shoots out, capturing his wrist. Unlike the man who grabbed her earlier, she’s careful. He can pull away anytime he wants.

He doesn’t.

She clears her throat, steeling herself, and says, “I know I kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right. Can I try again?” 

His face is slightly incredulous but he grins, nodding. She grins in return, placing a hand against his cheek and pulling him down to meet her lips.

This is it, she thinks as his hands fit themselves to her hips, gripping lightly, this is what a kiss is supposed to feel like.

Finally.

Anya’s a quick study, and she picks up on his tricks fast. She may not do extremely well with memorizing dates or words on paper, but when it comes to actions, she can mimic and absorb insanely fast. She lets him in when his tongue slips, giggling slightly into the kiss. His chest rumbles against hers with laughter, but it’s serious business again when she leans into him a little more and bites his lip.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” She asks, breathless, barely able to speak over the wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, her brain keeps repeating.

“A little eager there, Anya,” Dmitry teases, and she pulls away, crossing her arms and arching her eyebrows up at him.

“Let me rephrase then. Take me out of here.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s used to getting what she wants and all she wants is him. She tends to demand things when they’re really important to her, because she doesn’t want to risk the chance of losing them. Of course, if this isn’t what he wants, she’ll be on her merry way. But thankfully for them both, he’s all in.

“Dmitry,” Anya says, laid back in his bed, holding onto his hair because his lips are short circuiting her brain again due to their placement on her neck, “I haven’t done this before.”

She expects another cheeky comment, but all he does is stop, moving his head so he can see her.

“Do you want to?” He asks, and it’s the best thing he could’ve said. She can tell he’s genuine, and she winds her fingers with his.

“Yes,” she whispers, and she means it. He checks on her the entire time, discovering what she likes and what she doesn’t. She, in return, picks up on what he likes as well. And it is so much better than what she thought this would be. Not because it’s him, but because it’s her. She revels in the feelings as they hit her, in every single imprint of his hand on her body.

His head is on her shoulder when they’re done, butterfly kisses ghosting across her skin. She smiles in secret, holding onto one of his hands underneath the covers. When she goes home, she will have to face the music of being out all night. Her parents’ disappointment, her siblings’ worries. She puts it out of her mind to lay there with him instead, worryless.

One night stands are not supposed to feel like that. She’s not supposed to want to stay. But she does. She does.

The grand duchess Anastasia Romanov does not know how to kiss. But Anya does. She can’t forget the feeling, the taste, every single sensation. Dmitry’s light snoring draws a quiet laugh from her, and she burrows down deeper against his side. Tomorrow she can work everything out. But tonight, she sleeps beside a man she’s just met, and yet knows without a doubt that she wants to see again.

In short, she’s screwed.

She falls asleep beaming.

—

That’s all for this ask! Thanks for asking!