#and my brain simultaneously pits all those against each other at once before letting go and just not thinking anything about it either way

[kirbyddd]

ithink my blood pressure is just hitting max every time i see something or remember something all the blood vessels in my head surge and strain and make my ears roar n stuff from the sheer stress spike of the cognitive process

[carolmaximoffs]

in a crowd of strangers and lovers

summary: of course your ex is working the night you get stood up.

pairing: bartender! ex! bucky x reader

warnings: drinking, cursing, smut, a teeny bit of degradation, bartender! bucky, this is entirely self indulgent, use of a condom for the first time in my writing in i think ever oops

a/n: this has been 3/4 of the way done for so long...finally sat down and cranked out the rest of it. short and sweet and maybe not my best but heres nothin.

You swung your legs idly as you glanced once more at your phone. Only the time glared back at you - no missed calls, no explanation texts, not even a Snapchat or a DM. It was 20 minutes past the time you were supposed to meet the man you’d been talking to for the last couple of months, and you sighed. Obviously, he wasn’t coming. You waved a hand to grab a bartender’s attention before closing your eyes and rubbing at your temples in annoyance. An all too familiar voice disrupted your self-pitying thoughts.

“You look like a tequila girl.” The first words Bucky Barnes had ever said to you. Your eyes snapped open, mouth gaping. Of course...how could you have forgotten? This was the very bar, possibly the very stool you’d met Bucky at. Before you could stammer out a reply, he was making himself comfortable against the bar-top and leaning in conspiratorially. “Hot date?”

“Very,” You sniffed, meeting his gaze in spite of your churning gut. In the glow of a neon sign overhead, his blue eyes burned almost violet. Your heart ached when he beamed, those beautiful stupid eyes crinkling at the corners like they always had.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ve been here for a while now. Show up early?” Bucky propped his chin up with his metal hand; his flesh fingers drummed idly as he waited for your reply. He’d always been able to see right through you; you weren’t backing down so easily this time. You’d actually been late, but Bucky didn’t need to know that. It was bad enough he’d clearly spotted you as soon as you walked in...you weren’t really sure what to do with that information. You lifted your chin, shrugging and looking around as if your evasive date might suddenly show himself.

“I’ll take that tequila now, please,” You replied simply. Bucky’s eyes twinkled with mirth before he turned his back to you.

“Margarita or a straight up shot?” He threw over his shoulder. Your answer was a moment too late - you wouldn’t admit it, but you’d gotten a little absorbed in the way his white tee shirt stretched over the broad expanse of his back. “Y/N.”

“Huh? Oh...surprise me.” You fought the urge to bury your face in your hands again as he smiled and turned back around. You chanced looking at your phone as inconspicuously as possible. Still nothing. Moments later, thick fingers slid a tall glass towards you, rim salted, accompanied with two neat slices of lime.

“M’lady,” Bucky drawled, dipping his head dramatically. He looked up at you beneath his lashes, cheeks straining to contain his grin. Your own face burned and your heart pounded as you mumbled your thanks. You took more of a long gulp than a sip. Just your luck, it caught in the back of your throat, and you spluttered a bit. Bucky looked like he’d won the lottery.

“Careful, sugar,” He crooned, passing you a napkin. Idly, you wondered if, next, you'd fall off the stool. “You know I love to see you choke, but only-” 

“Barnes!” 

Natasha was standing near the door to the back, arms crossed and brow arched dangerously. Your old friend offered you a tight smile before returning to glaring at her employee. Bucky winked before he sidled off, Nat’s eyes narrowing. You wished the floor would swallow you up right then.

It didn’t, and you were swirling the dregs of your margarita by the time Bucky got back. For whatever reason, you couldn’t compel yourself to leave. Not just yet. You were rewarded, however, when he realized you’d hung around; Barnes’ eyes lit up. He bit back another smile, resuming his nonchalant stance against the bar. 

“What was that all about?” You blurted, before Bucky could say anything about the near-empty glass in front of you. His smirk didn’t waver.

“Just Nat lookin’ out for you, s’all. She got off a few minutes ago, wanted to make sure I didn’t give you too much trouble.” His simper stretched into a blinding flash of teeth. “I’m not givin’ you trouble, am I, babydoll?”

You shake your head dutifully, and you think Bucky’s face might split if he grins any wider. His smile drops into something a little more seductive as he tilts impossibly closer. “Looks like your boy toy’s a no show...Sam can cover if you need a little cheering up.” 

Body and brain exploded into disagreement; lust bubbled like lava in the pit of your stomach at his request, but you knew better. You had to know better by now - you were the one who’d gotten too involved in the first place. You floundered, managing to blubber a painful combination of "we shouldn’t” or “I don't think that's the best idea”. Bucky’s face fell, only just, but he was quick to hide it as he untied a thick, worn flannel from his waist. 

“Wilson - headed for a smoke!” He shouted across the bar to where Sam was seemingly tangled up trying to serve a very amorous bachelorette party. His eyes were steely as he looked at you as if trying to pick you apart. “Think on it, yeah? No big deal, sugar. Back in five.” 

You nodded, tracing your finger through the circle of condensation from your drink. You snuck a glance at his retreating form, however, and already wanted to kick yourself. His ass in those jeans...he’d bulked up, clearly, even in the short time since you’d stop seeing each other. And there was no way in hell he thought you wouldn’t notice. The angel on your shoulder was practically throwing a tantrum as you quickly shot a text to your closest confidante.

call me in the am. about to do a bad thing

Wanda texted back almost instantly, but Bucky reentered the bar simultaneously. You clicked off your incessantly active cell phone and put on an expression you hoped wasn’t as much of a grimace as you thought. Bucky raised a single, knowing brow.

“What’s that face for?” He murmured innocuously. You lift a single shoulder in response, working extra to keep your face neutral.

“Changed your mind?” You shrugged again, and when he was sure nobody was looking, he jerked his head towards the back of the bar. “C’mon then, pretty baby.” 

“This is stupid,” You mumbled under your breath. You don’t realize how close he is behind you, jumping a little as the door swings shut behind you. 

“What’s stupid is waiting an hour for some douche when you’ve got me standing right in front of you,” Bucky whispered hotly, already spinning the two of you so your back hit the wall by the doorframe. A case of the imported vodka Nat loved dug into your calves. 

“We split up, Bucky,” You moaned as he licked at the shell of your ear. Honestly, you were half expecting something like “i didn’t know we were together”. Instead, he pulled back for a second to give you sad eyes and a slight twist of the corner of his mouth. Regret? 

Before you could truly ponder it, he was ducking back towards you, lips pressing into yours with a fire fueled by all things left unsaid. He kissed his way down your neck, and you heard his voice from months ago: ‘it’s just sex, sweetheart. just enjoy it’. You were drawn back to the present as he tugged at your lip with sharp teeth, and you recalled his gruff morning voice - ‘I better get going’. Memory pierced your hazy brain even as he slid a hand down to cup your sex. You arched into him, and he looked positively feral even in his delight. You pushed the past away as hard as you could and let yourself melt into his touch. 

As your head lilted backward to likely smack the wall, Bucky tangled a hand into your hair. He tipped your face back up to kiss it incessantly - several to your cheeks, a peck on your nose, a handful of smooches dotted to your forehead. When he finally reached your mouth again you were laughing, breathy and floaty, and he laughed too. He chuckled softly with you even as he slips his hands into your jeans, past the waistband of your cute-but-not-presumptuous panties. He was still chuckling a little, but it was more smug than amused when his fingers parted your folds and you inhaled sharply.

“Yeah,” He murmured, so low you almost missed it. “There you go, that’s my girl.”

You pretended the burst of heat through your gut is from his palm bumping against your clit. You were halfway through a moan when he withdrew his hand, instead placing both dark metal and pale skin on steadfastly on your hips. Swiftly, he placed you on top of those nagging crates you’d been pressed against - despite the marks on your thighs you’d nearly forgotten about them.

“Bucky, what-” You tried, but he cut you off with a swift press of lips to yours, tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease. If you sighed into the kiss, well, you’d call it heat of the moment. The familiar crinkling of foil set your anticipation and adrenaline spiking impossibly higher. Bucky pulled away to line himself up as you caught your breath, which suddenly seemed impossible. He rubbed a comforting thumb over your hip, leaning in again to nip playfully at your jaw.

“You ready, angel?” He murmured; all it took was your assenting nod before he slid home, your body greedily accepting him as if the two of you had never stopped. “Fuuuck...missed you. Missed this.”

Normally, such a suggestion would’ve irritated you - but you couldn’t deny the feelings you had had for him once upon a time, despite the casual nature of your relationship. You knew it was mutual; you knew exactly what he missed. It wasn’t just about the sex - even in the dingy storeroom of the bar, Bucky thrusting as deep as possible with one hand stabilizing the crates and the other on the small of your back, panting into each other’s mouths, it was about the connection. Being this close with another person, especially someone you dared to say you’d been good friends with, had much in common with - the interconnection of body and soul was something else. Or maybe that was your orgasm talking.

It snuck up on you. Your toes curled in your shoes, lip drew between your teeth. “Please.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Bucky rasped, face buried in your shoulder. The hand on your back snaked between the two of you to rub furiously at your clit - you threw your arms around his neck for balance as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. “Go ahead, let go. Come for me, let me make you feel good, angel.”

That did it. Your hands found purchase in his hair as your back arched; in your desperation to be quiet, you bit your lip so hard the taste of iron crept into your mouth. Bucky never slowed, chasing his own high as well as basking with you in yours. He kissed you, a little sudden, groaning deeply into your mouth as he came.

For a moment, the pair of you were silent, the only sound your heavy breaths and the rustling of clothing. Composing yourself, you made for the door - a hand on your wrist stopped you.

“This was a fluke, I know-” You started. The desperate look in Bucky’s eyes cut you off.

“I don’t...let me try again.” He mumbled, words jumbling together with nerves. He cleared his throat - you’d never seen Bucky Barnes nervous, of all things, and humility wasn’t a bad look for him. “You deserved - deserve better, sweetheart. I want to try again. I want to...I want to do it right.”

“Buck...” Your face softened, but he tensed, fearing rejection. You brought a hand up to cup his cheek softly. “I’d love to try again.”

That nagging voice in the back of your mind was on a roll - you’ll just get hurt again, it warned. He’s not good for you.

But when Bucky’s entire face lit up and he kissed you enthusiastically, making you laugh in equal parts shock and joy, that little voice was silent.

[randomfandomimagine]

Protective (Cedric Diggory x Reader)

Character: Cedric Diggory

Fandom: Harry Potter

Tags: Hurt/comfort

Warnings: Descriptions of injury

Word Count: 1,2k words

Requested by @nicole-keefer​​​: Hi could I have a head cannon with Cedric where the reader gets hurt during a quidditch game and Cedric all worried and stuff. Thank you, btw I absolutely love your writing!

A/N: As I said, I was more inspired to write it as a ficlet, so here it is! It might be a bit short, but I think it’s pretty sweet. Enjoy!!

Cedric Diggory x Gender Neutral Reader

_

Hufflepuff versus Slytherin. You never liked those matches. Some Slytherins were skilled players and challenging opponents, and you were more than glad to accept the challenge. Other Slytherins were petty and played dirty.

You hadn’t been looking forward to that match, but there you were: already dressed in your uniform, riding your broom and waiting for the sound of the whistle that would commence the match.

Startled, you nearly jolted up when you felt a hand squeezing your arm. Looking over, you saw Cedric giving you a comforting smile and a reassuring head nod. You exhaled, realizing you had been holding your breath, and managed to smile back.

Just then, the whistle sounded and echoed across the whole Quidditch field. On an instinct, you kicked on the floor and started soaring up into the sky with your broom. The wind whistled in your ears, your eyes traveled quickly studying your surroundings. Your teammates as well as your opponents had become yellow and green blurs against the blue sky. The sound of the audience cheering felt like a distant echo in your ears. Your heart racing overpowered any other noises.

While you were too preoccupied with your nerves and not truly focusing on the game, you felt someone knocking against your broom. The impact brought you back to reality. You looked up to find a Slytherin player smirking at you, though you didn’t have any time to say anything to them. The collision had sent your broom out of control, and you had to tightly hold on to it in order to avoid falling off.

Panicking, you made your absolute best to steer your broom and regain control over it. You absently noticed the Slytherin player flying off while you struggled. You grit your teeth, knuckles turning white with the force you put into the grip. Just when you thought you would surely tumble down to the floor several meters below you, another hand came in your field of vision. You grew startled at first, fearing it could be another Slytherin, but a familiar voice whispered comforting words in your ears.

“I got you” Cedric said, helping you steer the broom. Relieved that he was holding on to the wood too, you let go with one hand and balanced yourself by holding on to his shoulder.

“Ah!” You gasped, shaking from head to toe as the broom finally became stable. “T-Thank you”

When you peered up at him, Cedric was dedicating you that comforting smile once more.

“Don’t worry” He replied, nodding his head quite seriously. You reciprocated the gesture, letting him know you were alright. Understanding this, he still lingered for one second longer before flying away.

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself, thankful for Cedric. You wondered if he did this because he was the Captain or because of you. Certainly, you were friends and in the same house but you weren’t truly that close for him to worry in such a way. Nonetheless, you deeply appreciated his thoughtfulness. After all, you were starting to believe you shouldn’t have participated in that particular match. You were far too afraid to fall, having experienced that in other matches before, and unfortunately knew that the chances of that happening were quite high against Slytherin.

Despite it all, you looked around searching for Cedric. When you spotted him, your racing heart seemed to slow a bit. His mere presence calmed you. The way the sun illuminated his hair and shone in his eyes calmed you down completely.

Determined, you clung on to the broom and continued to soar, ready to face the rest of the match.

_

Although there had been a few hiccups and scares here and there, the match hadn’t been as awful as you expected it to be. As a reward for your hard work and fair play, Hufflepuff was currently winning. This might have been damaging in the end, because you were starting to grow confident and lower your guard which, as time would prove, was lethal for you.

You had been completely focused in the game, lost in mental counts and thoughts regarding where each player was. Your eyes kept sneaking off to the scoreboard next to Lee Jordan as he excitedly commentated the match. As he talked about Cedric and Draco losing track of the golden snitch, you remembered you hadn’t been paying attention to the balls. You realized your mistake too late.

A speeding bludger hit you in the upper arm and you immediately screamed out in pain. Losing your balance as you also instinctively held on to the injured spot, you fell off the broom and rapidly plunged to the floor.

The world spun around you, the audience let out a collective gasp of horror as you fell. Your teammates worriedly called you, but one voice stood out amongst them all.

“Y/N!” Cedric seemed to be closer and closer, steering his broom toward you.

You hit the floor before he could reach you. The sand slightly broke your fall, but the pain spread across your body nonetheless. Madame Hooch sounded the whistle to stop the match, which was simultaneously a relief as you could rest for the time being, and a burden since all the attention would now be focused on you while all you wanted to do was cry in pain.

“Y/N” Cedric finally made it to your side, climbing off the broom in a rush and kneeling by your side.

“Ced...” You whined, reaching out with your good arm and holding on to his shirt.

A dawning realization settled in your brain, as you realized you might have broken a bone or dislocated your shoulder. The pain was blinding, bringing tears to your eyes and a nasty feeling to the pit of your stomach.

“Is it your arm?” He asked, gently squeezing your good shoulder. “Did you hit your head?”

You only babbled, unable to put together any coherent words. A sob climbed up your throat as the fear grew bigger. All your senses seemed to shut off and your eyes shut tight, only registering that nasty feeling in your shoulder that spread through your whole arm and down to your fingertips.

“It’s alright, I got you” Cedric gingerly scooped you into his arms so your injured arm dangled off to the side instead of pressing against his chest. “I’ll take you to Madame Pomfrey, it’s okay”

His voice shook a little, but his warmth and closeness was comforting as he lifted you off the ground. He moved carefully to hurriedly carry you off the field. He stopped for a moment to exchange a few words with Madame Hooch and then continued walking.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be okay, hang on” He never stopped talking to you, always dedicating you kind words to ease your anxiety. “I won’t leave your side, I got you”

“Thank you, Ced...” You managed to say, nuzzling his neck searching any further comfort.

You felt safe with him, in his arms. Despite your pain and your anguish, you knew he would look after you. It also soothed you to know he would be by your side at all times. You felt like you couldn’t face the infirmary alone, but it wouldn’t be so horrible with him there.

“I got you, Y/N” He repeated, and you knew he meant it. Not just then, not just during Quidditch. Always. You didn’t know Cedric was so protective of you, but you were thankful for it. You were thankful for him.

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[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 11: The Bite

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The next week passed slowly, agonizingly.

Two more dead demi-Fae were found, both following the same strange patterns as the first, and yet Rowan was still no closer to identifying who- or what-ever was responsible. It infuriated him. And the princess certainly wasn’t helping.

Each day Rowan awoke before dawn, shaken abruptly from sleep by vivid, intense nightmares. He then spent his mornings pouring over papers, flying out to view the sites of the three dead bodies, or on fruitless searches for the dark creature he had seen with the princess.

As time passed, he was becoming more and more convinced that the two were one and the same, but without proof he was unwilling to commit to such a claim. And though he had combed through the record-keeping books held by the fortress, and had racked his brain for any memory, any mention of such a creature, he had come up with nothing.

He even sent letters out to his fellow blood-sworn, asking if they had ever seen or heard of anything that could possibly assist in his search. But it was unlikely that he would hear back from any of them any time soon, if ever. All Rowan could do was inform those nearby of the threat, while Malakai told the rest of the fortress. Attempting to keep them on their guard until the danger passed, or was defeated.

At noon each day, Rowan would go down the kitchens, collect the princess and lead her to the ruins on the ridge, where they sat. Pointlessly. For hours.

Time that Rowan could be spending in a myriad of other, more productive ways. Finding the creature that was killing the demi-Fae, for one. But no, he had to sit and babysit the brat while she refused, point-blank, to even try to shift.

It was infuriating.

While the hostility between them didn’t escalate into anything physical, the girl seemed to get more and more irritating with each day, each hour, that he was in her presence.

Just because Rowan was beginning to understand why she behaved the way she did, it did not mean for one second that her behavior was any less maddening. And he had dealt with grating personalities before – he’d trained Fenrys, for crying out loud – but none of them, absolutely none of them, had anything on this princess.

He’d gotten used to the others, and each had become familiar annoyances – hardly enough to prick his hide. Definitely not enough to pierce though his icy armor. But this girl, this child, always managed to find a new route of attack, a new way to surprise and infuriate him.

And through it all, those iron bars of fear in her head never swayed an inch. Nor did she find a way around them. The girl let her emotions rule her, control her, and yet no matter how he taunted, no matter how he snarled and sneered and hissed, she remained determinedly, resolutely human.

Always, with every other soldier placed in his charge, anger worked. The soldiers would break, would find the fight within them, if Rowan made them angry enough. Rage would turn even the most sniveling coward into someone who could stand and fight.

But not with this girl.

No matter how much they snarled and spat at each other, she refused to shift. And Rowan did not yet know what else to try. Of course, it didn’t hurt that her very presence made him angry enough to raze the whole mountain.

So, they exchanged insults, had silent arguments, and generally pissed each other off. Whenever she was particularly nasty, he made the princess chop wood until she could no longer feel her arms, saying that if she was going to waste his time, then she might as well be useful in some way.

Once, he even threatened to take her back to the barrow-fields, as it was the only time that she had even come close to making the shift, but she had snarled so viciously in response that he was forced backed off.

She said that she would slit her own throat before she went back there, and while having the girl dead and out of his life would certainly be a relief, the image of her lying on the ground, bleeding out from a ragged wound to her throat, didn’t sit well.

After they reappeared at the fortress each evening, Rowan would fly above the woodlands, letting the spring rains clear the girl’s blistering scent from his lungs. Then he would find his way to the kitchens, drawn by the soothing, familiar sound of Emrys’ stories.

The princess was there every night, along with every other unoccupied member of the fortress, due to the rains keeping them all indoors. She always ate on the shadowed steps, keeping well away from everyone, including Rowan. And he certainly wasn’t going to argue with that. Outside of training, there was no reason for them to have anything to do with each other.  

But then, on the eighth day after their arrival at Mistward, the aggravating pattern finally broke.

That morning, Rowan had discovered the third demi-Fae body. A female. She had been young, and utterly defenseless. Her body had been carelessly dumped in a ditch, her limbs splayed at odd angles and her face contorted in fear and agony.

She had not died well. And Rowan couldn’t do anything to prevent it from happening again. He was useless, utterly useless. And murderously enraged.

And the fury followed him through the rest of the morning, pounding in the background as talked with Malakai, sharpened his blades, stared at maps, and collected the princess from the kitchens.

But they were only partway through their hike when the girl suddenly stopped and said, “I have a request.”

Rowan turned to face her, regarding her flatly. Her black eye had only just started to fade, her frail body still weak and thin and pale – like she was recovering from a sickness. “I want to see you shift.”

Rowan blinked, the command in her voice familiar and infuriating. That superior tone grated on him more than anything else about her, more than even her arrogance, or her cowardice. Rowan took orders from his queen, and no other. That alone was hard enough already.

His voice was stormy as he said, “You don’t have the privilege of giving orders.”

She disregarded his provocation, and instead became almost earnest, persuasive. “Show me how you do it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, skeptical. And though his fury did not sway one inch, and giving the girl anything she wanted only aggravated him further, Rowan supposed that nothing could be lost by showing her his shift. Particularly as she had already seen his animal form.

So Rowan stared back at her, silently saying, Just this once.

And he shifted with a flash of light, flying over to the nearest tree branch to perch and gauge her reaction. Her mouth was hanging open, her eyes carefully tracking him, and something like wonder emanated from her. She stared at him like he was some kind of zoo animal, or a plaything.

He clicked his beak, choking down that now all-too-familiar fury. Then when she looked away, scanning the ground distractedly, he lunged.

Rowan slashed his talons at her eyes, then shifted back in another flash of light and was once again clothed and armed and growling, inches from the princess’ face. “Your turn.”

She flinched back automatically, but didn’t react in any other way to his sudden attack. Which only angered him further.

“Where do your clothes go?”

“Between, somewhere. I don’t particularly care.”

She clenched her jaw, her eyes stony as she reacted to his hostile tone with her own irritation. Satisfaction washed through Rowan at the sight, and he bared his teeth at the girl, but she just held his stare evenly, breathing deep, steeling herself.

“Sometimes I wonder whether this is a punishment for you,” she snarled at him through her teeth, “But what could you have done to piss off her Immortal Majesty?”

“Don’t use that tone when you talk about her.”

This close to the princess, her scent coated his throat, enveloping his every sense in her flames, and her sweet, citrusy brightness. Her scent was intoxicating, and inescapable. He choked on it.

“Oh, I can use whatever tone I want. And you can taunt and snarl at me and make me chop wood all day, but short of ripping out my tongue, you can’t – ”

Without thinking, without any consideration for what he was doing, Rowan shot his hand out and grabbed her tongue. She gagged, and bit down on his fingers, but he refused to let go, her mortal teeth not enough to dig into his skin.

But still, the action echoed the Fae gesture, the claiming bite that he had not experienced for two centuries. And it intensified his rage from the pit of lava slowly bubbling in his stomach to a fiery torrent of pure, untarnished fury.

“Say that again,” Rowan purred.

The girl choked, desperately reaching for the daggers at his hips while simultaneously slamming her knee between his legs. But Rowan just shoved his body against hers, trapping her against a tree trunk and preventing her from making any other move to escalate their fight.

The girl’s eyes widened, the scent of her fear and shame coating his tongue with its awful copper tang. But he just growled in satisfaction, taking it for the submission that it was. The princess knew how outmatched she was, and she hated it. Detested how she was forced to yield to his strength.

Rowan released her tongue, but then immediately regretted it as she spat on his feet, gasping for air. And then she swore at him. A filthy name – a foul, hateful curse.

An insult that he could not stand for.

For the first time, Rowan lost all control. He was utterly overwhelmed by his fury and her scent and the feel of her body against his. And as he surrendered to the primal, purely Fae part of him, he bit her.

His canines sunk into the curve of skin between her neck and collarbone, and he didn’t even hear as the princess shrieked in rage and pain. He could feel her frantic pulse pounding in his own body as his every sense, every thought, was turned towards the taste of the female’s blood currently streaming into his mouth.

It tasted of her, of her fire and her flickering embers. Of her bright, sweet scent of jasmine and lemon verbena. Which was now so intense that he lost sight of his surroundings, could no longer sense them around him. There was only her.

He pushed harder against her, pressing them into the tree trunk until he could feel every curve, every bone of her body against his. Her fire burned through him, passing through his icy armor as if it didn’t exist, batting away his wind like cobwebs or dust motes.

He could taste who she was, could feel her very essence crackling over his tongue. Her role as the Heir of Terrasen, her identity as the Heir of Mab – a tiny, glittering raindrop. The power to heal and to manipulate water, hidden underneath the weight of all that flame.

He could taste her immense, roiling grief; a flavor so familiar it could have even belonged to him. Her anger and fear and shame and every other emotion coursing through her blood at that moment. And the scent of a male – no, a man – her lover?

Cold fury tore through him once again, icing over his limbs and taking him as much by surprise as the bite had. She belonged to someone else. Even this girl, this insufferable child who was worthy of no one, had someone. She wasn’t alone.

But before he could even begin to process that thought, the girl growled and shoved him roughly away. Rowan staggered back, his teeth ripping her skin, temporarily blinded by a flash of light and a ripple of color as the girl shifted, and roared, dominant and immortal and purely Fae.

“There you are.”

Rowan’s face split into a satisfied grin, pushing away that quick flash of anger. He spat her blood out, wanting to rid himself of the all-consuming taste, to clear his head of the feel of her. To try to think around it.

She bared her canines at him, her eyes burning bright with fury. She moved to lunge at him, but then paused, taking in the world around her as if it was different – fresh and new and clear in this immortal form.

The girl panted, breathless, as she adjusted. The wound at her neck quickly knitted itself back together, leaving only a faint line along her collarbone and a large bloodstain down her chest where the wound had gushed and spurted under Rowan’s teeth. He hadn’t even noticed.

Rowan tensed, wrestling with the primal part of him, fighting the urge to lunge and bite her again, and make the mark stick. The impulse unnerved him, but he just ignored it, locking it away behind walls of ice.

Then he felt it, brighter and stronger than ever before: wildfire.

The girl’s power was a maelstrom beneath her skin, and while Rowan could always feel its crackling fingers, now that she inhabited her Fae body the fire could not be ignored. It rose up within her, a great wave, begging to be released, and he tensed, ready to batter it back if she lost control. But then the girl was tensing as well, her body stiff as rawhide as she pushed down the magic with a barrage of pure fear and hatred.

Rowan stepped closer to the girl, hesitant. She needed to release the power, needed to learn to let it go, or it would consume her. “Let it out. Don’t fight it.” His voice was as soft as it had ever been in her presence.

She breathed, quick and fast as a bird, almost hyperventilating.

And her magic reacted to her fear, cocooning her, swaddling her, reaching out towards Rowan to protect her. And as her magic brushed over him, like a cat against his legs, Rowan felt his own magic shift in response, reaching out to brush against hers, arching to her touch.

He cast a tendril of power to her elbow, sending her falling back against the tree. And as Rowan recklessly sent another whorl of power to her cheek, he realized that his magic wanted to play, was playing, with the girl and her blazing flames.

But before Rowan could decide whether he wanted to stop, or continue, or get angry, the girl finally let go of her tight hold on her power, and a great wave of blue wildfire rushed towards him. It engulfed the trees, the path, the whole world in flames –

Without thinking, Rowan sucked the air out of the space, choking the blaze into nothing.

The girl dropped to her knees, clutching at her throat as if she could claw open her blocked airway with her bare hands. Rowan stepped right in front of her, peering down to make sure that she wasn’t going to burst into flames again the second he gave the girl her breath back.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t, Rowan let go of his hold on her lungs and air flowed down her throat in a rush. She pulled it down in great gulps, blind to the world as a white light flashed and she relaxed back into her mortal form, those iron bars solid and unyielding once more.

Rowan frowned in irritation. So much for progress.

Now that the girl was mortal again, the scent of her fire was much less potent. But still, he could taste it on his teeth, taste her grief and her throne and her fire and the man she loved.

That cold anger washed through him once more, the taste of the man’s scent a faint, pale tang of steel and cotton and birchwood. It was uncomfortable on his tongue. Repellant. For the first time, he noticed the amethyst ring shining dully on her left hand.

Almost against his will, Rowan found himself asking, “Does your lover know what you are?”

The girl lifted her head up, seeming completely unsurprised by the question. “He knows everything.”

Rowan pursed his lips, sensing the half-truth. Regardless, he wouldn’t bite her again, even if it had managed to push her into her Fae form.

It wasn’t worth it. The feel of her power, of her fire coursing through his limbs…he almost shuddered. And she belonged to another, the undeniable proof of their connection resting in her very blood and bones.

The quick flash of anger tapped once again against his icy walls. But he ignored it, and instead said, “I won’t be biting you again.”

She growled, weak and fangless this time. “Even if it’s the only way to get me to shift?”

He was icy and empty, all the fight taken out of him. So he didn’t react to the fiery challenge in the girl’s voice, instead turning to walk up the hill and towards the ridge, choosing to pretend that whatever just occurred between them hadn’t happened.

But he still answered her. “You don’t bite the women of other males.”

She hesitated. “We’re not – together,” something in her voice had shifted, was dulled. “Not anymore. I let him go before I came here.”

Rowan found himself looking back at her over his shoulder, curiosity breaking through his tight hold on his emotions. “Why?”

“Because he’s safer if he’s as repulsed by me as you are.”

Rowan cocked his head. Though the words were small, quiet things, they spoke of a pure, unadulterated self-loathing. The kind that dug down into you and nestled there, a permanent fixture. Her words touched something deep and broken and familiar within Rowan.

And as the screaming began to echo in his skull Rowan found himself saying, “At least you’ve already learned one lesson.” Her brow furrowed, and he elaborated, “The people you love are just weapons that will be used against you.”

His voice was cold and hard and full of his ancient grief. Whether she heard it or not, he knew she understood. He’d tasted it in her blood. This spineless princess had much to learn, but he didn’t need to teach her about loss.

Rowan pushed through the familiar pain, shoving it deep down inside him with a battering ram of ice and wind, erasing Lyria’s screams from his mind. Not registering the scent of grief wafting from the girl through the feeling of his own agony.

“Shift again,” he ordered, jerking his chin at her. “This time, try to remain in control, and don’t let yourself be overwhelmed by your magic, allow it to breathe, don’t release – ”

But she was turned inwards, eyes blank and unseeing. Letting her emotions spiral in the air around her, allowing them to become a storm that she could not escape. Coward. She wasn’t dealing with her pain, couldn’t face it. Weak and pathetic and spineless. Unworthy.

Rowan gripped her by the shoulders and snarled at her, “Are you listening?”

She came back to earth and stared at him, plainly exhausted. “Why don’t you just bite me again?”

Rowan clenched his jaw, clamping down on the strange mix of emotions that rushed through him at the words. Unable to deal with any of them. Instead he went back to his purpose, to his reason for being here in the first place. Rowan was here to train her, on the orders of his queen and master. And that was all.

So Rowan turned to anger, to the only tool he knew for breaking cowards from their fear, to make them stand and fight. He clenched her shoulders tighter between his fingers as he snarled, “Why don’t I give you the lashing you deserve?”

It was an attempt to pull her back from within her miserable, self-pitying shell. But it didn’t work as he intended. Instead of snarling, or retorting with one of her usual vicious insults, the girl stiffened, and blinked.

Something in her shifted, turned from weak exhaustion to a boundless, unyielding determination. “If you ever take a whip to me, I will skin you alive.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed at the hard look in her eyes, and he let go of her shoulders roughly, turning to pace around the small clearing. As he stalked, he reassessed, needing to find another way through her armor.

“If you don’t shift again, you’re pulling double duty in the kitchens for the next week.”

“Fine.”

His fingers twitched at the clipped answer, anger pulsing though him.

“You’re worthless.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You would probably have been more useful to the world if you’d actually died ten years ago.”

She just looked back at him, her body unnaturally still.

“I’m leaving.”

Rowan watched as she turned and strode back to the fortress, impassive. He should have been thrilled, should have been overjoyed that the girl was finally departing, finally abandoning her deal with Maeve and going back to whatever gods-forsaken place she had come from.

But he was just annoyed with her. Annoyed that the girl was running again, annoyed that she was allowing the fear to win, to control her. Annoyed that she would never be worthy of her name, her title, or her power. Of the hopes that were so unwittingly pinned on her.

Rowan transformed into his hawk, and swooped after her, moving to wait between two oak trees directly in the path she would be forced to take back from the fortress.

Though so much had happened already today, barely any time had passed since Rowan had collected the girl from the kitchens. The sun was still high in the sky, and they had only made it a short distance away from the walls of the fortress.

So, the girl soon reappeared, her satchel slung over her shoulder and her eyes solid bricks of gold, hard and cold.

“Is this what you do? Run away when things get hard?”

She brushed past him.

“You’re free of your obligation to train me, so I have nothing more to say to you, and you have nothing more to say to me. Do us both a favor and go to hell.”

Rowan growled viciously. “Have you ever had to fight for anything in your life?”

A low, bitter laugh came up from deep in her chest, but she just kept walking, heading west. He kept up easily, still pushing for the answers he sought. “You’re proving me right with every step you take.”

“I don’t care.”

The words grated on him. Particularly because he knew that she did care, not about his opinion of her, but about whatever knowledge she had been so desperate to get from his queen. “I don’t know what you want from Maeve – what answers you’re looking for, but you – ”

“You don’t know what I want from her?” she interrupted, shouting back at him, “How about saving the world from the King of Adarlan?”

That had perhaps been the last thing he expected to hear from the selfish girl. Not only because she seemed to have no interest in anyone but herself, but because she believed that Maeve would help her with such an endeavor.

Caught off guard, and wanting to understand despite himself, he just replied, “Why bother? Maybe the world’s not worth saving.”

Her voice was furious and loud and completely unguarded as she shot right back, “Because I made a promise. A promise to my friend that I would see her kingdom freed.” She shoved her right palm into his face, where two long scars lay. The marks of a blood oath. “I made an unbreakable vow. And you and Maeve – all you gods-damned bastards – are getting in the way of that.”

He narrowed his eyes as he continued to follow her down the hillside. “And what of your own people? What of your own kingdom?”

“They are better off without me, just as you said.”

Rowan snarled, fury momentarily breaking over the skeptical disbelief. “So you’d save another land, but not yours. Why can’t your friend save her own kingdom?”

“Because she is dead!” The last word tore from her throat in a desperate scream. “Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!”

He looked back at her for a moment, her eyes meeting his while her fractured, tortured words reached down deep inside of him and tugged.

Her eyes were a mirror, a reflection of his own as she turned away and strode down the hillside, as far away from the fortress and the demi-Fae and Maeve and him as she could get.

And Rowan just stood there, stunned. Her words burrowed into him, tenaciously digging up his insides. And they hurt. Not much, but still a shocking, unanticipated amount. She hurt him with his own pain, stabbing him with a blade made from the words he shouted at himself in his dreams each night.

The ache was familiar, and yet completely different. Lyria’s screams weren’t echoing in his head, there were no visions flashing before his eyes. Just Aelin, tearing down the hillside before him, carrying his words on her lips. Forging into the woodland alone.

He stood, staring at the path she had made in the undergrowth, as the spring rains began to fall. Without the girl’s crackling fire surrounding him, Rowan felt colder, emptier, and very, very alone.

···

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[shireness-says]

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [5/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America’s back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that’s just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. ~4.0K. Also on AO3. Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

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A/N: Last chapter of plot - next week is an epilogue. Thanks for reading - let me know what you think!

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The days to come are a kind of blissful in-between: after the date and the kiss that changes everything, but before  Killian’s tires have arrived and he’s back on the road again. The days are simultaneously too short and wonderfully long, the days too few and yet seemingly endless as Killian savors every moment together that he can. He makes a point to spend as much time with Emma as he can, knowing that their time will be far too short, taking her for ice cream and evening strolls and even letting Emma drag him down to the local bar and dance hall. He’d tensed as she’d pulled him onto the dance floor, far too aware of the many eyes around him — he’s far too aware that others think he’s trouble, and can only imagine what they think to see him arm in arm with the local golden girl — but the other townsfolk never show it. He thinks he might even see a few smiles among them, though that seems like it could be too much to ask for. As happy as he is to take Emma on the kind of dates she deserves, dancing and the like, he truthfully takes just as much pleasure in simply keeping her company during her late shifts at the diner, sitting in what is now his usual booth and flashing a smile just for her. There’s a gentle intimacy to this, being allowed to watch Emma in her own environment.

Still. As much he tries to revel in the moment, the future looms just ahead. 

“I don’t know what to do, Belle,” Killian groans as softly as he can manage into the phone. Granny’s back hallway probably isn’t the best place for this conversation, but it begs having, and Killian isn’t willing to drive up David Nolan’s long distance bill. The downside of the public pay phone is that it’s not exactly private; other customers pass periodically, searching for the bathrooms or winding their way back through to the attached inn. It’s odd to even think, and Killian isn’t sure how it truly happened, but he seems to have earned some level of acceptance amongst the locals, just by virtue of becoming a regular face at the garage and at Granny’s in the last handful of weeks. Most even nod a greeting, or offer him a brief smile. It’s jarring, in the most pleasant way, to be met with a kind of amiable neutrality after growing so accustomed to distrust everywhere he goes. 

That’s the benefit of staying in one place, he supposes: people come to know you, even just a little bit, even just enough to grow used to you and start to trust you. Those could be the seeds of a more settled life, if he wanted.

But that’s the whole problem — Killian isn’t sure he’s ready for that. Which brings him to this moment and this phone call, because it’s been nearly three weeks, and they’re expecting the replacement tires any day now, and Killian has a decision to make. Three weeks ago, there’d been no question — he’d be gone as soon as the tools were put down. Three weeks ago, however, he hadn’t yet met Emma — and Emma just might change everything.

The truth of the matter is that these last days with Emma have been the happiest that he’s lived in a long, long time, and he likes to think he makes her happy too. Her smiles and laughter and the way she chases after him for just one more kiss would suggest that to be the case. They went into this with open eyes, both knowing that whatever they became was subject to a ticking clock, but Killian still pauses when he thinks of leaving her behind. She deserves more than that; they both do. 

At the same time, staying still isn’t an option. Killian’s great cross-country trek has, more than anything, been a search for a sense of self, a sense of purpose; finding someplace to call home is a far distant third on his list of concerns. Ghosts still haunt him, and though he knows the wind on his motorcycle can’t permanently blow them away, it helps. It’s nice to just not think for a few minutes. Even hours, if he’s lucky.

(Then again, kissing Emma achieves much the same effect, in a much more pleasurable fashion.)

“I can’t stay. I really… I don’t think I can stay,” Killian continues. “But how can I leave, either? What if I’m throwing away my one real chance to settle down, and be happy like that?”

“But is that really true happiness, convincing yourself into something because it’s the smart or honorable thing to do?” Belle asks. “Or is that just a compromise?”

Killian stays silent, letting her words run through his head. This is why he called Belle in the first place: she has a way of pointing out the real questions he needs to ask himself without any judgement or demands. 

“You don’t need to have an answer now, and you don’t have to tell me when you do,” Belle continues, “but if you’re as taken with this girl as you tell me, it’s not fair to her if you stick around but constantly dream of leaving again. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Killian can hear the soft tenderness in his own voice; no doubt Belle can as well. “And that’s the biggest reason I can’t stay. She deserves more than a man who would always wonder what he gave up. It’s not just places I want to see either, Belle. It’s… at the risk of sounding like some terrible cliche, I’ve felt like a shell of myself for a long time. The words shouldn’t be me, but they were an important part, and I lost them. Flying down the highway, seeing all the wonders this blasted place has to offer… that’s the only time it feels like the words might be in my reach again. I deserve the chance to figure out who I am after all this, even as Emma doesn’t deserve a man who will otherwise always be a little bit empty.” Killian sighs. “That doesn’t make it any easier to think about leaving her behind.”

“You could always ask her to come with.”

Killian’s heart leaps in excitement at the very idea, but he quickly forces reason to tamp it down. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Whyever not? I thought you said she had a bit of wanderlust herself.”

“Yes, but…” Killian struggles for an answer, feeling like his brain is tripping over itself. “Storybrooke is her home. She’s got a family here, people who love her and would miss her. I can’t take her away from all of that.”

“Maybe that’s a decision she gets to make,” Belle replies gently. “Maybe she’ll surprise you. Maybe she wants the same thing, a chance to see what else is out there. You won’t know unless you ask.”

“Maybe.” Even as Killian says it, he knows that it’s a dream too big. He’ll never risk it — and Belle probably knows that too.

“It’s up to you, Killian,” she concludes, “but think about what’s best for you, now and later, okay? You deserve to be happy just as much as she does.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Once Killian hangs up the payphone, he fights the urge to slide down the wall into a crumpled heap. Even after his talk with Belle, there’s still no good answers.

He’s got a lot to think about. 

———

As long as Killian doesn’t think too closely about their looming, unknown deadline, he can luxuriate in the sheer quiet joy of spending time with Emma. It’s easy to get used to her kisses and easy affection and the way that she has a special smile just for him when he walks into the diner. It’s a beautiful respite he didn’t know he needed and is certain he doesn’t deserve.

But far too often and too quickly, good things must end.

The new tire arrives on Thursday. Killian does his utter best to ignore it. As eager as he was to get in and get out of this little nowhere town three weeks ago, that’s all changed because of Emma. The itch under his skin is as strong as ever — the desire to blow all the dreams and pain away upon the winds — but his attachment to Emma, though new and young, is deep. She’s a balm to all his lingering wounds, a bright spot in his days that he never thought he’d find again, and the idea of leaving her is near unbearable, even if the idea of staying is just as suffocating. 

There’s only so long he can pretend to work off a debt he’s long since paid, though, and while David will never say anything, Killian sees the confused looks that the other man sends his way each day those tires continue to sit on a shelf.

“You know, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” David mentions with an affected air of casualness as he works on the undercarriage of someone’s truck. Killian has been drafted to assist — though it seems to be just an excuse to trap him into conversation, considering that the only way he’s been helping is to hand over tools that David could just roll out and retrieve himself.

Killian braces himself against the truck’s bed, sighing heavily. He can’t help the exhalation; inside his head, all of Killian’s different desires war with each other — to stay with Emma, to leave for her own good, to leave for his own good. Underneath it all, though, is that same itch that’s driven him forward ever since he landed in this country, and it only grows stronger every day.

Staying was never really an option — not when he still needs wind whipping past his face to ground him every day.

“I know. But I can’t,” he finally replies, head bowed in a pointless instinct to hide his gaze from a man already obscured. 

David rolls himself back out to the light. “Why not? Has anyone made you think you couldn’t? Besides Graham, I mean, and that really was just a misunderstanding —”

“No, it’s not that. I’ll have to disagree about the sheriff’s intentions, but you’ve all been… wonderful. You, and Mrs. Nolan, and… Emma.” Killian stutters for a moment over her name; though they both knew going in that this wouldn’t end in anything lasting, it had been easy to forget that in a week and a half of bliss, and she’s the one who stands to hurt the most. Still, he must press on. “Better than I deserve, really. And I know you’d welcome me with open arms should I choose to make your little hamlet home. But it’s… I’ve got this compulsion to keep moving. Chasing something, or running away from something, I don’t even know anymore. But one day… I hope I’ll figure it out, and that feeling will settle.”

David hums, taking the time to replace his tools. If Killian’s not mistaken, it’s a stalling tactic. “You know, Emma has this theory,” he finally says, “that home is the place that when you leave, you just miss it. She and Mary Margaret spent a week — not even a week in Portland shopping for wedding and household things. And that was it for her. She and Mary Margaret were still in this terrible little apartment, but I’ve never seen her happier to be there. Gave me the biggest hug when she saw me as I came to pick up Mary Margaret for a date.” David smiles fondly at the memory. “I suppose what I’m saying is… maybe it takes some distance to realize what you want. And we’ll always be happy to welcome you back, if you choose to return. You’ve got a job here if you decide that’s what you want.”

It’s a lot to offer him, Killian knows — more than he expected. This entire town and all the people in it — especially the Nolans, especially Emma — are all more than he ever expected. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

David just nods before grabbing a different wrench and wheeling back under the body of the truck, but Killian thinks there’s an understanding there — that I can’t stay doesn’t mean not ever, just not now. There’s a time and a place for everything in life, and the place Killian’s at right now isn’t nearly settled enough for tranquil little Storybrooke.

He shouldn’t have counted on David keeping that information to himself, however. Half the reason he’d avoided the matter of the tire in the first place was his own uncertainty about how to broach the topic with Emma. She deserves to hear from him that he’s leaving again, but all attempts he makes to imagine that conversation feel inadequate — too flippant, too detached, too lame. Decidedly not what she deserves.

Trust his Swan, however, to bring it up all on her own.

“So,” she starts, arm linked through his as they walk down Main Street together, “what’s this I hear about a tire?”

Killian’s heart jumps into his throat; without even intending, he slows their pace to barely a shuffle. “So you heard about that, then.”

“David’s not great about keeping secrets from Mary Margaret, and Mary Margaret isn’t great about keeping secrets from… anyone, really.” Emma chuckles at her little quip, but it doesn’t hold the joy Killian’s grown accustomed to in the past weeks. 

(God, when did he allow himself to become accustomed to that — or anything? He was never supposed to stay longer than a few weeks, and this only makes it harder.)

“I want to tell you, but…” Killian trails off. But what? He was scared? He was conflicted?

“It’s alright, Killian,” she smiles back, albeit weakly. “We always knew this was coming.” Emma gathers a deep breath as if to steel herself for what else she has to say. “So how much time do we have left, then? I know the road must be calling you again.”

But you are too, Killian doesn’t say. 

“Two days,” he says instead. “Three at most. David and I got Mr. French’s delivery van settled today, so we’ll be able to put the bike back together tomorrow and I can hit the road the next day, or the one after.”

“That’s not much time,” Emma replies softly, looking down at their shuffling feet as if she can’t bear to meet his eyes.

“No.”

(You could always ask her to come with, whispers Belle’s voice in his head. He’s not nearly brave enough to listen to it.)

Killian feels Emma take a deep, strengthening breath before she lifts her gaze to meet his again. “Then we’d better make the most of it.”

———

The next evening, Killian takes Emma for a ride on the newly-functional motorcycle, trying the whole while not to think about how this feels like goodbye. He remembers how she’d asked, one of those first nights, flirting even though Killian couldn’t see it, didn’t want to see it. Emma had gasped in surprise and delight when Killian came to pick her up after her shift (an early one, today, that lets them take a little cruise as the sun sets before them), drawn out to the diner’s front windows by the putter of the engine. 

“Are we going to go for a ride?” she practically demands. Not that Killian minds, as long as he gets to see the grin that splits her face from cheek to cheek. 

“As far as you want,” he promises.

(It was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but ask her to come with echoes louder and louder in his head with each passing hour.)

Killian helps Emma onto the bike as best he can while straddling the seat himself, but she doesn’t prove to need much assistance, still steady even as she swings a leg over the body. It takes some doing, but he manages to crane his body around far enough to press a lingering kiss to her lips. 

(Not their last, not their last, his heart insists, but his brain still whirs in a panic of not enough time like another engine he’ll have to fix.)

“Are you ready, love?” he asks when they finally break apart. Emma nods enthusiastically. “Then hold on tight.”

It’s almost idyllic, cruising through Storybrooke’s back roads with Emma’s arms twined around his waist. She particularly seems to love the straight stretches of road where he can really test their speed. As the wind whips past their faces, Emma giggles and shrieks with glee behind him. Other women might have been nervous about the bike, or fretted about the number the wind will undoubtedly do to their hair, but not his Swan. It’s obvious she’s having the time of her life, and Killian feels grounded in a new way to feel her body perched behind his.

(Come with, come with, could come with…)

“God, I see why you love that so much,” she chuckles as they roll to a halt at the pier. Killian will never get back in the water, but there’s still something soothing about the endless horizon. “It’s exhilarating.”

And maybe it’s the joy in her voice, or the way she smiles as she swings off the bike again. More likely, it’s the result of the words that have been rattling around inside his skull ever since he talked to Belle. Whatever it is, it dissolves any filter between Killian’s brain and his mouth and the words come tumbling out before he can stop them. “You could come with me,” he blurts out in a rush, only to flush red as he realizes what he said. That was not remotely something he meant to say, but it’s out there in the world now, his heart dropped at her feet for her to pick up or kick aside.

Not that she’s done either, yet. Emma stands shocked and still in front of him, eyes wide like she can’t believe what she’s just heard. That’s a reasonable reaction; Killian certainly can’t believe that he just said it. 

“What did you say?” she whispers.

“Nothing, Swan, don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have said anything —”

“But you did,” Emma says, interrupting his backtracking. “Did you mean it?”

Killian sighs, sweeping his hand through his hair in yet another nervous tic. She probably knows all of them by now — the hand in the hair and the scratching behind his ear and all the rest of it. He’s a mess of a man, which makes him all the more certain that no matter what he might want, he can’t possibly deserve her. “Aye, I did,” he finally admits. “And I know it’s foolish, because I can’t possibly ask that of you, not when you’ve got a place like this to call home, with people who love you. Not when you’d have to put up with me. But it’s what I want.” He whispers it like a shameful secret. And maybe it is, a little bit — after all, he knows better than anyone that no matter how much he wants doesn’t mean it can ever happen.

“And why would you ever think that’s foolish?” Emma asks softly, stepping into his space to rest her hands on his shoulders.

“I mean —”

“I told you once that I wanted to be brave with you, and that it was my choice to make. I meant it then, and I mean it now, too.” As Emma pauses to stare into his eyes, Killian feels hope flutter in his chest, stronger and brighter than ever before, only to burst to glorious life as she finishes. “So ask me.”

It only takes a moment to swallow his nerves. “Come with me, Emma. Let me show you the world.”

Emma’s hands move to his face, stroking her thumbs along his cheeks to coax him into a smile to match her own. “Yes,” she says, softly, emphatically, lovingly.

And Killian finally allows his dreams to soar in flight. 

——— 

Their goodbye is sad, even though Emma assures everyone that it’s not forever. 

“I’ll be back, I promise,” she tells Mrs. Nolan, whose eyes brim with tears just waiting to fall. “We both will be.”

“I know that,” Mrs. Nolan insists. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you! It won’t feel right, not seeing your face around town every day.”

“Promise me you’ll look after her,” David says quietly as Killian secures the saddlebags on the motorcycle. Emma has proved to travel light, just like him; she’d showed up with nothing more than a satchel, a tightly coiled bedroll, and a beaming smile. “Because Emma is special, and I don’t know what we’ll do if something happens to her. Or, more accurately, I don’t know what I’ll do to you if something happens to her,” he tries to joke, stretching a weak smile before falling back to something more serious. “She’s very precious to us — to all of us.”

“I know,” Killian replies, cracking a small smile as he watches Emma hug her friend. “She’s very precious to me, too. I promise that I’ll do everything in my power — everything and then some more — to watch over her and keep her safe.”

“Good.” David offers his hand to shake, and Killian grasps it firmly in return. Maybe it’s a sealing of the promise; maybe it’s a gesture of friendship; maybe it’s a little of both. Whatever the case, Killian feels something pass between himself and David: an understanding, almost a sort of peace.

Emma slides an arm around his waist, apparently done hugging and bidding farewell to her crowd of admirers. Killian could swear half the town turned up in front of the garage to send her off — Granny and Ruby, Sheriff Graham, Mrs. Nolan, and a whole slew of other people he only halfway recognizes. She’s obviously much loved; Killian could tell that even without David’s little speech.

“Ready to go?” she asks with a wide and happy smile. He’d understand if she was nervous, or scared, or sad, or anything else; that would be reasonable as she’s about to embark on a journey into the unknown with him. There’s only excitement in her gaze, however; it’s obvious she’s got a wanderer’s heart of her own.

“Whenever you are, love,” he smiles back.

It’s a matter of a moment to swing his leg over the body of the motorcycle and let Emma clamber on behind him with David’s help. As Killian starts the engine, the other man drops a kiss to Emma’s forehead that Killian pretends not to notice.

“Godspeed,” he murmurs, just loud enough for Killian to hear. “And you make sure to call and keep us posted, alright?” he concludes in a louder voice. 

“Of course, dad.” Killian can practically hear her roll her eyes, but he can hear the fondness, too. In a last gesture, Emma leverages herself off of Killian’s shoulders to press a kiss on David’s cheek. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” Tears gleam at the corner of David’s eyes, but he plasters on a grin anyways. “Now go on, hit the road before the sun gets too hot!”

Killian doesn’t need to be told twice. In a flurry of waves from Emma and her crowd of well-wishers, they slowly cruise back down Main Street, picking up speed as it gives way to a country highway.

“Are you ready for an adventure, Swan?” he asks as she twines her arms tighter around his waist, craning his neck to meet her gaze. 

“With you?” she smiles back. “Always.”

~~~~~

Tagging: @kmomof4, @aerica13, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @let-it-raines, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @scientificapricot​, @snowbellewells​, @welllpthisishappening​, @tiganasummertree​, @captainswanbigbang​, @snidgetsafan​, @thejollyroger-writer​, @profdanglaisstuff​

[willowistic22]

I saw that your requests are open so I was wondering if you might have any ideas as far as jomike and/or newsbians maybe with the group playing truth or dare.

I’m sorry this took so long hehehehe. it’s also fairly longer than my other requests (and i mean it this time) so uhh... oops? I am also trying to work on those other requests ppl don’t worry i didn’t forget them! Anyways, unpopular opinion: brotp jojo and kath pls let that sink in :) mentions of alcohol btw but it’s just them drinking and having fun and that’s abt it (i’ll still put a tw in the tags just in case) 

send in some requests!! Or not i’m not the boss of you lol

It sucks sharing an apartment with two other people and being the only single one out of the bunch. At times his roommates would schedule a date night on the same night, which would leave Jo Jo all alone. It has happened more than once, believe it or not. Well, Jo Jo isn’t exactly salty. He’s fine being single. What he doesn’t like with his situation is the part where he’s left behind in their empty apartment. 

These are one of those nights. But Jo Jo pushes through the lonely feeling and searches for company. It’s a good thing his good friends, Kathrine and Davey lives just a floor below him. They usually have movie nights together and wouldn’t mind with another friend crashing in. 

Jo Jo passes a few doors before he arrives at his destination. He knocks on the door, fully expecting Davey to be answering the door. If it’s movie night, he’s sure Kathrine is wrapped up in a blanket on the couch with no desire of moving a muscle. 

The door was answered, but not with who he initially expected. The other Jacobs sibling, Sarah, who just so happens to be Kathrine’s girlfriend. The optimism nearly fell off of Jo Jo’s face but he quickly picked it up to avoid giving the wrong impression. 

“Sarah! I didn’t know you were here!” Jo Jo tried to cover up his disappointment. 

“Well, Davey’s out so Kath invited me to join her for movie night!” 

They didn’t turn away their lonely friend. Though, third wheeling a couple was not what he was looking for. It just makes him feel more lonely. But the couch is big enough for the three of the to cuddle. The feeling of the fabric against Jo Jo’s skin is a little rough but the orange comfy cushions makes up for its roughness. 

Jo Jo bounces a bit on the couch before settling under the huge pink fluffy blanket with the couple. It’s big enough for Kathrine and Sarah to be cuddling on one side of the couch and let Jo Jo be an outcast on the other. 

He tries to ignore the fact that Kathrine has her head laid on top of Sarah’s chest. The occasional small kisses Sarah gives Kathrine and the butterflies from the pit of their stomachs they express through small giggles. The apartment is dark so the visual can be easily ignored by hyper focusing on the TV screen. Though, Jo Jo can’t shake away the feeling of its presence. 

The movie that Jo Jo can’t recognize, moved on to a passionate kissing scene. As if tormenting him with his two friends beside him is already doing the kissing themselves isn’t enough. He hadn’t realize he sighed out too loud when Kathrine sat up from where she was lying down. 

“Oh, Jo Jo, I’m so sorry! We didn’t mean to left you out of the cuddling!” 

Kathrine proceeds to shift closer to Jo Jo, wrapping her hands around his torso to give him an apology bear hug. Jo Jo didn’t turn it down and hugs her back, hearing Sarah giggling behind. 

They let go and moves a little to the center of the couch. Sarah shifts closer too so they can snuggle up with them and they concentrate back on the movie. The only things is, the movies sucks and is boring the hell out of them. 

“Why’d you even pick this movie in the first place?” Jo Jo asked after the two girls expressed their boredom. 

“I don’t know, I just picked a random movie hoping it isn’t bad” Kathrine confessed. 

“Okay... so now what?” Sarah asked the others. 

So there’s the new problem that emerged from the shadows as Kathrine turn the lights on and Jo Jo stops the movie. No other activity came to mind. Not even picking another movie since the girls already spent nearly an hour watching some lame movie. 

“I know!” Sarah suddenly chirped up after a few moments of silence. Kathrine and Jo Jo looked at her hopefully, “A game of truth or dare perhaps?” 

“I’m not interested in doing any dares right now” Jo Jo replied. 

“Then... let’s make it a game of truth or truth!” Sarah continued on. She shifts a little closer to the two but kept her gaze fixed on Jo Jo with a grin painting her face, “If you could date one of us, who would you date and why?” 

So it appears Jo Jo is up first. Not exactly sure when did they decided it though. He squints his eyes at the girl and tilts his head in confusion. 

“Ignoring the fact that we’re all gay here. Of course you wouldn’t date either of us but if you had to choose, who’d it be?” 

Since there isn’t anything else for them to do, Jo Jo plays along with this game of truth or truth. Half an hour asking others questions, real spicy ones too, they were having a blast in the end. 

Kathrine opens up the beer stash she and Davey keeps, but if they’re being real: Kath is the only one that really needs that stash. Sarah shares a bottle with Kathrine and Jo Jo passes the offer. 

“Tell me, Jo Jo: why are you still single?” it was Sarah’s turn again to ask Jo Jo a question. A fitting one as well, since the reason he came here is to not be lonely while his two roommates are out on their respective dates. 

He rolls his eyes before diverting them back to where the other two girls were, still sitting in the same position they were the whole time, “I just haven’t found the right one yet!” 

“So Mike’s not the ‘right one’ for you?” Kathrine plainly asked, as if it wasn’t suppose to be a secret he was keeping with a few other people. 

His eyes Kathrine down with silent rage. Sarah’s eyes widen and her jaws dropped to the floor. She was laughing breathlessly when she heard her friend having a crush on another friend she hadn’t expected. 

Jo Jo isn’t up to argue with her so he just slouches back in the couch with a pout and a loud sigh. Sarah’s laugh and Kathrine’s cheeky grin at him is infuriating. It’s quite hard to ignore it too since they’re both up on his face. God, he wishes he has the heart to punch the light out of them. 

The bullying only lasted for a minute or so. Sarah stops laughing as soon as she noticed the visible pout on his face. But she couldn’t hold back the grin. 

“Alright, alright, stop it you two!” Jo Jo said, before slouching again with his hands crossed. 

A few seconds of silence to wait for Sarah and Kathrine to come down from their high. Once Sarah caught up with her breath, though the excitement was still verbally there, she speaks up, “So how’s that going on?” 

“What?” Jo Jo gazed at her confused for a second. Not that he didn’t understand what it meant, but rather at the fact that she doesn’t understand the situation, “You think I’m the kind of guy that can make the first move?” 

As much as Jo Jo loves his friend, Sarah is out of her mind to think Jo Jo can make any form of progress. He doesn’t know what Mike’s reaction would be if he does. Hell, he wouldn’t even know where to start!

“I mean, easiest way to do it is by talking to him” Sarah added on, “You never know till you try!” 

“I wish this was truth or dare. I would’ve given you a dare to go talk to Mike right now” Kathrine commented. It’d be a very fitting dare since Mike lives with his twin brother Ike just a few doors down. Though, she’d expect Jo Jo to chicken out and switch to a truth. 

Regardless of the unfortunate circumstances, they keep playing. Sarah, being the only one who isn’t entirely in the know of Jo Jo’s crush, kept asking questions about it in between turns and sometimes she makes it her question to him. Kathrine already knows because Jo Jo often talks about it to her. 

If you ask him, Jo Jo doesn’t even know how he’d gotten his feelings tangled with his friend in the first place. It suddenly happened and it hasn’t left his system ever since. If he could, he’d do something about it. But Mike’s far out of his league, he’s sure of that. Plus he’s probably already busy with someone else. So what’s the point in trying? 

A knock on the door brought their laughter to a sudden stop. It couldn’t be Davey, since he’d already have the keys to enter his own apartment. As Kathrine recall, her roommate didn’t left his keys at home. Even if he did, he’d call Kathrine beforehand. 

The three observes the door quietly, bodies frozen in place and simultaneously thinking of the same thing. They exchange looks to each other before focusing back to the door. 

Jo Jo stands up from the couch and tip toes to the door. His movement are careful as he gets his hand closer to the doorknob. There was more knocks, since it’s left unanswered for quite some time, followed by a familiar voice calling from the other side with a familiar voice that makes his heart drop, “Davey? Kath? It’s Mike!” 

He could not have such bad timing than to come knocking on the door right now. What can be so important that the next morning couldn’t wait?  

Jo Jo twisted his head back to face the girls who are now smiling widely, visibly trying to hold back a laugh. They gestured him to go open door but Jo Jo refuses, frantically shaking his head with a look of horror behind his eyes. 

“Hello? You guys home?” Mike called out again with a few more knocks. 

Jo Jo starts to sweat. His legs glued to the floor, unable to escape his problem. Kathrine rolls his eyes with an annoyed sigh, getting up from her seat to get to the door. Jo Jo isn’t sure what she’s going to do but it was too late to stop her before she realizes she’s opening the door for him and proceeds to hide herself behind it. 

Mike froze for a moment, surprised to see the boy’s face, “Jo Jo? Wh-what’re you doing here?”

Jo Jo couldn’t answer quickly, his brain not being able to pull him away from the sudden act Kathrine just pulled on him, “Uhh... hi” 

A slap can be heard in the background. Jo Jo can feel the disappointment from Sarah’s distant facepalm. He hears a silent sigh from behind the door, Kathrine deciding to step in and save the day with a huge smile on display. 

“Hey, Mike! You need me to return that cooking pot?” 

“Oh, yes! I need it for tomorrow” Mike answered, moving his focus to Kathrine. 

“I’ll go fetch for you but it’s gonna take some time” Jo Jo is slowly realizing what Kath’s up to and he can’t do anything about it, “In the mean time...” 

A big shove from the back made Jo Jo’s feet obey to the movement since his brain isn’t registering to what’s happening yet. Mike, being confused as to what’s happening, didn’t move an inch which resulted into Jo Jo crashing into him. The door shuts behind them and they’re left in the front hallway of the apartment. 

Jo Jo didn’t move at first other than moving his head back to get a better look at what’s happening. His head is inches away from Mike’s, chests’ pressed up together, and limbs getting tangled. Both faces show obvious confusion and a hint of embarrassment at the situation they’ve gotten themselves. 

They stammer at their words, head scrambling all over the place as they try to figure out what’s the next move. Mike takes one step back with an awkward smile, an unnatural thing for him to do since he’s always so fun and relaxed.  

“I... wasn’t expecting to see you in there tonight” Mike tried to ease away the awkward tension. 

“Yeah, I just... I was looking for some company” Jo Jo explained. 

“Being single sucks, huh?” 

“I mean... not necessarily. I’m fine but it can get a little lonely” 

Mike nods along, returning to his easygoing demeanor, “Yeah, I get it. Ike basically leaves me stranded in our apartment when Hotshot comes to pick him up” 

Jo Jo just nods silently. 

So new information of the day: Mike is single. Jo Jo’s brain starts to get excited. But he knows better to shut that thought away with the knowledge of needing to consider in more factors. 

Mike coughs, taking this chance to look away. The moment is slowly getting awkward. The two boys not knowing what to do other than rocking themselves on their own pace to ground their nerves. 

“What’s the pot for?” Jo Jo blurted out, now fully realizing the awkwardness between them is slowly getting intolerable. 

“Oh, our parents are visiting tomorrow. We’re gonna make dinner for them” Mike answered, “And it’s Ike’s chance to introduce them to Hotshot so he wants things to go as smoothly as possible” 

Admittedly, Jo Jo has never felt the nervous feeling of introducing someone special to someone as important as parents, but he’s sort of associating it with what he’s feeling right now. The context is not the same yet he somehow understands the feeling by just standing here. 

“And... you’re not inviting anyone?” Jo Jo timidly asked, “I mean, I know you said you’re single but... there just have to be someone out there... right?” 

Mike scoffs with a smile and Jo Jo swears on his life his eyes just twinkled, “No point in asking them, we don’t even talk” 

Jo Jo laughs a little and scratches the back of his head, “I guess you’d be moving things a bit too fast if you did that” 

More awkward silence envelop the two. Jo Jo is praying for Kathrine to return with the pot. Although, he knows Kathrine is taking her time on purpose. But finally, the door opens again only Kathrine wasn’t the one walking out. 

“Eavesdropping to you two are going to be the death of me so I’m going to interrupt the conversation!” Sarah said, standing in between the two boys griping the pot with both hands. 

“Even from behind the door, I could sense the sexual tension and you guys have to do something about it or I’m about to throw hands!” Sarah continued on, “Admit it! Like literally just admit it: you like each other any dumbass can tell you that! Now kiss!” 

Sarah jots the pot in between her upper arm and her side so she can grip both of their shoulders and shoves the two forward. Somehow, they were able to capture each other’s lips perfectly. The boys’ eyes widen from the sudden act. Despite Sarah’s hand are no longer gripping their shoulders, they linger in the kiss for a few seconds because of the shock their brains are experiencing. 

The finally found the realization to pull away from each other, recollecting their scattered minds and steadying their breaths. Jo Jo is refusing to believe this is reality. He did not just kiss his crush right then and there for no reason!

“Now that we’ve established that, here’s your pot Mike!” Sarah shoves the pot towards Mike. He fumbles with the pot as he hasn’t fully has his feet back on the ground, much like Jo Jo, “Alright, see you later!” 

Sarah drags Jo Jo back in the apartment and shuts the door. She turns to a still shocked looking Jo Jo with a smile, “See? Progress right?” 

Jo Jo cocks his head to face Sarah, stuttering a few of his words before finally blurting out, “Not like that!” 

Kathrine watches the two from the couch, now occupying the newly popped popcorn, “I mean, that was kinda funny but I think you just ruined his chances now” 

“Well, I’m sorry. I just got annoyed from the pining!” Sarah exclaimed. She returns to her spot next to her girlfriend on the couch, leaving Jo Jo where he’s frozen in place and still trying to process what just happened. Sarah turns back to where Jo Jo is, “And for your information: I wasn’t lying. I know for a fact that he likes you!” 

Kathrine and Jo Jo gives her a questioning look. To which, she answers, “He admitted it himself” 

Jo Jo’s jaws drop and his eyes widen once again, tilting his head in wonderment, “WHAT?!” 

[thegreatbigfourmain]

💀

Send “💀” for a starter based on our muses as mortal enemies that slowly fall in love

@sunlight-maiden

Spy AU Maybe??

What about an AU where two spies from rival headquarters are forced to work together on a mission that makes them have to be a married couple? Like something with lots of silly arguing over stupid things and maybe they have an “adopted” child (spy child) and they awkwardly get caught doing weird stuff like throwing things at each other by the nice elderly lady next door.

idea from: @ask-the-poles 

“You are so obnoxious! How could anyone put up with you?!” The brunet bellowed in frustration as he banged on the bathroom door. The sounds of rushing water have been going on for more than half an hour. The pair had just finished battling against enemy agents. Being in bloodied clothes and open wounds, he wanted nothing more than to wash off in the comfort of the home the agency forced him to share with this water waster. Whenever he made a fist, the dried blood cracked on his knuckles and pulled at his skin.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Answered the irritating blonde.

“Why don’t you try the other bathroom?”

“That one’s broken! You know that!”

“Then why don’t you go and fix it, Mister Engineer!”

Hiccup let out one more exasperated huff before stomping his way over to their bedroom. The defeated man sat on the edge of his king-sized bed, waiting for the blonde to emerge from the bathroom.

It’s been this way for two months now. Two aggravating months of them incognito to capture a very dangerous criminal who’s been killing top spies in the world. When one of their own from their agency turned up dead, their boss, nick-named North, paired them together to act as a married couple. He didn’t like her from the moment she came into the bureau. She was too perfect. And it annoyed him. He had to work hard to get to where he was. It took him two years. It only took her eight months.

Finally, she came out with a fluffy towel wrapped around her slender body. There was some slight bruising on her arms and legs, no doubt from the combat she sustained while the other men kept him away from getting to her. She even sported a couple of cuts on her face. Seeing her this way changed something in Hiccup. Sure he’s seen her fight before, but those were easy to take down. The people they faced were no amateurs. One minute the enemy landed a blow to his ribs, then from nowhere, a punch to the mouth caused his lip to split. It was no different for her either. He still felt pain in his ribs whenever he moved a certain way.

The brunet’s rage melted away into sympathy at the sight of her. Hiccup walked over and used a bruised hand to raise her chin to see her dejected expression. His body moved on its own before his brain was able to pick up exactly what he was doing and why. The blonde in front of him flinched at the action but allowed him to examine her injuries.

Hiccup moved his hand to cup her cheek. A black eye formed around her right eye when being held down by those bastards. Nevertheless, she had the most beautiful emerald eyes he’s ever come across.

He didn’t know what came over him, but before he could know what he was doing, he placed a kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll take a quick shower. Then I’ll help you heal,” Hiccup explained before walking into the bathroom. True to his word, the male took the quickest shower to date. Soon enough, he walked out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, too focused on his pretend wife to bother with clothing at this point. He didn’t know why he cared about her well-being so much. It might have something to do with the small crush he has on her. But that can’t be it. Of course not. No relation.  

His pretend wife had already changed into her nightgown for the night, holding up an ice pack to her blackened eye. He grabbed a first aid kit they kept on the dresser for moments like this. He then sat beside her and took her free hand.

“Hiccup, you don’t have to do this…” Said the confused wife.

Hiccup chuckled in return. “I think I do. You did well out there, Mrs. Haddock,” He said with a smile. It might have been the first real, genuine smile he’s given her during all this.

Rapunzel smiled at him back. “Thank you, Mr. Haddock.”

In comfortable silence, Hiccup wrapped up any cuts she had on her hands and arms while she held the ice to her face.

After some time, he let out a small sigh. His forest green eyes glanced shyly towards the quiet blonde. “Look, I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time lately. That wasn’t my intention.” The guilt of treating her so horribly soon took over the young male. He couldn’t admit that his behavior was probably due to his crush on an unrequited romance. Her perfectness made her someone he couldn’t get just being himself. He had no chance in hell to get her attention.

“It’s something new for both of us. I mean, moving in with a total stranger is still pretty nerve-wracking, even when given each other’s portfolio,” She joked with a giggle.

He smiled at her. “Yeah. I guess so,” he replied before gently placing her hand down on her lap. He took a moment to review any more injuries he may have missed, too deep in thought to realize she was inching closer and closer to him until her soft lips made contact with his. His green hues widened in complete shock. His body stood frozen while Rapunzel deepened the kiss by opening her mouth just enough to make his eyes flutter close and come back to life.

Hiccup raised his hand to caress her cheek while simultaneously bringing his other hand to wrap around her waist. Rapunzel’s hands made their way to the male’s chest, softly moaning into his mouth at the feel of his chiseled features. Though not the bulkiest male in the office, Hiccup did have a swimmer’s built to him. She may not admit it, but she did admire his lean body type whenever he changed in front of her before bed.

As much as he didn’t want to, the pretend husband pulled away slowly. It pained him to see Rapunzel open her eyes in confusion with her perfectly plumped lips still parted from their kiss. “I’m sorry… Was I too forward?” She whispered into the darkness. Hiccup let out a chuckle and a head shake.

“No. I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you. I think we might not be in the best of states to have it go on any further,” He smirked while pointing to himself tainted with wounds he needed to tend. The blonde gave him a smile that made him feel he could take on ten more enemy agents all at once. Butterflies wreaked havoc in the pit of his stomach as she reached the first aid kit for wraps.

“That’d probably be best. It’s only fair that I help you with those wounds,” Rapunzel replied while getting to work on his hand. Hiccup stole kisses between them here and there, earning him gentle pats and shoos from the blonde that only made him fall for her even more so.

“I could get used to a view like this,” Hiccup whispered with such pride in his voice while playing with his ring and watching his wife fall asleep in his arms.

[wevegottogetaway]

Whirlwind Part III - Sirocco

DAY 3

As Aella sits in the campus refectory, her mind is still reeling from her fight with Harry the day before. She fins herself pushing peas around her plate as though the therapeutic movement could help her instill some order among her thoughts. Or just quiet them altogether. Someone like you. The cringeworthy words have been playing on an unfaltering loop since their author lashed them out to her face without a care. Someone like you. She desperately wants to tune it out, but it's like the record is trapped under the broken turntable needle and launched in endless revolution. Someone like y-

A pea is about to fall over her plate from the pushing, when she's greeted by a rowdy Dazzler and a quiet Tigger. The two form quite the complementary duo she notes, their polar dispositions counterbalancing each other in the most endearing way.

"Hiya, dear Aella. I believe it's story time for you!" Daz exclaims after jumping on the seat across from her, a large smile lighting up his face. Aella wonders for a second if it's not stapled to his skin instead; she's never seen Dazzler sport any other expression than pure elation. His singular request stops her musings in confusion, however.

"Story time?" She inquires with a perplexed frown.

"Love, you have no idea how badly my ears want to be graced with the very details of how you whipped Rex's sodding arse." His enthusiasm for such a mundane thing truly amazes her. And admittedly, she quite envies him and his talent for finding happiness in the smallest things.

"Ah yes, the highlight of my week," is all she acknowledges.

"Mine too, had I been there to witness it. That's why I need the next best thing: an exhaustive report of the whole scene." Dazzler explains, tailgating his answer with a suggestive double-nudge of his eyebrows.

"Well, it's nothing much really." She says looking down at her plate. But once she brings her eyes back to her two companions, she realizes they won't waver until she parts with the story. "Let's just say my uncle taught me a thing or two about pressure points, and that knowledge came in handy a couple nights ago." Aella refrains from giving out the full transcript of what really transpired despite Dazzler's request. She doesn't like bragging about such things. Even if Rex's mortified expression did bring her considerable satisfaction, she still hates the fact that she had to get physical with her peer for her to be respected. Besides, she has an inkling Dazzler's imagination is perfectly operational to fill in the blanks.

"Fuckin' hell, I'm gonna dream about this tonight!" True to his words, there's a childlike wondrous gleam in Dazzler's eyes, making his aversion for Rex almost tangible. And Aella can't help but rejoice in knowing she's not alone in her rancor against the jackass. "So you got him good?"

"Sent him to his knees." Her voice is still leveled, though her own delight at the memory is betrayed at the corner of her lips.

"Oh Aella, you are my new favorite person!" Dazzler's jubilation earns him a smile but the sentiment is quickly washed off her face and replaced by a heavy sigh.

"Yeah well, I wish your mate Harry shared the feeling." Aella says dejectedly, the peas once again holding more interest to her battered brain.

"Ah...so it's not all rainbows and unicorns between you two then?"

The question makes her scoff in exasperation."Try like...tornados and trolls. I mean, does the guy even know how to smile?" Aella doesn't want to get worked up about it, but the fact that she has likely 5 more weeks to spend as Harry's partner is quite a hard pill to swallow if he proves to be the prick she thinks he is.

"Hey now come on, he's been trough a lot recently. He's actually a pretty sound guy." The remark sobers Aella's anger for a moment as she remembers the very reason behind her presence at Top Gun. She knows how loss can shatter parts of the soul that makes us who we are, leaving only but time to glue back the pieces. To some extent she understands the void that Harry must be aching to fill, but her compassion for his pain is short lived. Grieve doesn't give anyone the right to act like a senseless prick. Aella can deal with his sullen attitude but in no way she'll ever put up with blatant disrespect for her mere identity.

"Well, sorry if I don't take your word for it, but all I've seen from him is the same cold and sexist shit I've dealt with since I enlisted." She says, moving on from absentmindedly poking the peas to forcefully stabbing them into a green mess.

"Hang on, Harry may have a stick up his arse from time to time, but sexist? That doesn't sound like him." Dazzler is quick to defend his friend. Of course, she interiorly sighs though she has to admit his disbelief over Harry's allegedly misogynistic behavior seems rather earnest.

"Well, you didn't hear him yesterday. Or seen the look in his eyes."

"Aella, I really thi-"

"Just forget it, okay. I'm use to it and I'll deal with it like I always have." While Dazzler seems to be adamant about his friend's righteousness, Aella doesn't want to here much of it. She just wants to move on, like she'd planned all along. The two men across from her exchange a quick look at her rebuttal and it hits them then, how different it is for Aella to be a navy pilot compared to their own journey. "Besides, I didn't come here to complain. I came to be a better pilot" she asserts in response to their sympathetic glance. It resembled pity too much for her to lay in it.

"Right." Is all Dazzler can muster as opposed to his partner who finally decides to speak up.

"I'm sorry you have to go through that Aella." In truth, she's never really cared for those apologies much since they most never come from the people who actually have apologizing to do. Nonetheless she can't deny how heartwarming it is to hear the sweetness and sincerity of both young men sharing their lunch with her. They can't do much about her situation but at least she now feels supported.

"Thank you Tigger." She replies in genuine gratitude, her smile shyly returning. "At least I have you both on my side."

"You've got Harry too, Aella. You don't know it yet, and he may not either, but he's on your side too." His gaze is heavy on her, the statement coming out in a solemn tone as if it was murmured by a prophesier.

"Don't hold your breath Daz."

DAY 6

"Ready?"

Although she knows they were bound to communicate at some point, Aella is startled when the sound of Harry's filtered voice echoes through her headset. After checking that her straps are tightly locked, she mutters a faint 'yeah' in response and wills her brain to stop overthinking the upcoming mission. It is to no avail though. The oxygen inflating her lungs is saturated with awkwardness and reticence, making her second-guess every choice she's made in the past few months. They can still make it, right? This tension didn't stop them from succeeding the last time after all... Alas, her mind won't let be duped by her feeble encouragements and for the first time in her life, Aella is dreading flying. She doesn't have the time to dwell on it however, as the roar of the F-14's afterburners fills the cockpit and before she knows it, the sky is welcoming them back.

"Alright, let's kick the tires and light the fires." Harry murmurs as the runway keeps dwindling away from their vision, and Aella remembers him whispering the same line before their first venture. She makes no comment though, many pilots come up with little habits and small routines of their own to help them reach the headspace suited for flying. Some disregard it as superstitious gibberish, but in Aella's opinion it can save precious seconds in dire moments. And in the Navy worlds, every second counts.

As Commander Berks laid it out moments ago, this assignment slightly differs from the last one. The level of difficulty is tuned up a bit by the accrued competition: this time all 8 units are flying simultaneously as they battle for a single target towed by Berks himself. The task in meant to improve both aim and awareness as they are still being chased by the other instructors throughout the task. All in all though, it is the same 'target without getting targeted' acrobatics they are all familiar with.

"I've got my eyes on the target, can you read the positions please?" Harry suddenly inquires. The mission has run smoothly so far with few interactions between the two. It seems that's about to change however, as they get in the thick of it.

"Target at reach in 3 miles abeam, 5° on your left, lower, flying South." Aella starts reading her radar at her copilot's request. "Bogey one mile ahead at your ten. I think it's Rex, tailing target at 900 knots closure."

"Shit." Harry curses. Though Aella remains quiet, none of them are thrilled to realize Rex and his radar intercept officer Kurt (or the Zodiac as per his callsign) are ahead of the game.

"You've also got contact 2 miles behind, flying your speed." Aella adds in a poised manner. "Hold on, there's two of them."

"Are they closing in on us?"

"No. Looks like someone's got Rogers on their ass."

Harry briefly smiles. "Good." Whoever might that be, it means one less competitor trying for the target and one less instructor on their case for the time being. That's a win-win in his book.

"Careful though. He might turn on us next." She warns in anticipation.

"Not if I win this mission first." Harry retorts in confidence. His partner wishes she had the same optimism but there is an odd feeling festering in the pit of her stomach.

For a hot minute, there is but the consistent whirring of the engine disturbing the otherwise eery silence permeating the air. Harry seems to be slowly yet surely catching up on Rex and more importantly Berks, when the latter suddenly swerves upwards in unexpected fashion.

"Berks' barrel-rolling." Aella immediately calls the change in movement, the peaceful flow they were reveling in, already coming to an end. "New angle, 2 o'clock high." Harry slightly reduces his speed as Berks executes a vertical U-turn, effectively putting him out of Rex's range and at a higher altitude.

"I see that. I need to get ahead of Rex, can you call the speeds please?" He's trying to determine his best course of action in order to recover his advance on Berks before his opponent does.

"Target going 700 knots, Rex 630 and we're flying 650." Aella answers quickly although she has a plan forming in her brain as always. She's not as forceful as she was during their first operation, already apprehensive of her partner's reaction. "Listen Harry, if you do a J-turn you'll overshoot past Rex right on Berks' tail."

Admittedly her plan is once again on the daring side of the spectrum, so part of her knows Harry won't gleefully jump on board at the mere suggestion. And sure enough he proves her right as soon as the last word is out of her lips.

"Do a Herbst maneuver?! Are you batshit crazy?! That's not even in the program."

She refrains from rolling eyes since they ought to be scanning the data on her flight system at all times. "Fuck the program, you don't end up at Top Gun playing by the book. We can win this mission now, just trust me." She almost cringes at the last words, knowing they were uttered more for the form than their meaning. God knows they are lightyears from trusting each other.

"Jesus, this isn't free-style flying Aella for fuck's sake, this is air-combat." Harry doesn't care that he's letting all his frustration out. Knows he shouldn't be having 'land-talk' whilst they're up in the air on a mission (there will be plenty of time to tell her off once they've landed) but his mind is completely overladen.

"That's right, and you're fighting like a 6 year-old girl. Stop pulling hair and grow up!" Whoever said 'don't fight fire with fire' was obviously never launched at supersonic speed in 25 tons of steel with a person they despise a great deal. Reason seems to have been forgotten on the tarmac by both acolytes as they keep arguing ten-thousand feet above grounds.

"You're delusional, have you even ever done one?!"

"I'll guide you through it, trust m-"

"No! No fucking way, it's too dangerous." His tone is adamant, once again leaving Aella no room for discussion. She hates that he has the final word when it comes to flying, but alas he's the one in control of the aircraft.

"Urgh!" She cries out in irritation before mumbling under her breath "fucking coward."

Harry tries to ignore the silent dig taken at his expense as he focuses back on the problem at hand. His jaw is clenching so hard underneath the helmet, he can almost hear the sound of his teeth grinding. He is in the middle of regulating his breathing when Aella speaks up again bringing his heartbeat back into tizzy.

"Great, now we got Rogers on our case. Congrats."

"Fuck." He doesn't even register her passive-aggressive jab, more so preoccupied with the new threat charging after them.

She'd been right. She knew Rogers would be coming for them next if they didn't change tactics. Now all she can do is calling positions and silently cursing the stars for putting her on Harry's path. "800 knots closure, he's coming at your six."

"I'm well aware Aella, thanks." His voice overpowering the loud beeping noise echoing through the cockpit. They're about to be figuratively shot but not so figuratively eliminated from the competition, as Rogers is one second away from locking in on them and firing.

"He's not budging, you need to bug the fuck out." She discloses her input even though she feels like no matter what she suggests, he's gonna opt the other way.

"Like hell! The target's not bugging out." Harry quips back, once again confirming her assumption.

"You won't get the goddamn target if you're down." In a different world - and let's face it, in a different life - she might applaud his resilience, but in this universe she loathes his stubbornness, especially since she's the one enduring its wrath.

"Fucking hell, just call the bloody positions. I can't let Rex win this mission." Or any other for that matter, is what he thinks. A sentiment that, any other day, Aella would reciprocate but she's given up for the day. If he doesn't want her opinion, fine. Let him get shot, that'll teach him.

"I told you, he's in the fucking saddle, at your six. Closing on 800 knots. 850. 900."

She knows it before she hear it then: another ear-splitting beeping erupts within the cabin, dramatically informing Harry of their defeat. Rogers took the shot, it was over.

"Dammit!"

As soon as Aella steps back on solid grounds, she's overcome with a lingering sense of déjà-vu. The horizon incessantly spiraling in her vision surely doesn't help quell the dreadful sensation, though she doesn't dwell much on her lack of visual focus. No, her mind is completely consumed by the urge to rip Harry a new one. And she doesn't usually indulge in those urges. Seldom lets her resentment out in the open, for fear of appearing too "emotional" for some people's taste; and because quite frankly, she has better things to do. But this is killing her from the inside. Cutting right into the flesh of her dreams and strangling the part of herself that only bows to freedom. This is the other half of her unit dismissing her talent on the basis of her gender. And that she can't take in, much less bottle up and store away in a sealed chest at the bottom of her mind.

"For fuck sake Harry, you're supposed to be my partner!" Aella cries out to him.

He doesn't want to make a scene any more than she does, but likewise has tremendous difficulty keeping his rage all in. As Aella chases after him, he keeps stomping away from their shared TomCat. He doesn't think he's capable of facing her without loosing his shit. "That's a two way street Aella, and I don't reckon flying us both to the grave is part of 'the partner's' job description." The air quotes he uses at the mention of the word partner does nothing to assuage Aella's already blazing fury. She thinks he couldn't be more obnoxious in that moment if he tried.

"That's because you don't listen to me!"

"Damn right I don't!" He shouts back while spinning around to finally face her. "And you can thank me for still being alive because of it." Aella feels like she might implode like a pressure cooker forgotten on the fire. The audacity...the insolence... Each word he breathes out is wracking one by one every single nerve ending of hers. He's so full of himself, she wonders how she could fit in the cockpit without his human-size ego crushing her. She might have joked about having to find a 3-seats Tomcat for their next mission to fit them all, if the situation weren't so seriously heart-rending for her.

"You. Are. Such an asshole! Why am I even here? Huh! Why am I even sitting in that fucking aircraft with you?" She's about a wit away from yielding to the pressure boiling in her chest; still Harry is relentless in his comebacks too.

"Funny, I was wondering the same thing." He knows he's being harsh but his mind won't give in. Won't let him cut out a fragment of trust to share with her rule-breaking mentality. Not after what happened with Fox.

"You're despicable. I can't believe I actually hoped you'd be a decent guy. But god no! Mr Styles is too precious to be paired with a woman, so why should he give her the time of day? And why did he have to be partnered with a lady in the first place, yeah? All they can do is sit pretty or unleash their crazy, imma right?" She realizes how close she's gotten to him during her diatribe and has half the mind to push at his chest but somehow she doubts it would make him budge much. Once again she finds herself inches away from his stiff stature, as she fervently tells him off. "Dammit, you're just like the others, it makes me sick."

That's the final stroke for Harry. She can deem him as stuck-up as she pleases but he won't have her repeatedly question his integrity. "I don't fucking care that you're a woman, alright! Christ, you care about it more than I do!" Admittedly, he's had a couple sneak-peaks at her mistreatment and while he sure does feel for her struggle, sometimes she's too in her head about it to see good from bad. And he's tired of being at the wrong end of it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She questions half-offended and half confused, as she can't fathom any sense to the statement.

"It means, I know some guys don't treat you right because you're a woman; but I never did, and I'm sick of you accusing me of it anyway." His eyes are sharp when they connect with hers, compelling and brutally honest, yet they send a chill down to her toes. "But you know what? The world is unfair. Tough love, darling. You have to prove yourself more than us but think for a minute who's against you and who's on your side, because it seems to me that you waste a lot of energy fighting the wrong persons." He's the one who delivered the words, yet Aella is the one out of breath. For a hard second, all she does is frown as a dizzying silence takes over the heated exchange. Their staring hasn't relented, in fact Harry's eyes are agitatedly seeking question-less answers in hers in a mirrored frown.

When Aella finally speaks up, her voice is hardly louder than a whisper and that's how she knows she has Harry's full attention. "You don't know the first thing about being a woman." She notices him gulping as if preparing for the sobering speech he knows is coming, so she indulges. "You don't know what it is to live in a men's world and not be man. You don't know how it feels to be stationed at the same base for months and still be treated like a stranger. You don't know how it feels to work twice as hard if not more, to get one iota of the same recognition men do. You don't know what it is to be picked last by your superior for any given promotion even though you know you've got the best stats of the whole squadron." Though she's kept a reasonable volume, she pauses to regain her countenance over the ever-growing pain in her voice. "And you sure as hell don't know what it is to be your only ally."

Her harpooned gaze never unhooked from its two emerald preys, and for once Aella feels like he's listening. So on she goes. "Today, up there, I had more balls than you did. Tough love, you said? Well same goes for you, Harry. Because no matter what, you're stuck with me. I'm your copilot and you may hate it but you can't do anything about it. So, please do yourself a favor and grow a pair when you need to, because I sure can't "prove myself" if I'm flying with a coward."

Aella is quite satisfied with her tirade, almost certain she's had the last word once again but one look at Harry's face is enough to make her doubt that. Though he's been towering over her smaller frame for a bit, he looks downright threatening now with flaring nostrils and figurative smoke steaming out of his ears.

"You don't know what you're talking about either. You fly as recklessly as your arrogance will let you. That's dangerous, thoughtless and most of all, selfish." She's starting to recoil, having taken one step backward, but Harry barely registers her uneasiness. She's the one gulping the wounding words now. "I should be ashamed of flying with you and your crazy decisions." Ouch "Oh and one more thing. Don't you dare call me a coward ever again, understood?"

She doesn't give him the satisfaction of a nod but his spiteful prose successfully rendered her speechless. And Aella is not one to relinquish her self-assurance or fold under any man's intimidating number. But somehow this feels different. Harry is not a halfwit who can't handle women's ascent into the Navy world. No, Harry just plainly hates her guts, regardless of her sex. And that hurts more than she'd ever expect to. So much so, she can't bear to look at his chiseled features anymore and recoils a step further away from his hurtful disposition.

It's only then, Harry finally picks up on her shrinking form and bruised spirit. He didn't want to go this far. Didn't intend on carving her confidence right out of her chest, but now that he sees the anguish embedded in her delicate traits, he fears he might get sick on the spot. He's had the most strenuous past few months, staggering from loss and numbness to longing and grief, but this had to top all pains: he didn't know who he was anymore. When had he turned into such a inconsiderate prick? Self-loathing took over his sense, the feeling unwelcome yet familiar, and all Harry could do was turn around and run away from the crime scene.

And run away from Aella.

[sighingstarbeam]

Spies and Gods - Chapter 10

Summary: You and Loki head out on a night on the town. But you need to make a pit stop along the way.

Word Count: 3,245

A/N:  It's finally here! I'm finished with my classes and I have some time to write. With everything going on in the world right now, I'll try my best to upload more chapters, hopefully I can pry one out every week and get a schedule up and going. Thanks for the patience and stay safe!

Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

The next hour you debated if your decision was right. Your mind kept weighing the polar opposite options yet you put on your makeup as if you already made your choice. Every time you thought about going back to Loki’s room and calling the deal off you lingered to how you deserved a night out with your friends, even if Loki was in the background. On the other hand, when you thought about how much you wanted to leave the facility, what would happen if you got caught? New York was big, yes, and you never told anyone which nightclub you were going to specifically as there were hundreds just in the city alone, but if someone saw you leave and grew suspicious who’s to say what would happen? So many scenarios scattered in your brain. That person would rat you out to the team, they’d shun you for the rest of your life, Tony would kick you out immediately, he would second guess why he let you stay in the first place, which was something you never quite fully understood. If worse came to worse, you could always move back in with Lilly and Maya. But what if they thought you abandoned them? You didn’t mean to. In fact, you were forced to leave your current living situation. They wouldn’t lea- Before your headache could grow any larger, you heard a knock on your bathroom door. Your breath hitched when a familiar voice spoke up, “It’s me,” Tony said, “I’m sorry about before, but we really need you to do this. We’ll celebrate with a restaurant, your choice, just us two to get to know each other. Maybe Pepper. No, not Pepper.” You could practically hear his head rushing with what he was trying to spit out as he hesitated, “What I’m trying to say is we’re heading out. Don’t let Loki… Honestly don’t let him do anything but breathe and blink. Steve and his squad should be back tomorrow from their mission. Hang tight until then.” You didn’t say anything, you were processing the fact that Tony actually said the words “I’m sorry” to you. On top of that he wanted to take you out to dinner and have a real conversation. Not just the chats you have in the lab about his works, but about both of your lives, something you have secretly been yearning since day one. “O-Okay.” You stammered, careful not to burn yourself on the curling rod, “See you later.” Great, now you’ll feel some guilt for sneaking out. To be fair, it was Tony’s own fault for not letting you live your life. About an hour later you were dolled up in makeup and a form fitting maroon dress with off shoulder sleeves that Maya helped you pick out a few months back. It was already 8:00 and you promised you’d arrive at that time. You quickly texted Maya and Lilly that you were heading out and you had to “pick up a friend”. Speaking of which, you needed to tell Loki you were ready. Peeking your head out of your door, purse in hand, you checked the hall if anyone was around. Your heels clacked on the linoleum tile as you crossed the few feet to Loki’s door. You knocked sharply, waiting for him to emerge. A part of you wanted him to not answer, for him to end his own deal so you could have a reason to stay home. Or you could leave him alone and go by yourself and deal with the repercussions later. Well, somebody was listening and decided to pull a joke on you as Loki opened the door. You would’ve noticed him looking at you surprised by how you were dressed if it weren’t for the fact that you were too distracted by his attire. He went with his usual Asgardian wear of green, gold, and black leather outfitted with actual gold bands. “What are you wearing?” You asked. “What do you mean?” Loki questioned. “We’re going to a party in a club, not a renaissance fair.” Loki was taken aback from your comment, “I am dressed for a party. In Asgard this was standard attire for events our family held.” You rubbed the bridge of your nose out of frustration, “You’re on Earth now. You got to own something like a suit.” In almost an instant a shimmer of gold surrounded his head as a helmet with long horns manifested on Loki’s head, “How is this?” He mused. You crossed your arms, “If you can do that, you can illusion yourself human clothes.” Loki stared you down, then sighed rolling his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t win this situation. The golden shimmer surrounded him as he changed into the black suit he wore on the first day you saw him. “This should suffice, but know this; ” He leaned in, a little too close for comfort, before hissing his next words, “this night will not grant you permission to treat me like a cornered dog. Just because this is your planet does not give you access to order me whenever you please. I am a god in this realm- and for a moment your divine ruler.” You resisted the urge to step back from his proximity, for doing so would only pin you against the wall. Instead you stood your ground, trying to match the intensity of Loki’s glare. “If you say so. But if you do anything that raises any red flags while we’re out, I won’t hesitate to drag your ass back here early.” You pulled your phone out, it was a few minutes after you were supposed to meet up, plus you needed to pick up a gift. “We gotta go. Does the divine ruler want to stop for some fast food on the way?” You asked sarcastically. Loki’s manner transitioned from his intimidating look to amused as he let out a soft chuckle. 

___

Getting to the garage was a lot easier than you expected. With practically everyone gone nobody saw you and Loki made it to the rows of cars that were perfectly lined up. When you were first moving in Tony explained to you that most of the vehicles had keys hung up accordingly on a grid wall. Most of that conversation he mostly bragged that at least three-quarters of the cars belonged to him personally, which at least gave you a wide variety to choose from. “Got a preference?” You asked Loki, perusing the key selections. Loki looked back at the cars with a sour look, “Please tell me we are not driving any of those.” You were bemused at his remark, “What’s wrong with them? I mean, sure they’re a bit pretentious like that Ferrari- and those other two Ferrari's… but there are a few cool ones we could borrow.” You scanned the row, a black car caught your eye. “How about this Tesla? I heard they’re pretty cool.” Part of you knew that taking a car that glamorous would catch a few eyes, but if you were going to break the rules might as well go all the way in style. “Whatever you think is best.” Loki responded, “Personally I would never be caught dead in any of these, but if this is the only mode of transportation, then it will be adequate for the night.” No matter what you said to the man you could never seem to satisfy him, even if it was for a moment. You plucked the key from the slot and the two of you made your way to the sleek Tesla. Simultaneously you both entered the car. When you turned the key in the ignition you expected the screen in the dashboard to show different selections, except you were greeted by the display illuminating a video of a lit fireplace. A wave of warmth flooded the car as if the fire actually gave out heat from the heating system. The speakers blasted a funky tune of smooth jazz music, and without warning both yours and Loki’s seat reclined backwards. “Well well well, I didn’t realize this was your true intention for the night.” said Loki, showing off a wicked grin. “If you wanted to go a different route, we could have stayed upstairs.” “What? No! I didn’t-” Your face went beet red. You shot up away from the reclined seat when you tried to fiddle with the controls. After a few buttons pressed and smacks on the screens the fireplace video and heat turned off as well as the music. You readjusted your seat before selecting the maps to enter in the location of the club. God I hope they cleaned in here before we got here. You thought to yourself. “We’re never going to talk about this again.” You only heard a chuckle from the god next to you, your heart was beating out of your chest. Why was it doing that? Maybe it was because you were still in shock by the unexpected romance mode the car was set to. Yes, that was it.

___

Driving in downtown New York at night always brought a sense of surrealistic peace to you. The way the lights lit the structures in the distance, the ambiance, the shadows bent in contrast, everything melded together perfectly. You have only lived in New York for less than a year, but you would consider it to be one of the only few places you enjoyed residing in. After the incident in 2012, you fled as far as you could until you reached Maine. For a year it was your shelter, then Pennsylvania for six months, then Vermont for two years, and so on. You jumped from state to state in the northeast area for five years. For even longer you knew that Tony could be your biological father. At any time you could have gone to Stark Tower, to follow the only lead you had read once in a file years ago. Yet you didn’t. Instead you hid from the past of who you were and what you were forced to do. If it wasn’t for the voice in the back at your head screaming you would have left the country the second you had the chance. When you finally had enough of the voice there was only one remedy you knew that could soothe the coarse yells that have been echoing in your ears. The moment you stepped foot in front of the tower, the voice ceased. Now you wished there was another voice to tell you what to do now. Originally your plan was to leave the country, perhaps Paris, find a cozy cottage on the outskirts of town away from the population. Maybe get a cat or two, maybe a bird. The point was to finally be free and forget the past, to finally be alone. But there was a tug in a different direction. The direction that kept you with your friends, Maya and Lilly. A chance to be part of a family with the Avengers, who’s trust you have gained from most of the team the near two months you’ve been there. Even Bucky was slowly starting to initiate conversations with you. Even with the new, unexpected life that was thrown your way, making the decision to leave it behind or stick with it was a sea of voice in your mind. For tonight however, you were going to drown out the voices with liquor, loud EDM, and dancing. All of course while keeping an eye on the Asgardian prince. Speaking of which, you thought that he has most likely never been to an earthling party. “So…” you droned out, Loki’s gaze still out the window, “I’m sure you probably haven’t been to a club on Earth before, so I’m giving you a heads up that this is going to be different than whatever parties you’re used to.” Loki cocked an eyebrow, finally turning his head to you, “And what parties would that be?” “I don’t know. I thought it was more like royal stuff with balls and fancy dresses.” Considering he was a prince and the stories Thor told you about Asgard (not to mention Thor and Loki’s choice of fashion and speech), you only assumed Loki had only been to medieval like parties. Loki smirked, almost as if he was reminiscing about the memories, “We did have parties similar to those on Asgard. However I have observed and even participated in Midgardian-like events.” “Oh yeah? When was the last time you partied or to put it in simpler terms, ‘go out’?” Loki thought for a moment, “The most recent I recall was on Sakaar. True the ruler was a clueless sociopath who wanted everything his way, but he did throw marvelous events.” “He sounds like somebody I know.” You teased, not getting a very positive response from Loki. You changed the subject before an awkward silence could interfere, “We need to make a pit stop before we get to the club.” “What for?” “I didn’t have time to get my friend a gift.” It was only five minutes later when you got to the store Lilly loved. It was a small spiritual shop that sold crystals, candles, all sorts of things that Lilly had interest in. She’s a self-proclaimed witch, which didn’t bother you, except for certain incense she burned that filled the entire apartment, nearly setting the smoke alarm off. Hopefully they sold something that Lilly would like and didn’t have. You turned off the car and unbuckled when you noticed Loki wasn’t moving, “Come on, I’m not leaving you alone.” Loki gave an annoyed look, but quietly obeyed and exited the car. The store was small but had a lot of aisles to peruse. You and Loki definitely were out of place, with it’s dark wood floor and even darker concrete walls. Actually, with Loki’s black suit and demeanor he could fit right in. But you were only there for five minutes tops, not wanting to waste any more time. Going through each aisle you took note of what Lilly would enjoy. Most of the items you knew she already had, except for a few mugs that were cheesy like “Witch Please” or “Witches Be Crazy”. The first thing you needed to do was pick out a birthday card, which thankfully the store had a small display on the side. While reading through the cheesy ones, you settled on a card that had a cat on the cover, but had a thoughtful message on the inside. Looking over to Loki, you found him perplexed at not only the greeting cards, but the general atmosphere of the store. “So this friend, she actually is a witch?” “Yeah, but she doesn’t practice a lot of spells. She mostly does tarot cards and sage burnings.” You didn’t fully understand her lifestyle, but you respected it nonetheless. Loki furrowed his brows before continuing down the aisles. After finding Lilly’s card, you skimmed down the aisle until a book caught your eye. The title read: 101 Love Spells to Spice up Your Relationship. You picked up the book, examining the cover and flipped through a few of the pages, taking notice of the more sensual spells. You actually considered buying it as a joke, until a familiar voice rang in your ear. “I didn’t realize Midgard had spell books, especially of the sultry design.” You jumped from the sudden lack of personal space. Loki was leaning towards your ear, observing the book from your hand. “I’m not buying it.” You blurted, taking a step away that ended more like a shuffle, “I mean, this is just a gag book. I wasn’t actually considering it.” If only you had a mirror to prove to yourself your face was red. You tossed the book back onto the shelf with a thud. Next to it was another book, Spells For Self Care. Flipping through the pages this was the perfect book for Lilly. D.I.Y. organic face masks, spells to calm your mind, even some advice on how to deal with stressful energies. You tucked the book under your arm along with the card, “Let’s get out of here,” you said to Loki, determined for you and him to forget about the conversation prior. The two of you checked out the items along with a gift bag and some colorful tissue paper. You were in there a little over five minutes, but you would still make it to the club in time. The drive was short, but the silence made it feel longer. You didn’t know what to talk about to a literal demigod, and small talk wasn’t your forte in the first place. If it weren’t for the traffic you would speed just a bit faster to get to the club even sooner. What else could you talk about with Loki? So what’s your favorite color? Your hopes and dreams? If you had to marry, kill, or f- “Y/N?” Loki asked. “Hm?” You were so lost in thought you didn’t realize you arrived. “Oh, yeah I’m just looking for a spot.” You pulled into a parking garage a few blocks away. The only space you could squeeze into was on the third story, and just your luck the elevator was out of service, forcing the two of you to walk down the concrete stairs in your heels. When you finally made it to the front of the club, the line wasn’t extremely long, but you remembered Maya saying something about telling the bouncer your name and you were in Lilly’s party. So just as Maya said, the bouncer pulled away the velvet rope, but not before asking about Loki. “He’s with me.” You stated. The bouncer gave a questioning glare, but let him through as well. Before you opened the doors to the club itself, you pulled Loki aside in the lounge. “Before we go in, there are a few ground rules.” Loki rolled his eyes, “I thought we already settled those earlier.” “Yes and no. First off, you’re not allowed out of my sight. If I need to go to the bathroom, my friends are in charge of you. Second, don’t try anything funny. Thor told me you like to play tricks, but not tonight. Are we clear?” He grinned ear to ear, placing his hand on his chest, “I give you my word I will not play a trick on your friends.” “Great.” You nodded, averting your gaze, “And one question, do you think anybody will recognize you?” Loki’s grin slowly faded as he tilted his head, “What do you mean?” “Your reputation isn’t exactly… favorable. I don’t know how much you made the news.” “You didn’t know who I was when we first met.” He had a point, you were a bit busy escaping with your life from actual creatures. “Not many people cared to memorize this face. I’ve been here long enough and nobody bats an eye. Now I must ask you the same question.” You tilted your head this time, “I was told of your predicament. Are you sure no one will recognize you?” To be honest, you didn’t know. You’ve been really good about keeping out of trouble, and you haven’t seen any agents in years. “I’m sure we’ll both be fine.” Loki’s grin curved its way back in, “Great.” You sure as hell hoped you sounded convincing. Not just for him, but for yourself.

[fanficimagery]

Imagine going through the initiation process for Dauntless. It's not all fun and games, but you manage to overcome whatever obstacles are thrown your way once you put your mind to it (Part 2 of 2).

Eric X Reader

Sitting off to the side of the gym, you take the time stretching your legs and loosening up your muscles. Dauntless initiation is no joke and everyone was quick to realize that it was better to stretch before the leaders got their hands on you because you'd be hurting otherwise. But just before you're all set to start jogging around the gym to really get your blood pumping, Eric, Four, and Christina enter the room.

"Initiates! Fall in line," Eric barks. There's a scramble of initiates, you included, to form a line in front of those in charge and your hands immediately clasp behind your back as your feet settle shoulder width apart. "We're going to be training a little differently today. Get some rest, have a meal, and then be ready by sundown."

"Sir?" A brave initiate calls out as the leaders attempt to take their leave. "What exactly are we doing after sundown?"

Christina whirls back around, grinning. Eric tenses and glances over his shoulder, jaw twitching in annoyance, so Four takes the lead less Eric rips into the poor guy. "It's a secret. All you need to know is what Eric told you. Be ready by sundown."

As the leaders then take their leave, you and all the other initiates seem to exhale simultaneously. Chatter immediately picks up as to what it is the leaders have planned, but you head off for some relaxation. It's still morning so there are several hours before you have to be ready, but you have a feeling whatever's planned isn't going to be as relaxing as some initiates seem to be thinking.

You take your lunch a little later than usual, and every hour for about fifteen minutes you head to the gym to keep yourself loosened up. Eric, who seems to live in the gym when not doing other things around the compound, watches to see what you're doing the first time he catches you in there. He stares as you stretch and then raises an eyebrow in question when you take your leave.

"What?" You had grinned over your shoulder. "Gotta keep loose for tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"You tell me, Sir. We're still in the initiation process and yet training was canceled for some mysterious reason? No," you chuckled softly. "I think whatever you have planned for tonight is going to be some form of training and I plan to be somewhat prepared so I don't go down with a painful charley horse."

Eric suddenly smiled and your breath hitched as you came to a full stop. Don't swoon, don't swoon, don't swoon. "Look at you, little Erudite, using your brain. At least someone is."

"I'm taking that as a compliment."

"Wasn't really meant to be one."

"So says you." You sheepishly chuckled and then continued to take your leave. "See you tonight, Sir."

Standing in a train car full of initiates, you can't help but feel smug about your earlier gut feeling being right. The moment you had jumped into the moving train and regained your balance, guns had been handed out as if they were candy.

"Alright, everybody. Listen up!" Four shouts. "Tonight we'll be playing Capture the Flag-"

"But with a little twist," Christina smirks, her own voice raised to be heard over the train as she holds up her own gun.

"We'll be shooting darts at each other, but don't be fooled by them," Eric muses. "While they are not real bullets, they will hurt like one and leave you paralyzed for a minute or so. Don't get shot and you'll have no problem. Get shot and you'll go down hard."

"We'll be picking teams," Four then picks back up. "Eric's team versus my team. When your name's called, head either to my side of the train or Eric's." Eric's smirking as every initiate moves quickly out of the way on his way to the rear end of the train. Then a moment later, Four is calling out his first team member. "Tris!"

Eric rolls his eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall. He lets his eyes roam over the group before his gaze settles on you and you have a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. The sudden gleam in his eyes doesn't bode well for you. "Y/N!"

Several people grumble as you push your way through the group and you keep your gaze straight ahead as to not see the glares being sent your way. Though Eric has presented himself to be a major dick, it seems it did nothing to deter the other females. And while you understand that he's hotter than sin, you're smart enough to keep some distance between the both of you. But him calling you out as the first person for his team? Yeah, that's going to get tongues wagging.

"Don't look so glum, Erudite. We're going to have some fun."

Much to everyone's surprise, Eric was capable of being an even bigger asshole than usual. Losing War Games was not an option for him and thankfully you didn't have to face his wrath by losing. Four's team was good, but not as good as Eric's. However, being chosen first, especially by Eric, did you no favors. Several people were disgruntled and you were continuously targeted throughout the game. Fortunately for you, you were adept at ducking and shooting, but you hadn't counted on the so called friendly fire. Because of petty jealousy, you took a more than a few rounds courtesy of your own teammates.

The following morning, the apparent jealously still hadn't waned and you wondered what the hell happened that suddenly turned the females against you. Because while enjoying your routine shower, naked and vulnerable, you had been jumped from behind when you were distracted by soap in your eyes.

There were two different voices, and each varied in the amount of power behind their kicks and punches. You slipped and slid as you tried to gain some sort of footing, but one or the other kept pushing you back down as they delivered their blows. They grumbled about fucking an instructor, unfair advantages, and unfair scoring. Eric's name was thrown around quite a lot and your own attractiveness was called into question.

But the attack ended soon enough and you lifted your head in time to see the guilty party of two as they realized the extent of their attack before fleeing. Then collecting yourself, you stumbled over to the changing station and toweled off before pulling on some clothes. You glare at the other initiates who stare in surprise as you make your way out, and make your way to the infirmary.

Upon entering, nurse Cecila's smile falters. "What happened?"

You grimace as your stomach muscles spasm. "Fell down some stairs. Got an open bed for me?"

"You're a shit liar, Y/N. Follow me." Managing a grin behind her back, you follow the fiery nurse. You've had your fair share of visits to the infirmary, so it was no surprise you got to know the pierced nurse who never failed to tease you about your crush on Eric. Then hopping up on a bed, you immediately part your knees to give Cecila room so she can inspect your face up close. She tuts as she grabs you by the chin to turn your face from side to side. "This is going to bruise."

"Yeah. Kinda figured that."

"Still wanna stick to your story?" She asks. "This kind of beating seems personal and will result with consequences for the guilty party."

Shrugging, you pull back and sigh. "Like I said.. I fell."

"Mhm." Cecila looks disappointed, but she moves on nonetheless with her check-up. "So how are things with Eric?" You groan. "I heard he picked you first for the games."

"Jesus," you laugh, groaning again when pain pulses in your ribs. "You elders of Dauntless just love your gossip."

"It's boring for those of us with inside jobs. We got to have our fun somehow."

"Oh. I'm sure. Just don't let Eric hear it. I doubt he'll find it as amusing as I do."

Cecila does quick work of checking your ribs and stomach, she declaring that you should feel nothing but soreness in those areas. She cleans out the cut on your lip and cheek, and tuts at the darkening around your eye. And when you refuse to change your story, you follow her back out to the front. But before she can discharge you, the door opens and Eric saunters in.

You tense at the sight of him and then your eyes widen when you see his hand is pressed just above his left hip, blood coating his hands.

"What happened?" Cecila barks, startling you as she rushes to his side.

"New trainee at the wall," he grumbles and lets her lead him where she wants him. "Got hit by a ricochet."

"Sucks for him," you find yourself mumbling.

Eric then takes notice of you and his eyebrow raises at your own appearance. "Get cocky in training, little Erudite?"

Cecila snorts and you shake your head. "I, uh, I fell down some stairs."

His eyes narrow and he bats away Cecila's hands. Walking up towards you, you hold your breath as he reaches up with his hand and his fingertips lightly trail along your jawline. "Wanna run that by me again?" He murmurs. "What happened?"

"I-"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

Your gaze darts just behind him and glare at Cecila's all too smug expression. Stepping out of his reach then, you say, "Don't worry about it. I'll handle it."

"Y/N-"

"Don't." Eric looks surprised at your tone, but you don't let that deter you as you take another step back. "It's my problem and I'll handle my way- the correct way- as soon as Cecila gives me the all clear."

Cecila's smile drops when both you and Eric look at her, she nodding along. "Yep. No sparring for three days, but everything else should be good."

"Good. I'll see you then." Sidestepping Eric's reach and avoiding his all knowing gaze, you make a hasty exit and finally exhale once the door is closed behind you.

For three days you do as you're told. You continue with the training, but are exempt from sparring sessions. Marcy and Eliza, the two girls who had attacked you, tried their best to avoid you. Though when you managed to catch their gaze and kept your expression blank, you took great pleasure in watching them squirm. It seemed like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop and wondered if you had tattled.

But tattling wasn't how you operated. You got even, but you got even the right way.

"Four," you greet the moment Cecila had cleared you for sparring. "I have a request."

Four glances over his shoulder, grinning. "Y/N. What can I do for you?" He turns his attention forwards once more, watching the other initiates spar and learn.

"Marcy and Eliza. I want to fight both at the same time."

"Excuse me?" This time Four's attention is solely on you as he turns around. "What?"

"It seems our little Erudite wants a two on one," Eric muses, sauntering up without a care in the world. His head tilts to the side, staring at you next. "Isn't that right, initiate."

"We have some unfinished business," you say, "and I'm going to finish it the right way. With your permission."

Eric nods, standing up straight and clasping his hands behind his back. "Marcy! Eliza! In the ring."

Four glances between his fellow leader and the two doe-eyed girls as they hesitantly head for the ring. "Come on, man. Is this a really good idea?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. It all depends on how much Y/N holds back."

Four glances at you and you shrug. "My face is the result of their cowardice. I'm only here to set the record straight. They'll live."

Eric snorts and Four frowns, but he gives you a reluctant nod after studying your face and the still obvious signs of a fight. Grinning, you then head towards the ring and let your grin slowly fall the closer you get to the girls. Their eyes widen, both their gazes darting to the leaders.

"Gather 'round, initiates," Eric shouts. "We got ourselves a two on one today." And the moment both feet step onto the mat, Eric gives you the 'go'. "Begin."

Eliza, the more aggressive of the two, lunges first with a yell. She catches you around the waist in an attempt to tackle you, but you plant your feet and hold your ground. Marcy attacks then while you're struggling to remain upright, screaming, but you backhand her with a closed fist before refocusing on Eliza and throwing elbows into her back.

The other initiates are whooping and cheering, and you're so focused on getting Eliza on her knees that you momentarily forget about Marcy. She lands a punch to your jaw, stunning you, and Eliza finally gets you to drop. You attempt to curl up as Marcy lands a few kicks to your back, but Eliza prevents you from doing so. And as Eliza straddles you, you grasp her head between your hands and bring her down to headbutt her. As she falls to the side, you scramble up and tackle Marcy down.

Both girls receive blows to their faces and ribs, and you only stop when you see each of them bleed.

Falling back on your ass, you're heaving greatly while licking blood from your reopened split lip. The girls cough and groan as they roll over to their hands and knees, and you huff while pulling yourself up to your own two feet. "This," you say while gesturing to Marcy and Eliza while looking out at the other initiates, "is what happens when you don't take your training seriously. This is what happens when you spend all class period ogling an instructor instead of paying attention to what they're teaching us." Several initiates snicker and others blush while averting their gazes.

"I don't know who started the rumor that I was fucking an instructor for scores, but they're wrong." Pausing at all the wide eyes, you chance a look at Eric. He's completely tense, arms hanging by his sides and hands formed into fists. Four seems shocked, staring between you and Eric and all the guilt-ridden expressions in the crowd. "My ranking is so high because I try my hardest every day. But even if I were fucking an instructor, it's not against the rules and it'd be none of your goddamn business. Am I clear?"

Several smirks were accompanied by many nods all around. Rolling your eyes, you then stepped out of the ring and stood at rest.

"Class dismissed until after lunch," Four says. "Someone get Marcy and Eliza to the infirmary."

As people made to leave the gym, you marched off towards the exit with less traffic. You're not too beat up so you figure you can skip the infirmary all together, and are still so fueled with anger that you're not paying attention to who's following you.

Turning down an empty hallway, your breath rushes out of you as you're pushed into the wall. Lips crash down onto yours and your shout of surprise is muffled as your hands find purchase on a firm chest in an attempt to push the attacker away. Teeth nip at your bottom lip, you groan- hello weakness!- and arms circle gently around your waist. Though part of you is telling you that this is all wrong, there's another part of you that just wants to go with the flow.

And just as it seems you're on board to return the kiss, the mystery person steps away and you snort a laugh when your eyes to seem to focus. Because there standing before you, with his hands settled on either side of your waist, is Eric. All the fight seems to immediately drain out of you and you slump against the wall. "Did you not hear my grand 'ol speech in the gym?" You mutter. "This," you then gesture between him and yourself, "can't happen."

"Why not? I thought it was none of their goddamn business."

His eyes sparkle and you groan, your hands then laying against his chest. "You're going to be trouble, Coulter."

"As if you didn't already know that." He smirks before pecking your forehead, he then patting your hips before stepping back completely. "Now go see Cecila. She'll want to see you after finding out you sent two girls to her domain and I'm pretty sure she'll want to know if it was either you or I that made the first move."

Your eyes narrow as he starts to back down the hallway. "I am not fueling her gossip tank, thank you very much."

Eric shrugs before fully turning around. "Suit yourself," he calls out over his shoulder. "Just so you know, she'll be even more unbearable if she finds out from someone else."

"Goddammit."

The rest of initiation passes in a blur. The sparring, the gun training, the technology training.. it was all fairly easy and manageable. But it’s the fearscapes that actually almost did you in. The initiation had seemed fairly easy for you up until that point, so many initiates were shocked to see you shaky and crying after a test run through your fears.

But as a promising initiate, a few of those in charge of your class explained how to overcome one's fears. It wasn't easy and you usually came out of the process gasping for breath, but in the final test run you managed to come out of your fearscape with a shaky grin.

And the moment you had your paperwork in hand- paperwork which included your room assignment and surveys to determine where you wanted to end up working- Eric hoisted you up and your legs immediately closed around his waist. He smirked, you glared, and the lunch room's occupants went deathly silent.

"You did this on purpose," you said through clenched teeth.

"It's none of their goddamn business." And though you were annoyed with him for going public right off the bat, you couldn't help but lean down and press a quick kiss to the corner of his lips. "Atta girl." Then patting you on the butt, he let you drop to the ground and took a step back. "Don't look now, but Cecila is staring."

Tensing up, you grumble at his chuckle and his quick getaway. Hearing a throat clear behind you, you turn around with a false smile and sigh in defeat when the nurse in question is staring all smug. "Go ahead, Cecila. Get it all out."

"Welcome to Dauntless."

"Thanks. And?"

"And let me see your room assignment. We should go there before I ask for all the juicy details in front of these lingering, nosy heathens," she then says while glaring at the still dumbfounded faction members. Several startle before everyone goes back to what they were doing before one of their most feared leaders caused a scene for all to see.

"Here." Handing her a piece of paper, you watch her expression carefully as she starts to laugh. "What? What is it?"

"Honey, do you have any idea where your room is?"

You frown. "No."

Cecila's lips twitch as she then hands the piece of paper back. "You're directly across the hall from Eric."

"Sonnuvabitch. Seriously?!"

"Oh yes." She chuckles some more as your face heats up, you not knowing what to think of this all. "I assume that had you not caved to his charms so quickly, he would have pursued you as the chivalrous neighbor." That startles a scoff out of you. "Now come on. Lets go get you settled. I am not missing a minute more of Eric's poor seduction techniques. This is too funny to pass up."

"I'm so glad my awkward relationship with Coulter amuses you so much," you deadpan. "But sure. Whatever. Lets go find out what the hell Eric was thinking."

As Cecila leads the way, she can't but say, "I'm pretty sure he was thinking about having easy access to his girlfriend when he put your across the hall from him," when the coast is clear.

"Easy access," you huff. "This man is ridiculous."

"Yes, well, what Eric Coulter wants Eric Coulter gets."

"Yes," you say, a smile slowly blossoming. "I'm starting to realize that."

Reader tags: @affabletimelady, @xvierrax, @nijiru, @fairytale07, @jdhdbfki837, @jaiboomer11, @capitanostella, @nephitis, @importanttyrantruler, @countryday

[verai-marcel]

First Round’s On You (RDR2 Fanfic, Neighbor AU, 18+, Part 1 of 2)

Summary: Arthur and you finally have your first real date, despite having already, uh, spent some quality time together the previous week. (Both High and Low Honor versions.)

Author’s Notes: Okay, okay, due to popular demand, neighbor AU is now a series. But here’s the kicker: I started this with both High and Low honor versions, so there will always BE both versions. Simultaneously two AUs happening, two Arthurs for YOU, my dear readers. Pick your poison. (OR WHY NOT BOTH)

Tags: high honor: fluff, smut, lovemaking, teasing.

AO3 Link is here.

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

Side A: High Honor

A week ago, Arthur had successfully convinced you to go on a date with him. Granted, he had convinced you by giving you the best sex of your life, but that was beside the point. Things had continued relatively normally, except now when you two talked on the balcony, you stood closer, shoulder to shoulder, and he always gave you a sweet kiss good night.

Three days ago, he had asked you out for dinner. You had been chewing on a software bug for about 30 minutes when he called, and you were so in the zone that you ignored your ringtone. It wasn't until you were done with work that you noticed and listened to his voicemail.

His voice was like a warm blanket that you just wanted to wrap yourself up with, and his diction was charmingly shy. You listened to the message twice, loving how he said your name, how it rolled off his tongue and sounded like he was saying it so reverently.

"...Lemme know if you'd like ta get dinner this Friday. I wanna take you somewhere good."

You quickly texted back.

I'd love to get dinner with you.

***

You heard a few knocks on your door, and your heart skipped a beat. Checking your cute skirt and top one more time in the mirror, you found yourself bounding happily over to the door to open it.

Arthur Morgan, what a sight. Dressed in a button up short sleeve shirt that showed off his biceps, clean jeans that hugged his hips, tan cowboy boots and a worn black cowboy hat, you wondered if he had stepped off the cover of one of those western romance novels because you were sweating, and he hadn't even touched you yet.

"Uh, hi!" you said cheerily, attempting to hide your nervousness.

"Hey there," he greeted, holding out his arm. "Shall we go?"

Your heart fluttered. Beaming at him, you took his arm and he escorted you gallantly down the stairs and to his dinged up pick up truck. He had just washed it; you knew this since you had watched him wash his truck the other day, and of course, he had been shirtless.

With that mental image in mind, you hadn't paid attention as Arthur let you into the passenger seat, got in, and drove off to who knows where.

"So, where are we going?" you finally asked.

"Found a nice place, quiet, serves good food. Thought you might like it."

You tilted your head and looked at him thoughtfully. You've known each other for a full year. He knew you were a woman of simple but quality tastes; a place could serve just hamburgers, but they better be the best damn hamburgers you'd ever eaten.

Part of you was afraid that he'd overthink it and take you somewhere fancy. You really hoped it wasn't; those places made you feel awkward.

As he pulled into the parking lot, your eyes widened. It was a small barbecue joint with a cute outdoor eating area, with two fire pits and some picnic tables.

The two of you stood in line and chatted until you got up to the counter. Ordering your food and then finding a table to sit and wait, you noticed that Arthur was garnering some looks from some of the women around your table.

"Did I mention you look really handsome?" you said to him.

Arthur looked down, the brim of his hat hiding most of his face, but you caught the shy half-smile on his lips.

"Darlin', I ain't even half as good lookin' as you are. You notice all the stares you been gettin'?"

You surreptitiously glanced around. A few guys quickly turned their heads away. A couple more kept eye contact with you. Quickly turning back to Arthur, you smiled at him.

"I only have eyes for you, Arthur."

He looked up at you then, fully smiling.

His name was called, and he got up to get your food, insisting that you sit and relax, that he'd take care of you. So you watched him go, not noticing the man who suddenly sat next to you.

"Hi there," the man said. He was your age and cute in a harmless kind of way.

"Hello," you said neutrally. You had a feeling you knew where this was going.

"Have we met somewhere?"

You raised an eyebrow.

"Oh god, sorry, I didn't mean that to sound like a pick up line. No, I meant, I think I went to high school with you."

It suddenly dawned on you that he was in your class in 9th grade, and had been in your study group. The two of you caught up for a little bit, until Arthur came back, smiling at you and you alone.

“Who’s this?” he asked, politely, but you could tell he was slightly irked.

The man glanced at Arthur, introduced himself, and then told you it was nice seeing you again before quickly excusing himself from the table. Arthur watched him go before turning back to you.

“I turn around for one moment and they start swarmin’,” he mumbled.

“He recognized me from high school, I don’t think he was hitting on me.”

“Were you particularly friendly back then?”

“Oh. No, not really.”

“Then why else would he bother you so many years later?”

You thought about his words as you dug into the delicious plate of meat that Arthur had brought. You two spent the rest of dinner talking, learning about each other and enjoying stories of the past.

***

“So, you wanna see a movie after this?” Arthur asked as the two you walked to his truck.

You wrapped your arms around his beefy arm, pushing your boobs against him. “Can we go home? Watch Netflix?”

He chuckled. “Anything my lady wants.”

***

Halfway through the movie, your eyelids drooped, and you tried and completely failed to stifle a yawn.

“Should I tuck you in, sweetheart?”

“M’fine,” you slurred as you started to fall asleep. You couldn’t fight your tiredness any longer, being wrapped up in a blanket and having Arthur’s arm around you, his body your personal furnace.

***

The sunlight hitting your eyelids made you scrunch your face and turn over. You expected to roll over onto more bed, but instead, you hit a wall. Blearily blinking your eyes open, you realized that there was a body next to yours.

“Arthur?”

The body turned around and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“G’mornin’ darlin’,” he said, his voice deeper, more gravelly. Hearing that voice in your ears made you hot. You got closer to him, wrapping a leg around his hip and grinded against him, feeling him hard and eager underneath his boxers.

Wait.

“What are you wearing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You can feel it, can’t ya?”

You smiled; you could feel that he was wearing nothing but boxers, and you were still fully clothed. Time to rectify that. You removed your shirt, shuffled out of your pants, and started taking off your panties before Arthur’s brain caught up to his mouth.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, a look of awe on his face.

You just winked as your slipped your panties off and flung them across the room. Then you pushed him onto his back and helped him remove his boxers. Seeing his hard cock, your mouth watered, and you smiled at Arthur before bending down and licking the head.

“Fuck,” he gasped. His hand gripped your hair, but didn’t push you down; he just clenched his fist, and then let go, caressing your head as he murmured your name.

You took him into your mouth, listening to his moans and sighs, using your tongue to bring him as much pleasure as you could. You reached down and played with his balls with one hand while you stroked his shaft with the other, sucking on his sensitive tip until he bucked his hips, unable to control himself any further.

You stopped then, not wanting him to get too close just yet. He let out a shuddering breath when you sat up and looked at him with a mischievous grin. He smiled and held his arms out to you. Entwining his hands with yours, you got on top of him, straddling his waist. He helped you take off your bra, and once you were naked, you leaned forward, pressing your breasts against his chest. You noticed Arthur’s cowboy hat on the nightstand, so you grabbed it and put it on.

“How do I look?” you asked in a playful tone.

Arthur took a sharp breath as he felt you push up against him again, your nipples sliding along his skin. He grabbed your ass, kneading your muscles while he shifted his hips, sliding his shaft along your wet folds.

“Ride me, cowgirl,” he commanded in a low voice. You gladly lifted up your hips and guided his cock inside of you.

“So big,” you moaned, feeling him fill you up. You started slowly, getting used to his girth as you moved your hips, taking longer and longer strokes until you were bouncing up and down on his cock happily. He soon grabbed your hips and started thrusting up, controlling the speed and depth as he held you tightly.

“Touch yerself,” he ordered. “I wanna watch you come.”

You reached down and stroked yourself, one hand reaching out for Arthur as you got close. He held your hand, entwining your fingers as he continued to pump his hips. You were so close, the wave of pleasure growing higher with each movement.

“Yer so beautiful,” Arthur rumbled, looking at you passionately. You suddenly felt the wave break, your climax taking you, shaking up your body and making you cry out.

“Arthur!”

“Gorgeous. Now c’mere.” He lifted you up and moved you further up his body until you were sitting on his face. He licked your pussy, tasting your juices, sucking on your already sensitive clit.

“Oh god, what are you doing?” you sobbed as he continued eating you out, his tongue and his lips working a magical spell on you, driving you higher once more as his arms kept you in place, forcing you to just take what he was doing to you. You could not escape, no matter how hard you bucked your hips. Your heart sped up and you felt your pleasure cascade over you once more as you came again, your body spasming from his lips torturing you, his tongue stroking your clit mercilessly.

“Delicious,” he growled as he sat up, wrapped his arms around you, and flipped you both over so you were under him, his body covering yours, moving himself between your thighs. He lifted his hips and entered you once more. Giving you a moment to get used to this position, he started pounding into you, unable to control his strength.

“You feel so damn good,” he said into your ear, his shoulder covering your face, muffling your screams. You bit down on him, and he moaned and fucked you harder than you thought possible.

“I wanna come in you,” he groaned. “Can I?”

“Yes, yes, please!” you begged, whimpering as he grabbed your wrists and held you down while he thrust rapidly, his eyes shut tight as he barreled towards ecstasy, releasing himself with a low growl. He moaned your name as he wrung out every last drop inside of you with a few final thrusts. He managed to keep himself from crushing you as he caught his breath, letting go of your wrists and resting on his arms. You hugged him tight, and he kissed your forehead before rolling off you.

“Did I hurt ya?” he asked, turning back to you.

You shook your head, but Arthur took your wrists and kissed each of them before rubbing them gently.

“Yer wonderful,” he whispered, smiling warmly at you, kissing your fingers.

“So are you,” you whispered back. Snuggling into his warmth, you gradually fell asleep again to the beat of his heart.

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

End Notes: Sweet Arthur, so snuggly. The Low Honor version is next.

[ardentmuse]

Fleece and Fancies (Tequila x Reader)

Kingsman - Tequila x Reader

A request from the lovely @thecaptainsgingersnap: LIAAAAAAAAAA! Your description says fic requests are open, so here I am because I DESPERATELY need Tequila! So can you PLEASE do 25, 45 & 99 from the Love Tropes list??? Love ya doll! (Her Boyfriend’s Jacket, Lap Pillow, You Must Be Cold)

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: mild swearing, sexual innuendo 

Your ankles were crossed as they rested high upon the masonry of the unlit fire pit. The entire Statesman group was still out on the ski slopes, probably would be for a while, but you had decided rest was necessary. A day of such robust physical activity didn’t seem like proper work to you, but it often was in your line of business. A week’s long vacation in Telluride, an “agent bonding trip” as it was framed, was coming to a close as the film financier you had been tracking finally checked in to the resort this morning.

Fun and work were interchangeable you had come to learn in your time with the organization. Really everything in your life was just a strange blur between personal and professional, starting with the lovely man with the southern drawl and dimples so faint you’d almost miss them if he weren’t smirking so goddamn much.

“Hey, sugar, why you lookin’ so glum?” that same voice that always seemed to be echoing in your head called from the edge of the snow. He already had his hands down to unclip his skis and boots, so all you could see was the red that covered the bit of his exposed back and earlobes, his skin splotched, simultaneously frozen from the wind and heated from exertion. He was a sensitive man your Tequila in so many ways.

Your Tequila? Really? Damn, your mind really needed to stop doing these sort of mental gymnastics. If you kept saying these kinds of things in your head, they were eventually going to make their way out your mouth. He’s a friend. Just a friend. You needed to keep repeating that to yourself.

“Cat got that pretty tongue of yours?”

You looked up to see Tequila lounging upon the fire pit, already pulling your booted feet into this lap. He was smiling upon you, his eyes searching your face for answers your mouth wasn’t giving. And the shine of his gaze just pulled your heart further.

“She’s not glum, T,” Whiskey said, startling you with his presence. He took the seat beside you to take his rest as well. “Just frigid.”

You shot Whiskey a glare. He never met your gaze.

“Our ice princess,” he hissed. All you could do was roll your eyes.

Tequila caught your expression and laughed, rubbing his thumbs into your ankles which you hadn’t realized were swollen until he gave them attention.

“Y/N isn’t made of ice but she’s a princess alright,” Tequila said, tossing you a wink, “One I’d gladly wait on hand and foot. A loyal servant of the royal guard.”

You laughed, but before you could respond with words, Tequila’s fingers moved up your leg to massage your lower calves. But immediately upon feeling your skin, he pulled away.

“Jesus, Sweetheart! Maybe you really are ice!” Tequila tentatively touched your leg again, only this time you felt the pulsating heat of his fingers on your flesh, electric and piercing. Maybe you were cold.

“Take our princess back to the cabin, Tequila,” Whiskey said with a dismissive wave, his eyes up the mountain as he pulled out a pack of smokes. “I’ll wait for the rest of the group.”

Tequila just nodded and stood, placing your feet upon the wooden deck. He reached out with his hand to offer you help up and soon you found yourself walking back towards your vacation home.

Once out of sight, you expected Tequila to drop your hand but he didn’t. Instead he interlocked your fingers and pulled your hand into the depths of his coat pocket, leaning you even further into his side. Your better angels had you wanting to pull away but you just couldn’t find the will in yourself to do so. It was nice, overwhelmingly nice to feel the fleece upon your skin, warming your throbbing digits. He seemed to have a hat or gloves buried at the bottom, providing a nice pocket of material for you to explore. And soon the light tinge of sweat from his palms had your knuckles loosening and sooner than you expected your heart was pounding at the intense level of care this friend, just friend, always showed you.

You walked in silence until you could see the chalet in the small valley before you.

“You know,” Tequila began, “I didn’t want to say anything back there, but you have been a little, I don’t know, frigid, recently.”

The air left your lungs and your eyes darted to the ground. You had been doing everything in your power to distance yourself from Tequila, but for that to be interpreted as coldness hurt a little.

“I know. Tequila, I’m so sorry. I just—“

He cut you off with a light laugh. “No need to explain to me, sugar. You be as cold or as warm as you want. Just don’t send me one of those glares you aimed at Whiskey and we’ll be all good, okay?”

You let out a sigh. “Okay.”

When you entered the cabin, Tequila removed his jacket and draped it over the couch before moving to work on starting the fire. His back was to you, broad and inviting under his red henley. Your eyes were transfixed until you felt the cold take your body over once again.

Your gaze moved to the jacket, inviting and still warm with his body hear beside you. Just looking at it had you feeling the the faint scent of him upon your nose. Goodness, you had it bad now, didn’t you?

A hand on your shoulder pulled your from your daze and all you could do was watch as Tequila took his jacket, shook it once, and wrapped it around your shoulders. You were engulfed in him immediately and felt the heat rising in your cheeks for a far difference reason.

The fire was now fully ablaze and Tequila took his position on the couch beside you and without a word simply patted his lap. You looked at him confused.

“You’re cold. You’re tired. We have a busy day tomorrow. Just take a rest.”

You let out a breath and smiled at him before moving your head down onto his strong thighs. His thumb began caressing your shoulder and he lifted his feet onto the coffee table, easing himself into a more comfortable position.

The only sound in the room was the occasional crack of the fire and your heart beat, which you thought for sure had to eye audible now with Tequila so close, his breath brushing against your ear and his hands teasing at the base of your neck.

“I like this,” he said out of the blue just as you were about to fall asleep.

“Yeah, we definitely needed a break before this next big mission.”

Tequila spit out a laugh at your answer.

“No, sugar,” he purred as his hand moved down atop his coat caressing the curve of your waist. “This. You in my clothes, in my lap. Just us enjoying some peace and quiet. It’d be a damn bit better too if we knew for sure Champ wasn’t gonna be here in a couple minutes wanting to game plan.”

You sighed but the breath stuck in your throat as you felt Tequila push down his jacket from your arm and kiss the bare skin of your shoulder.

“I like us,” he said for emphasize, his lips still brushing your shoulder and his eyes intent on his face.

You starred into their depths, the rich hazel always so inviting to you for how difficult it was to take them in. Tequila had a fighter’s face, a strong brow bone with hooded lids that were easy to ignore if you weren’t right beside him. But being this close, close enough to see the darkened center and lightened edges and the…

You pulled yourself up to meet his lips to stop your brain from spinning. His eyes disappeared from your mind but a new sense set in. Feeling. All you were was feeling. The warmth of his coat, the softness of his touch, the tinge of cold still upon your fingers, even now as they were wrapping into the base of his hair, and his lips. His lips - warm, perfect, supple, and sweet - were unhurried but passionate against yours. You expected some surprise or hesitation but none existed. Tequila was only desire and need and the gentle rub of teeth upon your lip, clearly wanting to bite and lick but waiting for the invitation to do so.

But as soon as it started, he pulled away.

You made to speak, to apologize profusely, but Tequila’s blown pupils and reddened cheeks told you it wasn’t needed. He reached down, picked you up by the waist and hoisted you into his lap. You followed his lead, straddling his legs and pressing yourself down against him. He was laughing as you wrapped your arms around his neck, already prepared for more. His puffy jacket was falling off your shoulders, bunching at your elbows like one might wear a feather boa, but you knew you would be heated soon enough.

Tequila’s hands found your waist and he leaned forward to taste you again but a loud whistle from the door startled you both still.

“Damn,” Whiskey said, leaning himself against the doorframe. “I figured you two had it bad for each other but I thought you’d at least have the sense to lock the door.”  

His eyes roamed you like he was imagining what you’d look like in this exact same position but naked upon your partner. The thought had you looking away in nervousness and just a little excitement.

Tequila’s hand came under your chin, pulling your gaze to his. He was smiling at you still and reached down to once again intertwine your fingers as you slowly shuffled back into the seat beside him, though this time the hold carried much more meaning.

Whiskey at the door wasn’t playing you any mind anymore, instead leaning his head out to scream, “Hey, Champ, if you still need someone to take that surveillance suite, I think Tequila and Amaretto would probably be up for the task. Quite eager, I recon.”

You had to laugh. Work and pleasure, always together.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug Kingsman tags: @allonsymexgirl, @eiensteiner, @thecaptainsgingersnap, @madamcadaver. @doct0rstrange

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this, love! It was a little self-indulgent and I’m working on a newish writing style. I hope it flies well.

[willardswritindump]

Days turned to weeks, and most of the time all Odie would get from his battle buddy was quick, harsh glances and puffs of aggravation. The only time they shared conversation was in situations when they were required to. She was intent on following through with her words.

June 3rd, 2525

1800 hours

It was cold, wet and muddy. The Drill Sergeants saw the lovely weather and decided to take the recruits out for target practice. Up on a small ridge lay about a dozen or so Cadets, letting off short bursts from their ARs and BRs that mimicked the thunder in the background.

 Sarah pulled the spent magazine from her BR55, replaced it, and set her iron sights down the firing lane. She fired three consecutive bursts, and nine holes appeared in the targets torso region 100 meters out. The Academy has some skilled students and soldiers, sure, but Sarah seems to have more experience than the rest of the idiots here. She fired two more bursts. Three rounds hit the torso, two the head.

The only one remotely close to Sarah’s skill was Oliver. While she sent well placed bursts into each of her targets at 100 meters he was carefully placing every single shot out of his BR55 into the chest and head of the target at 200 meters. Each one being fast but not so fast as to allow the recoil from the last shot to throw him off. The groupings, one for the heart, one for each lung and one right between the eyes of the target weren’t any larger than an inch in diameter. Just like his oldest brother Christian taught him.

“Well well well, looks like you two fucking psychos were made for each other!”

Their platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Declan Wrtezky said as he kicked each of the cadets in the boot as they continued to fire.

“You two are some of the best shots we’ve seen in a long while, if only you two actually fucking spoke to each other you’d maybe make a decent fucking team!”

"Yes Sir, thank you Drill Sergeant, Sir!"

Sarah kept firing down range, watching her ammo counter tick down with every successful burst.

12.

9

6.

3.

Click.

An empty magazine plops into the mud, ready to be replaced by a clean, fresh one.

“Sir, AXIOS, sir!”

Odie said before continuing to plink away at the target.

6

5

4

3

2

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRING ON THE FIRING LINE!” A loud voice called out over the range.

"Great. Some dumbass probably shot themselves"

Were Sarah's first initial thoughts, which quickly narrowed down to two dumbass tards. "Fuckin Hoffman, probably."

She put her gun to safe, and stood to attention

Without even thinking Oliver dropped the mag and ejected the round from the chamber and placed the weapon on safe before joining Sarah at attention.

“LOOK AT THIS SHIT!” The Sergeant in charge of line said as he walked up and down it holding up a BR with a split and still smoking barrel.

“I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT! FUCKIN AMATEUR! THIS IS WHY YOU CLEAN YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS! NOW WE HAVE A CADET DOWN AND ANOTHER PIECE OF SHIT TO GET FIXED! THESE AINT YOUR GOD DAMN WEAPONS TO BREAK, GET YOUR FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER! Y’ALL AINT SOME SHIT FOR BRAINS GROUP OF INNIES, ACT LIKE YOU ARE UNSC OR I SWEAR I WILL HAVE SUPPLY OUT OF BOOTS BECAUSE I PUT THEM ALL UP YOUR ASSES!”

Sarah swallowed, and with that her pride

"Sir, respectfully, Innies can't shoot for spit. We can, Sir."

She had to say something about them. Test what some of the Sergeants and Cadets actually thought about the still hot topic. At least she can back her words with the proof behind them. Let's just hope speaking out of line is excused for both of their excellent marksmanship.

“WHO SAID THAT!? WHO THE FUCK JUST SAID THAT!” The Sergeant said before whipping and walking back in Oliver and Sarah’s direction “Well well if it ain’t miss charity case, just cause you think y’all shoot good does not give you an excuse TO MOUTH OFF AT ATTENTION FUCK FACE!”

With that Odie’s Hans shot up. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT DANIELS!?” The Sergeant snapped as he turned to him. “Sir with all due respect, she does have a point. She’s the best shot in the company, sir.”

All this chatter and lack of gunfire infuriated the Range Sgt, who looked like he was just about ready to shit his pants. The still smoking rifle not doing him any good, either. He had overheard Daniel's praise of Oliver's shots, and simply didn't believe it; There's no way in hell the shortest Cadet in the platoon was the best shot.

"YOU, YOU SHORT LITTLE SHIT? YOU LOOK LIKE YOU COULD BARELY HOLD MY GODDAMNED SIDEARM!"

Speaking of said sidearm had given the Sergeant an idea.  Storming up to the recruit, he grabs his M6G, flips it, hands it to Sarah, and points to the 500m lane. He wasn't outright screaming now, but there was definitely rage, angst, and disbelief in his rough, dry voice

"Tell ya what, short-stack. You empty this entire magazine into the head of that target over there, and I just might let you and your Battle Buddy off the hook for my broken goddamn gun. Miss a single round, and I'll make sure this entire FUCKING platoon never forgets-"

Oh damn.

Odie's face remained neutral as his gut felt like it dropped. He knew Sarah was a good shot, but this would've been a tall order for even an experienced marksman, let alone a new cadet from the outer territories. "Aye Aye Sir." was all he said in response

Sarah gave a quick nod of responsibility, and took her NCO's sidearm

"Sir."

She made her way over to the 500m line, readied her position and steadied her aim. The safety flicks off her Magnum, simultaneously with the pit pats of light rain against its metallic bull-barreled hull. See, The Sergeant knew there was no goddamned way anybody was gonna make those shots, least not without any sort of Neural Implants for aim assist on the bigass pistol lacking iron sights. He thought Sarah wouldn't have any goddamn chance with a clunky, sightless M6 Magnum

 BLAM

 Fire spat from the hand cannon, and with it a spinning messenger of "Fuck this guy in particular." The targets head exploded like a damn watermelon. Sarah smirked, and the animatronic figure slammed to the ground, summoning another one just near it.

 BLAM

 He met the same fate as his comrade.

 BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM-

 Half of their piers nearly shat themselves at her unbelievable accuracy. It was borderline inhuman, targets would fall in perfect succession of each other.

 It sure was a good thing the Range Sergeant wanted Oliver to succeed in her endeavors, which is why he immediately ordered her go prone and fire with her belly-up, insisting in a somewhat elevated tone:

"YOU WILL NOT ALWAYS HAVE THE PRIVELEGE OF CHOOSING WHERE YOU WISH TO FIRE FROM, CADETS. YOU WILL LEARN THIS NOW AND IT JUST MIGHT SAVE YOUR PATHETIC FUCKING LIVES."

 She did as ordered, getting mud and shit in her hair and face. She steadied her right arm above her head, and held her forearm with her left. She could barely make out the dot on the other side of the lane. Closing in on her kill count, Sarah begins to pace her shots.

 BLAM

  BLAM

  BLAM

     BLAM.

All targets neutralized. She stood to her feet, flipped the M6 around, and handed the empty gun back to her superior.

"Sir... Done."

For once something made it through Daniel’s blank exterior, that thing being a smirk.

“Sir, I believe my point is proven, Sir.” He said in a completely neutral tone, he knew this entire act of rebellion was pushing it, sarcasm despite how much he wished to use, would most likely defeat all the hard work his battle buddy had put in.

"Jesus Mary Joseph..."

The Range Sgt looked over to Wrtezky, who returned a hidden face of pure and utter shock. He slowly grabbed the gun and stared at Sarah dead in the eyes. His words were calmer now than they'd ever heard

"That was the best fucking shooting I've seen in years."

"You two, Take your weapons to the armory, and then PROPERLY CLEAN THEM. No amount of divine intervention will save your ass if you don't clean my fucking rifles. Dismissed."

 "Sir."

She picked up her empty BR55, gave Odie a quick glance, and began her way to the armory.

 Sgt. Kozlov turned to the other Cadets, half of which were almost shivering.

"THE REST OF YOU SHIT-HEADS GET TO DO WHAT IT SEEMS THIS PLATOON WAS MADE TO DO. YOU FUCKERS GET SHITTER-DUTY FOR A MONTH!

Daniels followed quickly behind Oliver, silently celebrating his small victory in the safety of his head. Once the two were out of earshot Daniels piped up.

 “Excellent work out there Cadet Oliver, looks like we got second platoon out of shitter duty.”

 Oliver tapped on the side of his rifle which was kept a crisp low ready for the entirety of the walk back to the barracks

"Can it, kiss-ass. I don't need to hear the opinions of a bastard's son, and I don't need a brown nose to give me a gold star every god damn time I do what I do. Now please, shut the hell up."

 Her tone seemed somewhat disgusted and agitated, and her face had a similar look. She flipped her almost muddy bangs to the side, and sighed.

 "Whatever. C'mon, armory is east wing."

“No no listen here I have taken a lot of shit from you and just let it slide! If I hadn’t of said anything you would’ve just gotten yourself screwed even more!”

Something in Odie finally snapped, after weeks of staying quiet and taking whatever abuse Sarah would throw at him, he finally snapped.

“So what if my father is a piece of shit, hate to break it to you but. I AM NOT HIM!”

“You know what, fuck you bitch.”

Daniels said surprisingly calmly as something inside him finally broke, after all the abuse he suffered from Sarah in the weeks spent together. He calmly took the buttstock of his BR and slammed it hard into the back of Sarah’s head.

“How’s that for tough!”

"Ow, Vycher kotny piss da! -"

Or at least that's what Odie heard the stumbling girl say. Sarah held her head where the butt of the gun said hello for a brief moment, steadying herself. She shakes her head thrice or so, washing it off. Sarah then griped her rifle like a baseball bat and smashed it into the side of Odie's lower leg, sending him falling to the cold, hard ground. She raises the firearm above her head, as if to pummel the stock into his nose.

“Scheisse! Du Rotzlöffel Hurensohn!” Odie yelled as he reflexively kicked Sarah square in the groin and knocked her off balance, then using his other food to trip her. Through the pain in his leg he threw himself on top of Sarah and started to throw punches at her face. He didn’t want to knock her out, or incapacitate her like most people he caught, all he wanted to hurt her as much as possible.

Sarah was able to block a fair portion of the blows to her face, before tucking both of her flexible legs in between them and slipping a hidden blade from beneath her boot, giving Odie a pretty damn fairly painful but probably non-lethal gnash on his left abdomen as she kicked him away, before immediately jumping to her feet. She wiped a trail of blood coming from her nose, and spat out pink fuzz to the side.

"Sova i zmeya. You're outmatched."

“Ich bin der Adler!”

Odie’s anger and adrenaline outweighed the knife wound and all that was on his mind was making Sarah hurt. Odie charged and tackled her back down onto the stairs before grabbing the hand with the knife and continuing to pummel her face and kneeing her in the gut and groin. “Fuck you!”

She used her left hand to give Odie one hell of a deck on the chin, then immediately kicked him off again, sending him staggering back. She reached her arms behind her head, tucked in her legs, and then sprung both out, hopping to her feet. Whilst Odie was recovering, Sarah flipped the knife to it's blade, stuck her left hand in front of her, and was ready to throw. A stab from it's 6" blade could easily be fatal. Odie could almost feel his eyes dilating in "Oh shit." As her arm went back, a mysterious figure jumped from the shadows and tackled her to the ground, sending the knife flying to the grass. The figure shouted out in a voice Odie couldn't possibly forget.

 "FUCKING CRAZY BITCH-!"

 It was Hoffman, and behind him his battle buddy, some ginger chick named Christina Roads. Hoffman held his elbow at Sarah's neck, and had his right fist aimed and ready to pound in her face. He looked over to Daniels, who's entire left side was covered in blood. It looked worse than it was, for sure.

 "Jesus Chris- You okay dude?! Goddamnit, Christie! Get him to the Infirmary, NOW!"

 Hoffman gave Oliver one hell of a nasty look, and tightened his fist.

 "Give me a reason to get more involved, I swe-"

"Hoff, she needs medical attention too. Hitting her will get us both knee deep in shit just as much as them. You don't know what happened"

 The ginger's voice was almost raspy, kind of dry. Sarah smirked

 "I know what happened! This crazy bitch stabbed Odie! Uuuuugh, fine! Get up! Pull another trick and I'll break your kneecaps."

 Hoffman released Sarah, as she stood and wiped blood from her nose.

 "Thanks, hot stuff."

"Shut up."

"C'mon, Infirmary's this way..."

As he was escorted to the infirmary Daniel’s consciousnesses faded in and out as he quietly babbled nonsense in German interspersed with the occasional

“I fuckin had her.”

As soon as he made it inside, he finally blacked out

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Are you still writing "A Hundred Lesser faces"? Don´t stop there - that was perfectly wonderful, but I want more. I need more. What happened next? What about Jenny!!?? What Laoghaire? ... What about Fraser Ridge? Do you planing another chapters?

A Hundred Lesser Faces: Eleven

Section One {A Hundred Lesser Faces} what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? :  [(One) (Two) (Three) (Four) (Five) (Six) (Seven)

Section Two {A Hundred More}, the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together [(Eight) (Nine) (Ten) ]

Eleven 

Previously: Jamie and Claire are still at the Inverness inn to which they traveled after reuniting at the stones (in the nick of time). After talking through a number of things, particularly Claire’s built-up fears around sex, they managed it….with distinction :D. They fell asleep happy and safe in one another, having experienced that sense of ‘heat and light’ together that they each have lacked for so long.

Waking to see the morning sunlight igniting his curls into radiance, framing his still-sleeping face…. 

Watching him, waiting eagerly, as though for a shooting star, to perhaps glimpse a fleeting, somnolent smile…

Leaning over and kissing his face, smoothing away that long, beautiful hair and whispering a secret that only his dreams would know: 

‘God…how I do love you, Jamie Fraser….’

Yes, that’s how I would have LIKED to awaken on this blissfully-complete morning. 

As it was, I was JOLTED out of sleep by a great cataclysm taking place on the mattress beneath me and a stream of unintelligible curses ricocheting around the walls like so many whizzing demons straight out of the bloody pit. 

“JESUSHAYCH—Rizz—Vel— SHHHIT—” 

Damn me, I couldn’t manage to get my tongue to catch up with my brain or my eyes to unblur, but I managed to rally and slur out like a lunatic: “HURT??”

“M’back,” came the strangled reply as my hands found him. 

As my eyes adjusted, the room revealed my bare-arsed husband contorted into an impossible shape on his side, trying to both clutch at and keep from moving the muscles of his lower back.  

“Roll onto your belly,” I instructed at once, supporting his hips with both hands to help keep the motion steady. Lord, I thought he would lose a tooth at any moment from how tightly that jaw was clenched against the pain.  “Has this happened before? Did you injure it? When? Wh—”

“Sassenach, a moment,” he moaned. Using the strength of his arms, he  lowered his chest the few inches to the mattress with a great gasp, exhaling stertorously before answering. “Not injured, not anytime that I can recall, but aye, this has happened bef—gahh—” Another shudder as he laid his forehead to rest on his arms. “Several times over the last few years. Canna explain it, it just—Christ— seems to come on as it damn well pleases.”

“And in the times that it’s happened?” I balanced on my knees as I ran my hands over his bare skin, checking for any herniation or trace of a tear, though I thought either to be unlikely.  “What have you done to get rid of it?”

He gave an approximation of a shrug. “Waited for it to pass.”

“For how long?”

“One, maybe two days.”

“Of course you did, bloody hero.”

Laying both palms flat on the small of his back, I applied a gentle pressure, then jumped as he arched in a great spasm of pain. He was strung tight as a bowstring, the poor man, the muscles taut and convulsing like mad. 

“But where are ye going?” he blurted in acute distress as he felt me leave the mattress. “Sassenach, please, dinna—”

“If you lasted one or two days in pain last time,” I said firmly, adjusting my blanket toga at the door, “you can wait twenty minutes for me to fetch some oil and hot water.”

It actually only took ten.

“The cook was very helpful,” I explained as I carefully climbed back onto the bed with my tray of supplies. “Grinning at me like a cat in cream all the while. Do I have you to thank for that, by any chance?”

An interrogatory grunt. 

“Ded ye have a PLAYSENT evening, then, lassie?’ I drawled in imitation of Ms. Fiona’s jocular teasing below. “Ye wairked him that WEE BET too hard, sounds to me! Och, but I’ll wager he’s no’ altogether fashed aboot et, backache or noo! Ye braw wee thing!” 

“Terrrrrrible,” Jamie laughed, then instantly regretted it. 

“Oof, sorry, darling, here you are,” I said, sobering at once and lifting the hot brick wrapped in rags. “Show me where?”  Feeling the gentle heat settle on the spot, Jamie moaned again, but this time in relief. “Try to relax your back as best you can, my love….That’s it….Let the heat soak in….try not to tense up again….Good….This will help, I promise.” 

I couldn’t help admiring him while he lay obediently still, stretched out on his belly like a cat in the sun. His body, though not quite as it had looked at twenty-five, was still firm and beautifully fit. It seemed—fuller, somehow; muscled, certainly, perhaps even more densely than before, but with a less chiseled aspect, to my eye, that paradoxically made him look all the more more powerful. 

I couldn’t resist laying a hand on his buttocks to feel the neat, shaped muscles beneath. He started a bit, but then relaxed, humming a happy, contented note. “It’s wonderful to have ye touching me again, Sassenach,” he said huskily.

“It’s wonderful to do the touching,” I murmured, meaning it. I surveyed him eagerly, each long-lined limb and gentle curve, and felt a sudden twinge of something like annoyance. “How bloody have you managed to stay so fit?” 

I mean honestly! The man was a goddamned Adonis. 

He snorted, but answered readily enough. “A bachelor’s diet… That in addition to lifting heavy crates and operating the printing press day after day—It all does a man good, I suppose.”

“Evidently so!’ I adjusted the position of the brick. “Truly, you look wonderful, Jamie, whatever you did to maintain yourself.”

“Well, I…” He stopped, sounding surprised and a little hesitant. “Ye ken, I suppose I’m grateful that, in all the confusion and rushing about, I didna have much time to worry about my vanity.” 

“Didn’t you?” 

“I had to catch ye first, after all,” he said, with a smile, reaching back to touch my thigh. “But I do wonder…. Do I look verra much an old man, Sassenach? Seen now in all my flesh, I mean?” 

“Old?” I shorted. “At three-and-forty? Hardly.” 

“Well, but many a man in this time looks considerably the worse for years at such an age, Sassenach. Surely you’ll remember that yourself, from before.” 

“True… but you’re hardly the sort likely to waste away from bodily neglect, Jamie Fraser.” 

“No, indeed,” he said, smiling and sounding more than a bit relieved. “I did always—well—” 

He broke off, shyly, enough so that I was grinning like a fool in anticipation of the secret he obviously wanted to share. “What did you do, exactly?” 

He shrugged, and this time, it didn’t hurt him. “I tried to do all the wee things ye’d taught me, ken? Cleaning my teeth of an evening or dipping a blade into boiling water before touching food wi’ it, and the like. Eating live things, as often as I could, too.” I was beaming, but he wasn’t finished. “Even when I was in prison, I made it my duty to see that all my men ate as many green plants as could be scavenged, to ward off the scurvy, so….” He broke off, still that shy, pleased smile in his voice. “Those things could only have helped in terms of preservation, aye?” 

“Most definitely,” I said, genuinely touched and not a little choked up. “The nutrition, especially.” I couldn’t help bending over him and kissing the warm skin behind his exposed ear, then the russet curls above. “Thank you for taking it all to heart and taking care of yourself; and doing your best to share it. I do hope it helped others, but if it meant that you alone were able to keep all your teeth, then I’ll still thank my lucky stars.” I kissed his temple. “And on a purely aesthetic level…’all your flesh’ looks incredible, Jamie.”

“That’s most kind of ye to say, mo nighean donn,” he said, his voice a soft purr in his ever-relaxing state. “I’m no’ saying this only to be kind in return, but…” He turned his head to lay on one cheek, craning his neck around. With a fiendish grin, he tugged the blanket from out of its tuck under my armpits and growled in soft appreciation at the sight left in its wake. “Ye look unbelievably fine, yourself.”

I flushed and grinned, for, much to my own surprise, I believed him, my not inconsiderable insecurities and fears of the night before having evaporated into the dawn. “Ten or more years of working on one’s feet does a lass good, herself, I suppose.”

“Your feet?” he grunted as he reluctantly turned his head back forward, his voice muffling into his arm. “How do ye mean?”

Had I not mentioned in the letter? No….I suppose I hadn’t been able to bring myself to say much about what *I* had been up to in our twenty years apart. It had been easier to focus upon the news of Bree. No use giving him anything of me to drive him mad, I’d thought at the time. 

Shaking off the remembered despair of that day, I brightened and said, a little shy now, myself,  “After Bree was grown old enough to go to school, I got my medical degree. I became a doctor.”

Jamie’s head whipped back around over his shoulder, a movement simultaneous with the immediate unbidden ‘GAHH!’ of pain that ensued. 

“CAREFUL!!” I snapped, “Don’t you dare thrash about like that! Lay your head back down this minute!”

He obeyed, grunting and wincing, but tugged me up toward the pillows so he could look me in the eye without twisting. His eyes were wide and blue as he stared. “Ye became a doctor? A physician?”

“Yes?” I said, suddenly rather nervous, given the intensity of his disbelief. “Erm….a surgeon, more specifically, a doctor that cuts people up to fix the ailments inside the body— cutting out sickness and so forth, then stitching them up again. It’s…” I cleared my throat. “Well, it’s a rather prestigious specialty, even as far as physicians go.” 

“Claire…. That’s—” He’d been watching me intently as I spoke, his smile growing wider and wider. Now, he was unabashedly beaming. “That’s marvelous, lass. Did ye no’ say once that all the doctors were men?”

“I was the one and only woman in my class,” I admitted, glowing with no little pride under his eye. 

“Oh, well done, Sassenach!” He beamed up at me, running his hand over my leg, squeezing. “Tell me ye showed them all up tidily—Made them think twice or thrice about underestimating a woman’s capabilities?” 

I grinned and nodded. “Made something of a point of it, I must say.” 

He laughed, delighted. “God, how I should have loved to see the looks on their faces.” 

“Well, it wasn’t always good fun, seeing those faces, but the end satisfaction more than compensated for the occasional nastiness.”

Removing the brick from his back, I poured some sweet oil into my palms. As the heels of my hands met the now-supple skin, he gave an ecstatic groan of pleasure. 

“Lord, Jamie! You’ll give Fiona even more to smirk about if you carry on like that!”

“Feels grand,” he said in his defense into the pillow.

“So I can HEAR! Wake the whole tavern, why don’t you!”

Despite the rather lewd soundtrack, the massage did work wonders, and soon, he was able to move his head and neck about with no pain to the strained back. “Whatever it was about the profession that kept ye on your feet,” he said, doing so to look back at me again, “it did do ye much good. I mean, Christ, lass, ye look scarcely a day over thirty.” 

I snorted so loudly my hands skidded off his rump and the resultant disturbance made the bed timbers squeak. 

“It’s true!” he insisted, almost affronted. “I mean, look at ye! What is your age? Forty….?”

“Forty-eight.” I groaned with all the agony of defeat, working my thumbs into the base of his spine.

“Mm-HM!” he grunted in triumph, a suspicion confirmed. 

“….What?” 

“Witch.”

“Where I come from, witches are well-known for looking old,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And if I’m a witch, what does that make you, being married to one, mm?”

“Happy. Lucky.”

“Too right!” 

I could feel the muscles easing under my hands. “You know, I’m fairly confident I massaged you like this once or twice before.”

“I recall. My neck was terribly tight once on Charlie’s campaign, and ye sorted it right out. You’ve always had a good touch, mo chridhe.”

“Did it not occur to you to try massage, then, those other times you threw out your back like this? Rather than waiting about for days for it to pass on its own?”

A too-long pause followed, and when he spoke, his voice was clipped. “Aye, it did.” 

I let the silence ask the question for me. 

“There are verra few people I’d allow to see my bared back, Sassenach…. let alone touch it.”

And somehow, that single statement made me sadder than nearly anything else could in relation to what Jamie’s life had been like since we parted. 

I wondered suddenly whether he had allowed Laoghaire, but then banished the thought, feeling it an intrusion even to speculate on the possibilities. Still, to have no one in his life—either to hand when needed, or at all—who could do such a task for him; no one he trusted enough to render him such an intimate service… 

I leaned down, filled with tenderness and heartache, both, and kissed his shoulder, then the broadest of his scars, laying my head gently upon him, just to have him know I was there. Here. Always, 

My heart thumped with a sudden warmth, a memory. He’d allowed me to see these scars that first night at Leoch. For whatever reason, by whatever nudging of fate, he’d decided to trust me, nearly at once, before I even knew his real identity or he, mine. 

The shoulder beneath my cheek heaved with a slight shrug. “You’ve always been a special case, my Sassenach.”

“Mindreader,” I muttered in mock-accusation, planting one more kiss and sitting up, grateful for the lightening of the mood. “Bloody great warlock.”

As I finished the massage, he stretched and began to sit up with intake of breath that, quite suddenly, broke off; not in pain, but from an unspoken word abruptly halted. 

“What is it? Does it still hurt?” 

“No, it—Well, a bit, still, but no, I can move now, at least. Only…would ye be willing to have a look at my leg as well? Medically speaking, I mean. It doesna pain me all the time,” he added hastily with a sad smile, “and certainly not at the moment, but as you’re a physician now?” 

My gut clenched. I had all but forgotten the passage from the Lord Melton’s journal. ‘A great wound, festering and pustulant.’ I swallowed, nodded, and whispered, “Of course, Jamie.”  

He rolled onto his back, eyes carefully cast aside, though I don’t think it was lost on him that it took all my will and restraint not to gasp from the shock and grief that welled up in me at the sight, the sheer fury at whoever had dared to hurt him so. The fact that a twenty-year-old wound could still look as gruesome as that—

“Jamie,” I moaned in a whisper, spanning my hand across his thigh to better see the eight full inches of twisted, ghost-white scarring running up the thigh and toward his groin. “My God.”

“It’s no’ a pretty sight, certainly,” he said, uneasy, reaching for the blanket, meaning to cover himself. “I’m sorry, lass, ye dinna have to—”

“No!” I breathed, reaching out my other hand and laying it over his belly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it—It just—” I swallowed, but the lump in my throat still remained as I looked into his face. “It makes it so real…. What you went through. You didn’t die, but—God, how you suffered.”

He opened his mouth several times, different responses dancing through his eyes. In the end, all he could do was nod. 

A tear rolled down my cheek as I ran my thumb across the mangled bit of scar barely covering his femoral artery. “How on earth did you survive this?” I whispered. 

“….Jenny.”

The silence rang around us for a long time, unbroken.  

Jenny, beloved sister who had watched over him all his life, who had saved it after Culloden; to whom I must owe my own, if she personally had stood herself between him and this certain death, refusing to let it claim him. 

….Jenny, who out of spite and God-knew-what-else, had nearly cost us both this second chance at a life together. 

However would we—could we ever— reconcile the two?  

“I suppose,” Jamie sighed, reading my thoughts once again, “we really must be discussing what’s to be done, about Jenny. Laoghaire. Us.” 

I nodded, knowing he was perfectly correct, but with my own thoughts still many, many years away, on Culloden field, where my heart had lain and suffered. On impulse, I bent over him and kissed slowly along the entire length of the scar, pressing my cheek against his thigh afterward, as though touch and sheer will and desperate love could erase the vestiges of his agony, all of it. 

“I’m glad ….that ye didna have to see me that way, Claire, when I lay in fever…” His voice was choked and hoarse with emotion. His hand came to rest on my scalp, warm and complete as an embrace.  “…..but I’d have done anything to have ye there wi’ me, even so.”

I reached up and found his other hand, squeezing hard. “So would I.” 

[breakfastatwonhos]

Gone Bad

➳ Pairing: Lee Minhyuk X OC ➳ Genre(s): Non-Idol AU, Fluff ➳ Word Count: 2317 

Summary: Dog walking is not the easiest thing to do when the dogs are thinking completely different things than you are. 

A/N: I made this for @tokyoblack aka (Christmas Cupcake) for the Secret Santa exchange. A super cute fluffy Minhyukie! Technically I was supposed to start yesterday but I’m ahead in Korea lol. Anyways I hope you enjoy this!

Panic filled you as one of the many leashes you held in your hand slipped from your grasp and fell to the ground. Sensing its new found freedom, the little Yorkie attached to the other end, affectionately known as Bubbles, bolted off in the direction of destination unknown. With its little tail wagging and it’s barks echoing in the distance, the dog refused to stop as you chased after it. “Bubbles, get back here!” You yelled. “Sit! Stop!!” But the dog continued on its journey. With five dogs, ranging in all different shapes, sizes, colors, and breeds, running along side of you as you continued to chase the Yorkie, who was now happily chasing a butterfly, you secretly found yourself hoping the day couldn’t get any worse than what it already was. Somehow you knew it would. You had an inkling in your bones. A funny feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Damn it!” You cursed, as the thought of turning on your heels and letting the dog run off crossed your mind. You inhaled deeply, knowing that you couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to live with that on your conscious. So you continued chasing the dog, screaming at it to stop and sit, it did neither. The sound of snickering, the stares, and the blatant pointing of the park’s other occupants, at you, did nothing to calm you down. To add insult to injury, Bubbles was now looking at you, watching you and the other dogs run towards her with her tongue hanging our of her mouth and what looked like a smile on her precious little face. Just as you reached to grab her leash, Bubbles ran off once again. You threw your hands up in the air in frustration, simultaneously releasing the other leashes you held in your hand. Each of the dogs, except the old Boxer, Min, and the small Pomeranian, Princess, took off running in various directions. Now, instead of one dog being on the loose, you had four. You quickly grabbed the leashes of Princess and Min, and took off in the direction of the Poodle, Missy. Missy grabbed a tennis ball that landed near her feet, put it in her mouth, and ran towards you. You laughed, watching as Missy dropped the ball at your feet. You picked up her leash and the tennis ball. Tossing it back to the owner, you yelled thanks, although from the look of confusion etched on her face, you could tell she had no clue how she just helped you. Looking around the park, you searched for the other three dogs. Your eyes landed on the Great Dane, Percy, who was drinking water from an automatic doggy fountain. Running as quickly as you could, you took control of Percy’s leash without alerting the dog, who was too busy lapping up water with its huge tongue. With four dogs in your control, you felt things were looking up already, that is if you could locate Bubbles and the Dalmatian pup, Bells. Bubbles ran pass you with Bells on her tail. You tried grabbing her leash, but was unsuccessful, however, you stepped on Bells’ leash, stopping the puppy with ease. Bells turned to face you and as you bent to get her leash, she licked your face. You laughed, scratching behind her ears. “That’s a good girl, Bells. Maybe after we get Bubbles, I’ll give you a treat.” Bells kicked her hind legs, wagged her tail happily and barked several times. Standing fully, you looked around the park, hoping to see Bubbles. As your eyes roamed over the plush greenery of the park, your eyes caught Bubbles. She was playing with another dog, a German Shepard. Both dogs chased each other with the German Shepard, running away from Bubbles. As Bubbles leaped onto of the other dog’s back, he ran away. You shook your head at the apparent game of tag the two dogs were engaged in. The owner of the German Shepard laughed and as the infectious sound greeted your ears, you stopped in your tracks. The sound was boisterous and almost jolly. It was not what you expected to come from the frame your eyes were locked on. His blonde hair was cut short, and over those deep brown expressive eyes that were now crinkled into two small slits and held a child like gleam, were two thick eyebrows. His whitened smile was simply breathtaking and in revealed a set of dimples in his lightly tanned cheeks. To sum it up, the man was handsome. Downright, sinfully sexy. Beautiful. You found yourself slipping into a blissful, euphoric world each time his laughter rang out in the air. The chirping of the birds faded. The blaring of car horns, disappeared. Even the constant chattering of couples enjoying the sunny June day was muted. The only sound that filled your ears was the rapid drumming of your heart and his angelic voice as he called out to Bubbles and his dog. Just as fast as you were able to slip into this peaceful revenge, you were pulled back to reality when several of the dogs began barking and pulling away from you. Your eyes traveled in the direction of what caused the commotion. A squirrel. You shook your head and turned back to the man, who was headed towards you, with Bubbles in his hand and his own dog trotting beside him. “I think she belongs to you.” He handed you Bubbles, who licked your face. You nodded, accepting Bubbles from the stranger. “Yes, she does. Thanks!” He smiled, “No problem.” Instantly your heart rate kicked up and the air that you held in your lungs was knocked out of you with such force, you staggered backwards a few steps. Sure you witnessed the beauty of his smile while he played with both dogs, at a distance, but your body was not ready for how it would effect you once you experienced it up close and personal. You felt the painful tightening of your chest against the white cotton shirt that boasted your best friend’s name and contact information for her dog walking business. His eyes traveled from the red hat that covered the unruly mass of hair on top of your head, down to your knockoff designer shades, over the shirt, down to the pack of dogs that sat at your feet, finally back to your eyes. He smiled as he ran the tip of his tongue of his lips, revealing the most perfect set of teeth you’ve ever set eyes on. Damn, you thought, suddenly feeling self-conscious. You ran the tip of your tongue over your own set teeth. “So, you own a dog walking business?” You raised a questioning brow. He motioned towards your shirt. You followed his gaze and found yourself laughing at the momentary brain fart he caused you to have. “No, actually I don’t.” It was his turn to raise one of those thick eyebrows your fingers itched to trace. “Oh really?” You nodded, “My best friend does. She likes to walk dogs on the weekend so she started her own business.” You looked down at the dogs then back at him. “She twisted her ankle a few days ago and I’m filling in for her this weekend.” His smile grew wider. “Aww, that’s nice of you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Minhyuk.” You offered him one of your hands and as soon as the two of you made contact, you felt a surge of electricity flow between the two of you. It was so strong, so overwhelming, you both flinched. You quickly let go of his hand. “And this is Polo.” He said, gently rubbing the top of the German Shepard’s head. “Say hi, Polo.” The dog barked and you chuckled. “I’m El. Allow me to introduce you to my 4 legged friends”, you said with enthusiasm. “This is Percy, Missy, Bells, Min, Princess, and you already know Bubbles.” With each name you said, you raised the leash belonging to the corresponding dog. Minhyuk ran a free hand over each of the dog’s heads. “Do any one of these dogs belong to you?” You shook your head. “No”, you answered sadly, “but Bubbles actually belongs to my best friend.” You saw what looked like disappointment flash in Minhyuk’s eyes before disappearing and you wondered if your lack of furry companion, just caused you to lose the chance in getting to know him better. “With my job, I travel the world and can’t take a pet with me.” You explained, feeling as though an explanation was needed. But his lack of response was not the reaction you were hoping to garner. Recognizing the opportunity of building a friendship, or more, with him came and went, you realized with a soft sigh. “Well thank you so much for getting Bubbles for me. She got off her leash and I chased her all over the park.” You laughed nervously, hoping the tension would somehow dissolve. It didn’t. “It was nice meeting you Minhyuk.” Without waiting for him to respond, you began to speed walk toward the entrance of the park, wanting to forget today’s episode. A deep, red flush crept over your face. Regret settled in. You knew all along that the meeting of someone as handsome as Minhyuk was too good to be true. You reminded yourself of that sinking feeling you had in your stomach, no more than thirty minutes ago, that the day would get worse. And you’d been right. You shook your head, needing to shake the feelings that slowly began washing over you, away. Allowing yourself to wallow in self pity would not make the events of the day change. You knew, as well as anyone else, that things in life happened for a reason. That people are brought into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. And because you were now leaving the park alone, well not totally alone, you still had 6 energetic dogs that you came with, you knew that meeting Minhyuk was suppose to be nothing more than a friendly hi and good-bye. Like a gentle breeze caressing the face on a balmy summer day. It offered temporary relief. Meeting him caused all sorts of wondrous feelings and thoughts. But why? You shrugged, not really knowing the answer. Not truly understanding how one man’s smile, that man’s smile, made butterflies flutter against the lining of your stomach. Why was it that, with him, you felt free. As if the constraints, that once held you back, were suddenly removed. Your mind was working overtime with many questions that you somehow knew would never be answered. The chance to explore those questions in hope of gaining their answers, had been snatched away from you. Maybe it was predestined. You scoffed. You were never one to believe in destiny. Well, not to the extent of how other people did. You were the master of your fate, the captain of your soul. As you turned the corner of the park’s entrance, the barking of a dog, in the distance, caught your attention. You stopped and looked around, suddenly becoming paralyzed as the sight of Polo running towards you with Minhyuk not far off his tail. Once Polo reached you, he began tugging on the bottom of your shirt, pulling you in the direction of Minhyuk. You struggled to free yourself from his grip, but your attempts proved futile, as the dog dragged you like a ragdoll. You stopped fighting just as Minhyuk reached you. “Polo, what has gotten into you?” He asked, his chest heaving. He used the bottom of his gray tank top to wipe tiny beads of sweat that clung to his sun kissed skin. All the while exposing the taunt muscles of his stomach. You inhaled sharply. Polo finally released your shirt. “I am so sorry El.” Minhyuk said, his voice filled with sincerity. “He just broke away from me and ran after you.” Rubbing Polo behind his ear, you shrugged with a smile. “It’s fine. Remember Bubbles did the same thing.” Minhyuk laughed at the memory. “Yeah, but Polo has never done that before.” “Neither has Bubbles, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.” Minhyuk nodded in agreement, his eyes dropped down to where Polo held your shirt hostage. A frown crested his face. “He ripped a hole in your shirt!” You looked down at the material and noticed several small holes in it. Although it was no big deal for you, apparently it was to Minhyuk. The shirt was old and worn anyway. He muttered a curse. “I am beyond sorry.” Gripping Polo’s leash, he stooped down to get face to face with his. “That was a bad choice Polo. No sir.” Polo whimpered, before laying down on his stomach and covering his face with a paw. Minhyuk smiled sadly as he lovingly ran a hand over his. “It’s okay. You just can not do that again.” He stood back up and looked from the holes in your shirt, back to you. “I feel horrible.” You waved it off. “There’s no need for you to feel bad. This shirt is old anyway. Besides, I know he didn’t mean it.” You began rubbing Polo’s side. “Did you, sweetie? No, you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t.” Polo flipped onto his back, you scratched his stomach, watching as his feet kicked in the air, before he flipped back over and licked your face. “I know this may seem-” he shrugged nonchalantly, “-weird, I guess, but I was wondering if maybe you would like to have dinner with me...” He paused, then added, “Especially since Polo ripped your shirt.” Exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you smiled. Maybe there was more to this destiny thing, you thought as you said, “I’d like that very much.”

[mollymauk-teafleak]

At The Crossroads: Chapter 3

| Chapter 1 | | Chapter 2 | | Chapter 3 |

My ko-fi  My Ao3

Eliza had always loved stories.

It was a memory she would always let her mind drift back to when it was pacing like a restless tiger in the confines of her skull; a wool blanket around her shoulders, playing with the hem of her nightshirt, the low light of the bedside lamp somehow warming her right through to her bones as her father’s low, steady voice filled the room like the rising and falling tides. Those nights were always when she’d feel like she was really part of this family who’d pulled her up out of the darkness that had taken her birth parents and her old home from her, saved her from joining her previously happy life and her confidence that the world made sense as it turned to dust and fell through the cracks. She’d have Angelica on her left and Peggy on her right, in between them so their shadows stood in perfect hight order on the back wall, like there had always been a place for Eliza, a gap for her to slot into, like it had been waiting for her.

Their father would tell them stories of his own hunts, he’d tell them about the creatures he’d faced and how he’d beaten them, the mistakes and the victories alongside each other. They were no fabricated happy endings and no omitted details, their purpose wasn’t to shield his daughters or put blinkers on them. Each bedtime story was tightly woven with a lesson into a rope made for the young girls to follow, hopefully so if they found themselves in a similar situation, they would know the way out. The sisters working as a team and, later on, Eliza working with Alex, all lost count of the number of times something their father had mentioned in a story had saved someone’s life, usually their own.

Eliza had tried to do the same for her own children, finally understanding the fear that must have lived in the pit of her father’s stomach every single time he tucked his little girls in for bed, knowing how necessary the information he’d just given them was but at the same time wishing with every bone in his body that it wasn’t. That he could just read them a normal story, something with a nice neat moral and simple happy ending so the sleeping children in front of them could believe that the world waiting for them outside their bedroom door could be handled as easily.

But Eliza, Alex, Philip Schuyler, every hunter who’d thrown the dice and decided to have children, by choice or by chance, they knew that happy endings had no place in the world. Their kids needed to know what lurked after the final page and the happily ever after, what hid in the shadows that their night light couldn’t penetrate, what it was, where it was and how to kill it. Their lives would always be on the line and all they could do was prepare their precious little ones as best they could, hope that the buildup of experience from generation to generation, like rust growing on the handle of the same sharp blade, would mean their children would be better equipped for their hard, dangerous lives than everyone who’d fallen before them had been.

The first crisp, bitter autumn morning when they’d put a throwing knife in eight year old Philip’s hand and drilled him in how to get it so they would only ever land where he sent them, gradually filling the fence in the back garden with nicks and cuts and scrapes, Alex had left halfway through. Unsurprised, Eliza found him later at the kitchen table, weeping into his hands. She’d thrown her arms around him and let him soak the shoulder of her blouse, gripping him so tight, like this was a problem that would have a solution, telling him everything was okay when they knew it was both a lie. Yet another lie they were having to tell themselves to try and make the life they’d both had chosen for them, Alex by blood and Eliza by pure bad luck, gel with their new roles as parents. It was a frustrating and difficult puzzle, with sharp edges that could cut and bruise and didn’t seem to get any easier with time.

The stories were a much more subtle and secretive weapon than the knives and the spellcraft they had to teach their children but they held as much value. Information and knowledge were as necessary as anything that rattled around in the trunk of a hunter’s car or were concealed in the numerous tiny secret pockets in their coats that even they lost track of sometimes. That was a fact Alex had very deliberately forgotten that fact when he was a younger man and paid for it bloodily. He wasn’t about to let his children do the same if they ever chose to go hunting, not that he didn’t hope with every bone in his body and pray to half a hundred gods he’d never believed in that they wouldn’t.

But still the preparations had to be made. The storm might never come but you’d better damn well build a shelter or curse your own laziness when it came to bite you in the ass.

It didn’t mean Eliza hadn’t liked the stories, they’d meant a lot to her and they were one of the few good parts of her childhood that would never fade under the weight of time and limits of human memory. She hoped her babies liked theirs too.

Though as Philip’s tenth birthday arrived, Eliza gained more from those stories, those tales told in the dim glow of her bedroom, than she ever hoped she would.

***

Over and over, Eliza tried to think of a way to tell Alex that, just as his life was running out with every second that went by, another, entirely new life was moving at the same rate but in the opposite direction just under her skin. As her husband’s flame guttered and gasped, wilting down to only embers, a stranger’s spark had caught inside her. Eliza didn’t miss the irony of that, the way it made unexplainable, irrational guilt twist in her gut. It was that exact tightening of her stomach, almost like an irritated nudge from the baby in her womb, that turned her tongue to lead whenever she went to tell him and kept her quiet.

So she didn’t tell him on the first night, the night she found out herself. When she had to lie to him and say she was just going to grab some milk, banking on him not remembering that there was still half a jug in the fridge. He’d had Jamie on his lap as she’d put her head around the door to tell him so he probably wouldn’t have noticed even if she’d kicked the door off its hinges with all her strength, their youngest commanded all of his attention. That was a common theme recently, he was spending every single minute he could with all of their children, walking up and gently tapping shoulders to quietly offer help with homework, hovering while they brushed their teeth, giving in instantly to every request for bath time or a trip to the park or offer to be Player Two, showering them with bedtime stories and always saying yes to ‘just one more’. It was a treat for their babies and an utter heartbreak to Eliza.

Alex’s new sense of making the most of every second, his frenzied grasping for what little time he had, even worse now he didn’t have to hide it from Eliza, it was flavouring their nights together too. Every single evening, as soon as the children were in bed, they would crash together, pulling desperately at clothing and not caring if it ripped, not caring what surface was underneath them as long as it was flat and sturdy, moving fast and not caring if it hurt. Every night he had a different way to take her or for her to take him, like he wanted to get one last one of everything in before his timer ran out. Of course, Eliza wanted it just as bad as he did, it was impossible not to give in to the desperation but it was just so wrong for them, it poisoned every touch that before had only held passion and love. It left them aching in the best way, exhausted, satisfied, sated and crying silently into their pillows as soon as the lights went out.

As Eliza had sat on the edge of the bath, fifteen minutes and one trip to the drugstore and one purchase of milk they didn’t need later, as she stared at the two pink lines until her eyes ached and her vision blurred, she wondered which time had caused this. Which simultaneously heartbreaking and wonderful time had given them this? Eliza found herself with so many emotions at once, so many having to fit inside her brain, that she ended up feeling nothing out of sheer confusion.

Only a strong, cold resolve that she couldn’t tell Alex that night. She couldn’t put that on his shoulders, it was the only coherent thought in her mind. What was she even supposed to say?

She didn’t tell him in the week that followed either, so many moments where she lay in the dim light with her head on his shoulder, both of them panting with half closed eyes, taking stock of the treasured aches and twinges in their muscles. It could have slipped out then, just two words but two words she wasn’t brave enough to say out loud in her own company yet. She couldn’t tell him out of the blue like that, in one of the precious few moments of peace they’d had since his confession.

She didn’t tell him the time he’d kissed her forehead to wake her, making her smile. She didn’t tell him as they’d walked hand in hand down the path carpeted in autumn leaves, watching as their children swarmed ahead of them like an unruly pack of puppies, leaving their parents behind. She hadn’t told him when they’d bathed together, when she’d rested back against his chest and let him wash her hair. So many missed opportunities, even after Eliza had stood glaring at herself reflected back in the bathroom mirror and forced that stubborn, tight mouth to move, wake up and let the words pass- “I’m pregnant. I’m going to have another baby. I am pregnant.” - after she’d sobbed for nearly an hour, still stood in front of the mirror, and felt better for it afterwards. She still couldn’t tell him, add something else to the list already plaguing his mind, sitting heavily around his neck like a chain of lead, the list of things he was being robbed of.

And then, in the end, she didn’t have to.

***

It was worryingly easy to push her condition to the back of her mind, even something as momentous as another child on the way, it was easy to drown those thoughts with all the work Eliza and Alex now had to do.  

Taking on the most powerful demon they knew of, the bona fide King of the Crossroads, breaking one of his contracts and doing it in three months was a task Eliza almost didn’t blame her husband for assuming was impossible. After three and a half weeks of scouring every book they’d gathered over two long careers of hunting as well as whatever they could find in the local library that might have a useful sentence or two and their most depended on websites, of sleepless nights given over to either research in Alex’s office or fucking in whatever room of the house would serve, of the dawn finding them both dry eyed and yawning and no wiser, they’d learned nothing.

It was killing Eliza, to watch what pale and shaking hope Alex had kept alive at the start crumble and fade, to see the nights wearing him down and making him feel more wretched than he ever had when he’d kept the secret of what he’d done to himself. He’d stay sullen and quiet, working without rest for much longer than he should, shaking off food and drink and sleep and paying no attention to the clock, until the smallest thing, accidentally knocking over an ice cold, forgotten mug of coffee with his elbow, getting a paper cut, catching the chair with his foot, would send him into a rage. He’d rip papers, hurl books across the room until Eliza ran and caught his wrists in her hands, forcing him to stop. He’d just blink at her like a man waking up from a nightmare and the fire in his eyes would die, leaving them flat and lifeless as he sank back down in his chair and went back to work like he’d never missed a beat. No matter how many times Eliza pleaded with him to pull away, just for a while, come to bed or have some food or...or anything he just wouldn’t cave. Because surely the next book would have something useful, or the one after that, something that would keep him here and let him have his family for one more day.  

Eliza couldn’t help but feel like she’d lost her husband already, ahead of schedule.

It was the last day of their first month, one of the horrible, grim times when they were even more hyper aware of how time was slipping past them, when they’d now have to think a number lower than they had been recently. Not three months, two. Only two. Just one notch lower but on that day, the difference felt like a chasm.

It was taking it’s toll on Alex, that much was obvious, as he sat across from Eliza, alternating between tugging at his hair and sifting through piles of yellowing aged paper with rusty brown writing on it that gave Eliza a suspicious shiver and wrinkle of the nose, they’d taken it from a particularly vitriolic witch’s den after all. God only knew where or what or who that red ink had come from. They’d had to resort to digging through their much less savory mines of information as their hopes grew hungry and restless.

Though one stayed untouched, Eliza couldn’t help but notice. It sat at Alex’s elbow, almost like it was edging closer to try and get his attention, like a obedient and faithful but ignored hound. She didn’t need to tilt her head at an awkward angle and read the cover to know what it was; she’d been familiar with that old, ragged, weather worn commonplace book from the first day she’d met Alex. It was his mother Rachel’s journal, pages and pages of wisdom from a lifetime of hunting across two continents and two hemispheres, all in her own hand. It wasn’t just a valuable resource, though Alex and Eliza had proven that it was so many times, it was a family heirloom, a treasure, one of the few happy memories from his childhood, one of the last physical reminders of his beloved mother aside from his tattoo that bore one of her favourite sayings.

Eliza understood her poor Alex’s hesitance. He didn’t want to open that book he’d treasured and revered and depended on since it had become his only comfort and shield against the rest of the world, he didn’t want to open it and find it as useless as the rest of the texts they’d scoured. Of all the things he was facing losing, Alex didn’t want to add his faith in his mother to the list. He didn’t want to face the likelihood that he’d gone to the point that even his mama couldn’t bring him back from, that he’d drifted beyond her comfort and help. If that was true, it would put a knife through the last of his hope.

Eliza longed to reach out and comfort him, even if it would do next to no good just like every other night, she wanted to try. But she was dealing with some problems of her own tonight; the physical effects of her pregnancy were making themselves known. Not for the first time in her life, she wanted to put her bronze dagger through the heart of whatever idiot decided to call it ‘morning sickness’, it was eleven at night and it felt like there was a low level storm ravaging her stomach, making her head swim and her belly clench and the words and symbols on the page in front of her squirm and dance around like they were actively making fun of her.

She bore it grimly for as long as she physically could until she was given no other choice. She jumped to her feet, mumbled something along the lines of ‘excuse me’ though god knows that wasn’t what it sounded like, and fled the room, just about making it to the bathroom down the hall in time.

It was a process she was very familiar with, she could execute the necessary clean up without her brain really needing to engage, so it was free to stay restlessly circling round her head, following loops of logic that ended in nothing but dead ends. She couldn’t help but feel trapped, like she was scrabbling to scale walls as smooth and unyielding as bone, towering high around her until she couldn’t even see the stars. All Eliza had managed to achieve was making Alex feel worse, no answers, no real help, no further towards saving him.

She’d promised him. She’d promised him, herself, the baby inside her. That was an awful lot of promises to watch break and shatter in front of your eyes, to try and catch and only end up spilling your own blood in the attempt.

Eliza swallowed back the tears that threatened, pushing them down to be dealt with at a time that part of her accepted was never really going to come. But the lie in itself was comforting. As she walked back down towards the box room they’d turned into an office for Alex to do his writing in, she found herself gently brushing her fingers against every door she passed, each with one (or two, AJ insisted on sharing a room with his hero of a big brother) of her children behind it, wandering through dreams she prayed were warm and happy and safe.

What would they do without their Pops? How could Eliza somehow make herself strong enough to stay around for them, to be the parent they deserved all by herself, after half of her soul had been torn away? She searched herself with a fine tooth comb and just couldn’t find enough to prove to herself that she could do that.   

This wasn’t just about saving Alex. The hellhounds were coming for them all, their baying was vibration through her bones too, and their children, even if they didn’t know it for what it was.

So in a futile attempt to offer what little, shaky and uncertain comfort she could, Eliza brushed each carefully painted door as she trudged back to the office, her stomach swimming either from the pregnancy or her anxiety or a combination of the two. She had a pretty much constant belly ache these days; she’d stopped trying to decipher why.

She’d been expecting to find Alex hard at work, barely even having noticed that she’d gone. But Eliza started when she walked into the office and his eyes were on her with more animation to them than she’d seen for quite a while, like he’d finally woken up. In the low light, in the strange caste these hours between late night and early morning took, they looked grey. Grey and old and tragically lost. Eliza froze under them, her hand still on the doorknob even after it had clicked shut, suddenly knowing by some mechanism, the way that she and her husband seemed to be able to communicate through glances alone, that she’d been caught out. Not that she’d admit she’d been trying to hide anything from him. Not consciously at least.

Alex didn’t mince his words, it wasn’t like they had time for that.

“Eliza…” he rasped, having to stutter and cough and start again when his dust dry throat protested, tears in his eyes for one reason or another but likely all at once, “Eliza are you...are you pregnant?”

She hadn’t let herself plan for this moment, as much as she’d tried to force her thoughts that way. So it was a surprise as much to her as to anyone else when the only response her body had was to burst into tears, it all came rushing up her throat at once in a tide that burned with salt, a release of tension that pounced on her without warning, leaving her slumped against the door and trembling and sobbing. This wasn’t what she wanted, she didn’t want to look weak or sad or scared, she didn’t want Alex to have to deal with that on top of everything else, she didn’t want to have to look in the mirror and see that when she knew she needed to be the exact opposite right now. But there she was, falling apart with just the slightest of nudges, a building she’d told herself until she was blue in the face was made of hard, firm stone but had .

And there Alex was. In half a heartbeat, there he was, crossing the desk and taking her in his arms, holding her tightly just like he used to, so tight like he was anchoring her to him and him to her. Finally, Eliza had proof that the man she loved wasn’t gone, at least not yet, and it only made her weep all the more. They sank to the floor together, Alex wrapping his body around her’s, letting her be as small and tight and sad as she needed to be, letting her find a dislocated sense of safety in curling up against his chest, as if she could shrink right down in his hands and he could hold her safe in the warm clasp of his palms and nothing would ever find her there.

It took some time before the storm clouds waned and dissipated enough for Alex’s words to reach her and even then she had to sit up and wipe her eyes and mumble for him to say it again.

“I just said I’m sorry,” he sighed, his thumbs running along the exposed skin under her sleeves, that tiny amount of touch, of skin contact, so simple but only because it held nothing but love and affection, “I’ve been so stupid with the way we’ve been...I should have known this would happen. I’m sorry.”

Eliza was more surprised that anything, trying to wipe away the tears that sprung up to replace the ones already fallen, “It’s not your fault. It’s...it’s a responsibility for both of us. Neither of us have been really keeping an eye on things.”

Alex didn’t look convinced but he took a deep breath, like he was trying to sweep the cobwebs from the insides of himself, “But this is good. It’s good.”

She didn’t understand, thinking that the expression on his face wasn’t quite the right one for a man who’d just heard good news, “Alex…”

“No, it is,” he repeated, seemingly stuck on that one nick in his tracks, “It is because now...now after I go, you’ll have a part of me. You’ll have something to focus on, take your mind off it.”

Eliza’s heart plummeted, falling so far she lost sight of it entirely,  “Baby...no, no….”

“Eliza, this is the best I can hope for,” Alex went on, his eyes growing more and more distant as his voice firmed up, “Now I can spend the last few months I have in the happiest time, it’s a gift.”

Eliza was seized by an urge to shake him, she’d expected anger or despair, she’d hoped hard for determination, a renewed fierceness, but this was a sickeningly awful surprise, “Alex, we’re not giving up because of this! No way, this is the exact opposite of what I wanted!”

But as Eliza floundered, shock and horror tying her tongue in knots, Alex became more sure and certain, like he wasn’t even hearing her, “Betsey, I can’t ask all this work and stress of you in your condition, I can’t forgive myself for that. I’m not putting you on Burr’s radar, I didn’t like doing it before and now it’s just not happening, I can’t.”

“What?” Eliza snapped, her voice shrill, “Alex, who the fuck said this was your decision?”

“Betsey, see sense,” Alex pleaded, his arms now feeling restrictive, holding her in place, “We’ve gotten nowhere in the past few weeks, all I’ve done by telling you is hurt you. I should never have dragged you into this and now…this has to be a sign. It has to be.”

Eliza wrenched herself away, getting to her feet, her face so hot she wouldn’t be surprised if the tears were turning to steam, “Alexander. Listen to what you’re saying, this isn’t you. You don’t mean this. You can’t leave me with this.”

Alex stayed on his knees and it was then that Eliza saw how thin this sudden façade of decisiveness and certainty was, it was a thin layer of ice over a dark, deep sea. He didn’t even have the strength to stand, for fear it would all crack and fall away.

“Sweetheart, I can be happy. With this…I can leave happy, please, it’s all I want…the times you’ve been pregnant are the happiest times of my life, getting to get at least some small part of it before I say goodbye…”

Anguish flooded Eliza’s voice, “But you deserve more than just a small part! I want more than that, I want you there for all of it, I want you sleeping with your head on my stomach and talking to them, I want you holding my hand while they’re born, I want you to be the one who holds them for the first time, I can’t do all that by myself!”

Alex flinched, the reality of what this was supposed to represent, the happiness ahead of them in an alternate dimension where everything didn’t get so messy and ruined, striking him as hard as it struck her, “I’m sorry…but this is all I have.”

No.

The determination flooded Eliza all at once then. She was seeing now that she couldn’t rely on Alex, he’d resigned himself to the grave a long time ago. Maybe if he’d confessed all the day after he made this deal, she could have kept his hope alive, he could have stayed strong and dug deep for the energy. But she knew her poor, scarred Alex, Eliza knew how he will have seen this. There’d been so much suffering in his relatively short life, so many losses and hurts and goodbyes. This would just be one more, one he probably even felt he deserved. So many times she’d seen it in his eyes and heard it in the words he chose, he saw his life with her as a happiness, a treasure he hadn’t earned, like he’d stolen it from someone else. All of their children were just another debt he’d have to repay, pushing him further into the red, using up his luck and setting him up for a greater and more bone shattering fall when it finally came.

Her Alex had given up.

It was a painful realisation, one that dissipated her anger for now and sent her back into his arms, holding him tight. His hands found her stomach, the slightest of bumps that was forming there and it was so bittersweet there was a metallic taste in the back of both of their mouths.

But Eliza wasn’t going to give up. She hid her face from Alex over his shoulder as she promised herself.

Her husband had been through enough. He thought he’d earned it but she disagreed fiercely.

And if fate wanted him, it was going to have to go through her.

***

Eliza wasn’t sure why she told that particular story on that particular night. Jamie wanted the one about the witch who could talk to animals and kept an enormous crow as a familiar. Philip wanted the one where Grandpa took down an entire nest of vampires in a night, the ones that had taken over an abandoned carnival in possibly the creepiest and best decision ever made by any monster, until they all met a grisly end as Philip Schuyler stalked their leader through the mirror maze. Their doe eyed eldest always wanted to hear about his namesake’s daring exploits. AJ meanwhile wanted one of the gorier ones, the one that explained the scar that ran up his Pop’s back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, still the colour of faded paper. Angie wanted one of the funny ones, the time a different witch had taken something Alex said the wrong way in a bar one night and cursed him to spend twenty four hours as a two year old infant.

But as they’d gathered around Eliza, looking at her with wide, uncomplicatedly happy eyes that reflected the lamplight as if tiny fireflies were caught in them, stars in onyx, she’d told them a different story. One that was a little long and winding, without much of an ending, one that sat just on the side of unbelievable. More of a myth than a story really but it’s what rolled from her tongue.

Her littlest ones listened with open awe on their faces, cooing softly at the appropriate parts. But when her voice broke from the low, soothing, lilting quality it always took on when she was telling a bedtime story for her children, when she kissed each of them on their foreheads and told them she loved them and wished them the sweetest dreams, after she’d watched fondly and with a little bit of a heavy heart as they trooped upstairs to their respective beds, Eliza noticed Philip hanging around, looking like he wanted to say something.

“Philip?” she prompted softly, sitting up from where she’d let herself sink into the plush, slightly worn cushions of the sofa. She had nowhere to go tonight, Alex had retreated into himself and pointedly swept all their research materials back to continue falling to pieces and rotting into dust in the attic. Though all of it would outlive Alex himself.

Eliza didn’t go hunting after it, none of it had been any use anyway, just paths with no end. With every day that passed, she became more and more certain that they were looking in the wrong place entirely, that if she just squinted to the right degree and tilted her head just enough, it would become obvious. The sensation was maddening in itself, the knowing that it was so, so close, if she could just find the right thread to pull.

But she knew the thread didn’t lie in those old books and journals. And Alex sure as hell wasn’t going to find it in his choice of reading material, just ten minutes ago he’d been sat on the sofa beside her, his head on her shoulder, his nose in the same pregnancy and baby book he read every single time this happened.

Eliza hadn’t pressed any further since their fight, since the night he found out he was going to be a father for the fifth time over. She understood this now, Alex needed to shut himself down for his own survival, trying to scrape and scrabble after an answer he just couldn’t see would just leave him with bloody fingernails and a migraine. It frustrated her, that he failed to see his own worth so spectacularly, but she understood.

She shook her head a little, trying to focus on her eldest son.

“You said…” Pip screwed up his face as he tried to make his tired, sleepy brain find words, “You said that no one has ever found it? The gun in your story, the one that can kill demons?”

Eliza smiled softly, seriously regretting her choice of story, it felt like her own brain had been mocking her, “Well, most hunters don’t think it’s real. A gun that powerful and useful probably would have turned up by now if it actually existed, right?”

Philip paused, looking at her with his dark brown eyes and after a moment he murmured, “Not if no one ever went looking for it.”

He went pounding up the stairs on his overly long, gangly legs, probably thinking it best to get to bed before AJ made a play at stealing his blanket, missing the odd expression that fell on his mother’s face with his words. Missing the way she grew very quiet, her eyes wide, her heart fluttering as a deep and slightly unnerving sensation of realisation settled on her like a sudden, heavy rain. Like something had fallen into place in front of her eyes.

How would anyone know if no one went looking?

Eliza went to go and find her address book, the one she hadn’t opened since she and Alex had started their new lives, the ones they’d mistakenly believed would keep them safe from this kind of thing. In there was the number of a witch she’d run into a long time ago, one who was older than any other she’d even come across and had no love for humans or demons, for a multitude of reasons. But she’d saved Maria’s life a long, long time ago and they’d become the oddest of friends, a bridge between each other’s circles.

If anyone would know...if there was even a rumour…

Eliza couldn’t help but feel like she’d found her thread.

**

“It might be nothing, I wouldn’t trust the guy as far as I could throw him and it’s like, hearsay to the billionth power. But it’s the surest thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

Eliza clung to the phone with knuckles turned white with excitement, “God, Maria, I can’t thank you enough…”

“No need,” her friend’s smooth, richly spiced voice, somehow always sounding like she was singing, answered gladly, “Just promise me you’ll be careful with this, like I said, it’s nothing certain.”

“It’s enough,” Eliza insisted, feeling like she might cry, her hand on her stomach, “It’s more than enough.”

And it was. She had an actual name, an address, it was there in her careful hand on the scrap of paper in front of her. And as cautious as she was being, no one knew the underground like her friend Maria. If there was anyone who could find a centuries old gun thought by most to be nothing but legend and exaggeration, it was her.

This could be it.

Eliza wasn’t wasting a second, not with a month and one week left. She ignored the clock sternly informing her than she had twenty minutes to get to work, dropping her bag of papers and diaries and normalcy to the floor, diving in her wardrobe, reaching to the back for a much more ragged and worn bag she’d kept packed for years, always just in case but she was dizzyingly glad of it now. There was work of a different sort to be done right now, the participants in her six scheduled meetings would just have to sit tight.

She paused for just a moment as she left the bedroom, her eyes drifting down to the office at the end of the hall. She could hear her husband’s voice, he must be on the phone to some publisher or editor. Maybe...she could taste the certainty of her path, maybe now she could convince him…

Eliza found herself at the heavy oak door before she’d really made her decision, only knowing for sure that she wanted her hunting partner by her side for this, surely even he could see the hope in this, they’d rolled the dice on way trickier odds and won.

But before she could nudge the door back and hold her hand out for Alex to take, it sank in what his actual words were. After two seconds, she froze in place, her throat closing up until she genuinely felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Alex wasn’t on the phone. Or maybe he was, into some kind of recording function, but more likely, he was recording on his laptop, surely he’d want them to see his face. So they didn’t forget what he looked like.

“And you need to promise me you’ll look after the little ones,” his voice was low and desperately sad, so dangerously close to breaking apart into tears, “They’ll need you Philip, you’re their big brother, you’ll have to show them...but I know you can do it. I couldn’t be prouder of you, mijo, I really couldn’t, with how much you’ve grown and how much you’ve learnt...and I know...I know you’ll only keep getting stronger and braver and better, I...I know it. Philip...please, please don’t hate me. Please understand why I did what I did. It was only because I loved you...loved you so damn much and I just couldn’t lose you. I get it if you’re mad at me but...I just hope you can understand with a little time. I’m not gonna tell the others, I’ll leave that up to you and your mama, they won’t get it…”

Eliza couldn’t hear any more, she staggered away from the door before her sobs grew too fierce for her to keep them silent. She took the stairs two at a time before the compulsion to go into that office and cling to her Alex became too strong for her to deny. She had to do this now and she had to do it alone, that much was clear.

She shut the door behind her and left her husband to his goodbyes that, if she had anything to do with it, he’d never have to make.

***

Eliza waited until she was back in her car, walking quickly from the diner without looking back, shutting the door with a firm, precise bang and putting a few good miles and twists and turns and doubles back just for good measure, between her and the figure in the acid stained leather trench coat and wide brimmed hat. The one whose age, gender, expression, even basic features had fallen out of her mind and into the mists of forgotten details as soon as she’d finished her risky glance sideways as they’d taken the stool at the counter two seats away from her own. They’d slid a box not so much wrapped as roughly forced into yellow, faded newspaper and twine, across the Formica between them in a slow, deliberate motion. Then they’d simply gotten up and walked out and suddenly Eliza only had the package and the cold, unnerving gut chill they’d left her with to prove they’d ever been there at all.

Once she managed to shrug away that almost greasy, deeply unpleasant feeling, she brought her car to a juddering halt at the side of the tree lined road and brought the package into her lap, considering it. She plucked at the twine, ran her eyes over it for any sign of curse mark or symbol, any trace of spell. She saw nothing, only the warped, fractured print of fairly mundane news stories so she peeled it back carefully and tossed it to one side. As she did, before she turned her attention fully to the pistol in her palm, Eliza could have sworn that her eyes caught the date at the top of the front page, before it hit the bottom of the foot well and rolled into obscurity under the passenger seat.

She could also have sworn that the date her eyes glimpsed in that split second was a date not three days away from today’s. Three days in the future.

Eliza decided not to confirm that.

The gun didn’t look any different from a normal, handheld pistol, a little old fashioned, pearlescent inlay on the handle. Nor did she feel any particular power or might as she gripped it in her right hand, just cold metal and a slightly rusted, protesting mechanism. But she supposed that was part of the glamour, the disguise. If this thing looked and felt like what it was it would never have stayed secret this long and the ongoing underground war between humans and demons would be a lot less underground and a lot more bloody. It had to look like a pretty junky museum piece or part of a cowboy Halloween costume or the story surrounding it would be fact.

Or maybe it was just a completely ordinary Smith & Wesson. Maybe Eliza and Maria had been taken for utter fools. Maybe myths were just myths and she was about to go into battle with a tinfoil shield.

But that didn’t matter right now, Eliza told herself, checking the safety and sliding the pistol into the holster at her hip. All that really mattered was that Burr believed the gun was the real thing. And if she believed, he would believe.

She debated going home, maybe under the pretext of needing a few more things, a thicker coat, a forgotten talisman, a spare salt shaker. But those things were for bush league hunts, they would never be any good against the King of the Crossroads and she knew it, she just wanted an excuse to see her home, the life she’d been comfortably forgetting herself in for the past nine years, just in case this all went horribly wrong and that became the last time she ever saw it all. But doing that would only make the inevitable leaving all the more of a wrench. And more than enough time had already been wasted for her liking, her husband’s life was now being measured in days.

Eliza took a deep breath and rested her hand on the small swell in her belly, noticeable only to her and Alex, the two people who knew her body best. If she closed her eyes and pictured it with enough clarity in her mind, she could almost really feel a tiny little heartbeat under her fingertips, a rapid one that betrayed anxiety and fear.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, stroking soothingly through the thick wool of her sweater, “You know I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t absolutely have to. But if I can pull this off, you’ll still have a daddy to greet you when you arrive. I have to try, my love.”

It was then she remembered a little ritual she and Alex had always performed before any hunt, words they’d passed between them with foreheads rested together and hands holding tight, their promise each time to return to each other. It brought tears welling up behind her eyelashes to think of it again, to make her mouth let the words pass her dry, cracked lips and knowing the response would only be an empty, hollow silence. Eliza had promised herself, once she’d found her partner in Alex, that she was never going to hunt alone again and yet here she was, more alone and lost than she’d ever felt with any other job, with a price of failure set higher than she’d ever thought possible.

But still, she said the words. There was too much power in these simple little rituals to ignore.

With her hand gently soothing the baby inside her, she closed her eyes and whispered to them in the absence of their father.

“Be careful. Stay alive. I love you.”

She kicked her old car into life and drove off into the gathering dusk to find a crossroads.

***

Alex cursed out loud, his voice cracking in pain as his teeth slipped and he tore his hangnail to halfway down his finger, setting blood beading in the wound like a chastisement. The tears that spilled over his cheeks and down his face as he sucked on it could be explained away by the sudden sting but their reason ran deeper.

She said she was only running out to get groceries. Of course he’d offered to go, for her to stay behind with the children, it was getting dark and she must be tired. But Eliza had shaken her head, kissed his cheek and said that this wasn’t anywhere he’d been before, he wouldn’t be able to find it.

Then tell me where, he’d begged exasperatedly, show me and I’ll go.

Eliza had been adamant, promising that she had to be the one to do this one quick, painless job. She’d distracted him with reminders of how Jamie had been wheedling desperately for an extra bath time this week and would of course want his special bath time song from his Pops. He’d opened his mouth to object at least one last time but she’d given him another quick kiss and a promise that she’d be back before he knew it, disappearing swiftly.

Alex had bathed Jamie. He’d sang to him, he’d read to him, fed the other children and read to them too, bundled them all into pyjamas and tucked them safe into bed.

But Eliza still wasn’t back.

So, he was sat on the sofa, bouncing his leg furiously enough to make the coffee table jump, gnawing the skin off his own fingers and out of his mind with worry, eyes fixed on the clock thinking that surely there must be some mistake, that couldn’t be the right time because Eliza had promised that she’d be back soon.

You bastard, Alex couldn’t help but think, not knowing who exactly he was talking to but he saw a number of unwelcome faces appear behind his eyes as he did, three months of happiness, that’s all I asked and what the fuck have you done now?

Alex gave himself another hangnail on his other thumb as the sound of his phone chiming startled him out of his spiral. He pounced on it, praying desperately and giving a strangled sob of relief when he saw that it was in fact a text from his wife. But the words he read gave him such a twist of horror and shock in his belly that he was tempted to throw his phone across the room and pretend the damn thing had never made a single sound.

I’m so sorry. I’ve found a way to end this and I’m going to see it through tonight. Don’t come after me. I’ll text every hour to let you know I’m safe. If the texts stop, take the children and run to Washington. I love you. B xx

“No,” Alex rasped, knowing it would do no good, again not knowing who he was talking to but the words came ripping out of him anyway, “No, god, no please!”

The phone slipped from his fingers and fell to clatter on the carpet as he dissolved into sobs. That was the worst thing about living with the curse Alex had, the one that eventually took any happiness he managed to scrape out of his life and made him pay dearly for it.

It was never him it hurt, it was never him who paid the debt. It was always the people he loved.

And wasn’t that just a bitch.

***

By the time Eliza found a sufficiently dark and isolated divergence between two dirt roads, the sunset had sloughed away like so much molten wax to leave just the brittle skeleton of stars above her, the barest bones, the most basic components. An old farmhouse slumped off to one side of the crossroads, on its last legs clearly with the door blown wide and its innards exposed to the dry heat, as shrivelled and wasted as anything would be after being abandoned here. Inside was nothing but some fragments of musty hay and a pitchfork head without a handle, looking grisly like a metallic severed hand as it lay there rusting.

Eliza gathered what she needed and sat in the open doorway while she waited, her coat pulled tight around her despite her thick sweater and the parched heat of the night. Demon eyes were keen, the eyes of their monarch even keener but hopefully, if he didn’t know to look for it, he wouldn’t see her secret. If she could keep him distracted, he might not realise. Her unborn baby was leverage she definitely didn’t want to give him.

Still her coat couldn’t make the stars stop feeling to her like pale, staring, accusatory eyes. Knowing what she was doing, knowing what and who she was risking by being here.

And then suddenly, without any fanfare at all, no regal pronouncement, not even a polite cough, two of the stars weren’t stars at all. They really were eyes gazing at Eliza from across the road, set into a smooth and ageless face of dark oak, attached to a trim body that only betrayed a hint of the power that lay within it, regal and proud and confidently airy. Neat, pressed suit in colours so dark it was like they drank what little light there was in the clearing, slurping it up hungrily. But that wasn’t the only thing about him with a sense of greed, that rolled off him in waves, disarming and dislocating. It was in the delicate arch of his eyebrows, his slow, easy gait as he moved almost soundlessly across the road to stop in front of Eliza, in the way his fingers rolled and fidgeted with a single, golden coin he made dance across his knuckles, the only thing about his person that really moved.

But it was the demon’s eyes she noticed first.

Burr got the first word. He seemed to be the kind of creature who always got the first word.

“I must admit,” he drawled in a voice like honey covered steel, “I’m not as surprised to see you as I was to see your husband all those years ago.”

Eliza didn’t rise to meet him, staying crouched where she was, drawing idly in the dust by her boots, hoping it made her look nonchalant, or rather, someone terrified trying to look nonchalant. Better that he think her only purpose here was to grovel and beg for Alex’s life, better to put on an air of wounded pride.

“You knew I’d seek you out?” she asked, letting her eyes flicker up to look at him quickly. It was hard not to let the eye drift towards him, he had an undeniable magnetism.

“Well, only if poor little Alex actually confessed what he’d done,” Burr amended, tilting his head, “Only if your marriage held up which, no offence intended my dear, not many people who’ve encountered your young man believed would happen. Many find him utterly intolerable and abrasive.”

Eliza leapt at the opening, seeing no sense in not making her intentions clear, “Then give him back to me. I’ll talk him off your hands.”

Burr’s chuckle was as deep as the tectonic movements of the earth.

“A witty start, my lady, but nothing more than that,” he replied silkily, “You know fine well that a deal can’t be unmade once it is made.”

“There’s a difference between can’t and won’t,” she insisted, a little icily. The demon’s patter was annoying her.

“A purely semantic one when it comes to me,” he answered as if he hadn’t heard the tension in her voice, “I make deals. I collect on them. I do not break them.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Eliza murmured.

Burr inclined his head, “Well…demons are not flexible creatures by nature, surely you know that? But of course you had to at least try, for the sake of your husband and the father of your little ones. We’re all greatly touched, I assure you. If you’d like to beg and wail and rend your clothes, just to complete the picture and gain a little closure you understand, please be my guest.”

Eliza’s lip curled in dislike. How Alex hadn’t just taken his creature’s head off within five seconds before he could actually make the deal that cost him his life, she would never understand.

“You’re such an ass, you know that?” she hummed, raising her face to meet his eyes unflinchingly.

The demon king’s façade slipped just a little, revealing a nonplussed expression underneath, for the briefest of seconds. Clearly he’d been expecting a broken, begging window to be that he could perhaps milk a little, fatten his profit margin. This conversation wasn’t going as he’d planned, that much was obvious.

“Mrs Hamilton,” Burr’s voice was crisper now, “Your husband got what he wanted. And now he gets what he deserves. I could lie and say we in the pit will be merciful but it’s transparency would benefit neither of us. Alexander was glad to suffer to buy life for your eldest son and your good self, why deny him this? Not only that, but he bought ten years of a life most hunters can only dream about, picket fence and all. Now comes the levelling of the scales and if he is suddenly having doubts then you and he can curse and rage all you like but, in colloquial terms, he’s fucked.”

Eliza couldn’t help it, she winced at that. Any show of weakness was a failure of hers and there was strike one. The rest had to go quickly before she was out.

She stood and shook out her hair, careful to keep her coat clasped shut in her free hand, taking a step back under the guise of kicking the dust off her shoes, retreating further into the shack with a low, almost imperceptible sniffle that would make it seem to Burr like she was trying to shadow her face so he couldn’t see her tears.

“Please,” she murmured, voice quiet, playing the part very, very easily because of course if it had had the barest chance in hell of working, she would have begged for Alex until she wore out the knees in her tights, “For…for our kids’ sake, please. They weren’t part of your original deal with him, different terms…”

Burr shook his head, the moonlight flashing off the flawless pearls he had for teeth, advancing on her with long, triumphant strides, “I’m afraid not, Mrs Hamilton.”

“I could offer you something else, I could offer you me instead…” her voice faltered, her back hitting the far wall of the shack, sending dust clouds flying.

“What and make poor Alex suffer even more?” Burr laughed cruelly, “My dear, he’d be on his knees with a gun barrel resting on his tongue before the week was out and then he’d be mine in any case. Though of course, that would at least mean you could turn together. Wreak your inevitable havoc as a pair, how romantic, there would be songs written of you…”

“Please…” Eliza’s voice caught, the rest of the words going unsaid, please, just a little more…

“And then of course, where would be the first place your twisted, broken minds thought to go?” Burr’s footsteps were a regular, gentle tap on the dying floorboards, as regular and menacing as the tick of a clock in an empty room, “Why to your old house of course, to where your now orphaned children sat in tears, waiting for their mommy and daddy to come back to them…well, I suppose they would get their wish…”

The footsteps stopped.

Eliza watched carefully in the gloom as Burr’s expression turned from borderline savagery to dismay to exasperation, “Oh. That was…unprofessional.”

They both looked up at the same time, up to what remained of the farmhouse’s ceiling, upon which was drawn an elaborate and bold demon trap. Eliza never went anywhere without a single piece of white chalk, a habit she hadn’t been able to break even now she wasn’t a hunter any more.

“Got you to monologue,” Eliza grinned, drawing herself back up to her full height, standing on the lip of her trap, eyes cool.

“I’d appreciate it greatly, on the increasingly small chance you make it out of this place alive, that you not mention that little blunder I just made,” Burr said tightly, back to the effable businessman, “I do have a reputation.”

“I won’t,” Eliza drew a dagger from her boot, wicked bronze, toying with it, point resting against the forefinger of her other hand, “In exchange for my husband’s soul.”

There was a flare of anger in Burr’s eyes, the first genuine emotion she’d seen him display all night. It was almost refreshing.

“Oh, come now, be serious!” he snapped, somehow looking a lot less polished than he had a moment ago.

Eliza tried very hard not to look gleeful, though she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying playing with the creature who’d called her husband so much grief over the last decade. But it would be counterproductive.   

Burr passed a hand over his shaved head, as if reassembling his composure, “Look, Eliza, if I may be informal for a moment. I seriously hope you have something more than a demon trap to bargain with, if you mean to go through with this pointless folly. Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

“I do,” Eliza allowed herself a smile, “Which is why I brought something more. The trap was just so you’d hold still.”

She brought the fabled gun from its holster, holding it up so it’s barrel pointed squarely between Burr’s eyes, pulling the hammer down with a click that brokered no argument. The affect it had on the demon king was instantaneous; his eyes turned their customary solid black, his lips pulled back from his teeth, the air around him suddenly flared and warped with tension until it was buzzing.

“Where. Did. You. Get. That?” he hissed.

Well, Eliza thought in bemusement, maybe it was the real thing.

“From a friend,” she answered smoothly, not the slightest tremble in her arm or hesitance in her eyes, “But that’s not the important part. What is important is the fact that there is no way in hell I’m letting you take Alex’s soul. You like deals, Burr, so here’s one to consider. Tear up Alex’s contract or I blow your brains out.”

The growl that bubbled through Burr’s chest was a sound that would have made a less resolved person stagger but Eliza only narrowed her eyes.

“You pathetic human,” the demon snarled, “You have no idea what kind of things you’re messing with! The arrogance of your species never fails to astound and sicken me.”

“Want me to make it a little more interesting for you?” Eliza had hoped but still been doubtful that it wouldn’t come to this, ignoring the bile rising in her throat, “Fine. Release my husband’s soul or I won’t just kill you. I’ll go after your wife and your daughter as well, take them down with you. And with this gun, you know I can.”

Eliza had never seen fear in a demon’s eyes before. There was no triumph in it, not when it came after her threatening his family.

“See how much the people you love can motivate you?” she asked tightly, “Now you know what a mistake you made in thinking you could torture my husband and threaten my children.”

There was a long and dangerous moment of silence between the two of them, the two people who would tear down worlds, burn cities, ravage entire species to keep their family safe. A moment, of all things, of understanding.

Burr straightened up, somehow looking more dangerous when defeated and cornered than he had before, “Fine. Fine, Eliza Hamilton. I will release your husband on the condition that you destroy that foul thing before my eyes and swear never to harm my family again.”

Eliza smiled crookedly, in a way that was very like Alex’s smile.

“We have a deal, Mr Burr.”

***

Alex thought the sight of headlights pulling up in the driveway was a dream.

Even after the texts, the phone call, the explanation that had gone in one of his ears and out of the other that he’d need to hear at least five more times before he fully understood, the yelling and the exasperation and the defensiveness, the sobbing and the repeated declarations of love, even after it all, he didn’t dare believe it was true until he saw his very exhausted but triumphant looking wife clamber out of her car and stagger into his waiting arms.

They collapsed on the wet grass of their front lawn, entangled together, neither one of them noticing or caring that dawn was breaking just to their left. There would be other dawns, there would be other days. Their lives were now no longer marred with a looming expiration date, accompanied by the whispering of sand shifting through an hourglass. They could stay sobbing in each other’s arms for as long as they damn well pleased, ignoring the miracle of a new day completely. The taste of other tomorrows, other dawns that they thought they’d lost, there on the tips of each other’s tongues as they kissed was sweeter than anything.

They now both had things they couldn’t forgive each other for and things they could never thank each other enough for. They had a tenth birthday to plan, a nursery to repaint, a new name to choose for their new arrival. They had years and years ahead of them and so many things to keep them busy. Philip would never really understand why the day after his tenth birthday felt like more of a celebration than his actual birthday, why his Pops kept hugging him so tight he could barely breathe, with gratitude overflowing from his eyes.

The only thing Eliza and Alex wouldn’t have from now on was secrets. They’d had enough of those to last them a lifetime.