#and that fire drives out all the life - it saps it out like a tapped tree

[uncanny-tranny]

Shoutout to those whose burnout never felt like a controlled bush fire, but felt as a forest fire consuming everything in its path. To those whose burnout didn't blossom into new life on the forest floors, but whose burnout has only left charred bark and silence in its wake. There's nothing wrong with you. Burnout can feel like a wound sometimes, a secret you keep to yourself out of shame. Your forest is not ruined. The fire wasn't your fault. If something will start to blossom in that forest, it will take time. It will be small. But it will be life.

[marjansmarwani]

somehow we’ll be okay

9.3k || ao3

Gabriel and Owen process their guilt, the 126 comes together in the face of (another) tragedy, and Carlos and TK find comfort in each other. ---- A 2x12 coda, in 3 parts

This took me an entire week to write and I'm not even sure what it is anymore but here it is.

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

The shrill ringing of a phone shattered the silence of the Reyes home. 

They had just been settling down for the night when the call came and Gabriel muttered a curse under his breath as he rolled over in bed to grab the offending phone from the nightstand. He frowned when he saw the contact info on the screen. 

“Owen?” he said in greeting, “Is everything okay? It’s a little late for a social call.” 

“Gabriel!” The fire captain's voice was tense and distant. It sounded as if he was driving, and fast. “Have you talked to Carlos at all tonight?” 

“No,” he responded, sitting up in bed, nerves suddenly on edge, “Why?” 

“I don’t think Raymond was done. Do you remember what he said? ‘I’ll take what matters the most from you. At first I thought he meant the 126, but I think there was more; and I think he was talking to both of us.” 

It only took a moment for Owen Strand’s frantic words to process and when they did Gabriel felt a cold chill was over him. “The boys,” he said quietly, fearfully, and he felt his wife shift beside him, sitting up and facing him with a concerned expression.

“I think so,” Owen confirmed grimly. “I’m on my way there now but TK’s not answering. It keeps going to voicemail.” 

“I’ll try Carlos,” he said, desperately hoping there was some other explanation for them not answering, anything but the worst fear Owen had just painted for him. He went to hang up, but he hesitated. “Owen…” he said instead, not sure what exactly it was he wanted to say. 

“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” the other man promised and despite everything, Gabriel took comfort in knowing that he and Andrea weren’t alone in this fear. He thanked him again before ending the call and switching to his recent calls list. 

“What’s going on?” Andrea asked him, eyes roving his face for any clues. He didn’t answer right away as he tapped his son’s name and held the phone up to his ear, praying to hear his voice answer. Instead all he got was the mechanical ringing before his voicemail picked up. 

He lowered the phone and met his wife’s eyes. 

“Owen thinks that the arsonist isn’t done with revenge yet. He thinks that he had a more personal goal in mind; something that would affect both of us.” 

He knew he didn’t have to spell it out for her - Andrea had always been smarter than him, after all - and when she placed a hand over her mouth he grimaced, reaching over and squeezing her arm gently as he tried calling Carlos again. It was the same as the first time, so was the next. He could feel the fear and desperation growing within him, but he didn’t know what else he could do. Their son’s home was nearly 20 minutes away from their house - he’d never make it in time to make any difference. He could only hope that Owen would get there in time; that his actions wouldn’t cause him to lose what was most precious to him. 

He stood abruptly from the bed, pacing the floor of the bedroom as he dialed again. Again he got the voicemail and it took every single ounce of his self-control to not hurl his phone across the room in frustration. He took a shuddering breath and sank onto the bed, running a weary and shaking hand across his face. 

He felt the bed shift as Andrea moved closer to him, “Talk to me, corazón,” she murmured, a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

“He’s not answering,” he told her dully, “and neither is TK.” He sighed again and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. 

“That doesn’t mean we have to assume the worst,” she reminded him gently, “not yet.”

He nodded dully and reached up to cover the hand on his shoulder with his own. They waited in silence on their bed; joined together by their hands and their fear as they waited for Gabriel’s phone to ring. The moments passed like sand through a clogged hourglass; each one lasting for its own small eternity as they all piled upon each other. 

Finally, his phone rang.

He snatched it up from where it was resting on his knees but paused over the screen before answering. He needed to know - they both did - but this could very well be the moment that changed their life forever. With a glance at his wife who gave his shoulder another comforting, supportive squeeze, he answered, putting it on speaker. 

“Owen?” he asked in a shaky voice, “What happened? Are they okay?” 

“We’re okay, dad.” 

Nothing else could have made him feel the rush of joy and relief that hearing his son’s voice through the phone did in that moment. He sagged in relief, turning to Andrea to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He gave her a watery smile before he turned his attention back to the phone in his hand. 

“The house is gone,” Carlos continued; voice low, rough, and a little shaky, “but we’re safe.” 

“That’s all that matters right now, mijo,” he told him. “Everything else we can handle in time.” 

On the other end of the phone he heard Carlos make a noise of agreement that was cut short by a cough. He frowned and shared a glance with Andrea to see his concern reflected in her expression. 

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be in a hospital?” he asked. 

“The paramedics checked us out, dad. And then TK’s captain, when they were done. We’re fine, really.”

“Are you sure? Because…”

 “We’re fine, dad,” Carlos repeated; his voice soft, but firm.  

Gabriel took a breath, steadying himself. “Okay. Your mom and I are on the way, we’ll be there as soon as you can.” 

“Yes, sir, see you soon.” 

The almost professional tone in his son’s voice hurt. He knew that it was likely a shield; a way to keep himself together in the aftermath, but he needed him to know. He had come so close - too close - to losing him, he needed him to know. “I love you, son,” he said, voice tight as he said the words he didn’t say enough. 

“Love you, too.” 

With those words Carlos ended the call and Gabriel felt as if all the energy had just been sapped from his body and he sank down onto the bed once again. He heaved a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes. He could feel his wife looking at him, so he voiced the thought that has been ricocheting through his mind since the moment Owen had called: “This is my fault,” he admitted quietly. “I could have cost us our son, or could have caused him to lose someone he loves.” 

“That’s not on you, Gabriel.”

“Yes it is - of course, it is,” he argued. “He did this to get back at me, to make me suffer. It’s completely on me.”

“Did you want to hurt Carlitos? Or TK?”

Gabriel looked up sharply, meeting his wife’s gaze with wide eyes, “Of course not!” 

“Then that’s not on you. Yes, someone awful did this to hurt you; but that doesn’t mean you did it. I’m not saying I agree with what you and Owen did,” she reminded him in case he did not recall the rather heated discussion they had had earlier in the kitchen about keeping secrets and not considering the possible collateral, “but you didn’t start the fire. Someone terrible did it of their own free will and that’s on them, not you.”  

Her gaze was steady as she spoke to him and her words firm: she believed what she was saying and there was not a doubt in her mind. He wished he could say the same. 

But if there was one thing he knew about her after over 30 years of marriage it was that there was no arguing with her once she made up her mind. So he simply nodded and offered a weak smile. They sat in silence for another few moments before she stood up, walking up to him and placing a kiss on his forehead. 

“Get dressed,” she told him gently, “let’s go see our son.” 

He nodded and rose on shaky legs, sighing as he turned to his dresser. His emotions were still swirling inside of him; turbulent and unrestrained. He couldn’t believe they had come so close to losing their son and until he saw him with his own eyes a part of him would insist on believing they had. So he threw on the first shirt and pants he found, discarding the pajamas he had been wearing on the bed without a second thought. The small details could be handled later; all that mattered right now was getting to Carlos. 

They were in his truck a few minutes later and the half-hour drive to Owen Strand’s house was spent mostly in silence as they each worked their way through the night's events. When they arrived Andrea barely waited for him to put the truck in park before she was opening her door and climbing out and striding towards the house. He followed quickly behind and the front door swung open as they approached, revealing a tall man Gabriel had never seen before.

“You must be Carlos’s folks,” he said with a nod, “they’re in here.” He stepped aside without a word and Gabriel offered him a nod of thanks, but couldn’t find the words as he stepped through the doorway and got his first sight of his son: sitting at the counter, miserable and soot-covered with his hands clutched around a mug of tea as his eyes tracked something across the room. 

Gabriel followed his gaze to see TK - equally filthy and absently pacing as he spoke on the phone. 

“I’m fine Mom, I promise,” Gabriel could hear him saying even as his eyes traveled back across the room to Carlos. “We both are.” 

He offered Carlos a small, reassuring smile before he turned away, continuing to speak to his mother in low tones. Carlos hadn’t even noticed their presence yet, too focused on his boyfriend to catch much else, but when Andrea stepped closer and murmured his name he turned to face her quickly, eyes widening at the sight of them. 

“Mom,” he said quietly, “dad.” 

And then Andrea had her arms around him and he all but crumpled into her embrace, shaking as he let out a sob. Andrea whispered reassurances and Gabriel stepped closer, not wanting to intrude. But the moment he got close enough his wife released Carlos from her embrace and as he straightened he made eye contact with Gabriel. 

“Dad,” he began, but Gabriel didn’t give him a chance to speak. He simply stepped closer and pulled his son into a hug, clutching him tightly. 

“I was so scared, Carlitos,” he admitted, “and I am so, so sorry this happened.” 

“It’s not your fault dad,” Carlos muttered and Gabriel shook his head. He was about to argue the point further when another voice interrupted. 

“He’s right, Mr. Reyes,” TK said, joining them in the kitchen having finished his phone call. “It’s not your fault - or my dad’s. It’s just something that happened. It’s shitty, yeah,” he admitted, “but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. You couldn’t have known.” 

Any more discussion was halted by Andrea stepping forward to pull TK into a hug as well. 

“Who is or isn’t to blame doesn’t matter,” she said firmly as she hugged TK as tight as she had Carlos a few moments before, “what matters is that you are both safe.” 

“You’re right,” TK agreed from her embrace, his eyes finding Carlos, “that is what matters.”

There was more to his words, as if he was trying to convey a message that only Carlos would understand. Whatever it was, Carlos seemed to understand as his body - still in Gabriel’s embrace - lost some of its tension. A comfortable silence settled over the four of them, the low tones of the other man on the phone in the corner the only sound. 

Footsteps from the stairs soon interrupted that silence and a moment later, Owen Strand turned the corner. 

He smiled weakly at Gabriel and Andrea before he turned his attention back to the boys, “I put some stuff in the guest room at the end of the hall: some extra clothes and towels. I’m sure you’re going to want to get cleaned up, feel free to use whatever you find in the bathroom.” 

TK nodded as Andrea released him, “Thanks dad,” he said gratefully, stepping towards Carlos. He approached and Gabriel let him go as TK held out a hand. 

“Come on babe,” he said softly, “let’s go get cleaned up.” 

Carlos nodded and took the offered hand, allowing his boyfriend to lead him down the hall towards the stairs. As they walked by the other man ended his phone call and called out to them. 

“The others know now,” he said, “and they’re on their way, just so you know.” 

TK smiled fondly and nodded, “Thanks, Judd.” 

Then he and Carlos disappeared up the stairs. 

Andrea looked at Owen, “The others?” she asked.

“The rest of the 126,” Judd explained as he joined them at the counter. “I was about to call them anyways but they saw it on the news first so…”

“They want to come and see that they’re okay for themselves,” Owen concluded with a nod and a small smile, “They’re good like that.” 

His smile faded though as he looked at Gabriel and Andrea. 

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I should have realized it faster. It was right in front of me and I almost missed it. Even as it stands I was almost too late.” 

“You’re no more to blame than I am,” Gabriel told him, “I had the same information and didn’t even think of the possibility until you called me. But really we should be thanking you for saving them. From what it sounds like if you had been a minute later or if they had to wait for a fire company...”

He trailed off, the awful possibility settling over him. They had come so close to losing the one thing that was most precious and it was only thanks to either sheer luck or a miracle that they hadn’t. 

Owen nodded, but his expression didn’t change. They were silent for a moment before he spoke again, “I still can’t help but feel like this is my fault. If I hadn’t gotten involved maybe none of this would have happened - especially not this.” 

Gabriel went to reassure him, to tell the other man that he was wrong, but he stopped. He knew that Owen wouldn’t believe him, because he didn’t. This was their fault; regardless of whether or not their children blamed them. If they hadn’t gotten involved they wouldn’t have had a target on their backs and they would still have their home. 

“It takes two to make a team-up,” he said instead, nodding when Owen met his eyes. He saw understanding in his gaze; the knowledge that this was a guilt they were going to have to live with, but that they could shoulder the burden together - and make sure nothing like this ever happened again. 

---------

“Is it just me or does this place feel different?” Nancy asked as she surveyed the once familiar bar. 

“Does anything feel the same?” Marjan asked wearily from beside her, taking a sip of her water as she joined the paramedic in glancing around the room. 

“That’s because nothing is,” Paul reminded them, “and because it’s been a weird few weeks.” 

Marjan scoffed at that, “Weeks? It’s been a weird day. Our captain got arrested for arson, our fire station was blown up by said arsonist, and then it turns out that was in retaliation for the sting operation our captain secretly put together with our friend’s Texas Ranger dad and included his staged arrest. What part of that is not completely fucking bizarre?”

Paul titled his drink towards her in acknowledgment while Nancy shook her head. Mateo took a sip from his beer. “I’m just glad TK and I managed to get the house cleaned up before shift today so Cap didn’t have to come home to that,” he declared. 

“Speaking of which,” Nancy said, “has anyone heard from my partner? Or his better half?” 

Marjan shook her head, “He said he was heading home once we got the all-clear to leave. And given the discussion that he and Cap had before he left, I have a feeling he and Carlos have a lot of talking to do.” 

“They’re going to need some time,” Paul agreed, “after everything.” 

“I still can’t believe it was all a setup,” Mateo mused with a shake of his head, “I mean I knew Cap was innocent, I just had no idea he was in on a conspiracy.” 

“I just can’t believe they didn’t at least tell TK and Carlos. I mean…” Nancy trailed off, but they all knew what was left unsaid and they had all heard the scene at the firehouse. 

“I guess they did what they thought they had to do,” Marjan reasoned with a shrug. 

“Doesn’t make it right though,” Paul reminded her darkly.

“No, it does not,” she agreed, looking back down at her glass. 

There was silence then as they all let their thoughts wander, all processing the day. It’s only by chance that Majan looked up and happened to glance towards the bar. The hand absently stirring her water with her straw froze and her sharp intake of breath caught Nancy’s notice. 

“Marj?” she asked, looking over to the woman sitting beside her. “What’s up?” 

Marjan didn’t seem to be able to form words because she settled for gesturing vaguely to the bar, and they all followed her gaze to the tv playing idly in the corner. The news was on and there was footage of a structure burning brightly as crews battled the flames. The sight of a burning building would have been familiar to the assembled group regardless, but this particular building was familiar for an entirely different reason. 

Nancy paled and the grin abruptly slid off Mateo’s face, leaving a look of horror in its wake. Paul cursed and pulled out his phone, swiping it open and tapping on TK’s name. It went right to voicemail and they all watched tensely as he scrolled further down the list to Carlos’s name before repeating the process with the same result. The three firefighters exchanged dark, scared looks. The scene on the tv was grim and they all knew first hand that with flames like that, time was key. There was a very small window to escape before escape became impossible, and they all hoped their friends had managed to find that window because the alternative was too awful to think about. 

Nancy hadn’t said a word and Marjan turned to her only to see her trembling and clutching her glass too tight. 

“Nance?” she asked gently, only to get a vigorous shake of her head in response. 

“No,” the paramedic said softly, but firmly. “No. I can’t lose another partner. Not...not again. Not so soon.” 

Marjan glanced at the others briefly to see her own pain reflected on their faces. Then she turned to Nancy, placing a comforting hand on her arm, “Hey,” she reminded her bracingly, “we don’t know anything yet. And TK knows what to do in a fire, he would have done his best to get them out as quickly as possible. Don’t count them out yet.” 

She gave the other woman a smile that was shakily returned. She turned back to the other two, hoping they had a solution or an idea of what to do next but any conversation was interrupted by the sound of Paul’s phone ringing. 

He answered it the moment the caller id flashed onto the screen, picking it up before the first few notes of his ringtone died out. 

“Judd,” he asked quickly, “we just saw the news, do you…” 

He trailed off as their acting captain spoke on the other end of the line, listening intently. After a minute, he relaxed. 

“Thanks, man,” he murmured, “we needed to know. Yeah, we’re all together right now.” He listened for another minute before he nodded, “Yeah, we’ll head over there shortly. Thanks, man, really.” 

With that, he hung up the phone and the other three stared at him expectantly. 

“Do not make me turn to violence Strickland,” Nancy told him after a few more moments of silence, “because I will.” 

“They’re okay,” he told them and the resolution to the tension that had been pressing on them rippled across their table. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Marjan muttered softly and Nancy’s entire body seemed to sag as she leaned forward, placing her head into her hands with a shuddering breath.

“Do they know what happened?” Mateo asked, and Paul nodded grimly. 

“Arson,” he replied, “retaliation from Raymond; revenge against both the men who arrested him.” 

“Ranger Reyes and Cap,” Marjan provided softly, shaking her head. “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Paul agreed, “it’s a whole mess. And the house is a total loss. But,” he reminded them all after another few moments of silent contemplation around the table, “they’re okay. Judd said they're all at Cap’s house now, and I told him we would head over there.” 

He looked around the table to see if there were any objections but as he expected, there were none. He nodded and took another sip from his beer before setting the still half-full glass down on the table and standing up. The others followed suit and they migrated to Marjan’s car in silent agreement that there was no need to take 4 separate cars and a shared desire to get there as quickly as possible. 

They drove in silence and when they arrived, Mateo led the way in through the front door. They followed him into the kitchen, looking around at the small gathered crowd at the counter. Owen stood up and offered them a smile, “hey guys.” 

“Hey Cap,” Mateo said while Paul added: “Good to see you not arrested.” 

Owen laughed weakly before gesturing towards the others at the counter, “These are Carlos’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes.” They nodded at the tired-looking couple who smiled back as Owen concluded his introductions of the new arrivals to the Reyes. 

They all stepped further into the kitchen at Owen’s insistence before Marjan asked the question that was on everyone’s mind: “Where are they? Are they really okay?” 

“They are,” Owen confirmed, Judd nodding his agreement beside him, “but shaken, understandably. They’re upstairs now, trying to get cleaned up.” 

“It could take a while,” Judd said lowly and the others nodded in understanding - they were all too familiar with the struggle of trying to scrub the remnants of a fire from your skin but that was from a stranger’s fire; someone else’s tragedy. None of them could imagine what it must be like to have the reminder of your home being destroyed clinging to your skin. 

“Man, I can’t believe this,” Mateo said with a shake of his head and it was clear that was a sentiment shared by the rest of the group. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Marjan asked, looking from Owen to the Reyes. “I want to help, I just don’t know how we can.” 

Owen shrugged helplessly, “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Give them time, I suppose. Be there for them. They’re going to have to start over and that’s not going to be easy.” 

There was a heavy silence over the group as they all considered the task before their loved ones. It seemed insurmountable; too much to take on. 

“But they have each other,” Andrea reminded the group, “and all of us. It doesn’t make it better, but it does make it easier.” 

There were small smiles and nods of agreement at that and before long they fell into comfortable chatter while they waited. The conversation wasn’t uncomfortable, but none of their hearts were in it. All of their collective focus was on the pair currently upstairs and despite repeated reassurances that they were fine, none of the newly arrived group would truly be able to believe it until they saw them with their own eyes. 

Nancy in particular seemed agitated, shifting on her feet and glancing up the stairs every now and then. Marjan could almost feel the anxious energy rolling off of the other woman from where she stood beside her. She knew that they were all worried, but she also knew that Nancy was still healing from the loss of Tim. It had hit them all, but none more than her; rightfully so. The thought now that she could lose her new partner - the one she had finally let into her heart - was clearly affecting her, manifesting itself into an anxiety that would likely not fade until she was able to see TK herself. 

Marjan held out a hand anyways, finding Nancy’s under the lip of the counter and squeezing it. She met her surprised look with a soft smile that widened when Nancy relaxed, some of the tension leaving her body at the touch and the knowledge that her burden was shared. 

Hand still clasped with Nancy’s beneath the counter and away from curious eyes, Marjan turned her attention to where Paul was talking through the case with Ranger Reyes and their Captain. Given everything she had heard she had expected more enthusiasm in the retelling of their sleight of hand to trick the arsonist into walking into their trap. But they were subdued as they talked, almost regretful in hindsight. Given everything, she supposed that was more than fair. She just hadn’t been sure they would feel the same way. 

There was nothing like almost losing the people you cared for most in a disaster of your own making to deflate an ego, she supposed. 

She met Paul’s eyes briefly and his expression told her that he had thoughts that she would likely hear later. She tried to tune into the conversation, willing herself to focus on what was happening right before her, but she couldn’t seem to pull her attention away from the stairs and her friends somewhere on the other side of them. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Judd’s reassurance that they were fine, but she had been a firefighter for a long time. She had seen the footage of the flames and the skeleton left behind in the aftermath of their fire on the news and she knew that there was a wide gulf between fine and okay. 

And until she saw them she had no idea where in that gulf they were treading, or how well they were keeping their heads above water.

It’s still another few minutes until they hear footsteps on the stairs. All conversation dies in an instant and all gazes turn to the stairs to see them descending: hand in hand and miraculously in one piece. 

She’s the first to get over the surprise, dropping Nancy’s hand in favor of closing the distance between them and pulling TK into a gentle hug. He returns it and she allows herself a moment to absorb the fact that he is safe and whole before she moves on - both needing the same assurances from Carlos and knowing that Nancy is at her heels and needs this just as much as she does. 

Carlos’s smile is so dim when he looks at her that she squeezes him extra tight. He seems to melt just a bit in her arms and she feels a pang for her friends. Though they are both whole and mostly unscathed it was clear they were not okay. But that is something that would come, she supposed, with time. She couldn’t help but shake her head, voicing what everyone else was thinking: “I can’t believe this happened.”

“I guess there’s no saying what a revenge-motivated arsonist will do,” TK said with a shrug. There was silence after as no one seemed to know how to respond to that until Paul, who had been studying them, spoke. 

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be in a hospital?” he asked them in a skeptical voice, “You don’t sound good and you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Thanks, Paul,” TK said with a roll of his eye but his words only further served to confirm that his voice was still raspy from smoke. “And we were checked on scene: both by the 129’s team and Captain Vega. We’re fine, really.” 

“Maybe we should sit down though,” Nancy suggested, studying her partner and Carlos with a critical eye.  

TK shook his head at her but didn’t fight the migration as the group moved to the living room and they settled on the sofa together, just as they had at the intervention all those weeks ago. In some ways this was earlier similar: the group gathered in the Strand living room, the somber mood in the air. But it was TK and Carlos at the center now; both whole and unhurt, but so far from okay. 

They fell into easy conversation as they sat, falling into their usual patterns and habits like breathing. But Marjan made sure to watch them as they all spoke and she saw the way they clung to each other, even if it wasn’t physical. They were far from alone but it seemed that to each of them the other was the only one in the room that mattered. She couldn’t blame them for that and it didn’t surprise her. 

But a glance around the space revealed just how many people were in their corner and just how much love and support was ready for them to grasp onto whenever they wanted and whenever they were ready. She hoped that it was soon because she didn’t like the thought of them shouldering such a burden alone - even if they did have each other. 

She supposed they would come to see that and that they would take the hands that were offered to keep them from falling. All in good time. 

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

They ascended the stairs in silence, hand in hand, neither of them speaking until the door to the bathroom was shut securely behind them. In the security and privacy of the enclosed and private space, TK stepped closer to Carlos, reaching out a hand to frame his face and gently run his thumb across his cheek. 

 “How are you feeling?” he asked gently. 

 Carlos shrugged non-committedly, “Okay, I guess. I just really want to get clean.”

 “If there’s one benefit of my dad’s obsession with skincare, it’s that there are plenty of soaps to help with that,” TK told him with a grin. Carlos gave him a smile in response, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it by the way it didn’t reach his eyes; Carlos’s smiles always reached his eyes. TK let his own grin fade and let his hand fall from Carlos’s face down to his shoulder. 

 “Why don’t you get undressed,” he suggested gently, “I’ll go grab whatever my dad left in the bedroom for us.”

 He gave his boyfriend’s shoulder a light squeeze before stepping away. He was about to move to the door when Carlos’s hand reached out and grabbed him. He turned back to the other man, to see his surprise mirrored on his face. 

 “I…” Carlos began but trailed off as if he couldn’t quite find the words he wanted to say. TK had a feeling he understood though. 

 “I’ll be right back,” he assured Carlos, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

 Carlos held his gaze for a moment before nodding, letting his hand drop as TK stepped away again, heading once more for the bathroom door. He opened it softly, slipping out into the hallway and closing it behind him. He crossed to the guest room and barely even stopped to glance at the items left on the bed. He simply gathered them all - a haphazard bundle of towels and clothes in his arms - before turning on his heel and heading back to the bathroom and Carlos. He knocked once, lightly tapping on the door before he opened it to reveal Carlos. He had removed his shirt in the time TK had been gone but now he was simply staring at his bare chest and arms in the mirror, his gaze tracing the lines of soot winding across his body. TK set down his bundle and stepped closer, his own reflection appearing besides Carlos’s as he met his eyes in the mirror. 

 “I always find it’s the smell that’s the worst,” he murmured. “That’s the part that always got to me.” 

 “It feels heavy,” Carlos said dully. “Like it’s clinging to my skin and it’s always going to be there.” 

 “We can fix that,” TK promised him.

 He gently pulled Carlos away from the mirror, helping him to remove the rest of his clothes before he turned on the shower. Then he removed his own clothes, tossing their smoke-filled and singed clothes into a heap next to the bathroom door to be dealt with later. He reached a hand back into the shower to check the temperature and when he was satisfied he reached for Carlos’s hand, guiding him into the shower and the stream of warm water. 

 He grabbed one of the soaps off the ledge and squeezed some into his hand before beginning to rub it against Carlos’s body. 

 “It may take a few tries,” he told him, “but we’ll get it all off.”

 He scrubbed at his skin gently, making circular repetitive motions up his arms and across his chest. Carlos watched him quietly, allowing him complete control as he washed away the remnants of the night. TK could see his eyes tracking the soot as it faded into the water and traveled down to the drain. 

 “And just like that, there goes what’s left of our home,” he said darkly. 

 TK froze, looking sharply up at Carlos and meeting his eyes. 

 “Hey,” he reminded him, voice firm, “as long as we have each other, we still have a home.”

 Carlos’s expression turned to one of surprise before he wilted, leaning closer to TK. TK abandoned his scrubbing in favor of wrapping his arms around the other man and allowing the warm water to wash over their intertwined bodies. 

 “My home is you, Carlos, it has been for a while,” he said, his words loud and clear in the confines of the shower and their embrace. “Nothing can change that. As long as we have each other, we’re going to be okay.”

 His words settled around them like the water droplets bouncing off their skin and Carlos nodded. TK tightened his embrace, clutching his boyfriend tighter for another moment before he pressed a kiss onto the top of his shoulder blade and stepped away; not straying further than the hand still on his shoulder would allow. He studied Carlos, taking in the glint of his warm brown eyes and the slump of his shoulders. 

 “Are you okay to finish?” he asked softly, receiving a nod in return. He grabbed the soap again and resumed scrubbing them both, methodically removing the reminders from their skin. 

 Carlos was quiet as he worked but TK had the sense he was studying him, almost as if he was trying to solve a riddle. 

 “How are you so okay?” he finally asked. “We almost died an hour ago and you’re fine. How?”

 TK slowed in his motions as he considered, trying to find the right way to explain. He settled on a shrug: “I don’t know if I am okay. I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. Besides,” he added as he moved his hands up to Carlos’s hair, “I’ve been trapped in fire hundreds of times. It’s scary but after a while, you get used to it.” 

 He paused to get more soap and to find the right words. He needed to explain, but he wasn’t sure how. He didn’t want Carlos to feel any less for his reaction, for his fear. 

 “I remember my first time in a house fire,” he said eventually as he squeezed the last of a bottle of shampoo into his palm. “I was maybe a week out of the academy and though you go through training and simulations, nothing can quite prepare you for the real thing. It was a bad one, too: an old house in Bushwick that went up like a tinderbox. I made it through fine, but I was probably shaking for at least an hour after. And that was with training and gear in a stranger’s home. That wasn’t my home, and I wasn’t trapped with the person I loved; worried I could lose them. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling, Carlos; however you are feeling it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

 “Logically I know that,” Carlos agreed. “But…” 

 “But knowing it is different from actually feeling it,” TK suggested, receiving a nod in return. He smiled sadly at the other man, placing his hands on his shoulders. 

 “Sometimes I wonder if your shoulders hurt from trying to carry the weight of the world on them,” he told Carlos softly. “And that’s who you are, I get that. You always want to look out for others; always want to make sure everyone else is safe and happy. It’s why you became a cop and it’s a big part of what makes you who you are. It’s one of the things I love about you.” He paused to smile, running his hands across Carlos’s broad chest: newly clean and red from the scrubbing before he continued. 

 “But sometimes you need to feel things too, Carlos. Sometimes you have to lean on someone else. And I know I might not always do such a good job of reminding you, but I can be that someone you lean on when you need it. I want to be. We’re a team, right? And that means we take care of each other. So whatever you are feeling now, you are not alone. I’m here for you - every step of the way. And if I need it later, when this whole mess finally processes, I know you’ll be there for me too.” 

 “We lean on each other,” Carlos agreed softly, and TK smiled at him again, reaching behind him to shut off the water.

 “Always,” he promised him, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips before he exited the shower, “no matter what.” 

 They dried and dressed silently, pulling on borrowed clothes that felt almost foreign against their freshly washed skin. TK spared a glance at their discarded clothes, still in a heap by the door. He debated throwing them out, but he couldn’t bear the thought. They were the only thing they still had that was theirs, after all. He gently picked them up and placed them in the hamper, making a mental note to try to wash them tomorrow, to see if they could be salvaged. Then, task completed, he looked back to Carlos. 

 “You ready?” he asked. Carlos took a deep breath and nodded, offering him a smile that still didn’t reach his eyes, but it was closer. 

 “Yeah, let’s go.” 

 TK nodded, but hesitated at the door. 

 “If it’s too much, if you need to step away,” he began, “tell me. I’ll find an excuse. And even if I can’t everyone will understand.” 

 Carlos nodded and reached for TK’s hand, winding their fingers together. 

 “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Just, stay with me?” 

 “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured Carlos, squeezing his hand gently and holding his gaze for another moment before they headed downstairs to where their friends and family were waiting for them. 

 The sound of chatter drifted up the stairs as they approached, but it died as they reached the bottom of the stairs and when they entered the kitchen, all eyes turned to them. The familiar gazes were filled with sympathy and relief, and TK forced a smile; holding Carlos’s hand a little tighter. 

 “Hey guys,” he said and his words seemed to be the catalyst needed to break the spell. Marjan is the first to approach, pulling first him and then Carlos into a gentle hug. Nancy is right behind her, squeezing TK tightly and holding on for a few moments longer. 

 “You really need to stop with this almost dying every other week bullshit,” she muttered into his shoulder, “I need my partner.” 

 He chuckled softly, returning the hug, “I’ll try my best, Nance,” he promised. 

 “Good,” she told him, pulling away and blinking away the tears that were slowly filling her eyes, “Because breaking in a new one is a lot of work. I don’t have that in me again this year.”

 He gave her a smile as he pulled away, pulling Carlos into a hug and lingering there as well, murmuring something to him in low tones. He was pulled away from their moment by Paul appearing before him, wrapping him into a hug. The other man didn’t say anything, but he looked at TK for a long moment as he pulled away, his analytical gaze taking him in. TK offered him a half-smile, and Paul nodded before stepping closer to Carlos. The next hug was full of forceful enthusiasm and TK smiled fondly as he found his footing again after Mateo nearly bowled him over. 

 Once they had all gotten their hugs in his team stood back, taking them in. Marjan was the first to speak, voice low in disbelief, “I can’t believe this happened.” 

 TK looked past them to where his dad sat watching them. Their eyes met and TK knew that they were both thinking the same thing: this could have been avoided. He had meant it earlier when he said it wasn’t his dad or Gabriel’s fault. Neither of them had started the fire and he knew that. He didn’t blame them for the fire. 

 But there were other offenses and other hurts they had caused when they had charged into a situation with no regard for how it might affect anyone else. He didn’t feel up to broaching that subject just yet, he knew he would have to. He suspected Carlos would have some feelings on it as well, once the shock had worn off a bit. For now, they could dance around it and he could let his dad’s silent remorse be enough. 

 “I guess there’s no saying what a revenge-motivated arsonist will do,” he said eventually, pulling his focus back to the group before them. 

 No one seemed to know what to say to that, and he couldn’t say that he blamed them. Instead, he tried for a smile as he took Carlos’s hand in his own again. He could feel Paul studying them both and parried his questions about hospital visits. They were fine - or at least as fine as they could be. 

 The suggestion to move to the couch was a welcome one however and he tugged lightly at Carlos’s hand, guiding him to one of the couches. He let Carlos sit before he settled in beside him, pressing against his side to both provide and receive the reassurance that they were both there. The conversation ebbed and flowed around them and while TK interjected from time to time he mostly let it all wash over him. He and Carlow were both here; they were both safe. Their friends and families were with them and whatever would come they would face, just like he had told Carlos earlier. 

 Now if he could only get himself to believe it. 

 The conversation is light and not too hard to follow (purposefully so, he’s sure, and he appreciates it) and soon they are joined by their parents and Judd as they migrate from the kitchen. Judd comes up behind them and places a warm hand on TK’s shoulder. 

 “I’ve gotta get home to Grace,” he tells them. “She sends her love, and probably some food tomorrow too, if I know my wife. But hey,” he paused to squeeze TK’s shoulder, looking between him and Carlos as he spoke, “you let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything at all, just ask.”

 TK and Carlos both nodded. TK was about to thank his friend, but Carlos beat him to it, “Thank you Judd,” he said earnestly. “For the offer and for earlier. I…” he trailed off, looking at TK before clearing his throat and trying again, “I don’t know how to ever thank you for that.”

 “And you don’t need to,” Judd said firmly. “Not only is it my job, but it’s what you do for family and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’d rather I never have to though, so let’s all try to avoid fires in our off hours from here on out, yeah?” 

 The last bit was directed at the room at large and pulled a few chuckles from the others, but when Judd looked back down at them his expression was soft and his smile sincere. He put his other hand on Carlos’s shoulder and gave them each a comforting squeeze before he moved his hands, giving the rest of the group a wave before he headed out the door. 

 “We should probably be heading out soon too,” Andrea said regretfully. “It’s getting late and you boys are going to need sleep after everything and I’m sure Owen doesn’t need a houseful.” 

 “On the contrary,” Owen countered immediately, “I love a houseful. And it just so happens that I have an extra guest room, if you’d rather stay.” 

 Carlos’s parents didn’t respond right away and TK watched as his dad’s expression softened before he spoke again, “I’m sure you want to stay close, because I know I do. There’s no reason you should have to leave just because we ended up at my house. You are more than welcome to stay, really. That applies to all of you, really,” he added in a heartier tone. “Obviously not Mateo because he already lives here but you all are welcome too, always.”

 “As tempting as that is and as much as I appreciate it, really, I’m pretty sure you’re out of guest rooms cap, and my place isn’t that far,” Marjan responded, and Paul and Nancy nodded. 

 “What Marj said, Captain Strand,” Nancy said awkwardly with a nervous smile. 

 “Likewise,” he said. “I do really appreciate it though, and you can bet I will be over here tomorrow to check in on you two.” At Marjan and Nancy’s pointed looks he sighed, “ We will be back tomorrow.” 

 Owen first glanced at TK and Carlos and upon their nods, he smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he confirmed, smiling at the group. 

 They all rose then, extending their goodbyes, reminding them of the standing offer. Anything you need was repeated over and over again but TK knew that they meant it. There was no false sincerity or empty words here - not with these people, not for them. Eventually, the three of them headed out into the night and Mateo headed off to his room leaving TK and Carlos alone with their parents. 

 There was silence in the wake of Mateo’s door closing, for a beat. Then Andrea Reyes, who had been studying the boys as the others made their exit looked first to her husband and then to Owen. 

 “If you really don’t mind…” she began, but Owen cut her off with a wave of his hand. 

 “I don’t mind,” he assured her. “In fact, it would make me feel better.”

 There was something unspoken that passed through their parents, confirmed with a smile from Carlos’s mother and a nod from his father. But his focus - whatever portion of it that wasn’t honed in on Carlos and the presence of him beside him - was soon interrupted by a yawn that caused all eyes to turn to him. He could feel his face turning red as he stammered. 

 “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude but…”

 “But it has been a long day, and you boys have been through a lot,” Andrea finished gently. “You should go to bed, you need rest. We’ll see you in the morning.”

 Carlos shifted beside him and TK could see him gearing up to argue, whether about his parents staying or the fact that they were fine, but his dad cut him off. 

 “Listen to your mother, Carlitos,” he said gently, “you know as well as I do she’s always right.” 

 Carlos still looked like he wanted to argue, but TK placed a hand on his knee drawing his attention back to him and he smiled. Carlos held his gaze for a few minutes before he relaxed and nodded before standing and offering TK a hand. TK took it with a smile, allowing his boyfriend to pull him off the couch. No sooner was he on his feet than Andrea Reyes was before them, offering them each a hug and a kiss on the forehead. 

  “Go get some rest,” she told them softly, “we can start to figure everything out in the morning.”

 TK glanced over at their dads who both wore sad but sincere smiles. He studied them all; their newly meshed families that had blended so well trying to place this in his head with everything else. He couldn’t but he knew that he would, in time. 

 For now, he allowed himself to be led to the stairs by Carlos and with one last wave to their collective parents, they disappeared up them; shutting themselves into the privacy of their temporary bedroom. The sight of the bed was enticing and TK flopped onto it, suddenly aware of how quickly all the energy had left his body now that there was no more goal to push towards. He heard a small chuckle and the sensation of the bed dipping beside him as Carlos sank onto his side far more gracefully and once he was sure he had settled he rolled so he was facing the other man. 

 “So,” he began, “our parents are having a slumber party.” 

 Carlos chuckled and TK grinned at him before the mood turned more somber again. 

 “This is all kind of surreal,” Carlos admitted after a moment. “Not only did our house burn down but I’m now spending the night at my boyfriend’s dad’s house with my parents staying in the other guest room. It’s just a lot to take in. Especially…” 

 Carlos trailed off and TK shifted so he had a better view of his face. “Especially what, Carlos?” he prompted softly, running a gentle hand down his arm, watching as he tried to get his thoughts in order. 

 “I’ve never doubted my parents love me,” he said after some time, “not for a moment. And I know now that they don’t have a problem with me being gay and they are supportive of that, and us. I even know how much they like you,” he added with a smile, pulling TK’s hand closer and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

 TK grinned at him but knew that there was more he wasn’t saying. “But?” he prompted. 

 “But the thought that they are here, that both of our families are together? I’m just having a hard time processing that, I think. It’s a lot very quickly.”

 TK nodded, “That’s understandable, babe. So much has changed recently and you’re allowed to struggle with that, I will never judge you for that. But it’s a good thing, right? Our families getting along?” 

 “It is,” Carlos assured him quickly. “Though,” he added dryly, “I’m not sure how much of our dads scheming we can be reasonably expected to survive.” 

 TK groaned and tucked his head into Carlos’s shoulder, “Don’t remind me. I’d like to think they learned their lesson…”

 “But it is hard to say with them,” Carlos agreed. “Which is why I think we need to talk to them about it, soon.” 

 TK pulled back from Carlos and placed his head back on his own pillow with a sigh, “You’re right,” he agreed, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. I just couldn’t handle it tonight.”

 “Me neither,” Carlos confirmed with a nod. “But I suppose they’ll both be here tomorrow, we can try then.” 

 TK hummed in agreement before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. It wasn’t even that he was ready to sleep yet. There was just so much in his head and he didn’t know where to put it all. There was noise coming from every corner of his mind and he couldn’t seem to drown any of it out. 

 “Ty?” Carlos’s asked, his gentle voice cutting through the dark and silent room, “How are you doing?” 

 TK took a moment to think, to try to organize the mess in his mind. There was really no concrete answer to give, but he turned again so he was facing Carlos before he did his best to answer. 

 “I’m upset,” TK said after some consideration. It took some time to find the right words for everything he was feeling. “And annoyed at our dads and still so scared at what could have been. I’m overwhelmed with everything we have to do now, with the idea of having to start over. But mostly,” he added, knowing that what came next was the strongest truth of all, “I’m worried about you.” 

 Carlos furrowed his brow, “Why?” 

 “Because it was your home, Carlos.” He shook his head as Carlos opened his mouth to argue, “I know it was our home, but it was your home first. You’re allowed to be upset about that Carlos.” 

 Carlos was quiet for a moment, absentmindedly running a hand down TK’s arm as he considered, “You’re right,” he said eventually. “It’s hard. That condo was the first place I could really be myself, the place where I started to build my life. The place where we started to build our life. And I’m upset about it - it hurts to think about. But then I think about what could have been and...I really didn’t think we were going to make it out of there, TK.” 

 His voice grew thicker and tears filled his eyes once again but TK reached across the space between them to gently brush them away. 

 “But we did,” he reminded him firmly. “We did and we’re okay. We may not have a home anymore, but we have each other.” 

 “Which means we will always have a home,” Carlos agreed, echoing his words from earlier. “And I know it’s not ideal, but now we get to start something new together. It’s going to be scary and hard and it’s not going to happen quickly, but we’ll make it work. We have family and friends to help us, and we have each other.” 

 And as they lay there in a spare bed at TK’s father’s house; friends and family alike waiting in the wings to offer them love and support and the man he loved more than anything else in the world whole and safe right beside him, TK knew what Carlos said was true. He moved closer to the other man, readjusting so his arms were wrapped around his torso and his head rested on his chest; the steady beating of his heart a steady companion to help and hold off the fears hovering so close by. It was a reminder too; that they had both made it out and that he wasn’t alone. That he never would be.

 There were so many uncertainties and unanswered questions but there was one thing TK Strand knew for sure: as long as they had each other, they would be okay. 

[witcherslittledove]

Home is Where the Heart Is

A Joey/Henry lockdown fic - AO3

Rated: T

Words: 7k ish

CW: RPF, covid, far too much pining?

_______

“I’m sorry, Joey,” Madeleine sighed again, pressing her head into the crook of Joey’s neck, her hair tickling his cheek.

It was pulled back into a messy bun, flyaway strands surrounding her face in a halo, and as the sun shone from behind her, she looked like some kind of angel. Joey wondered, not for the first time, how he’d even been so lucky to have Madeleine as a friend. She truly was a wonder, his favourite person and light of his life. Everyone should have a friend like Madeleine Hyland.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple as he pulled back from her embrace. “Nah, it’s alright, Madeleine. Your parents need you, much more important than little old me.”

“Oh fuck that, you bastard, stop fishing for compliments,” she laughed, swatting him on the arm.

“Aww,” he pouted, “Oi!”

She’d hit his arm again, barely a tap but he pretended it hurt, rubbing his arm and pouting even harder at his friend.

“Come off it, Joey. You’re staying with Henry for the rest of lockdown, that’s hardly a trial,” she teased, poking him in the chest.

Ah yes.

Henry.

The bane of Joey’s existence, mostly because of the fucking ginormous crush he had on his co-star. He hadn’t known Henry had been signed on for Geralt until his audition, really he hadn’t known much at all, just that he’d be auditioning for a bard and that he should probably take his lute to the audition. A spur of the moment decision that had turned his life upside down. He’d gone from a nobody to... well, not exactly famous but people had started to recognise him, much to his despair.

And then there was Henry.

He’d been admiring Henry from a distance for a few years now, watching him in the Tudors had sort of been Joey’s bisexual awakening, and then he’d suddenly been thrust into the most bizarre experience of having to work fairly closely with the man.

Joey would never forget the feeling of Henry throwing him over his shoulder as if he wasn’t almost the same size as Henry.

Fuck, that had been hot.

And now, Joey had to cohabit with said crush for an indeterminate amount of time, preferably without making a fool of himself.

He was doomed.

Of course, he could have said no when Henry had offered his place when Joey was grumbling about being alone during lockdown after Madeleine's parents got sick, but no… Henry had stared at him with such shining hope in his eyes that Joey never stood a chance.

Joey just needed to keep reminding himself that Henry was straight. He was practically the poster boy for heteronormative; classically gorgeous, action star, gymrat, lover of sports and building fucking computers.

Okay, maybe Joey was generalising a tad, but it was a form of self-defence.

Christ, the mere thought that Henry could be interested in men… interested in him.

It was too much.

So here he was, saying goodbye to his best friend whilst waiting for his biggest crush to pick him up. Madeleine bundled into her car with the last of her bags, and Joey was left waiting on the pavement. In all honesty, he would have preferred to drive to Henry’s place himself or at least get the tube, something where he felt like he was actively doing something. The waiting was killing him, making his thoughts run out of control. Maybe he shouldn’t have packed his guitar. He could have at least been tuning it, or plucking out some meaningless melody, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind distracted.

When the black car pulled up, Joey let out a sigh of relief before realising that it was very much frying pan, fire. Luckily, before he could really start to panic, the back door opened and Joey was almost bowled off his feet by a large bundle of fur that Henry claimed was a dog and not, in fact, a bear.

“Kal!” Joey greeted warmly, burying his fingers into Kal’s neverending fur, and letting the dog lick all over his face.

“He’s missed you,” Henry called in lieu of a greeting.

He was wearing a grey henley that looked like it was two sizes too small and his dark blue jeans seemed to strain against his quads. Henry’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he looked down at Joey with a blinding Hollywood smile that made Joey’s heart flutter. Dark curls seemed to have finally recovered from the weeks stuck under Geralt’s wig and they fell in front of his so very blue eyes.

He was bloody gorgeous, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

So Joey did the only logical thing, and started to coo at Kal instead. “I’ve missed him too,” he trilled happily into the dog’s fur, scratching Kal behind his ears. “Such a good boy! The bestest, cutest doggo.”

“He’s not the only one who’s missed you, you know,” Henry groused, although when Joey looked up, he was still smiling so Joey didn’t feel too bad for paying far more attention to Kal than the gorgeous specimen of a man that is Henry Cavill.

“Aww, you sap,” he chuckled. “Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for those cruel and terrible words you cursed me with the last time we met.”

It wasn’t the last time they’d met. They’d had a few scenes after the argument in episode six. Scheduling had meant that it wasn’t filmed entirely in order, and then there had been reshoots and post-production parties, premieres and the table reads for season two, but it was a sort of in-joke. Joey liked to tease Henry about the argument, they’d both lurked enough online to know that ‘the mountain’ was a big fucking deal to the fans of their characters.

Henry rolled his eyes and opened his arms out for a hug which Joey eagerly returned, inhaling the soft musky cologne that Henry wore and enjoying the strongs arms that wrapped around him. He loved hugs, but most of Joey’s male friends would do that god awful hug and pat thing, then pull away too soon. Henry had never been like that and it was delightful, even if it really didn’t help the not so little crush that Joey had on the man.

It was cliche but it really did feel like coming home.

Fuck.

He was utterly screwed… and not even in the fun way.

The drive to Henry’s place was quiet, Joey spent most of the time watching the streets of London roll past as they weaved through bendy roads that webbed across the city. The traffic was weirdly non-existent, a side effect of a global pandemic, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the ghost towns from films and books.

It was truly haunting, spooky in just the right way. Horror and the Wild had very much had woodland magic vibes, but driving through the dead streets of London, Joey wondered what happened to the fae when a city sprung up near their home. Did they adapt like the wildlife did? Urban spirits that lurked in the shadows, in the alleys, behind the bins and cobbled streets at the back of theatres.

Most theatres were supposed to be haunted, Joey had always wondered just who the spirits were that glided through the aisles when the shows went dark.

Henry didn’t feel the need to fill the silence which Joey was grateful for. On set, with Jaskier on his fingertips, Joey was happy to joke about and laugh and banter, but he was nervous about the move to Henry’s and the silence gave him time to get lost in his own imagination, a reality that wasn’t quite the one they knew.

He was almost disappointed when the car pulled to a stop in front of a rather grand house. It was part of a terrace but that was unsurprising, most places in London were, but it was much nicer than the shitty little flat that Joey shared with Madeleine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They were poles apart. Even being friends was unrealistic. How the hell was Joey supposed to even pretend they were in the same league? It was fine. Everything was going to be fine. Joey just had to be a perfect house guest, no clumsy mistakes, no setting fire to any ovens, and no slipping in the shower and messing up his ankle.

He’d just have to spend all his time with Kal lest Henry find out just how much of a walking disaster he could be.

Henry had only offered because he was a caregiver, selfless and kind in everything he did. He would have done the same to anyone else if they’d mentioned spending lockdown alone. Joey was just the lucky one.

Or unlucky.

He hadn’t quite decided yet.

Yes, he would just have to spend his days with Kal and his guitar, stay out of Henry’s way and then everything would be fine.

Right?

___

Joey’s plan went according to plan for almost an entire week. He mostly kept to his room and occasionally the living room. Henry wanted to show Joey some films he liked and it would have been rude to say no, so Joey curled up with Kal on the floor to keep some space between them. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to snuggle up against Henry’s chest the same way he did with Madeleine, only it wouldn’t be the same because Madeleine was his best friend and Henry was… well… Henry.

It was such a mess.

And he was probably being an arse.

They’d gotten along so well on set in between takes, but now, without Jaskier there as a crutch, Joey’s anxiety was getting the better of him, and all because of a stupid crush. This would all be a lot easier if Joey were straight; no awkward crushes, no pining for a man he couldn’t have, no… whatever this was?

He could flirt and tease and banter just like he would with any of his friends because it was harmless.

If only.

No.

He had to do better. The reason Henry had invited him to stay was so neither of them would be alone, and despite all his cuddles with Kal, Joey was really starting to feel touch starved. He’d never gone so long without human touch.

The problem was that Henry was just so fucking sweet. He was so bloody understanding that it made Joey just yearn even harder. There was never any pressure to hang out, just gentle suggestions, and the most amazing home-cooked meals that Henry said could be heated up another time if Joey wasn’t hungry. The wine Henry picked out to go with the meal was heavenly, and fuck, the man could cook.

He felt like he was being seduced; wooed with the most gorgeous culinary delights that were truly to die for.

What was a poor bisexual to do?

So every evening Joey would sit across from Henry at the table, trying to joke and laugh just as they had before, but even to his own ears it felt flat. Madeleine’s voice in his head reminded him that that was probably his anxiety speaking but, of course, he ignored it. They ate their food and then Joey would either retreat to his room with his beloved guitar or Henry would suggest a film.

Until Henry decided enough was enough.

Joey was lured from his room with the sweet delicious smell of pizza, and when he came down the stairs he found Henry already on the couch, two boxes of pizza and a couple of beers already opened and ready to go.

There was no sitting on the floor, not with pizza and a Kal. Joey wouldn’t get to taste the greasy wonders of his takeaway if he sat on the floor, and the pizza box was already being guarded by Henry on the couch.

He had to break his rule.

Fuck.

“Kitchen table not good enough?” he teased with a quirk of his lips.

Henry scoffed. “Who eats pizza at the table?”

It was a fair point and sighed, resigning himself to an evening pressed up against his friend when his cuddle instincts got too much. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, maybe it would help get him out of his head and into the moment… maybe he should just let Jaskier out of the box and pretend that all was fine?

No.

He could do this. Just… be himself?

“Before I open this box, there is one very important question I have to ask,” he said far too seriously, barely able to hide a smile as he scooped the pizza box into his lap and sat down next to Henry, keeping a safe distance between them.

“There’s no pineapple.”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” Joey laughed and opened the box. It was a standard pepperoni pizza, not his go to, but it was a safe option and one that was always yummy regardless of the restaurant. “Garlic dip?” he asked with a cock of his head.

“Damn, I hoped you wouldn’t like it,” Henry grumbled and pulled a small green topped tub from inside his own box.

“You!” Joey said in mock outrage, “keeping the beloved dip from me. It’s like the mountain all over again.”

“It’s not like the mountain,” Henry grumbled. “I didn’t make the script, you can’t keep blaming me for that.”

Joey’s heart sank as he wondered if he’d taken the joke too far, but when he met Henry’s gaze he saw the man was smiling despite his grousing. “I can,” he insisted.

“Hmm,” Henry replied in his most Geralt-y voice.

And with an internal sigh of relief, everything seemed to be okay. Yes, Joey was pulling some of his energy from his beloved character, but so was Henry, and it seemed to smooth out the edges of his anxiety. The beer helped and everything seemed a lot more relaxed with the takeaway pizza and the film already starting to play on the TV.

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered after the pizza was finished and the credits had started to roll.

Joey’s head was resting on his friend’s shoulder but he’d managed to keep himself from koala hugging… so far. The vulnerability caught his attention though, and he sat up wearily to peer at Henry.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by inviting you here.”

Joey wanted to swear, to stomp around the room and tear the place upside down. He’d fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up, his damn anxiety keeping him from being the person he wanted to be, the person he knew he could be if his head just shut up! He didn’t do any of that though. Instead, he slumped back down to lean against Henry and took a deep breath.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. I’m just- it’s hard for me, being somewhere new,” not a lie, not entirely the truth, “and I didn’t want to encroach on your space. This is your home, and I- umm- I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Henry laughed, running a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back off his face, and Joey was entranced for a moment, wanting to reach out and feel the soft hair between his fingers for himself. It was a miracle that he managed to keep his hands in his own lap.

“Joey, this is our home, for now at least,” Henry said with such conviction and warmth that Joey made a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Our home?”

“We have no idea how long this nightmare is going to last. It could be months, Joey. I want you to feel like you can relax here,” Henry insisted, wrapping his arm around Joey’s shoulder and pulling him into a sideways hug.

“Right- yeah, no, I know,” Joey mumbled, trying and failing not to blush.

Now that Henry wasn’t really having to watch what he ate and stay dehydrated for dear old Geralt, he was big.

And Joey was weak.

It was like all his wet dreams were becoming a reality, one by one.

He was just monkey-braining over the fact that Henry was one big, large, strong man that wanted to take care of him. It was pathetic. Joey wasn’t exactly small himself, and he could, should the role require it, hold up pretty well in a sword fight with Henry and not look entirely ridiculous.

“And I know Kal is very cute,” Henry teased, nodding to the dog who was sprawled on the carpet in front of them, “but if you ever need a hug, he’s not your only option.”

Joey definitely didn’t squeak this time. Instead, he finally let himself snuggle up to Henry the way he’d been wanting to all evening, every evening since he’d arrived. “Like this?” he teased.

Henry chuckled, and just squeezed his arms tighter around Joey, “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” Joey mumbled. “I was being an arse.”

“No, it’s not your fault.”

Joey scoffed.

“I should have been clearer on day one,” Henry sighed, “although seeing as you live here now, maybe you should cook?”

Joey laughed nervously, burying his face into Henry’s jumper. “Neither of us want that,” he muttered. “Trust me.”

“I’ll help?” Henry suggested, which of course brought forth a dozen images of cooking together, dancing in the kitchen to whatever songs fell past Joey’s lips, lazy early morning kisses as they waited for the coffee.

He swallowed, blinking away the fantasies. “How about you cook, and I’ll help?”

“Lazy,” Henry said with a chuckle but just pulled Joey closer.

“Only trying to keep you safe, darling.”

Darling.

Fuck.

“I mean, Henry, sorry, slip of the tongue. I mean- fuck. I call Madeleine darling all the time?”

“Joey, it's okay,” Henry reassured him.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

With a sigh, Joey untangled himself from Henry’s arms and gathered up the pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Booping Kal on the nose as he went past, he busied himself with clearing up. It wasn’t much and didn’t take long, so sooner than he would have liked he poked his head back around the door.

Henry was sitting on the floor, rough-housing Kal, chuckling as the dog kept licking at his face. The sight made Joey smile softly, and he almost didn’t want to leave, but he was getting tired and he really didn’t want to slip up again. He couldn’t blame every mistake on Madeleine. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

“I’m going to bed,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his hair. “See you tomorrow, Henry.”

_______

After that, things started to get easier. Joey would flop down onto the sofa next to Henry in the evenings regardless of what they were doing. Sometimes he’d lie with his head in Henry’s lap whilst they both read a book, other times he’d pluck at his guitar and laugh over stupid limericks that he could make up about his co-star. True to his word, Henry made Joey start helping with mealtimes, although he soon regretted that decision but refused to back down. The food still tasted good but the presentation was lacking. They spent an afternoon trying to bake bread together… Joey’s did not turn out so well and Henry’s attempt was thankfully less than perfect but still edible. The little flaws made Joey feel a little less inferior, and made Henry seem all the more human.

Kal still got a lot of Joey’s attention. How could he not? He was just so fluffy and adorable, plus Joey loved the little pout that Henry did whenever Kal got more hugs than he did. Joey could pretend that his friend was jealous, and that just helped him sleep a little easier at night.

Cuddling on the couch had become their usual routine, and it settled something deep inside of Joey that had been becoming restless. Mornings were spent watching Henry workout. Joey joined in occasionally but usually he would just cheer Henry on from the sidelines sipping his cup of tea. It was a sight to behold, and Joey thanked the lord that the gyms were currently closed otherwise he would never have been allowed to enjoy the view.

Henry’s arse was truly spectacular.

Despite his morning workouts, Henry had definitely gained a rather lovely layer of fat over his previously tightly toned muscles. He looked stronger. He looked cuddlier. Joey’s crush was only getting worse by the day, wanting to run his hands over the broad muscles of Henry’s back, thighs, arms… wherever he was allowed, but he just settled for the cuddling each day.

Joey tried not to think about the fat building over his own stomach and filling out his cheeks, barely noticeable unless you’d had a lifetime of his mother breathing down his neck about his weight. He was cuddlier too, that’s what he told himself whenever the familiar buzz of anxiety started to build up.

And anyway, Henry didn’t seem to mind.

Kal certainly didn’t. The beast of a dog had started to share the sofa with them in the evenings, squishing between them for maximum cuddle potential until eventually he got bored and retreated back to the floor.

It was really starting to feel like home. There were signs of Joey around the house, sheet music left on the TV cabinet, a set of spare lute strings in the kitchen, the bastard instrument tucked away in the corner of the living room until Joey could bring himself to pick it up. Two sets of keys now hung up by the front door so they could both take turns walking Kal without having to worry about getting locked out if the other was busy. A fluffy worn blanket was now strewn over the big armchair where Joey liked to sit during the day. Even the fridge now stocked Joey’s favourite rosé wine.

All in all, Joey wasn’t hating lockdown. It was frustrating but he enjoyed being inside anyway, and well, the company was pretty great.

The two of them were curled up on the sofa watching the Great British Bake Off on netflix, gin and tonics flowing a little too freely, and Joey felt like he was on top of the world. He had the best cuddler in all of England, nay, the world, a big fluffy puppy to boot and some bloody brilliant booze in hand.

The best thing was that Henry’s hoody had shifted up at some point during the evening, and Joey couldn’t take his eyes off the soft but defined muscles that were often hidden under Henry’s clothes. The dark hair that dipped beneath the exposed band of Henry’s boxers was tantalizing, and Joey longed to reach out and touch…

Only he was drunk enough that his inside thoughts had his hand moving before he could realise, landing on Henry’s stomach.

He froze and stared up at his friend with wide eyes.

“Oops,” he slurred.

“That’s my stomach,” Henry pointed out.

And still Joey didn’t remove his hand, relishing the bare skin beneath his fingertips, but he knew he needed an excuse, so he did the only logical thing and launched his attack. Henry was stronger than him, but Joey had the element of surprise as he tickled his friend, fingers dancing across the exposed skin as Henry desperately tried to shove Joey away. They were both laughing, too busy pushing and pulling at each other, that neither of them quite registered that at some point in the tussle, Joey had straddled Henry’s waist in an attempt to keep him pinned down.

Until suddenly their lips were barely a breath apart.

Oh.

“Hi,” Joey mumbled, smiling coyly down at Henry, the longer strands of his fringe falling into his eyes.

“Hi.”

It wouldn’t take much to lean down and kiss him, maybe Henry would even reach up first. There was no denying the sudden pull between them, and god, Joey wanted it. He’d wanted it for so long now.

So close.

The warmth of Henry’s breath brushing against his lips.

Eyes closed.

Hearts racing.

A soft whisper of a moan.

And then a bark rang out in the room, startling Joey and shattering the moment. He cursed as he fell to the floor, the world spinning from the gin and giddy burst of adrenaline. Kal jumped up into Henry’s lap, barking and whining excitedly at his owner, checking that he was okay following Joey’s tyrannical tickle attack.

Joey felt like an ice bucket had been dumped over his head, feeling far too sober, far too fast.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

Fuck!

“Right,” he slurred as he pushed his hands back through his hair- too long, needed a haircut. “Bedtime, sleep. Yup.”

“Joey?”

“See you in the morning?” he mumbled, although glancing at the clock, he wondered if that was a little optimistic. “Tomorrow,” he amended.

“Tomorrow,” Henry agreed, looking a little disappointed.

Joey refused to think about it. He wouldn’t start to hope. It would hurt too much if this all went wrong.

______

They didn’t talk about it.

Or rather, Joey, didn’t talk about it.

Henry tried to bring it up the next morning but Joey just laughed it off before his heart could get torn to pieces. He didn’t need confirmation that his crush was a no go. He already knew, but he really didn’t need to hear the words. Not to mention his hangover was an utter bitch and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and feel sorry for himself, which is exactly what he did.

After a few days, or was it weeks, months, years? Time seemed to stop existing, all Joey knew was his clothes seemed to be tighter than before and he was in desperate need of a haircut, but after a lockdown-eque period of time, all was forgotten. They fell back into their usual routine, and Joey’s crush continued to simmer just below the surface, unnoticed by Henry.

He’d started to facetime Madeleine most evenings just before bed now that the novelty of living with a bloody filmstar had worn off. He missed her terribly and she seemed to be going crazy at her parent’s house. There was a twinge of guilt stabbing in his chest when he realised he’d all but forgotten about her the first few weeks of lockdown, but it was nice to catch up with her again.

Henry was brilliant, but he was no Madeleine Hyland. He wasn’t Joey’s best friend.

And sometimes Joey just needed to vent about Henry’s stranger habits. Like seriously, why wass there that weird sponsored water just stationed around the house? And what was with the weirdly staged selfies on instagram. It made Joey feel a whole lot better about his own lack of media presence. He’d rather be a mystery online than this boomer energy than Henry had going on.

Venting to Madeleine helped too, he got less frustrated about the shit hole that was life during a pandemic. A little less angry, a little less depressed, and a little less pathetic with his pining over Henry, although Madeleine would probably disagree.

She was probably right.

The sudden cold turn in the weather hadn’t helped. It wasn’t too bad but Joey had mostly brought summer clothes with him because he honestly hadn’t thought he’d be staying more than a couple of weeks. Thankfully he’d thrown in a couple of onesies for comfort reasons so he spent most his days dressed like a tiger and hoping that Henry would find it endearing. The best part was his onesies were a bit looser and fit him more comfortably than his normal clothes. A lockdown diet was brilliant, but not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d gone shopping all those years ago.

What he hadn’t expected, was for Henry to rock up to dinner wearing the stupid bunny onesie that Joey had left in his room.

“There,” Henry greeted him with a broad smile, “Now we match.”

It wasn’t fair. Joey wanted to kiss him so badly. The white onesie was a little short on Henry, pulling up just above his ankles, and it still managed to stretch at his shoulders, but it was so fucking adorable and Joey could pin point the exact moment his crush tumbled over the edge into love.

It was the crinkles at the corner of Henry’s eyes as he smiled, the slight tilt of his head, the sparkle in his ocean blue eyes.

Except they weren’t just blue. No, there were specks of golden brown in one eye, that were just captivating. Joey felt like he could so easily get lost in Henry. Every time he looked at the man he found something new and exciting.

“Darling, you look adorable!” he cooed, before he could get too distracted by the fluttering of his own heart. “Very cuddly.”

Henry chuckled and opened his arms wide, allowing Joey to barrel into them. “That was the idea.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, hoping that Henry would have forgotten that-

“It’s your turn to cook.”

“Bugger,” Joey whined. “Cheesy pasta?”

“You made that last time,” Henry teased.

“I’m very good at carbonara!” Joey countered.

“Melted cheese on pasta isn’t carbonara.”

Joey scoffed. “Eh, close enough.”

“Fine, make your cheesy pasta.”

“Carbonara,” Joey said with a wink. “I’ll add bacon this time.”

The pasta was overcooked and the bacon was a little chewy, but it was dinner, and afterwards Henry made them both extravagant hot chocolates made from actual chocolate rather than powder shit that Joey used. It was covered in whipped cream and marshmallows and had a healthy amount of Baileys to top it off. They curled up on their usual spot on the sofa, buried under blankets and held the warm mugs close to their chests.

If it had been snowing, then Joey would have thought he’d walked into a Christmas film, all it needed was a fireplace and some fairy lights. It was cosy and warm, and a little bit romantic, or it would be if Henry was interested in men and Joey was his type.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

They were friends, good friends, good friends that liked to cuddle and almost kiss if the dog hadn’t interrupted.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

He took a long gulp of his hot chocolate to stave off his anxiety, not noticing when his nose dived straight into the whipped cream until he looked up to find Henry staring at him with a fond expression. Warmth flooded through Joey’s chest as he returned the smile, feeling high on love and sugar.

“Hi,” he breathed, sounding as love sick as he felt.

Henry’s smile brightened, filling the whole room with light and Joey could have sworn he could hear the swell of violins in the soundtrack of his life.

“Hi,” Henry replied easily as if he hadn’t stolen Joey’s breath, heart and soul. “You- umm, cream, here!”

Henry tapped his own nose.

“Oh cock!” Joey hurried to wipe his nose, almost spilling his hot chocolate in the process, “Fuck! Bugger, shit balls!”

Henry, the bastard, just laughed, his arms reaching out to steady the mug and stop Joey from falling to the ground. “I think you made it worse.”

Joey snorted “I got that, yup, thanks.”

This time he could feel the sticky sweet cream clinging to his cheek, the subtle taste of vanilla on his lips. He pouted up at Henry, gazing through his eyelashes in a way that he hoped could be played off as friendly, but also maybe a little bit seductive. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he barely resisted the urge to wink.

Maybe there had been more Bailey’s in his drink than he realised.

Instead, he just wiped his face and snuggled back up to Henry, pulling the blanket up to his chin. They settled on watching Always Sunny, so Joey didn’t really have to concentrate. He let the tension drain from his body as he listened to the familiar TV show and then closed his eyes. Warm, happy and wrapped up in the arms of the man he loved-

Joey fell asleep.

He didn’t notice the way Henry was staring down at him as if he hung the fucking moon and stars, or the inner turmoil his friend was plague with as Henry resisted leaning down to kiss Joey in his sleep.

No, Joey was blissfully ignorant, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

________

The rest of lockdown went by in a blur. Their routine started to seem normal and any doubts Joey had about spending so much time with Henry faded away. They bantered easily like they had on set, laughing and giggling over whatever stupid thing one of them had said. Henry would spend hours playing his video games whilst Joey zoomed Madeleine to work on their new album together. When the regulations relaxed they started to walk Kal together, enjoying the quiet summer days and fresh air. The cuddling never really stopped, and some mornings Joey would wake up still curled up against Henry’s chest, their limbs tangled from the night before.

Those were Joey’s favourite mornings. He’d be stiff all day from sleeping on the couch but he could pretend, for just a few moments, that things were more than they were.

The pining never went away but it was truly the sweetest torture that he’d ever had to endure. The domestic bliss being barely a step away from everything he craved.

And when the time came for Joey to return to his flat with Madeleine, he felt like shit. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in the strange fantasy world he had with Henry, eating too much food and drinking too much wine, cuddling and watching crappy Netflix shows.

Which was why he was sat, staring at a messy pile of clothes on his bed, clothes he’d not worn in weeks. Over the chair were his onesies and a collection of jumpers and hoodies that he’d stolen from Henry over the last few months and weeks. Kal stared up at him from the floor, tail thumping against the carpet.

Joey sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest that was growing more painful with everything second that passed. “I don’t know, Kal. I should be happy about going home.”

Kal didn’t respond, his tail still wagging away just like it always did whenever Joey paid attention to him.

“I miss Madeleine, of course I do, but living with Henry has been great. And you, I love you, big fluffy puppy!” He cooed with a big smile as Kal barked happily and jumped up onto the bed. Joey laughed as he tried to keep his face away from the attack, wrapping his arms around Kal’s neck and pressing his nose into the fur.

“If I tell him how I feel that’s just going to make season two really really awkward, but I just feel like I’m missing a chance, you know?”

If Kal knew, he either didn’t care or just enjoyed watching Joey suffer. There was no reply and Kal just rested his head in Joey’s lap.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, still running his fingers through Kal’s fur. “You’re no use.”

Kal snorted at that and Joey rolled his eyes.

“But I love you anyway, yes I do!”

“Ready to go?” Henry asked from the door.

“Shit!” Joey yelped. “How long have you been standing there?!”

Henry chuckled, striding into the room and perching on the bed opposite Joey. He reached out to scratch Kal on the head with a dazzling smile. Joey felt his cheeks warm up and he buried his face in Kal’s fur to hide the blush. So many months and he still couldn’t stop his heart from racing whenever Henry smiled. He was pathetic.

And he was running out of time.

He knew it was a bad idea, even entertaining the thought of dating a co-star, but he’d regret it if he didn’t give it a shot. I mean he could always blame the mixed signals if it went wrong. They’d nearly kissed twice and Joey didn’t even cuddle Madeleine as much as he’d cuddled Henry. They were probably the only people that were less touch-starved during the lockdown than before.

So Joey was going to tell him.

Just three words.

He could do that.

Fuck!

He couldn’t do that.

“Joey?” Henry said, reaching out to squeeze Joey’s shoulder.

Joey blinked. Had Henry been talking to him? He’d asked a question so that would make sense. God, his anxiety had gone through the roof, it was like that first day all over again.

“Need to pack,” he mumbled, gesturing at his clothes.

Henry let out a long and heavy sigh, sounding just as thrilled about the idea as Joey did. “I suppose you do, yeah. When is Madeleine due over?”

Joey hummed, glancing at his watch. “Ten minutes ago. Lockdown traffic must be a thing of the past.”

“Pity.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Henry sighed.

Neither of them moved, both staring glumly at Kal who was happily nestled between them. It was strange but Joey had almost begun to think of Kal as his, theirs. Their home, their life, their dog. He would miss Kal very much.

He would miss Henry even more.

“Do you have a start date yet?” Joey asked, the restrictions were lifting and there were talks about getting back to work again, but it was all up in the air.

Henry shook his head. “Should be getting a call from my agent some time this week. I need to make sure my other projects can work around the schedule.”

Joey smirked, “Or my dear witcher will have a new face next time we meet,” he teased.

Henry scoffed. “Not a chance, you’re stuck with me, bard.”

“You still owe me an apology,” Joey shot back, not quite realising how close they’d gotten during their mock argument.

He swallowed and licked his lips, one hand reaching up to scratch the stubble on his cheek. His face was burning right up to the tips of his ears, his heart thumping in his chest. There was a spark of electricity crackling between them, the scent of coffee lingering on Henry’s breath.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Henry promised, voice hoarse and low, making heat spread through Joey’s body and the world around them seemed to disappear.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Henry breathed, the words shaky.

Joey longed to reach out and brush his fingertips along the strong line of Henry’s jaw, to feel the scratch of stubble beneath his skin. He longed to tangle his hands in the dark mess of curls, to see if they were really as soft as they looked. It felt as if there was a magnetic force pulling them closer, a string tying their souls together, binding them as one. Joey couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to, and he was over that. He couldn’t live inside his head any longer, not when there was a chance.

Hope.

Deadly, poisoning his very soul, until he could think of nothing except Henry’s lips on his, hands roaming bodies, pulling at hair, unable to resist the promised pleasures of sin. Tongues tangling. Hearts singing. One breath shared between two. Heat. Lust. Love.

Just Henry.

His love.

Joey closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Henry’s, their lips barely ghosting over each other, you really couldn’t call it a kiss; not yet. One more breath, a millimetre to close the gap.

A horn honked from outside and they pulled apart before they could cross the bridge, past the point of no return.

Joey let out a slightly manic laugh and ran his hands through his hair, whilst Henry went back to stroking Kal as he cleared his throat.

“Bollocks, I still haven’t packed.”

“I’ll invite Madeleine in for some tea,” Henry chuckled, stretching as he stood up.

Kal barked happily and jumped down, wagging his tail as he sniffed at Henry’s socks.

And Joey was left alone once more.

“Fuck!” he groaned, covering his face as he flopped back onto his pillows.

By the time he finished packing, Madeleine and Henry were laughing away in the kitchen like old friends.

Like Joey and Henry had so many times.

He wasn’t special. Henry was just that guy.

Hope.

Dangerous and lethal, stabbing into the heart and tearing the soul apart.

“Ready,” Joey mumbled, holding up his suitcase and guitar. “Might take a couple of trips, I have another bag upstairs and the damn lute.”

“Not sure I ever heard you play the lute?” Henry teased.

“Yeah well,” Joey grumbled and turned away from the kitchen before he could start crying.

He really really didn’t want to cry in front of Henry. What was a little heartbreak between friends? At least he could channel that into Jaskier whenever they finally got back onto set. God, he was a fucking mess.

“I’ll help you,” Henry volunteered because of course he would. He probably just wanted Joey gone sooner.

The poor bloke probably couldn’t wait to have his own space back without Joey’s inedible attempts at cooking, non-stop music and chatter, lazy slobbish evenings in front of the TV.

He wasn’t going to cry.

He wasn’t.

Fuck!

Joey sniffed and stumbled out the door, his hands gripping his suitcase so tight he thought he might break the handle. Back home with Madeleine, to his life, and his bed, and nights spent drinking too much wine and lurking on social media.

He’d just about managed to throw his suitcase into the boot when he heard a loud bark behind him, followed by Henry grunting. Joey was almost knocked off his feet as Kal bundled into him, circling around as he jumped up, winding the lead around Joey’s body and pulling a poor Henry with him.

Not that Joey was particularly complaining about having Henry pressed up against him, but did it have to be when he was crying?

Henry cursed, struggling to keep hold of the lead. Their faces were close and they had to wrap their arms around each other to keep steady. Joey laughed through his tears, reminded of a similar moment from one of his favourite Disney films.

Only Kal was a lot bigger than a Dalmatian.

“I don’t think he wants you to leave?” Henry said, smiling sheepishly.

Joey smiled back despite his broken heart. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I- I don’t want you to leave either,” Henry whispered so quietly that Joey wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it at all. “I- umm, I like having you here… with me.”

“Oh,” Joey replied stupidly.

“Fuck, I- Joey… Can- can I kiss you?”

The world turned upside down. Joey's heart stopped and everything started to spin. He tried to process the words but nothing seemed to make sense. There was no fucking way that Henry had said that, that he wanted to- wanted to…

Fuck!

“Oh,” he repeated, blinking at Henry as he licked his lips. “I mean. Fuck. No, I mean… Christ. Yes. Please. Yes.”

Henry chuckled and cupped his cheek, pressing their lips together in the most tender of kisses, taking Joey’s breath away right there on the pavement. Joey just giggled when they parted and then swooped back in for another kiss, and another-

And he never wanted to stop.

He didn’t need to breathe, he just needed this; Henry’s lips on his.

Henry had other ideas though, pulling away with a blinding smile.

“Stay with me?”

Joey nodded and threw his arms around Henry’s neck. “God, yes.”

And then they kissed some more. They had months of lockdown to catch up on, after all.

[kipscorner]

Headernotes:

- THIS IS A LONG POST! - Anything in Parenthesis, feel free to change or remove - Feel free to change pronouns to match - Thank you for reblogging and using! <3

“(Name), can you explain again what we're doing?”

We're kicking off our fun, old-fashioned family Christmas by heading out into the country in the old front-wheel drive sleigh...to embrace the majesty of the winter landscape...and select that most important of Christmas symbols.”

“We're not driving all the way here so you can get one of those stupid ties with the Santa Clauses on it, are we?”

“Some jackass is riding my tail.”

“(Name)! Don't provoke them!”

“Burn some dust here. Eat my rubber.”

“Eat my road grit, liver lips!”

“(Name), stop it! I don't want to spend the holidays dead!”

“Will you just take it easy, (Name)? I'm in complete control.”

“(Name), we're stuck under a truck!”

“Do you think I don't know that?”

“For Christ sake, I didn't do this on purpose!” 

“My toes are numb.”

“I can't feel my leg.”

“(Name), that thing wouldn't fit in our yard.”

“It's not going in our yard, (Name). It's going in our living room.”

“She'll see it later, (Name). Her eyes are frozen.”

“Hey, (Name)! Where do you think you're gonna put a tree that big?”

“You've got a lot of nerve talking to me like that.”

“I wasn't talking to you.”

“It looks great. A little full. A lot of sap.”

“Did I tell you I talked to my mother?”

“They've decided they're coming for Christmas too.”

“You're forgetting how difficult it's gonna be having everybody in the house.”

“(Name), they're family. They're not strangers off the street.”

“Yeah. And about my mother accusing your mother of buying cheap hot dogs. And your mother accusing my mother of waxing her upper lip.”

“I want to have Christmas here in our house. It means a lot to me. All my life I've wanted to have a big family Christmas.”

“The question is, what will you do with that bonus? Gonna blow it on yourself, I hope.”

“Oh, my God, you're putting in a pool.”

“Layman's terms. None of that inside bullshit jargon nobody understands.”

“Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Kiss my ass. Kiss his ass. Kiss your ass.Happy Hanukkah.”

“Wouldn't be the Christmas shopping season if stores were less hooter--Hotter than they are.”

“You have your coat on.”

“There is a nip in the air though.”

“Can I take something out for you?”

“'Tis the season to be merry.”

“Folks! Folks! Folks! Merry Christmas!”

“Look at how big you've gotten!”

“They're not sleeping in my room. I'm gonna go crazy.”

“We're gonna have the best-looking house in town.”

“Come on, unravel these. You have to check every bulb. Got a little knot here. You work on that. I'll get the other box.”

“Would it be indecent to ask the grandparents to stay at a hotel?”

“We're all making sacrifices, (Name).”

“Well, I don't know what to say except it's Christmas and we're all in misery.”

“And why is the carpet all wet, (Name)?”

I don't know, (Name)!”

“I hope nobody I know drives by and sees me standing in the yard, staring at the house in my pajamas.”

“Talk about pissing your money away.”

“Let's get in where it's warm.”

“Now, look, if you need any help...give me a holler. I'll be asleep.”

“Where the hell is that cold coming from?”

“I want to take off these clothes, sit with a glass of wine and kiss your body.”

“Are you out here for a reason, or are you just avoiding the family?”

“Do you honestly think I would check thousands of lights if the extension cord wasn't plugged in?”

“You deserve a home like this to spend Christmas in.”

“You taught me everything I know about exterior illumination.”

“I hope this adds to your enjoyment of the holidays.”

“You got a kiss for me?”

“Better take a rain check on that. (pronouns) got a lip fungus they ain't identified yet.”

“We named him that because he's got this sinus condition.”

“You pet him and he'll love you till the day you die.”

“If I woke up with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn't be more surprised then I am right now.”

“After that long drive, we could use a little private time together.”

“(Name), help me get some hot chocolate. It's cold.”

“A little tree water ain't gonna hurt him. Before we left, he drank a half a quart of Pennzoil. Boy, when he lifted his leg the next morning…”

“It's a crying shame the older kids couldn't make it.”

“She's got these big horns growing right out above her ears. Yeah, she's ugly as sin, but a sweet gal. And a hell of a good cook.”

“Can I refill your eggnog? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to nowhere and leave you for dead?”

“Oh, that there? That's an RV.”

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of an important call. Get me somebody. Anybody. And get me somebody while I wait.”

“We're gonna fly down the hill with this stuff.”

“You know that metal plate in my head? I had to have it replaced because every time (Name) revved up the microwave...I'd piss my pants and forget who I was for a half-hour or so.”

“Nothing like waiting till the last minute, huh?”

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?”

“You shouldn't use that word.”

“I don't think he should be nervous and you shouldn't be either. Because if you're good, Santa knows it. If you believe in him and you believe in your mom and you believe in your...Your dad. If you've been good all year round, Santa is gonna bring you something.”

“Well, I happen to know for a fact that Santa Claus is real. And in the next couple of days… somehow I'm gonna prove it to you.”

“It's good you came to stay with us.”

“I think you'd better go back to bed now.”

“Aren't you having any breakfast?”

“Oh, the silent majesty of a winter's morn. The clean, cool chill of the holiday air.

And an asshole in his bathrobe emptying a chemical toilet into my sewer.”

“It's a sewer. If it fills with gas, I pity the person who lights a match near it.”

“Merry Christmas. Shitter was full!”

“In seven years he couldn't find a job?”

“(Name) and I want to help you give the kids a nice Christmas.”

“This isn't charity. It's family.”

“If you don't tell me what they want, I'll go out and get it on my own.”

“Is your house on fire, (Name)?”

“No, those are Christmas lights.”

“Don't throw me down, (Name).”

“Oh, that was fun. I love riding in cars.”

“Oh, dear. Did I break wind?”

“You shouldn't have brought presents.”

“This box is meowing.”

“(Name)? (pronoun) passed away 30 years ago.”

“They want you to say grace. The blessing!”

“I told you we put it in too early.”

“I heard on the news that a pilot spotted Santa's sled on its way from New York.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, (Name)?”

“If he keeps it up, it will be his last Christmas.”

“Look what you've done to my tree!”

“It was an ugly tree, anyway.”

“I'm sorry if I've been a little short with everyone lately.”

“...I didn't have enough in my account to cover the check.”

“I can't swim, (Name).”

“(Name), that's the gift that keeps on giving the whole year.”

“If this isn't the biggest punch in the face I ever got. Goddamn it!”

“I wanna look him straight in the eye and tell him what a cheap, lying, no good, rotten, four-flushing low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed ignorant, bloodsucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless ignorant, bloodsucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless heartless, fat-assed, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?”

“He's got that crazed look in his eye.”

“Turn that thing off and get in the house!”

“Aren't you a bit sorry we didn't get a Christmas tree?”

“Well, where you gonna find a tree at this hour on Christmas Eve?”

“Could you just keep it in mind the next time you go berserk?”

“I didn't go berserk. I simply solved a problem.”

“You couldn't hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant.”

“I'm gonna catch it in the coat and smack it with the hammer.”

“I'm going in with him.”

“You just march right over there and slug that creep in the face.”

“I can't just attack someone.”

“Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm

holiday emergency here.”

“We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fuckin’ Kaye.”

“And when Santa squeezes his ass down that chimney tonight he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nut house.”

“Worse? How could they get any worse? Take a look around you, (Name). We're at the threshold of hell!”

“You losing your temper with the whole family only makes things worse.”

“Are you gonna recite The Night Before Christmas?”

“No. It's your house. It's your Christmas.”

“You about ready to do some kissing?”

“I'm sorry. This is our family's first kidnapping.”

“I'll be more than happy to take the rap on this.”

“If you wanna come in, you are gonna have to break down the goddamn door!”

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”

“I did something I shouldn't have, and these people called me on it.”

“It's Santa Claus!”

“She thinks she sees Santa.”

“No, it's the Christmas star. And that's all that matters tonight. Not bonuses or gifts or turkeys or trees. See, kids...it means something different to everybody. Now I know what it means to me.”

“That ain't the frigging Christmas star. It's a light on the sewage treatment plant.”

“Merry Christmas, honey.”

[quixotic-writer]

Letting Loose

Song inspo: fuck away the pain/one night stand — divide the day

Summary: After breaking up with your boyfriend and kicking him out you begrudgingly head out for work at the bar. After talking it up with Q for a while, you decide tonight’s your night of fun and you invite him over, he gladly accepts and is willing to do anything to help relieve your tension.

Warning: Kinky smut ahead!!!

———————————————————

“Get the FUCK out of MY house.” I threw his suitcase of clothes out of the second story window and watched it fall onto the lawn with a loud thump that echoed through the whole neighborhood. I turn around to look at Devin and I glared at him. He smirked and walked towards me with open arms.

“C’mon baby, you know I didn’t mean it.” He places his lips on mine and I shove him off, reel back my hand, and give him a hearty open palm slap across his cheek. “Ow! What the hell!?”

“First off: don’t ‘baby’ me, i’m over the charms. Second: The HELL do you mean you didn’t mean it? Did you not think when you ‘accidentally’ slipped your dick into her? Huh, Devin?” He continues rubbing his cheek and I feel proud of myself knowing that’ll leave a nice mark for him to explain. “I am dead serious this time. Get out, stay out. I see you back here EVER again and i’m calling the cops.” I point to the door for him to leave the room. With a moment’s hesitation he finally leaves, I watch from the window as he picks up the suitcase and drag it all the way to his car like the sad sap he is. His guilt tripping won’t work on me this time, and i’m pretty sure he notices that because he finally turns around to look at me through the window with a scowl.

“You’re a needy bitch. No one will ever put up with you like I did!” He yells before stepping into his car. I didn’t say anything back, just slammed the window closed and turned my back. He wasn’t worth another breath out of me. I slump down onto the bed face down and scream into the pillow. I don’t understand how I forgave him for cheating on me last time, I should’ve known he would have done it again. I was so naïve and stupid.

I continue mentally beating myself up and seethe in my own rage. My skin feels like it’s boiling and I have a tension in my head that feels like there’s a stretched rubber band on the verge of snapping. I don’t know whether or not I want to murder someone, break something, or just find a stranger and fuck them out of spite of my now tarnished relationship.

“Fuck.” I said out loud as I realized I had work tonight down at the bar at 3, I look over at the clock on my nightstand that read 1:00 in red neon numbers. I really don’t want to go especially with the range of emotions I was experiencing, but I had already called out of work so many times this month. If I called out one more time my boss would either hate me or fire me, I really don’t need the second one happening especially because now i’ll be taking on the rent by myself. Even with Devin around, he only paid for the bare minimum so not too much would be changing except a few additional shifts down at the bar. The epiphany of his bullshit only made me even angrier.

I soaked in the tub for a bit to get cleaned up for work and ease my tension just a bit. I take in the scent of lavender and carnations, close my eyes, and gently float my hands through the sudsy waters. It helped a little, but I could feel my nerve endings firing off in annoyance still feeling ready to pounce at any moment. Anything happens at work tonight and I won’t hesitate to give someone a piece of my mind, i’m so not in the mood to be dealing with bullshit of any kind.

I drive over to work blasting some metal music to try and release some of my anger by screaming along. Once I step through the door, I can already get a sense of how this shift is gonna go. It wasn’t a negative energy, but it wasn’t a positive energy either. It was just gonna be the same old same old kind of shift where nothing really happens. Though it’d be boring, i’d rather have that over a high energy night.

“Girl, maybe it’s just me, but your RBF is looking extra intimidating today.” Trin says from behind the counter. I sigh and roll my eyes.

“I’m not rolling my eyes at you. It’s fucking Devin.” Her eyes light up and her eyebrows flick up.

“Please tell me...”

“Yup. I’m over it. This time for good, i’m tired of being his play thing.” She gives me a big hug and is jumping a little as she holds me.

“Finally! He looked like he was dipped in fryer grease anyway. Now you just need to get something else good, and you know that one regular we have is kinda cute. What’s his name again?” She taps me with her elbow a couple of times and I laugh it off. I know who exactly she’s talking about, but I try to avoid giving her the satisfaction of giving out his name as I continue washing glasses behind the counter. “Quinn! That’s his name!” So much for avoiding that.

“His name’s actually Brian, but Quinn suits him better. Yeah he’s cute but why would he want me? Also doesn’t it seem kind of bad to rebound like that immediately after throwing my ex out?” I wasn’t going to deny that Q was cute, but i’d just feel bad using him as a rebound.

“Well first off, I think you’re a smoking hot piece of work that was too god for your ex. Second, you don’t seem sad about losing him, just mad that he was a dick that wasted your time and energy. Why not live for yourself a little and let loose?” She shrugs and goes back to serving drinks and making small talk with customers. She’s kind of right, I didn’t miss Devin and I wasn’t sad about losing him, I was just sad that I willingly allowed myself to be played and manipulated. Her words lingered in my ears as I continued working.

The afternoon slowly bleeds into the evening, it’s Tuesday so all our patrons are taking things slow and easy. It was a perfect pace for me to work at. Not too much work and bullshit, but just enough stuff to do to keep my mind occupied. Trin eventually clocks out for the evening and in her place one of our newbies, Trey, clocks in. It was perfect because I made him do most of the work to get a handle of how the ropes work in the bar. Seniority had its perks. I gossip with a few bar goers as they tell me their stories of their shit office jobs or complain about the typical New York traffic.

“There’s my second favorite bartender!” I turn my head as a deep voice thick with an accent diverts my attention away from one of my customers. There was Q, sitting himself at the counter smiling like a goof ball to me.

“Second favorite is all I get Quinn?” I say with a twinge of sass in my voice. “Shot of Jameson i’m guessing for the big boy to start off his night?” I lean over the bar and I notice his eyes take a quick peek at my slightly exposed cleavage that spilled from my tank top.

“You know it! Besides, you know my buddy Sal will always be at the top as far as bartending goes.” I get his drink ready and slide it over to him. He raises the glass to me with a smirk before he downs it in a swift gulp. I unknowingly stare at him with a slight glimmer in my eyes and he quickly catches me. “Staring’s rude y’know, sweetheart. Could I just get a nice brew also, please?” He says sliding the shot glass back over to me.

“Could say the same for you, Quinn.” I retort back going to clean up some of the dishes and serve up other drink to the few others surrounding him at the bar. I pour him his drink and set it down in front of him with a slight sneer.

“Someone’s on edge today. Been coming here long enough to know when something’s up with you.” The ring band he wears on his middle finger taps against his glass as he awaits a response to his query. My emotions are showing a bit too much tonight and I loathe myself for it, I always held myself to a standard to keep my private life hidden and not allow it to affect my performance at work.

“That obvious?” I say feeling guilty that I may have unintentionally taken some anger out on him. He chuckles a bit and leans in closer, resting his elbows on the counter top in anticipation to see if i’ll play along any further. “I’ll spare you the woeful details of my pitiful heartbreak if I can even call it that. Long story short: Boyfriend cheated and I got his sorry ass out of there.” He has a shocked look on his face and seems as though maybe he shouldn’t have asked. I cackle at his reaction.

“And you still came to work? That’s harder than any shot of whiskey i’ve ever done.” He rakes his hands through his hair as he sits back to process the information. I stare at his arms and his tattoos and his thick fingers. And I, for a second, imagined what it felt like if he held me close with those arms, what they’d feel like gripping my waist. Maybe Trin was right, maybe I need to let loose and have some fun all for myself.

“You know, I may be mad, but i’m sure as hell happy i’m not with him anymore. I’ve been over him for a while to tell you the truth, love was long out the door. He was so restricting it was ridiculous. Can’t wear this, can’t go there, blah blah blah. Don’t know why I put up with it for as long as I did or why I stuck around knowing I didn’t even love him anymore.” I say recalling all the stupid rules Devin had for me. I couldn’t wear anything ‘too revealing’ because it’ll attract ‘negative attention’ and he’ll be ‘embarrassed.’ I couldn’t go to certain places without him, it was all so manipulative because he could do whatever he wanted. If it wasn’t the cheating, the stupid rules would have been the next thing to make me want to dismember him.

“Let me buy you a shot sweetheart.” He slides some money over the counter and I graciously accept, i’d love a little buzz to get through this shift. “Cheers to getting him out of your life. You didn’t deserve that shit. No one does.” Sympathy. That’s something I haven’t seen a guy display in a while towards me. He raises his glass to me with a soft look in his puppy dog eyes and it made my heart feel full. I smile and raise my shot glass before downing the liquid that burns my esophagus as it travels down.

The night carries on, Q and I continue hitting it off and chat the night away in the dreadfully slow bar. We both get bolder and bolder and a little more flirtatious as the time passes. When I look over to the clock overhead, I notice my time in the bar is close to its expiration and even closer to a sense of newfound freedom. I eye Q up and down and I hear Trin’s voice echoing in the back of my head: let loose a little.

“So, Quinn, I’d love to continue this conversation and hang with you more after my shift is over. Maybe go to my place?” We both know where an invitation like this could lead, I chew on my bottom lip a little hoping to he says the words I want so badly to hear tonight. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and then I knew my wish was going to be granted.

“Thought you’d never ask sweetheart.” His fingers trace the rim of his empty glass and I feel my heart start to pound out of my chest. Every time he called me ‘sweetheart,’ it hit me in a whole new way. I go to clock out of work and wish an easy night to my coworkers before officially heading out. Q follows me out and we walk towards the parking lot.

“Shall I drive? I only had one shot and it has long worn off already.” I offer to Q. He hadn’t had much to drink, only a shot or two and a beer and I know he can handle his liquor pretty well, but i’d rather play it safe and be the designated driver for the evening.

“That would be much appreciated since i’m a little intoxicated, also because I have no clue where you live.” He jokes around. We both hop into my car and my music blasts through the speakers. It wasn’t just any music either, it was my Slipknot CD, the one I listen to when i’m especially mad. We both jump at the sudden cacophony of noise and I quickly bolt to turn down the volume. “That tells me exactly how pissed off you were earlier!” He chuckles and I cover my mouth in shame, speechless that the guy i’m trying to swoon just heard the hell that I listen to.

“This is the only thing I have in, I hope you don’t mind.” I can feel my face turning red.

“That’s fine, I don’t mind and i’d love to listen to something a little different for once.” I turn the volume back on and we start to head over to my house. The whole way there as we talked about nonsense, I could see Q out of the corner of my eye head banging to the music, and it eased my nerves in a weird way. Sharing music with someone is a deep form of intimacy to me, seeing someone enjoy what I play is something that fills me with no greater joy. As I catch occasional glances at him, the way the street lights illuminated his face and framed his features just made him seem even more attractive.

We pull into my driveway and I guide Q into my now quiet home. He seats himself on my couch and I mix up a glass of rum and coke for the two of us. I hand him his drink and take a seat right next to him. It was then where he really wanted to get into the nitty gritty of my recent relationship status update.

“So he had rules for what you could wear, where you could go, what you could do? Sounds like the jabberings of someone who’s insecure if you ask me.” He sips his drink. The amount of disgust Q has for the actions of my ex is so reassuring that i’m not crazy.

“Had I not been working tonight, I would have broken every single stupid rule he had for me. Especially the one about what I can wear, that one bugged me the most.” I had a whole outfit saved hidden away in the closet that I had kept secret. I had a sneaking feeling that things would have come to a messy end and bought it out of spite.

“I would kill to see you in it.” Seems as though he’s following in suit with my energy and he’s on the same page as I am. He looks me up and down and slides a hand on my thigh, I already feel my motor revving to go.

“Why leave it to the imagination when I could just give you a show?” His eyes flicker like a candle and I can feel his desires radiating off of his warm skin. I quickly hop up and disappear into my room. In my drawers I find my black lace lingerie that framed and clung to my body in the perfect ways sensing the outfit wouldn’t stay on for too long. Next in the closet I fish around for the wine red velvet halter crop top and the black pencil skirt I had stashed away. As the cherry on top on completed it all with the black platform heels I had.

I step down stairs and Q quietly takes in the view. I slowly walk closer towards him and stop as soon as i’m in front of him between his spread legs.

“Didn’t you know staring is rude, Quinn?” He’s clearly taken aback and I can see him struggling to keep it together. I straddle him and his hands feel over the curve of my ass and venture towards my hips where they rest. He stares in awe at the goods I have on display until he makes eye contact. Those chocolate brown eyes could tell a whole story, and I could never get tired of it. I bring our faces closer and lock our lips together in a deep kiss. “If we’re gonna be having fun tonight, we’re playing by my rules tonight.” I say in a dominating tone. It was my turn to have my way.

“If that’s what you want sweetheart, use me as you wish, call the shots tonight.” I devilishly smile as the sinful thoughts and ideas begin to pour into my head and I feel myself growing wet at the scenarios that play in my mind. Without another word, I take Q by his hand and drag him upstairs to the bedroom. I throw him on the bed and he throws his shirt off.

“So what are your limits Quinn? Ever been tied up? Blindfolded? Teased?” I say as my finger tips trace along his inner thighs, he groans a little at my touch.

“Kinky tonight aren’t we?” I remove my shirt and skirt to reveal the lingerie hidden underneath and go to grab some special items from deep within the closet. “I can handle anything you give me. But just in case, my safe-word is pumpernickel.” I stop in my tracks and try to stifle a laugh.

“Interesting word, but I will be sure to remember it. Now let’s get you out of those restricting pants.” I tug at his belt and remove his pants to reveal the tent that was hidden in his boxers. I rub him through the thing fabric and watch as he screws his eyes shut. “Oh you have no idea what you’re in for now Quinn. This hard already and i’ve barely even touched you.” I bring out the scarf I had and tie his wrists together and tie them up to the head board of the bed, leaving Q vulnerable and open. As a final piece, I place the blindfold over his eyes.

“I’m not allowed to see that smoking hot bod of yours? Now this is torture.” For a moment I look over his body, needy with lust filled desire and it’s eye candy to me. He restrains against the bondage around his wrists and his muscles flex for a moment and I feel myself pulsate at the sight. I lean in close to his ear, the fun begins now.

“Oh darling, there’s much more coming to you.” I crawl between his legs and rub over his sizable bulge and watch as his breath hitches and his body twitches at the sensation. “You tell me when you’re close no matter what, if you cum too soon you’ll be punished. Don’t be afraid to make as much noise as you want, i’d love to hear what dirty noises come out of you. Never be afraid of using your safe-word, I may be in control but your well being still matters to me. Got it?” He whimpers underneath my touch.

“Yes, please continue it feels so fucking good.” I smirk as his mouth falls open letting his steamy hot breath escape. I lay a few kisses above the band of his boxers before taking the waist band in my teeth and slowly pulling them down to free his dick that stands at full attention before me. I quickly grab the hitachi wand from my toys and turn it on, a low humming sound fills the room and Q tenses up below me. I tease him a little and trace it along his inner thighs and just around his cock, but never touching it. “Please do something. Anything. I’m so hard please.” I smile because hearing him beg is truly a spectacle and something I wish I could hear all the time. His wish is my command and I place the the wand just below the head of his cock and his back arches off the bed and his fists clench above his head grabbing at the scarf to brace himself for the overwhelming and heightened sensation of pleasure that washes over him.

“Oh shit. God. Please more that feels so good.” I start running it up and down his length and watch as his hips convulse aching for more friction. “I’m close, holy fuck i’m close.” He confesses between moans and I quickly remove the toy and his dick twitches in attempts to find friction to chase the high it craves. Q whines at the loss of pleasure and it’s music to my ears.

“Not just yet. I haven’t even stripped down yet.” I remove my bra and panties and sit on top of Q’s hard on. I grind my hips and feel as his cock rubs against the folds of my dripping wet pussy. “Mmm~” A low hum falls out of my mouth because I know i’m in for quite a ride. He feels so thick and hard outside of my body in this moment, I could only imagine what it’d feel like inside of me. “How bad do you wanna cum?” I say teasing him in a pouty voice and all he can do is let out unintelligible babbles. “That’s not an answer Quinn.” I lift myself up and his groans only get louder and his feet kick at the sheets on the bed at the once again lost friction.

“Please I wanna cum so bad, let me cum please.” I travel up his body until my navel hangs above his mouth, I can feel his steaming breath blowing on me and it only excites me more.

“Show me how bad.” I lower myself down and the moment he realizes what’s going on he quickly gets to work lapping up really fast at whatever his tongue could reach. “Fuck Q that feels so good.” I moan out to let him know he’s doing a good job. I lavish in the sensation of the wet warmth of his tongue plunging into me and circling around my clit, humming to add vibrations, hitting all my most sensitive spots. This man knew how to please a lady. I start grinding my hips to help him out a little as I feel my climax slowly beginning to approach. “I’m gonna cum Q keep fucking sucking on my clit like that.” Like a dog he quickly obeys and gives my wanted attention to my throbbing clit as he bites gently, sucks, and licks it I feel myself come undone and tremble through my high with a drawn out groan.

I decided he’s had enough torture and go to remove the blindfold. He quickly blinks his eyes a couple of times to adjust to the dimly lit room after having that sense taken away. I lean down and kiss his lips that are soaked in my juices, moaning as I taste the liquid ecstasy, tongues tangles together in desperation. He hums back and I pull away to trail kisses from his jawline, to his neck, down to his chest, lower and lower until i’m met with his hard on that is leaking with a need for attention. I lick up whatever pre-cum resided on the tip and look up as he watches breathlessly.

“What’s wrong Quinn, cat got your tongue?”

“Quite the opposite. Bitch got my dick.” My eyes go wide and there’s no stopping the ugly laugh that escapes my mouth. It totally ruined the sexy dominating attitude I had going this whole evening but it was comical and swift on his part.

“Shut up that was terrible.” I say, still giggling a little bit. He gives a cocky smile in return.

“Make me.” Those were words he was soon going to mistake. I plunge down and take his whole cock into my mouth with my nose bouncing against his stomach. “Oh fuck!” He yells out at the suddenness of me taking him in. It sure did get him to stop talking as he dissolved into nothing but a moaning mess which only made me wet all over again. With each bob I take, I feel his hips start to match rhythms and start pounding against my face reaching in deeper as his tip hits the back of my throat and I gag a little. “I’m so close please let me cum dammit!” He cries out as the thrusts of his hips begins to falter but never losing power and I feel his dick twitch in my mouth. Just to torture him a little more, I slide him out of my mouth and back away so he falls away from the high he was so close to. “Please no, not again.”

“Just a little longer darling, all good things come to those who wait.” I straddle him again, but this time I line him up with my entrance, teasing myself as I rub his tip along my folds a little. I sink down slowly and Q’s mouth falls open and his head falls back at the sensation of finally being inside of me. I decided to reward him a little and lean up and remove the scarf that bounds his wrists. “Since you’ve been so good.” I say with a smirk. I slowly start to bounce my hips and feel as he slides in and out of me, hitting all the right spots that make it feel as though electricity is shooting out of every pore. Q’s hands grip at my hips so hard that I think that it might bruise, but it felt good and I knew I had built him up for so long tonight already.

In desperation and relishing the taste of his freedom, he starts slamming hard up into me and I knew he was close but he wasn’t going to say. Just as soon as he thought he had his way again, I tripped that thought away by stopping my movements and using my weight to hold his hips down against the mattress.

“Were you not going to tell me you were getting close?” He tries to use his hands to move my hips, but I wasn’t going to budge. I can feel him twitching like crazy in me and judging by his face he looks as though he’s going to be seeing beyond the stars when he finally releases all i’ve made him pent up. “Beg for it.”

“Sweetheart please i’m so close, this is the third time. You feel so good around me and I just want to cum.” The way he said sweetheart in a sad needy tone just made my heart melt. I release the weight I had on him and a fire ignites behind his eyes. He grabs my waist to hold me in place as he desperately thrusts into me getting faster and faster. I cum for a second time without warning as Q continues pounding into me relentlessly with feverish intent. I feel so oversensitive and i’m hunched over, leaning on top of Q as I whine from the overstimulation. It all came to a quick close with a final hard thrust he releases what felt like endless hot spurts of cum into me with a loud continuous throaty groan.

Finally we both lay there breathless and exhausting from what felt like the best sex i’ve had in ages.

“I haven’t had sex like that in a while.” I tell him as I push the now knotted, sweat drenched hair away from my face.

“I don’t think i’ve had sex like that ever. I don’t usually play sub, something about you got me down on my knees. Wanted you to have your fun.” I felt proud of myself for taking on the role, it felt empowering and a lot more satisfying. I could get used to this. “Y’know, I hope this isn’t just a one night stand because i’d kinda like to take you to a movie.”

“I think i’d like that a lot Quinn.” I say smiling and looking into the mocha puppy dog eyes that had me hooked from the start. Just when I had thought i’d have no chance throwing myself back into the dating ring, the universe drops the most unexpected twists into the tale. My twist: my favorite regular at the bar.

[noonmutter]

Toppled

It had all been so beautiful. Serene. Familiar, though he’d never seen trees that contained galaxies before, nor towered so far above his head without becoming invisible at the top. They were meant to be seen, to be witnessed, to be known.  It felt like a homecoming, so many smiling people he’d never seen and in some cases could barely comprehend; the creaking, groaning language of the tree-people who had names that felt at once simple and impossibly complex was oddly soothing. And all of them, even the tree-people, felt like old friends, simply people he hadn’t seen in ages, though they all knew he had just arrived.

The bridges were made to be enjoyed, the lamp posts were constructed to be admired, the cradles were built to be comfortable. The wildseeds had drawn him in immediately, and he’d had the chance to touch one and feel the energies slumbering within. He could never explain that sensation, only apply one word to it: potential. It was like placing his hand on potential. The urge to see it fully realized was sudden and overwhelming. This was what had called him, and he’d never been so certain of anything in his life as he was of that.

It had been such a wonder. He knew he would remember it all his days the instant it came into focus.

Now it felt like a prison, the way a canopy seemed to seal in the undergrowth of a rainforest. There was open sky, but he couldn’t use it, his wings wouldn’t come to him, his talons wouldn’t grow. The very ground beneath him hungered for the energies he tried to call, and he felt as though they were being sapped from him, or at least denied him out of spite. Spite was definitely in abundance in Ardenweald, the night fae loved the stuff.

But the fangs came to him, and the brands at his shoulders erupted with Elune’s fury when he tapped into his rage, and that was the important thing. Leon couldn’t fly. But he could fight.

So he fought.

There were so many of them. Armored in skeletons and spines, sickly blue fire erupting from the eye sockets of their helms, twisted voices spewing hatred from their fanged mouths. Some of them were denizens of the weald, once glorious and lovely and now driven to serve a dark and terrible will. Cutting them down had felt like a sin.

Others...They were the things of nightmare--and not in a vague, metaphorical sense. Not hyperbole. They looked exactly like the stag in his nightmares. It was uncanny. He hadn’t been certain if that was by design or not--if perhaps Ardenweald was actually a bad place instead of a good one and he had been cast down--and from the moment he stumbled across a pack of them, he hadn’t known enough peace to ruminate on it.

Running for his life in Shadowmoon Valley years ago was a merry prance through a park in Spring compared to this, a pleasant memory of a romp gone a bit wonky. Fel fire burned less than the exhaustion of constant battle, constant self-preservation, constant failed attempts to hide or heal. And gods, but he wished he could stop trying to gasp for breath, knowing it made no difference whether he did it or not. Suffocation might have been a blessing after everything.

He’d never known pain like this. His entire body hurt. Like poison deep in his flesh, renewing with every throb caused by his pulse. His muscles ached from slice after slice and his throat was scorched with the scalding, raw sting of swallowing his own bile. Their weapons hurt, they were made to hurt; not to kill, but to cause suffering first and death second.

But he’d left a trail of shattered bones and scattered charcoal in his wake, and he had no chance to clear it, no knowledge of the terrain in order to veer away from it. He couldn’t buy himself any time. And mortal as he was, Leon was out of energy. His limbs were shaking from simple fatigue every time he slowed down, but he couldn’t keep running forever.

“Give in.”

There it was again. Damn it. Damn it, always that one calling to him, and oh how he loathed it. It stole the voice of his father and mother and twisted them together and it sounded like it was sneering every time it used them to drive knives into his countless wounds. It had been amused that his reaction was neither fear nor sadness, but cold, animalistic fury.

“You are alive. You are useful. If you die? No longer useful. And an annoyance to me either way.”

Leon half-ran, half-tumbled into a cave he barely saw in his conscious mind. He knew before he’d even come to a stop that it was not safe there, that he’d trapped himself. But his legs were no longer responsive.

He collapsed as the cave mouth darkened and dizziness overtook him.

“I knew you would see it my way,” slithered across his ears, and three more bone-things came pouring into the cave after him. Leon had time to thank whoever was watching for letting him pass out before they closed in.

[is0gild]

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 30

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 5,379

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

"Chorus?! That's bullshit! There must be some mistake, lemme see that thing," Lea snatched the paper off from where it'd been taped to one of the auditorium doors, causing it to rip a little as he did so.

Sighing, I stretched a hand out to try and retrieve the cast list from him, "Don't be silly, it's fine. It makes sense."

He yanked the sheet out of my reach, squinting at it with a perturbed frown before scoffing. "Makes sense my sweet ass. Where's Marluxia? Me and that cotton-candy-haired punk are gonna have words."

"You'll do no such thing," I finally managed to get my hands on the paper, prying it free of his fingers. Seeing it was now horribly wrinkled to boot, I grimaced and taped it back to the door, doing my best to smooth it back out. Then I slipped my hand into Lea's and started half leading, half dragging him back towards where he'd parked his car. "And it does make sense. They don't know me. They've never worked with me before. On top of that, I did choke a bit at the start of my audition. They can't trust a starring role to someone that's inexperienced and that they're unfamiliar with, not until I've shown them how I do in a background part as well as shown them that I'm capable and that they can rely on me."

"But you were the best one at the whole damn tryouts!" he huffed back. "What are those numskulls even thinking? I tell ya, if I were the director, it woulda been no contest. You'd be the leading lady like that," his fingers snapped.

"You're sweet and not at all biased," I rolled my eyes with a soft snort. "...honestly, I'm actually a bit relieved to be starting in chorus. I'd rather take it slow, ease myself back into theater and not take on too much responsibility right out the gate. It'll give me a chance to feel it out and see if this is something I really want to pursue. And if it is, I just have to put in the time, do the grunt work and by the next time they're putting on another production, maybe then they'll have enough confidence in me to give me a lead part."

Lea harrumphed. "They better. Otherwise I'm gonna kick Marluxia's stupid butt."

I hid a small grin behind my fingers, "He might not even be the one directing next time."

"Don't care. His ass will still be the one I kick outta pure spite."

A snerk escaped me, followed swiftly by a tiny, bubbling laugh. Lea glanced towards me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. As we came to a stop on the passenger side of his car, he tugged on my hand, pulling me up against him. He slipped one arm around my waist while his other came up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear as he ducked his head down, kissing me thoroughly.

Breath? Gone.

Knees? Jelly.

Brain? Mush.

As he pulled away and I struggled to remember how to take in oxygen again, I asked, "What was that for?"

"Just cuz I can," he winked, planting a light peck to my forehead. "You know this whole dating thing we're doing? Huge fan. Ten out of ten. Would recommend."

Face warming, I gave a derisive snort. "Sap."

"Yes, but I'm your sap," he nuzzled his nose to mine before releasing me to unlock my door and hold it open for me.

"Sap squared," I promoted him with a chuckle as I took my seat, reaching for the buckle. "Cliché sap squared."

"Too true. And you wouldn't have me any other way," he beamed before shutting the car door. My eyes followed him as he made his way around to the other side of the vehicle, one corner of my lips twitching up.

No. I suppose I wouldn't.

"Alright, next stop," Lea said as he plopped down into his own seat, retrieving his shades from where he kept them tucked in the sun visor and slipping them onto his nose. Thankfully, it was only his aviators. But I seriously doubted I'd seen the last of those ludicrous heart-glasses. "Lay that address on me, chica."

I fished the little piece of paper it was scrawled on out of my pocket and he tapped it into his phone as I read it off to him. Then the device began reciting directions in a bored monotone, his engine roared to life as he started the car and we sped off. We hadn't even been driving for a full minute before I heard a… peculiar noise coming from the back seat. I blinked, then glanced back over my shoulder. Had I imagined it? ...no, wait! There it was again! And it seemed to be coming from the floor behind my seat, where piled in a rumpled heap was…

"Um…" I quirked an eyebrow at Lea. "...your jacket seems to be barking…"

"Hm?" He was keeping his eyes on the road, but I didn't miss the hint of a smirk tugging at one side of his mouth. "Oh! Yeah, that. It does that from time to time. Needta train it to be better behaved."

My eyelids drooped. "...maybe you should feed it or take it for a walk."

"Nah, that'd only encourage it and then I'd never be able to get the damn thing to quit yapping," he snerked as he stopped at a red light. Then he was reaching behind me to shove his leather jacket aside, revealing a big box, its lid decorated with a frilly bow on top. He hoisted it up with a small grunt and deposited it into my lap. "Here. Was originally supposta be a Congratz-On-Landing-The-Lead present, but now it's more of a Congratz-On-Being-Glorified-Scenery present," Lea chuckled, scratching his cheek.

I lightly swatted at his shoulder. "There are no small parts, only small actors," I quoted with a shake of my head before directing my gaze back to the gift. I could feel it twitching and shifting slightly in my lap as it gave another couple of muffled barks.

Gee. What could it be? I really do wonder.

(Note the sarcasm.)

I was just glad to see several air holes poked into the lid. Come to think of it, Lea had been keeping his windows rolled down too. Sighing and smiling despite myself, I lifted the lid up. Sure enough, a puppy poked its head out to greet me, one that was a super white ball of pure fluff. The same one that's stolen my heart at the pet store when Lea and I had stopped by a while back. The one I'd dubbed Marshmallow. "Lea, no. I told you already that my complex doesn't allow pets." My chiding words were at odds however with my delighted chuckle as I picked the little guy up to hug close. "You shouldn't have gotten me a dog."

"I didn't," he said brightly as the light turned green and he stepped on the gas once more. "I got myself a dog."

I stared at him blankly as I felt the pup flicking its tongue along my chin. "...so wait. In essence, you got yourself a gift to celebrate me being glorified scenery in the play?"

"No, I got myself a gift to celebrate you getting the lead in the play. Not my fault you failed to live up to your half the bargain," he tsked before laughing as I gave his shoulder another smack, this one with more force behind it. Then as we shifted lanes, he flashed a smug grin, "'Sides, keeping the furball at my place gives ya an excuse to come visit me more often."

Petting the puppy's soft fur, I snorted, "Manipulative."

"Hey, what you call manipulative, I call incentive."

"You're right," I hummed as my fingers scritched behind Marshmallow's ear, a sly curve to my lips now. "You're definitely not enough of an incentive on your own for me to make the trip."

"Rude! You're lucky I think you're so cute," he reached over to pinch my cheek. I ignored him, holding the dog up in front of my face so we were nose-to-snoot. Marshmallow wagged his tail, licking the tip of my nose and I heard Lea grumble, "Oh sure. You he gives puppy kisses while all he ever gave me was tooth hugs."

"Tooth hugs?" I echoed, brow furrowing slightly.

"Lil furball's been tearing the shit outta my ankles nonstop," his face pinched sourly and I couldn't help a small laugh.

Once I'd sobered, I said, "I thought you said Saïx would murder you if you ever got a dog. How are you not dead?"

He flicked on his turn signal. "Oh trust me, it's not for lack of trying on his part, but bastard's gotta catch me first. The trick is to never stop moving when I'm home. Stay in one place too long and I'll get pulverized. Also got six different deadbolts locking my bedroom door now to keep him out, though I'm just waiting for him to get pissed enough to Kool-Aid Man his way through our shared wall."

"Hope I'm there to see that," I grinned, shifting to cradling the puppy in my arms in order to maximize belly rubbing efficiency. "Surprised the little guy managed to stay quiet for so long."

"Me too. Squirt was yipping up a storm the whole drive over when I was coming to pick you up. Was worried he was gonna ruin the surprise. But musta just wore himself out eventually and took a nap or something."

"Mm," I just hummed distractedly. "Also kind of shocked you were able to snag him. We saw him at the pet store, what… two weeks ago? Would have thought someone would've adopted him already in that time."

"Heh… well, I didn't exactly pick him up today..."

"Yesterday?" I glanced towards him and he gave a weak chuckle, shaking his head. "Then when?"

Lea scratched a finger behind his ear. "Er… same day we went to the roller rink?"

I blinked a couple times, then deadpanned, "...as in the same day we went to the pet store?"

"That'd be the one!" he nodded as he pulled up to a stop sign, his hand coming up to pluck at the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "After you left to go home, I went back. Ya just liked the lil mutt so much, I couldn't help myself. It was an impulse buy. Five seconds after I became a proud, new dog dad though, I felt like a total dumbass. But woulda felt like shit if I'd tried to give him back, so..." he shrugged, "I kept him."

My gaze returned to Marshmallow as my lips pursed to one side. He panted happily back up at me. "...I didn't see him that one time Saïx had me over for dinner. How'd you manage to hide him?"

"Stashed him away at Xion's for the night. Couldn't risk you finding him and realizing what a twitterpated bonehead I was," he snerked as the car propelled us forward once more.

I bit back a little grin. "But it's okay for me to find out now?"

"Well yeah, course! Since you're my girl and all now. Back before we were dating, me buying your dog was weird and possibly a lil creepy." He shot me a smirk, "But now it's just sweet and endearing!"

"If you say so," I murmured, only listening with half an ear as I smooshed and squished the pup's face.

His head turned slightly towards me and I could practically feel the slight narrowing of his eyes behind his aviators. "...crap, I'm gonna have to compete for your affections with that damn fleabag now, aren't I?"

I struggled to keep a straight face as my finger booped Marshmallow's cute little nose. "Is it really a competition if you've already lost?"

"Oh-ho, I see how it is," he snorted as he checked the rearview. "Well don't be too alarmed if next time ya see me, I'm down one dog and up one pair of a brand spanking new white, poofy earmuffs. The two things'll be totally unrelated. Pure coincidence."

I gave a tiny, amused huff and rolled my eyes. Then I leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for the puppy. You're very sweet."

He ruffled his hair, "Shit, if it's always gonna make you this happy, I'll have to buy myself more gifts!" I made a noncommittal noise in my throat, all my focus diverted once more to playing with the dog. Lea gave a defeated sigh but smiled. Then he asked, "So… how's Anna been doing?"

I frowned slightly. "...okay. She's… better."

The altercation with Hans had been a few days ago now. By the time Anna had gotten through with him, he'd staggered out of my apartment with a limp and a black eye. I hadn't heard from him since, though part of me did wonder if he was just taking time to lick his wounds before coming back to further profess his supposed love for me. Guess it just depended how much of a hard time his parents would give him and how easily he'd break under the pressure.

As for Anna, once she'd spent all her rage on rearranging Hans' face and had nothing left, she'd proceeded to bawl her eyes out. She never took breakups this hard, but apparently she'd really thought Hans was it. The One. After such a rude awakening to the fact that he wasn't and having her heart shattered, I didn't blame her for having a bit of a breakdown. She'd ended up staying over and Rayne and I had turned it into a sort of a girls night to try and cheer her up. We'd binge streamed romcoms until 3 a.m. which honestly, with Anna wailing through every single one, I had no clue if they were making things better or worse. But she was the one who kept putting them on one after the other, so I'd just let her as I hadn't had the heart to deny her.

In the days since, it was obvious Anna was still down, even though she tried to hide it behind sunny smiles and loud laughs. Still, she seemed to be on the road to recovery.

"She's strong," I added softly after a brief lull, fingers absently toying with Marshmallow's paws. "She'll bounce back. Just needs a little more time, that's all."

Lea's phone suddenly gave a small ding, announcing that we had arrived and our destination could be found on the right. Luckily a spot had just opened up on the curb for him to turn the car into. I unbuckled my seatbelt as the engine shut down and opened my door, stepping out onto the sidewalk. My arms were still holding the puppy and I unfortunately had to concede that I probably shouldn't bring him inside. Spinning one-eighty, I set him back down inside the car and he immediately tried to hop out to follow me. My hands shot up to block him and he retaliated with sad eyes and a whimper.

Oh, this little con artist.

Laughing, I stroked his head soothingly, "Now now, Marshmallow, no need for all that… we'll only be gone for a few minutes, I promise."

"Awfully presumptuous of you, naming my new pupper," Lea teased as he appeared at my side now, a paper shopping bag that he'd retrieved from the back seat on his way out of the car now dangling by the handle from his fingers. Rubbing a curled knuckle over his chin as he glanced skyward, he smirked. "I was thinking something more along the lines of…" now he stretched a hand out, dragging his splayed fingers through the air as if the words themselves were magically materializing in front of our very eyes, "...Imperius, the White Death and Destroyer of Worlds."

I shot him a dull look. "...bit long to fit on a dog tag, don't you think?"

"Not if we use really teeny font!" his grin twitched wider and my eyelids just drooped in response. "Fine, fine, ya have a point. Hm… compromise? How 'bout... Marshmallow, Destroyer of Worlds?"

One corner of my lips turned up, "I can live with that." Giving the puppy one final scritch under the chin, I cooed, "Be back soon, Mr Worlds," before locking and closing the car door. As I turned to fully face Lea, it came to my attention that he was now scrutinizing me with a squint and a little frown. My eyebrows knit together. "...what?"

Without a word, he abruptly bent forward and friggin' licked the side of my neck.

With a small yelp, I squirmed and jumped back, hand flying up to clamp over the now damp skin as my cheeks threatened to spontaneously combust. Lea's face twisted in distaste as he spat and razzed his tongue, "Yeck, concealer. Thought so. Knew there was no possible way my masterpiece healed and faded that quickly."

Ah. He was talking about the Mother Hickey. I nodded with a sigh, "Yeah, Rayne helped me figure out how to cover it up."

Stepping closer, he hooked a finger under my chin to gently turn my head to one side so he could take a better look, muttering, "Hmph. Nice job, Raindrop. Matched your tone perfectly, never woulda even known it's there. But also… so not cool. I'm an arteest! A maestro deserves to have his pièce de résistance on display for all the world to see."

"Not when your canvas is my neck, maestro," I snorted, getting on tiptoe to plant a quick peck to his lips as I took the bag from him. Inside it was a powder blue sundress, a pair of ankle boots, and a phone book.

He gave a tiny pout, but it quickly melted into a grin as he took hold of my free hand, lacing our fingers together. "So… you ready for this?"

I spotted the little store we'd come here for and started walking towards it. "Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Ya sure the dude even wants all this junk back? It's more than a lil used now."

"Well, it's a used clothing store, so I'm sure it's fine," I shrugged.

Lea chuckled, "That old phone book is rumpled from water damage and is practically a rat's nest. No, scratch that cuz calling it that sullies the good name of rat's nests everywhere."

"It doesn't matter," I exhaled heavily. "I told the man I'd bring it all back and that's what I'm doing. If he won't take any of it, then I'm happy to pay him back for it all with interest." On that note, we stepped through the automated sliding doors beneath the big sign that read Wandering Oaken's Trading Post.

The store looked the same as the last time I'd been here. The cluttered racks, the secondhand clothing all but bursting out of every nook and cranny, the rustic decorations on the walls and hanging from the ceiling… all of it exactly the same. It honestly surprised me a little. I would've expected some changes since it felt like my last visit had been absolute ages ago. I had to remind myself that in reality, it'd hardly even been two months since.

I hoped the man (employee? proprietor?) who'd assisted me back then wasn't also exactly the same as I remembered him. All angry and stocky and big. I gulped, feeling my breathing turn shallow as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Surely, he wasn't still mad and wouldn't rip me limb from limb on sight, right? And surely, my memory had to be lying to me and exaggerating. No one, not even Lea, was that hulkingly ginormous… right?

"Hoo-hoo! Big summer blowout! Half off swim su-" the familiar voice immediately cut off as its owner, that same man I'd recalled, locked eyes with me from across the store. "You!"

Nope. He was exactly as terrifyingly ginormous as I remembered him.

Suddenly - and I don't quite know how exactly, because I didn't remember moving - I was hiding behind Lea.

Huh. Seemed like my latent surprise teleportation powers had activated to catch me unawares once again!

Taking a deep, steadying breath to settle my nerves and get a grip, I slowly creeped back out from behind him to respond to the man with a shaky smile and a tiny, "Me?"

He abruptly came charging at me and I swallowed a squeak, screwing my eyes shut.

This was it. The final countdown. The last roundup. I could already see the fabled white light. Was already watching my life flash before my eyes. Could hear an angelic choir singing somewhere. All but feel the-

Those giant tree trunks he had for arms unexpectedly wrapped themselves around me, crushing me to him in a spine-cracking hug that lifted me several feet off the ground and forced a surprised grunt out of me.

Um…?

"What is this?" I wheezed as I was swung to and fro like a ragdoll. "I don't understand what's happening."

Lea snerked, being absolutely zero help as he simply crossed his arms and watched the absolute epitome of bear hugs continue. "Apparently, this is how he deals with shoplifters. His own unique brand o' vigilante justice."

"Well it's cruel and unusual punishment!" I croaked out, kicking my feet and trying to wriggle free. "How do I make him stop?!"

Miraculously, he chose that second to release me of his own accord, shooting me a big smile that took up over half his face, "Oh thank you, deary! Thank you!"

...okay, not quite the greeting I'd been expecting.

Like, at all.

Both eyebrows shot up my forehead as my hand went to rub at my elbow, "You, uh… you remember me?"

"Of course, deary!" he nodded eagerly, tapping his fingertips together.

I squinted at him uncertainly. "...and you remember that I… stole from you?"

More enthusiastic nodding, "Ya, ya!"

...was I the only one totally bewildered right now?

My eyes darted over to exchange a brief glance with Lea, who just shrugged his shoulders.

Oh good, so it wasn't just me then.

Looking at the worker once more, I hesitated for a split second before awkwardly thrusting the bag out to him, heart thudding loudly in my ears as I began, "Well I… I brought it all back like I said I would… even the phone book! It's all still in decent shape… er, except for the phone book, that is. I can compensate you for that though and… and the dress and shoes too, of course! That is, if that's what you'd prefer... and I'll even pay inter-"

"Nonsense!" he gently pushed the bag back towards me. "Keep it all, it's yours. And your munny's no good here."

I stared at him blankly. "...I'm sorry, I'm confused."

The man beamed at me now, "Your dress, deary! The one you left behind in the fitting room and said I could have? I must say, that had to have been some costume party you came from! I sold that gown for enough munny to pay for all four of my sons' college tuitions! So I insist, keep those items! And please let me know if you see anything else in here that you'd like, ya?" A sudden low chime rang out overhead, signalling that another customer had walked into the shop. Gracing me with one final warm grin, he then plastered on his customer service face and walked past me, waggling his fingers in greeting, "Hoo-hoo! Big summer blowout!"

Frowning slightly, I watched him go before I heard Lea say in realization, "...you left your wedding dress here."

My fingers twisted and fidgeted with the bag handles. "Sort of… yeah."

He shook his head with a snort. "Shit, El, a gown like that made for your upscale, hoity-toity, blueblood wedding? You didn't shoplift, you way, way overpaid!"

Feeling heat creeping into my face, I gave a tiny scowl and huffed, "Well, it certainly felt like shoplifting, the way he was yelling and chasing after me when I ran out the store!"

"Babydoll, you just lost some serious street cred," he chuckled, pressing his lips to my temple. "Seriously though, just ditching it in some random fitting room? You coulda sold that thing for bookoo bucks and made this whole striking it out on your own thing way easier on yourself."

"You said the same thing about my car back at my parents' home. But just like with the Ferrari, that dress was bought and paid for with my parents' munny," I sighed, crossing my arms. "I don't want to accept so much as even a single cent from them if I don't have to… I don't want to feel like I owe them anything. And I just… I didn't know what else to do with the dress, really. I just wanted to be rid of the wretched thing."

He tsked, tapping a finger to my nose, "Oh you. Always gotta do things the hard way, huh? Silly." Reaching for my hand, he then started us meandering about the shop, idly perusing the racks and shelves as he went on, "If it'd been me, I wouldn't have thought twice 'bout pawning that dress for some quick cash. What's the big deal where the munny came from? All that really matters is how you spend it to give yourself a better, happier life. Turn bad into good, ya know? I- sweet!" he cried out abruptly, eyes lighting up as he happened upon a clump of feather boas draped across the corner of a chaotic, jam-packed shelf. Snagging one that was made of red feathers marked with black stripes, he wrapped it around his neck with a flourish before batting his eyelashes at me. "How do I look?"

I rubbed my fingers over my tiny smile. "Beautiful. Simply gorgeous."

"Damn skippy!" he chirped, now spotting a full length mirror nearby and moving to admire himself in it.

From insightful to kid playing dress-up in under two seconds flat. That had to be some kind of record.

Seeing that the employee had returned to his post behind the cash register, I walked over to him. "Hi again. How much for one-"

There was a sudden giggle at my ear that was distinctly Lea's, followed swiftly by a second feather boa being looped around my neck, this one comprised of blue feathers with white tips. With that, Lea zipped off once more, this time heading towards what looked to be the toy shelf.

I blinked in his wake, then shook my head with a soft hum of a laugh. "I'm sorry, how much for two feather boas?"

"Holy shit, this orca action figure comes with a tiny machine gun! And-" Lea gasped, running back now to excitedly show it to me, "-it also turns into a goddamn freaking robot!"

Patting him on the cheek, I turned back to the cashier with a sigh, "And the toy too."

"For you, deary?" he asked, still happily tapping his fingers together. "Free of charge!"

My head rocked back slightly. "What? No, but-"

"Oh hell yes! Thanks, big guy, and have a great day!" Lea cut me off, snatching up my hand and bolting out the store, forcing me to stumble after him as the cashier called out after us to do the same.

As we exited through the automated doors back out onto the sidewalk, I said, "Lea, wait!" I dug in my heels, bringing us both to a lurching stop. Then I frowned over my shoulder back towards the little shop. "I'm not comfortable with this. He's only giving us this stuff because of that stupid dress and I told you already-"

"Don't look at it as benefiting offa your folks munny," he grinned, taking the bag from me to tuck the toy and his boa inside with the other stuff. Then he set to work uncoiling mine from around my neck. "Instead, try this on for size: ya did a good thing with that dress. Maybe even the best possible thing ya coulda done with it. You donated it to the worthy cause of paying for the education of that dude's small army of kids. And if that's not enough for you, here's another way to look at it: ya traded in a wedding dress worth a sultan's ransom and all you got in return was a handful of cruddy, secondhand junk that altogether costs maybe twenty bucks max. On the divine cosmic scale of ethics, I think you can consider your conscience clear and your heart light as a feather."

Now fully freed from the feather boa, I released a tiny huff through my nose as I watched him slip it inside the bag too. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"It's settled then," he beamed, slinging an arm around my shoulders and guiding me back towards his car. "Now onto the next item on the list!"

My head tipped to one side. "There's more? But with this place checked off, I thought that was the whole list."

"Maybe your list, but we haven't even begun to scratch the surface of mine. And first up is immediately correcting one epic fail on my part."

"Oh?" I arched an eyebrow at him.

He nodded, "Mm-hm! For ya see, I've been grossly neglectful in my boyfriend duties. Can you actually believe I have yet to take you out on our first proper date since officially becoming a couple?"

A tiny smile fought its way onto my lips. "For shame. The absolute scandal."

"I know, right? People are already beginning to talk, my good name is being dragged through the mud," he puffed out an overdramatic breath, shaking his head.

I laughed. "Well then, what did you have in mind?"

As we came to a stop next to his car, he tapped the window glass where Marshmallow was pressing his paws up against the other side while barking his little head off. "For starters, how 'bout we take this lil fellah to a park somewhere for a few hours? Once he's all played out, we can drop him off back at my place. Make it real quick, in and out before Saïx wakes up and realizes he's been unknowingly volunteered for doggo-sitting duty." Setting the bag down on the roof the car, he then faced me, taking both my hands in his as he idly started toying with my fingers and murmured, "Then I was thinking I could take ya somewhere nice. Maybe Le Grand Bistrot? And after that…" he gave a lazy shrug, that dimple of his emerging, "well, guess we'll just see where the night takes us from there."

My eyes crinkled as I stared up the few inches that separated us. "Sounds perfect."

It'd been one wild and, at far too many points, absolutely absurd ride that had brought me here. And it was far from over for I still had a long road ahead of me. I'd yet to even determine what exactly I wanted the future to hold for me, and that was okay. I could hardly be expected to have the rest of my life already planned and mapped out after experiencing only a couple short months of freedom. Come now, that would be unrealistic.

But it didn't truly matter that nothing was really decided yet. What mattered was that I was the one who would get to decide, no one else. And for the moment, I was just deciding to focus on what was immediately before me. Today, I had a date with my boyfriend. Tomorrow would be a shift at my job in a mall ice cream shop. And the day after would bring the start of rehearsals for community theater. All in all, it was nothing grand, nothing fancy… but it made me happy. And for now, that was enough. More than enough. I could figure out the rest in my own time, and that sounded pretty good to me.

In fact, it sounded absolutely amazing.

THE END

…sorta?

Author's Note:  And thus we come full circle... it ends where it all began way back in chapter one... cheesy, I know XD Okay, I rarely finish stories and thus I don't have a lot of experiencing doing it, so factor that in however you will in judging this final chapter xD I know, it was stupidly, cavity-inducingly sweet and not a lot happened, but damnit it's my story and I'll end it how I want to! Oh, and the toy Lea found wasn't a reference to anything, it was just something stupid I found on the internet that I figured the goofball would go absolutely nuts over xD

So, you probably have questions about that "...sorta?" at the end there xD Well that, my friends, has to do with the good news I mentioned that I had for ya'll a couple chapters back! Although the big, main plot of the story is now complete, there will be *drum roll*... bonus chapters! Wooo! These are more like self-contained one-shots that generally have time passage between them anywhere from a few days to like a month with no real overarching plot connecting them, which is why I'm not considering them a part of the "main" story. However, I will still be just slapping them at the end of this story, keeping it all in one place as opposed to posting them as separate fanfics, just because I can! I do what I want, yo! These bonus chapters will cover various events (relationship and non-relationship alike) for our new happy couple - as well as some that are just for pure funsies due to random ideas popping into my head that I really wanted to write xD I just always write the "how they got together" story and have never written them as a couple, so I'm excited to finally have a good excuse to do that! Plus now I can share with you guys how things go from here - stuff like relationship milestones, fam drama, Elsa's further adventures in theater, and much more! If you guys have any ideas of your own for a one-shot you'd like to see, please let me know! I make no promises about actually writing it, BUT there's a very good chance I'll read your suggestion, the plot bunnies in my head will go wild and I'll have no choice but to write it anyway xD 

ANYWAY! I already have written and completed a few of these one-shots, so my once-a-week updates can continue for a little while longer! But fair warning - when (not if, WHEN) my updates catch up to as far as I've written, my once-a-week updates will be reduced to whenever-the-chapter-is-frigging-done updates xD

Whew! I think that's a wrap! Thank you so much for reading my lil story here, I super duper appreciate it! I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did writing it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far! Seeing those lil notifications pop up always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

See ya next week for the first bonus chapter, which is a silly, for funsies one-shot xD I'll give you a hint... helmets are involved! Ooooo, what could it be?! Stay tuned and find out!

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Not Killing Him

Orion Crown sat in his big, mean-looking SUV in the old parking lot. The dry heat of Vegas had ripped up the asphalt here over the past years, leaving it pockmarked and littered with potholes. His own car and one other vehicle in the lot were the only ones parked there, immobile, like silent steel corpses, cooling in the shadow of some abandoned warehouse.

The thick windows shielded him from the noise of traffic in the distance, so Orion sat in a weirdly muffled silence. Staring at the entrance of the derelict warehouse with its crooked, ajar doors. He felt sick to his stomach because he had slept little more than a few hours per night and his forehead was burning up.

He picked up his phone from the passenger seat, snatching it from where it was resting next to a loaded semi-automatic pistol. He thumbed through the display, checking his recent direct messages on your social media platform of choice.

Orion Crown, social media darling and super-giant of the statusphere. He flipped through business proposal messages from other influencers, something marginally important from his YouTube video editor, and an array of annoyed passive-aggressive texts from his producer-slash-partner. He let the list slide to a stop, with this finger hovering over the display. Hovering just over the message from “The Glass King” with the preview field only saying that it contained a GIF.

The internet star dithered. He could refuse to walk into that warehouse and refuse to use that gun. His career and life would be over, though.

The alternative was sucking it up, gripping the cold metal of the pistol in his palm, walking in there, and blasting away. Didn’t matter who it was. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

Even though seeing the message’s contents disturbed him every time he reviewed it, his thumb descended in slow motion. Like time almost ground to a halt, like the universe was trying to stop him from watching it again.

He tapped the message and it flicked onto full display on his screen.

The animated GIF flashed with disturbing imagery, all of it cut so quickly and abruptly that it became impossible to take it all in. Words and symbols displayed for fractions of seconds so that the mind could not really grasp what it read, and video footage that may or may not contain clipped recordings of overt violence. Violence he, himself, had authored.

The glare of his phone reflected in Orion’s glassy eyes, pupils dilating with dread and disassociation. Knowing that he recognized some of the things presented here so subliminally and viscerally, feeling guilt even though he had always rationalized the terrible things he had done in the past.

How was anybody better? How could anybody be better?

I am not a bad person, Orion thought. Nobody is.

After watching the animated GIF loop countless times, glued to the phone’s display as if bound in a trance, he put the phone back down onto the passenger seat, a hand’s breadth away from the gun. He barely registered the words that followed far down below the window of animation.

The threats. The instructions.

The sentences that had brought him to the locker where he obtained the gun. The address of this warehouse. And his mission, to kill anybody he saw inside this place.

Why didn’t this “Glass King” person just ask for money? Why this? How did the Glass King even get that footage? It had been destroyed long ago.

None of it made any sense.

No matter how many times he mulled it over, Orion Crown—born with the more unglamorous name of Kyle Howard—his sense of self-preservation, greed, and existential dread always won out. Always looped him back to doing as he was told as long as it served his own purposes. To get this over with, and walk away, and never let anybody know of his dirty secrets.

If the Glass King put any of that out—if they aired out any of Orion Crown’s dirty laundry—then he would be out of the game. Done. Probably also in prison.

Orion looked over to the gun. Stared at it, taking in every hard and unforgiving edge and angle of its sleek industrial design.

He had before, and he pondered it again, now: to just pick it up and stick the nuzzle right into his own mouth. Pull the trigger and end it right now.

But his vanity and pride, masked with religious guilt and eclipsed by copious amounts of doublethink, led him to believe that this was the only way.

He grabbed the gun and weighed it in his hand. Orion licked his lips and they felt funny. Not chapped, but uneven. Slimy. He bit his lip and chewed without realizing it, while his gaze swept up and down the crumbling building of this damned warehouse.

In one fluid motion, he got out of his car, slammed the door shut, and walked towards the entrance of the warehouse. The heat outside his car, even here in the shade—combined with the inexplicable fever he was running—made his head swim as if he had been drinking nonstop for the past day and night.

He gripped that pistol in his fist like his life depended on it. And as far as Orion was concerned, it did.

The rusted hinges on the big metal double doors squealed and he cringed at the sound of it, freezing in place. His heart raced, his pulse thundering in his ears. Eyes darted back and forth, looking for a sign of anybody in there. Whoever had parked the other car had to be in here, and Orion’s job was to gun them down.

Something heavy, like a brick hitting a pile of rubble, echoed through the decrepit and dingy halls.

Orion’s hand jerked and he pointed the gun out in front of himself, aiming at every dark corner and little thing he could perceive. With nobody in sight, the adrenaline pumped through his body, suffusing him with a quiet rage and driving the sweat to erupt from his pores, clouding his senses and sapping his reason.

He sidled through the entrance and crept through the abandoned place, twitching at any possible sound he thought he heard and any shadow he saw in the corner of his eyes, expecting someone, anybody, to jump out at him.

Something chugged and sputtered, causing him to freeze once more. He continued sneaking on when he recognized those sounds to be coming from a gas-powered generator, hidden somewhere deeper within the warehouse’s bowels.

He kind of hoped that someone would jump out at him from a blind spot. Thinking it would be much easier to pull the trigger if it felt like self defense.

Instead, he found a large, wide, pillared hall, awaiting him at the end of a long twisting and turning through claustrophobia-inducing corridors.

Someone had arranged seven door frames in a perfect circle, bolted down with plywood feet to support their weight, sawdust and power tools littering the dirty floors, and that distinct smell of freshly cut wood hanging in the air.

Each door frame held a door, closed and looking far too new to fit into this warehouse. An array of four construction site spotlights illuminated the doors from their center, connected to a tangle of bright orange power cord extensions, leading his sweeping gaze to the generator he had been hearing chug away all this time.

The doors were just standing there, out in the open, connected to no walls. Leading nowhere.

Orion gripped the pistol in both hands, holding it outstretched far in front of himself. He had never fired a gun before in his life. Without realizing it, he both wanted the thing to be as far away as possible from himself, but also wanted to use it and for things to be over fast.

But nobody was here. Right?

Wrong.

Arriving in the center of the seven doors, he blinked and inspected a small pile of objects heaped up in between the four spotlights.

A bunch of broken smartphones, a black wig, a small cracked hand mirror, a pile of about twenty credit cards that had been sloppily cut in half, a bunch of different keys that looked far too old to fit the locks on the doors here, and all of the objects rested on top of a local city map that someone had drawn all over with a black magic marker.

A pebble crunched underneath a boot. But not Orion’s shoe. He swiveled, almost getting dizzy at his own speed as he pointed the gun at the source of the noise.

Standing only steps away from the other person, he held the pistol out and swallowed. No matter how many times he had tried to mentally prepare for this moment, he hesitated and his index finger trembled instead of squeezing around the trigger.

Nobody jumping out at him. Just standing there.

She stared into the barrel of his gun for a split second and then met his gaze. A woman in her twenties, dressed like a man. Or—at second glance—androgynous, like she was in some sort of getup for a rock or punk band from the 1990s. Clad in a ratty leather jacket and dark jeans; covered in studs on her clothing, a chain hanging from her belt, and spikes protruding from a choker around her neck; way too much makeup on her face; and a poorly-cut hair-do of shaved sides and long top that could constitute as a fashion crime.

More distracting, however, was the hand she held in her hand. Orion did a double take on that before he fully absorbed what he saw there. A waxen hand with candlewicks sticking out from the fingertips, gripped firmly in her slender hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked Orion. She squinted at him.

He squeezed the trigger. It didn’t work. The fucking gun refused to work.

Orion turned it over and looked at it and realized that it had a safety setting which he had forgotten to take care of before walking into the building.

Clink. Snap.

The woman flicked a lighter on and guided it to the waxen hand in her hand and he had flicked the safety and pointed the gun at her and the next thing Orion knew, his wrists hurt. And so did his neck. And his lower back.

Chafing against exposed skin, coarse rope and the smell of burnt candles still filled his nostrils. He began thrashing but found that his limbs did not obey his instinct to struggle against his bonds because of how tightly he was tied down. He scraped his skin against something like rough rock or rusty metal behind him.

Blinking and fighting the fever back down, the taste of iron clung to his tongue. His vision blurred here and there and reality caught back up to him with disjointed delay. She had tied him to something in sight of the circle of seven doors.

The woman crouched in front of one of the doors, her back turned to him.

With a loud PLOP, she opened something in her hands and whatever she was doing, it resulted in the door being splattered with something dark and red.

Hoarse, the words croaked out of his throat and left him sounding more like a toad. “Hey,” Orion emitted. “Let me go!”

The woman whispered something and it dawned on him that it was no response to him.

“What the fuck are you doing? You’re gonna get into so much trouble if you don’t let me go,” he said. But it really was just pathetic pleading, masquerading as feeble threats. “Police’ll be all over your ass, lady.”

She continued whispering and splashed more of the dark crimson liquid over the next door, to its left.

Something crunched. It drew both Orion’s attention, and that of the woman. They both stared at the thing crawling into the large hall, emerging from the corridors he had entered from. The way they paused, paralyzed with disbelief—and the failure of the human mind’s capability to process what they were looking at—took in the thing moving along the floor.

It looked like a pile of trash, like someone had kicked over a garbage can and the contents of four weeks of refuse had spilled out over the ground. With a stench to match. But parts of it looked fleshy, or sponge-like. Wobbling but staying whole, like a block of jello. Other bits, like stalks, or tentacles, tiny and too many to count, coiling and recoiling and almost like they were looking in every direction, but seeing without any discernible eyes.

Death and evil incarnate, crawling over the filthy floors. Hungry, but slow. Creeping. Part of the world’s abandoned things, coalesced and fused into something awful, something trapped in between the realm of the living and the realm of non-existence; a vessel to something worse, something spawned in the darkest recesses and the deepest abyss of human sin. Crawling, and more than one. Another pile of living muck and vomit-inducing presence followed. And another. And another.

Rejects.

They headed towards the seven doors with painful slowness. But one of them began veering away from the rest, inching closer towards Orion.

Thwuck. Shlack. Scrape.

Orion wanted to throw up. He started wriggling, thrashing, fighting against his bonds, but none of it helped. He looked back at the woman in desperation.

She breathed through her teeth, “Shit.”

Haste colored her every movement now and she haphazardly sprayed more liquid onto the doors. One by one. She whispered all the while, though the whispers had made way to hectic chanting. Orion had no chance in understanding it, for the words sounded nothing like any language he had ever heard before.

Almost matching the sounds made by the Rejects, creeping forth.

Scrape. Flesh. Shlef. Thwuck.

The Reject crawled closer. Ever closer to him.

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, first blurring his sight a little, and then a lot. Orion had no time or space to realize how that might have been better, he only felt the deep-rooted dread in his stomach. The certainty of death by this abomination, crawling up to him. Only an arm’s length away from his kicking feet.

The stench intensified as the thing got closer, robbing him of any speech, making him wretch.

Images of the GIF on his phone flashed in his mind. The violence he had inflicted, captured on camera—his own recordings, not meant for public consumption—sent to him by the Glass King.

Just like these monsters had been sent by the Glass King.

Orion screamed for help.

A figure in a long black duster emerged from the corridors, standing still at the edge of the large hall, staring at the seven doors. Orion screamed for help from him, now. But within just a few beats of his heart, pounding so hard that it wanted to burst from his chest, he knew deep down that this man was the master of the Rejects.

No—this man was the Glass King, and he cared nothing for Orion’s plight. Hell, he probably enjoyed it. Orion sensed that just much malice from the presence of his man, and his imagination ran wild in response to the evil emanating from his body, hitting his entire being like a truck.

“Will you even be you when you return from that place? If you return from the house?” asked the man, directing his words at the woman by the doors.

Cold and uncaring about Orion, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs. Because something cold and wet and slimy slapped against the bottom of his shoe. And slithered up it, tugging at shoe laces, wrapping around the leg of his pants by his ankle, and applying pressure. Pulling itself upwards.

Onto him.

The woman never stopped chanting, flinging blood at those doors and then sticking something white and misshapen into the keyhole of one of the brass knobs, exposed by the glaring cone of light from one of the spots. She stopped chanting.

“You can’t stop change. Everything changes. That’s all you’re really afraid of, isn’t it?” she shouted. Anger making her voice tremble. Also something insecure. Or fear.

She ripped the door open and ran through it and slammed it shut behind her, but she didn’t emerge from the other side.

Just gone. Vanished into thin air.

Orion had neither eyes nor mind for this phenomenon, however. He only felt the many tiny tendrils of trash touching, feeling, finding their way up his limbs. A path of disgusting discovery, exploring his body like an alien creature trying to figure out human anatomy, but in reality just so depraved and sinister that it pretended to be doing so when it fed on his festering dread and despair.

Was this what it was like to be helpless? To be used, and chewed out?

To cry for help, but be ignored?

He had no capacity left for clean, deep thoughts. Only terror filled his being. The Reject crawled up over him, exerting the weight of a full-grown person, pinning him down and amplifying his sense of helplessness.

Some part of him expected to feel tiny teeth from tiny mouths chewing away at him, but the slithering and worming motions only reflected the darkness in his own heart, mirroring the corruption that had always haunted him. His screaming died down, petering out into a hoarse unintelligible something that transformed into whimpering.

The man in the duster—the Glass King—clicked his tongue but ignored Orion, approaching the seven doors.

“You didn’t answer my question, Kimmy. You fear the answer, or you’d say it out loud,” muttered the Glass King.

Orion expected the sensation of cold metal to be cutting his flesh, but the wet something was more like saliva dispersed from tongues, oozing across his skin. He expected for those rubber bands and spongy stalks to wrap around his neck and choke the life out of him, but they only squeezed a little bit. Just enough to be uncomfortable, and just enough for the Reject to enjoy it.

It breathed on him. The Reject engulfed him, not killing him.

The man in the duster turned on his heels.

Eyes wide open, stricken with unnatural knowing accumulated from a thousand lives and a deep-seated and all-devouring madness—staring into Orion’s eyes. The Glass King’s stare reached deep inside, prying away at his secrets like a lunatic ripping away at the fabric padding lining the walls of a forgotten cell, for those crazy eyes had seen the same GIF as he had. Knew what he knew. Knew his every dirty secret.

Much worse was the grin plastered across his face. Toothy, sadistic, and stretched far too wide to look fun or what was natural for that human face.

“Oh, Kyle, my boy,” said the Glass King, with the grin never wiping itself off his face. “You had one job and you bungled it. But no worries, I still have use for you. Your name, your reputation—your face. Enough mojo there for me to milk for a far greater purpose. Good on you for at least coming here, huh?”

The Glass King took a few steps closer towards Orion. Neared. Menace echoing with each step of his boots thumping against the dirty floor.

Orion wasn’t even whimpering anymore. Before a sheet of paper with something cold and wet and fleshy clinging to its underside had fully crept up the side of his face and covered it—before he closed his eyes and lost sight—he wanted to protest.

But he had no words.

Some part of him, matched only by his urge to vomit, knew he deserved this. Every second of it.

The Reject breathed on him, hot and damp and unpleasant. It almost entirely engulfed him, satisfied with the almost.

Not killing him.

—Submitted by Wratts

[okaybutlikeimagine]

I can’t get this idea out of my head and I was going to write it myself but I love your writing so much and your characterisation... what about Billy (after a couple of months or maybe a year of being adopted by Hop) getting the date he was adopted as a tattoo?? Because the date is the most important date to him (his&steves anniversary is a close second) and he wants to honour it

You’re such an absolute sweetheart, goodness gracious!!! ♥ thank you so much dear. i’m so sorry this took so long to get to, but i’m here now! And this idea is sO DAMN CUTE!!!

I’m just imagining Billy going out w/o planning it bc he really has to psych himself up about it, y’know?? Like… he’s been thinking about this for a long time. He had the thought about a month into living w/ Hop when he woke up late and trudged over to the table to find a plate w/ a couple of pieces of toast and his favorite raspberry jam along with a hot cup of coffee that looked a lot more like creamer.

“Have a good day, kid.” Hop had said with a pat on Billy’s head before he left for work.

It was just… small. Simple. Really nothing if he were to tell anyone. But… it made Billy feel so at home. Sitting across from El who was finishing off an Eggo silently before looking up at Billy and smiling at him. It made Billy realize he really did have a home. He had found it. And it was this.

And the day that he got adopted was kind of stressful. He was terrified that Neil was going to come after him for some sick reason. So fucking scared that he was going to catch him outside of the court house and hurt him. Nervous that he was putting a target on his back for doing this. He had refused Hop’s name because he didn’t wanna give Neil another reason to be pissed at him.

It was just such a difficult situation. So intensely worrying that Billy tried to shy away from it as much as he could. But...

But it was the day his new life started. And thinking about it always feels so dramatic and stupid to him but he can’t think of anything else but that, sometimes. He went from being scared every damn day of his life to being able to smile and laugh and joke around. Getting and receiving hugs almost every day. Making dinner with a man he’s able to call dad without feeling something sick in his throat over it.

It’s just… that day changed everything. It clicked him into the right place.

And now it’s been a year and Billy hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. He’s known for so long that he wanted to get this done but could never get himself to get up and do it. It always felt like the wrong time, or like he didn’t have any kind of valid reasoning or some bullshit. But he was up almost all night thinking about it and now it’s been a whole year since he was adopted and he just feels it. He needs to, he knows he does.

So Billy wakes up that morning, goes about his breakfast routine, and then gets in his car and drives. Goes out to the same tattoo parlor that he got his skull tattoo at bc the guy was cool and gave him a discount bc he liked his mullet and his car. It’s a few towns over bc Hawkins is a good, small town w/ no seedy places like a tattoo shop.

So Billy asks for the tattoo. Gets it on his forearm and gets a little dizzy with how sentimental it feels. The tattoo guy asks about the significance as Billy’s paying, but Billy can’t bring himself to say anything so he just kind of… grunts. The tattoo guy gives a disarming smile along with a chuckle that makes Billy walk out of the store as soon as he can. He gives a nod to the artist so he doesn’t look like a complete asshole.

And once Billy is in his car again, he’s breathing hard. The tattoo feels like it’s burning his skin, like it’s made of fire, just because it’s so sentimental. it‘s so significant and it’s there on his body forever and he just paid to make that happen bc he’s sentimental. Bc he can’t think of another date that means more to him (maybe the day he first kissed Steve… hell maybe the day he first looked at Steve… but that’s a different story)

His heart is racing and his leg is bouncing and his arm is shaking the whole drive home. It’s been a year. A whole year. The best damn year of his life and now he has something permanent so he can honor it. He’s overjoyed.

But once he gets back to the cabin, Hop doesn’t seem to feel the same.

“Where have you been?”

His arms are crossed, eyebrows low over narrowed eyes. It doesn’t strike the same kind of fear in Billy that it used to, but it does make him feel some sort of regret. He doesn’t even know what he should feel sorry for, but he kind of absolutely hates making Hop look at him like this.

“Out. I had something I wanted to do.”

“Right. Well El and I were looking forward to going out to lunch with you today.”

Billy’s heart drops. He feels a desperate need to go up in arms about it, to combat the hurt in his chest.

“Well no one told me that.”

“Yeah well… we didn’t really think you’d go running out like that today. It’s kind of… kind of a big day.”

Billy nods, doing his damned best not to fidget. His tattoo is burning with sentiment. Billy thinks Hop might be able to see how tense he is, bc Hop gives him a caring look. He’s always giving him caring looks. Like he’s his son that just tripped over the front steps.

“Don’t stress over it though, son. We were thinking of going to ice cream later once she gets back from hanging out with her friends.”

Billy nods and Hop watches Billy walk over to the kitchen. He’s leaning on the back of the sofa with his arms still crossed.

“So.” Hop starts. “You got a tattoo?”

Billy freezes for a second before continuing to reach for a clean glass in the cabinet.

“How do you know that?”

“Officer Powell told me he saw you headed that way.”

“Damn, do you pigs ever not gossip with each other? Holy shit.” Billy cusses with a slam of the orange juice carton onto the counter.

Hop gives him a look. “He was visiting some family out there. What’d you get a tattoo of?”

Billy’s heart is racing. “Nothing important.” He mumbles to try to counteract the gnawing on his arm.

“Really? You paid someone to put something that’s not important onto your body permanently?”

Billy growls at how much of a smartass Hop is being. He’s always being a smartass. It’s fun when Billy’s not totally nervous about being so mushy. He can feel it all start to bubble out. He’s so damn nervous.

“Yup.” He pops the last sound out of his mouth, but his whole act is so unconvincing Billy can almost feel it sliding off of him.

“Seriously, kid, what’d you get?”

“I just-”

“Because you know how I feel about tattoos.”

“It’s not that important-”

“Just trying to figure out if it’s something as weird as that skull on your arm.”

“It’s not weird-”

“Alright it’s a little cooler than weird, but still. What’d you get that’s not important-?”

“It’s today’s date.” It bubbles out of Billy before he can put a stop to it. Before he can hold the words down. He looks up from his orange juice to see Hop’s eyes get wider.

“I… seriously?”

Billy rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, don’t get too sappy about it.” Billy says like his heart isn’t in his throat right now.

“You got today’s date… because?”

Billy twists his mouth up. “Don’t make me say it.”

Hop lets out a little chuckle. It sounds involuntary.

“No no, I wanna hear why you’d get a date that ‘not that important’ on your arm.” He’s chuckling even more now. Billy’s fingers are tapping on the counter w/ nervous agitation.

“Because… because… you know why!”

Hop shakes his head with an annoying smile. “Nope, don’t think I do. I’m at a loss.”

“Because this was the best damn day of my life, alright? You know that.” Billy feels it all heave out of his throat like vomit, but just like vomit once it’s out, he feels so much better. all that pressure gone. He feels like now that he’s admitted it, he should fear it’ll slip away from him, but he doesn’t feel that way. It feels like now that he’s admitted it, now that it’s written on his skin, it’s solidified. No one can take it away from him. Even if things turn to shit, he still has the memory of this past year there on his arm and he’s just... he’s comfortable. Yes, he’s a sentimental sap, and he’ll knock the lights out of anyone who calls him that, probably, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t one. He’s glad he can be a sentimental sap now without fear.

He looks into Hop’s eyes and sees a wide smile.

Billy rolls his eyes again, mumbling a “shut up” for good measure, even though Hop hasn’t said anything.

Billy tries to get past Hop, pretending he needs to grab something when really he just doesn’t wanna see Hop’s face anymore, but the man catches him in a hug before he can get past.

It’s warm and encompassing and Billy is so immediately comfortable that it still fascinates him.

“I love you son.” Hop mumbles, chest rumbling with the words. Billy feels it in his heart.

“Yeah yeah.” Billy says from where his face is half pressed into Hop’s chest. “Love you too, dad.”

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

Inspired by this one-shot by @poetdameron. 

___

It doesn’t take long until he starts to see her. 

Frankly, Jon always suspected - no, he knew - from the moment the cold steel of Longclaw sank into her tender flesh, it was over for him. He would pay for this, he realized, as he clutched her and wept while the lifeblood seeped out from her body. 

He was silent when the others found him there, no longer weeping. No longer trembling. Just cradling her face in his lap and tracing her features. So beloved. So beautiful. I killed her, he thought as he threaded his fingers through her locks of silvery-pale-gold. I killed her, he thought as the others gathered around him, shaking him, tapping him, calling out to him. I killed them, he thought as he recalls her faintly swelling stomach, the way she clutched at her abdomen as he betrayed her. I killed them, he thought as he stands in front of her pyre, as her ashes float away with the wind. 

I killed you, he thinks the first time she appears before him, late at night in the halls. She’s beautiful. Wavy, unbound hair of pale white-blonde, flawless skin accentuating full pink lips and breathtaking purple eyes, small frame clad in a flowing white gown. Her belly is swollen. With child. My child. I killed my child too.

“Dany,” he murmurs. “Dany.”

“Jon.” Her voice is naught more than a whisper, so silent that one might mistake it for the wind echoing faintly through the corridors. Even as he approaches her, he strains to make out her words. “You killed me.” A small hand settles on her belly. “You killed our child.”

He sinks to his knees before her. Forgive me, he wants to say, but he cannot say the words. He will not ask that of her, he does not deserve to plead for her forgiveness. I killed you.

“You are right,” he whispers. “I killed the woman I love.” His eyes drift to her stomach. “I killed my child.” 

In a trance, he reaches for her. For the hem of her dress, because he does not dare lay his hands on her flesh. He does not have that right. This is the most he can hope for, kneeling at her feet, unsure of if he is worthy of dirtying her dress with his touch. 

He is not. Of course, he is not. As his fingers make contact, she vanishes, slipping from his grasp like wisps of smoke. He is left there kneeling, staring. Hollow. 

From then on, she is his companion when she desires. As he lays on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, she sometimes stands over him. Whispering. Beckoning. “One day, Jon,” she promises. “Live. Keep living. Suffer.” 

And so he does. He lives, and breathes, and keeps himself alive, if only barely, and she rewards him from time to time with that satisfied little smirk that is the sole thing that brings him any semblance of happiness anymore. He cannot lose that smile. He will do anything, anything at all, to keep it.

“One day, when I am satisfied,” she assures him, “I will come for you. I am waiting, you know. Our child is waiting.” 

“Please,” he begs her. “Dany, make that day soon.” She never deigns to reply to that request.  

His other, more constant companion, is emptiness. He spends his days in his chamber, scarcely sleeping, scarcely eating. Some nights he ventures out in the forest, half-hoping he will stumble and fall down some ditch and break his neck in the process. But he mostly does it because she seems to have a fondness for the open night air, and will appear more often in the forest after all other men have retired to their beds.

He cannot hang on to any sort of repose, and food is now naught but tasteless lumps that travel down his intestine and into his stomach, to be shat out again. Most of his time is spent sitting on his bed, staring. Remembering. Wondering.

Why do I live? He asks himself one day. He does not know. He has no desires, no pleasures, no joy. Not even simple contentment. He is nothing, he has nothing, and inside him is nothing. There is no reason for his existence. 

“Because”, she answers him, taking a seat on the bed some distance away from him, “I want it, Jon. Keep living. Keep breathing. Keep existing.” She smiles, gently and spitefully, and by the gods, she is beautiful. “Then I will come.” A whispery laugh. “I cannot wait, Jon. Our child,” her hands go to her swollen belly, lovingly. “Our child is excited, too.”

Life goes on like that. 

Jon cannot recall who died as he stands before the dead man’s funeral pyre, emerging from his rooms during daytime for this rare occasion. Locks of his hair, now more silver than dark, flap about his face and sting at his eyes. Flames lick and spark and travel over the wood until they are stoked into a roaring fire. Standing close to the pyre - too close, he hears the men whisper, for he always stands closer than any other - the heat is intense, and Jon does not care. 

She hasn’t come for some time. It is driving Jon mad, the hollowness inside him yawning and gaping. Where is she? Has she abandoned him? If she had, he would sooner walk into the flames himself than continue living. But she wishes him to wait. She wants him to live, until she is satisfied. 

So he will. Even if she does not return.

He gazes into the flames. How beautiful they look. How inviting. He envies the body lying peacefully amidst the fire, dissolving into ash and bone. He wished he could be that corpse, instead. Would that not be wonderful? 

Don’t, he reminds himself. Dany is not satisfied yet.

“Jon.” 

His eyes widen. Is he hearing things? Has he finally gone mad in her absence? He gazes about frantically, but he cannot find her, cannot pinpoint where her voice came from. Where is she? Where is she?

“Jon. Here.”

His eyes fall on the funeral pyre, on the fire. And she is standing there, back to him but looking over her shoulder, amidst the roaring flames. Pale hair unbound and dress billowing, still as youthful and lovely as she was when he killed her. She looks poised to walk away, and Jon’s heart drops sickeningly; no - no, Dany, please, don’t leave me - but then she turns completely towards him and his chest swells. Cradled in her arms is a babe with tufts of silvery-gold hair, deep indigo eyes, plump and rosy cheeks.

By the gods.

It is his child. It is their child. 

Jon can do nothing but stare. He’s unable to tell if the child is a girl or a boy, but he doesn’t care. Fuck, he does not care. It is the most wondrous thing he has ever beheld.

Dany beams gently at him, and his heart thumps. The babe looks at him curiously, sucking its thumb, and Jon could die from the swelling tide of love that swamps him as he gazes at the two of them. 

“Jon,” Dany calls. Cradling their child in one arm tenderly against her chest, she opens her other arm to him. Jon can swear that his heart stops in that moment. She cannot mean...

“I am satisfied, Jon.” The words he can hardly believe. “And,” Dany adds, turning a loving gaze to the babe, “our child wants to meet you.” 

Tears spill from Jon’s eyes. “Dany,” he whispers. “Dany.”

Her hand is still extended to him as she calls, “Come here.” The babe looks at its mother quizzically and then back at Jon. He realizes he is trembling. 

“Come here, Jon,” Dany smiles.“Join us. We miss you.” 

Jon is only too happy to comply. 

For the first time, for the first time since countless years ago, he runs. He runs toward the pyre, ignoring the startled shouts and calls of “Lord Commander!” from the men at his back. His old and unused joints groan and creak, but pain has never felt so utterly trivial before.

Closer. Closer. Almost there. Almost...

Jon flings himself onto the pyre. He cannot see anything but shades of orange, red, dark yellow, and more importantly, Dany and their babe, standing amidst the flames, welcoming him. He cannot hear anything but crackling and snapping, and more importantly, Dany’s calls. “Join us, Jon,” she whispers. “Come here. We miss you.”

“Dany,” he hisses, frantic, desperate, fighting through the wood and smoke and fire to reach her and their child. His lungs burn and scream for air and his vision is fading and his skin is washed in a peculiar warm, prickling sensation, but he struggles and shoves and claws. “Dany,” he cries. “Dany!” 

And then she is in front of him, cradling their child in her arms, and smiling at him. He stares at her. 

He wants to say something, anything, but the sight of her and the babe has him struck dumb and mute, unable to utter a single word. And yet, even as he gapes like a halfwit, he feels the smile split his face, the tears clouding his vision. His head is pounding, and his body feels like it has been thrust into boiling water.

Dany grins. It is a carefree grin, girlish and enthusiastic and pleased. She bounces the child on her hip and reaches up, placing a pale, cool hand on his cheek. A shiver of euphoria grips Jon’s body, and he all but moans in bliss at her touch. 

She goes to retract her hand, but Jon catches it and clutches it fiercely. He brings it to his mouth and kisses it; all over her palm, on the tip of each finger, on her knuckles. Dany laughs. “You’re quite eager, Jon Snow,” she comments slyly. Jon almost weeps to hear her voice so full of mirth.

“Dany,” he rasps, “You do not know...you do not know how much I have missed you.” His vision is fading, his body is numb, and his skin looks...queer,  fleshy pink and bloody red and purple-grey. But it all means nothing as he stares at her, and at his child.

Dany’s gaze turns solemn. “I do,” she murmurs, looking down at the babe. “I know exactly how much. Our child and I...” She glances back up at him, and he hopes she is smiling. He prays to the gods that she is smiling, but he can no longer - no longer see her, he can no longer make her out. He feels weak, hazy, sapped of all his strength. 

Tired. So tired. 

“We’ve been waiting for you, Jon.” 

The men of the Night’s Watch shout and bellow for help, but there is nothing to be done. In the end, they are forced to watch as the pyre collapses and the flames consume it, their Lord Commander still somewhere in there. 

When the fire dies at long last, the men of the Night’s Watch gather around the piles of cinder and dust, and find two piles of fragmented bones and two piles of ash. 

Jon Snow was a mad man, they say. 

___

I’m pissed.

I’m so fucking pissed at those leaks and the way Dany was handled. D&D’s writing is absolutely atrocious. Not only did they go for the sexist insanity angle, they portrayed it in the most hilariously idiotic way possible. 

But. This is my headcanon now. Jon returns to the Night’s Watch and he goes mad. If all Targaryens are insane as Dumb&Dumber are trying desperately to convince us, then Jon is insane too. He’s been through enough traumatizing shit to break him mentally, and in my mind, killing Dany finally drove him over the edge. I refuse to accept the misogynistic idea of Jon remaining a tortured hero TM after he kills Daenerys because men are too strong to succumb to madness even in the midst of their man pain. 

Anyway, as you can probably tell, I went for the angle made by @poetdameron that Jon begins to hallucinate the spirit of a pregnant Daenerys speaking to him. The pregnancy may or may not be a product of Jon’s delusion; I’ll leave that for the reader to decide. 

Daenerys, though, is absolutely a hallucination on Jon’s part imo, not her actual ghost. It doesn’t fit ASOIAF’s mythos for Dany’s spirit to be able to communicate with Jon. And besides, Dany’s spirit wouldn’t hang around Jon like that after he killed her. She certainly wouldn’t be welcoming him to “join her” with open arms like she “did” in the fic. That’s all a product of Jon’s insanity. 

[searchingwardrobes]

Underneath the Tree

Surprise @killiancygnus! I’m your @cssecretsanta2k18! You said you love fluff, modern aus, especially friends to lovers, and I may also have stalked your tumblr a little and discovered that you would also love to just see CS cozy in front of the fire. This fic has all of that. I also decided after you told me you had never had a real tree before that I had to give you one in fic form. I have had a real Christmas tree every year of my life, so I can honestly inform you that getting one is neither as easy or romantic as portrayed in Hallmark movies, which was the perfect way to get some humor in this thing. And what better way to get CS cozy in front of the fire than to have them get caught in the rain? I hope you enjoy this story as much as I have enjoyed getting to know you, Francesca! Merry Christmas 🎄

Summary: Emma Swan has never had a real Christmas tree before, and her best friend Killian Jones is determined to give her one. A real live tree from a quaint tree lot like in a Hallmark movie. Even if it’s pouring down rain . . .

Rating: M-ish because Fran says she likes, “kind of smutty, but not too smutty” which I totally get!

Title from the song of the same name by Kelly Clarkson, the lyrics of which are perfect for this friends to lovers story.

Can also be read on Ao3

She shook her head before heading to her bedroom to change. The first time he had tossed out the “L” word so casually, it had freaked her out. Now she knew how he meant it. The love of a best friend, that’s what they had. A comfortable one filled with no pretenses, casual affection, and innocent flirting. A rarity in Emma’s life for sure, but Killian Jones had proven too stubborn to go away when she got prickly or threw her walls up. Since she couldn’t get rid of him, she eventually accepted his unflagging loyalty and occasional burst of heartfelt sentiments.

It was Killian’s stubbornness that had them heading to a Christmas tree lot on a cold, rainy Brooklyn morning. She had mentioned that she had never owned a Christmas tree aside from the pitiful tabletop thing that resided in her apartment. It came with red baubles already attached to the plastic limbs. All she had to do every year was dust it and set it on the table. Killian, however, had insisted that just wouldn’t do. They were getting her a tree, and not only was it going to be a decent size, it was going to be real. They were going to a tree lot like in those montages on Hallmark Christmas movies.

“Will Rockin Around the Christmas Tree be playing in the background?” Emma had asked sarcastically.

“Maybe,” he had told her with a smirk.

So now Emma was shivering in the passenger’s seat of Killian’s pickup truck, peering past the windshield wipers at the giant, waving Santa welcoming visitors to “Santa’s Treeland.” Killian parked, then came around to open Emma’s door like the old-fashioned gentleman that he was. The rain had tapered off to a light misting, but it still increased the sharpness of the cold. Emma yanked her beanie down farther over her ears and shoved her hands inside the pockets of her parka. Killian wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his side, rubbing her arm up and down to warm her more. She had to admit, it helped.

Luckily, the trees were stored beneath an awning made of tarps. A sweet looking middle-aged man approached them as they neared the lot.

“Welcome to Santa’s Treeland!” he said as he handed them candy canes. “First Christmas together?” he asked with a wink.

Killian chuckled warmly, tugging Emma closer against him. “You could say that.” He winked down at her as they walked away, and she poked him in the ribs with her elbow. He just laughed more as he rubbed the sore spot.

The trees were organized by size: 4-5 feet, 6-7 feet, and then 8-9 feet. Emma gaped at the prices.

“Fifty bucks for a tree that’s shorter than me?”

Killian frowned at the tree she had tilted upright. “No way, Swan. Your apartment may be small, but I’m not letting you get a tree unless it’s taller than I am at least. And yes, that’s the price. They’re ten dollars a foot, cheapest in any of the burroughs.”

Emma folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Nope. I refuse to pay that much for a dead tree.”

He ignored her completely, hoisting a tree that was over six feet from the next stack over. “Well,” he said, eyeing the thing up and down, “good thing you’re not paying for it.”

Emma blinked rapidly. “Y-you can’t do that!”

He sighed and gave her a tender smile. “Yes, I can, and I will. Now, what do you think of this one?”

Emma, always uncomfortable about receiving generosity, shifted from one foot to the other. She contemplated arguing with him, telling him she didn’t need his charity. If this were Mary Margaret or David, she would have. But with Killian, she knew it wasn’t like that. His upbringing had been similar to her own, and he would never direct pity her way for it.

She tilted her head, chewing on her lower lip. What was she even supposed to be looking for? “It’s okay I guess?”

Killian chuckled. “Is it full enough?” He started turning it slowly. “Or does it have gaps? And the shape, is it close to a triangle or is it too thin or too squat?”

His questions helped as he continued to spin it. Emma frowned. “Now that you mention it, one side looks like it’s missing some branches.”

He nodded, then shoved the tree back with the others. “Then we keep looking.”

They looked at four more until they finally found one just at six feet that was perfect. Unfortunately, while they had been looking the rain had increased. Killian dashed through the rain to where he parked the truck, and by the time he got back his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and rain dripped off his coat. An employee helped him slide the tree into the back of his truck, and Killian quickly covered it with a tarp. Even Emma got slightly drenched just dashing to the passenger’s side of the vehicle. Killian gave his head a shake while Emma squeezed out her damp hair, and they both laughed even as their teeth chattered.

The rain didn’t let up as they drove home. Emma wondered at the wisdom of dragging a wet tree into her apartment, but Killian didn’t seem at all concerned as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, humming “Oh, Christmas Tree.” When she hesitantly voiced her concern, he just smiled at her.

“I covered it with a tarp, so it won’t be too wet,” he assured her, “and we’ll let it dry before we decorate it.”

His festive mood finally had her relaxing, and she actually found herself tapping out the rhythm on the door handle when he switched to humming “Winter Wonderland.” He parked in front of her building, and Emma realized there was no way she wasn’t getting soaked now. He couldn’t get the tree out of her trunk and up to her apartment by himself. Just as she suspected, by the time they had the thing leaning against the door of her second-floor apartment, her wet clothes clung to her skin and her shoes left puddles in their wake. But somehow, Killian was still smiling.

“Where’s that tree stand I got you?” he asked, shaking the rain out of his hair.

“I set it up right in front of the window like you said, with an old sheet under it.”

Killian rubbed at his jaw as he righted the tree. Then he started to shake it, sending drops of water flying all over the place.

“Ugh!” Emma protested, lifting her hands in front of her face to block the onslaught. “I think we should let it dry out here before we take it inside.”

“We can’t do that, we have to get it in the stand and water it right away, or it will dry out. They drink gallons of water when you first get them home.”

“What are you, a Christmas tree expert?” Emma laughed.

“Well, Liam got me a few trees when I was a teenager,” Killian said as tilted the top of the tree Emma’s way. She grasped the slender half as he hoisted the trunk. “And then there’s Google.”

They both grunted as they maneuvered the thing through Emma’s door. She wanted to ask if he’d had a tree since Liam passed, but she didn’t have the heart to dampen his mood. Besides, she’d been to his place the last couple of Christmases and knew full well he had no tree. She wondered if this little outing was as much for him as it was for her. After all, Christmas traditions just weren’t the same when you were alone.

They tilted the tree so they could set the bottom of the trunk into the red metal stand. Killian’s smile – the one that had scarcely wavered all day – faded somewhat as he shoved the tree downward. His brow furrowed.

“What the -” he muttered. “You got a good hold on it?”

Emma tightened her grip and nodded, her frigid fingers getting poked by the tree’s needles. Killian let go of his end and got down on his hands and knees. All Emma could see was his ass sticking out from underneath the bottom branches. He swore under his breath as he struggled with something; the sound of clanging metal accompanying his curses. Yet all Emma could do was grin as she admired her current view of Killian in his tight jeans. Now that’s a gift any woman would like to see underneath her tree.

“It won’t go in.”

“Excuse me?” Emma startled, blushing furiously as Killian’s head popped back out from under the tree. His hair was disheveled, and his cheeks and elf shaped ears were bright red. Even though he was staring at the tree, and not her, she suddenly felt she had been caught at something.

“It’s too wide for the stupid stand,” Killian muttered gesturing at the tree.

“Oh,” Emma breathed out in relief.

Killian grabbed at a fistful of hair. “Surely we can fix this.” He stood up and eyed the tree critically. “Keep hold of it, Swan, I'll be right back.”

He dashed out of the apartment, and Emma stood there, feeling foolish as she continued to grip the tree. Her wet jeans were driving her mad, and the branches of the tree were poking their way up the sleeve of her parka. She adjusted her grip and groaned when she felt sticky sap coating her palms. What in the world was taking Killian so long?

Emma’s eyes widened when he returned with a huge pair of pruning shears. He squatted down by the tree again, and damn it, Emma couldn’t help where her eyes kept going. Something about the way his wet shirt was plastered to his skin, the way his slightly damp hair was curling at his nape, made her suddenly aware of how well built her best friend was. She really needed to get out of this wet parka because she was suddenly really hot.

“There’s a branch sticking out of the very bottom of the trunk, and I think if I trim it off, it’ll fit in the stand just fine.”

Emma tore her eyes away from his rear end to actually look where he was pointing. “Um, are you sure you want to do that?”

But he was already cutting at the base of the branch with the shears, and as it fell away . . . there went half the tree.

“Shit,” Killian grumbled, running his hand through his hair in frustration again. He really needed to quit doing that. It was making Emma’s fingers twitch.

“Hey,” she told him, “it’s no big deal. We’ll just put that side against the window. No one will be able to tell from the street.”

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he told her, frowning for the first time that day, “I ruined your tree.”

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. Now can we get this thing in the stand already? I’ve got sap running down my arm.”

That got a chuckle out of him, and he bent down again to tighten the screws in the stand. Once it was steady, they both backed up to examine it.

“Is it just me,” Killian asked, “or is it . . .”

“Leaning? Um, yeah.” Emma finally shed her parka, then stretched her arms. She grasped the tree again while Killian loosened the screws. Then he backed up to assess things.

“A little to the left . . . “ he instructed as Emma adjusted the tree, “a little to the right . . . There! Perfect! Don’t move!”

He dove back under the tree and tightened everything, then he and Emma stood back to admire their work. She smiled, and Killian put his arm around her. Maybe she was beginning to see the appeal of -

Then the tree seemed to lean to one side in slow motion before crashing to the floor.

“Shit,” Killian swore again.

“At least we didn’t water it yet.”

*****************************************************

Killian’s swearing had taken on epic, sailor-like proportions. They finally realized, after many balancing attempts, that they had chosen a tree with a crooked trunk. No matter what they did, the damn thing ending up sideways on the floor. Now Killian had retrieved a tackle box from his truck and was wrapping the thing in fishing wire. He ran the line to the lock mechanism on her window, and now her tree was basically tied to her window so it wouldn’t fall down.

Emma looked at what they had spent the last half hour doing: there were tree branches and pine needles all over the floor, the tree still dripped rainwater from its branches, the back half of it was completely missing, and Killian’s tools and tackle were scattered over Emma’s kitchen table. Killian himself was shaking the tree to ensure that it was held securely by the fishing wire, and he was even more wet than he had been when they’d gotten home from his multiple trips back to his truck. Suddenly, the whole thing struck Emma, and she burst out laughing. At first, Killian seemed startled, and slightly indignant, but then a slightly sheepish grin overtook his face right before laughter spilled out of him as well. He shrugged his shoulders as he stepped away from the hopeless tree.

“Well, I promised you a real tree. I never said anything about quality.”

Emma’s laughter faded as another emotion overtook her. She looked him up and down as he stood there scrutinizing the tree, his arms crossed. Then he lifted one hand to rub at his jaw, his thumb brushing his lower lip. Emma swallowed as realization crashed over her.

“I love you,” she blurted out.

He turned to her tenderly. “Aye. I love you too, Emma.”

She shook her head in frustration, the look in his eyes clearly telling her he misunderstood. “No. I mean, yes, I love you. But I also love you.”

She puffed out a breath, irritated at her lack of eloquence, and a strand of hair fell across her eyes. Killian stepped forward, reached out, and tucked the strand behind her ear.

“What was that, Swan?”

He had a slight smirk on his face that made Emma want to smack him and take it back, but then she saw the slight widening of his eyes and the way they darted across her face. Insecurity. That was the emotion in his gaze.

She managed a tiny smile. “I just realized as I was standing here . . . all of this, how you’ve gone to all this trouble to give me a Christmas memory I’ve never had before, it’s just . . . “ She bit her lip and crossed her arms, then nervously uncrossed them again. Damn it, why wouldn’t her words make sense? “You’ve always been such a great friend to me, but somewhere, somehow . . . I’ve fallen in love with you.”

His eyes sparkled then as a wide grin filled his entire face. He surged forward, claiming her lips, his hands cupping her face. She melted into it as his thumbs caressed tiny circles on her cheeks. They both changed the angle to deepen the kiss, their lips parting for one another. One of his hands slipped from her cheek to her hair while the other one grasped her waist and yanked her close. Emma moaned as she slipped her arms around his neck. He pulled back, breathless, and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I have been in love with you for so long, Emma, it’s been sheer torture.”

“Then why didn’t you -” he cut her words off with another kiss, and every thought fled her brain. Not that she needed an answer. Prickly Emma Swan with her impenetrable walls? Of course he hadn’t thought he could tell her how he felt.

Their kisses were more frantic now, hungry and full of want. But everywhere Emma’s hands drifted was wet and cold. She pulled back and smiled when Killian chased her lips.

“I’m still wet,” she explained, and an involuntary shiver punctuated her point.

“And cold,” he added with a frown.

He rubbed her arms up and down, the warmth from his palms sending tingles down her spine that had little to do with his body temperature. When he let her go to start gathering up blankets that were tossed about her living room, a shudder of loss went through her. When he bent to light the fireplace, she pouted.

“I uh, guess I’ll go change,” she told him, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“Don’t you dare.” The deep timbre of his voice made her stop in her tracks. When she pivoted back to face him, the smile he was giving her was filled with lustful promise. He quirked a brow as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I plan on warming you up thoroughly, trust me, love.”

She swallowed hard, but forced her voice to sound light and airy when she answered him. “Well you better hurry it up before I get hypothermia.”

He chuckled and quickly got the fire going. Then he stood and laid Emma’s fluffiest blanket out on the floor in front of the hearth, the one with the thick, plush lining. Then he grabbed an oversized quilt and walked – no sauntered, he was sauntering – towards her. He tossed the quilt down on the couch next to her, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he drew her close, kissing her passionately, sending heat skittering across her skin. He loosened his hold on her, yet didn’t break the kiss as he undid the buttons on her flannel shirt. Then he pushed the damp garment from her shoulders, sending it falling to the floor with a plop. It felt wonderful to no longer have the wet fabric clinging to her, but goosebumps rose up on her now bare skin. Killian, his lips still fused to hers, attempted to chase them away as he ran his hands down her arms and up her back. He quickly unclasped her bra, and removed it as well. His hand came around and cupped her breast, his thumb caressing her nipple. Emma moaned, her head tilting back as Killian finally pulled away from her lips. He trailed kisses along her neck, her collarbone, then lower as he sank to his knees. Emma whimpered, however, when he didn’t linger on her breasts, and he chuckled.

“Don’t tease me,” she admonished as she yanked on his hair.

He smirked up at her. “I make no promises.” Then he winked as he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. As wet as they were, she had to shimmy to help him slide them off. He grasped her hips and kissed her navel, then took the waistband of her panties in his teeth and slid them off too.

He wasn’t through teasing her, however. As soon as she was completely naked, he rose and grabbed the quilt. He wrapped it around her and brushed her lips with a chaste kiss.

“Better?”

Emma debated just dropping the quilt from her shoulders, but she was too curious about what else he had planned. His teasing was driving her insane, but it was also a huge turn on. Still, she couldn’t help kissing him roughly, dragging his lower lip between her teeth.

“A little,” she finally answered, “but is that the best you can do?”

She yelped when he suddenly scooped her up in his arms and then deposited her gently on the blanket in front of the fire. “Patience, love. I’ve waited too long for this to rush it.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and it wasn’t from the fire. She tilted her head up at him. “Can I make one request?”

“Anything.”

“I think you’re overdressed.”

He clearly understood her meaning as a smile lit up his face and he quickly began undoing his own buttons. Emma couldn’t help licking her lips as she watched his shirt fall away, that chest hair that always teased at the top of his shirts on full display. Then he peeled his own tight jeans off, then his boxer briefs, and his arousal for her was on clear display. Her heart beat faster in her chest at the sheer masculinity displayed before her. God, he was a beautiful man! How had she kept him so firmly in the friend zone all these years?

She said nothing, merely opened the large quilt for him to come and join her. They lay down before the fire, wrapped up together in the warmth. As he caressed her and kissed her deeply, Emma had never felt so content and full of want at the same time.

***********************************************************

Emma blinked her eyes open, the only sound in the room the crackling of the fireplace. Killian’s arms were still wrapped around her. She glanced up to find that he had fallen asleep, too. She took the moment to run her hand along his arm, feeling the strong muscle beneath her palm, then to drag her fingers gently through his chest hair. They were both still naked, but they hadn’t yet made love. They had pleasured one another in other ways – Killian hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to take his time – and then in the drowsiness and warmth had drifted off. Emma rolled over to prop herself up on Killian’s chest.

“Babe,” she whispered, tracing his jaw gently with her fingertips. His eyes blinked open and he smiled drowsily at her. “We fell asleep.”

“Aye,” was all he said. Then he tilted his head up to look at her wonky tree. “I suppose it’s dry by now,”

Emma scratched lazily at his chest hair, giving him a coy grin. She shifted higher, the feel of her bare breasts against his chest hair sending a buzz right down to her core. She thought to say something flirtatious, but when her eyes met his, she couldn’t string words together. So instead she kissed him. Lazily at first, and then with aggression. She could feel his body responding beneath her. His hands drifted down her back, then grasped her hips. Words failed him, too. He rolled her over, and that conveyed everything.

**********************************************

An hour later, they lay sated and content on their backs amongst the piles of blanket, looking up into the boughs of the Christmas tree. Killian’s fingers traced lazy patterns on her shoulder. Emma breathed in deeply, a gesture of contentment, and the smell of pine filled her senses.

“You know,” she said softly, “you were right. A live Christmas tree is really beautiful.”

Emma enjoyed the feel of his responding chuckle against her cheek. “We haven’t even put the lights on it yet.”

She rolled over to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing the scar beneath his right eye. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow night, and we’ll decorate it then?”

He smiled as he threaded his fingers through her hair. “Alright, love, I’ll be here tomorrow night.” Then he pulled her down for a kiss that curled her toes.

Killian came the next night to help her decorate the tree. Even with the back half missing, the crooked trunk, and the fishing wire hooking it to the window, it was beautiful once it was lit up and covered in tinsel and baubles. When the lights were all out except for the Christmas lights, Emma loved to admire it from the sofa across the room, her feet tucked under her and a mug of cocoa in her hands. But her favorite view of the tree was from underneath, with piles of blankets, and all wrapped up in Killian’s arms.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Character

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Nia Jax/Gender Neutral [Northern-Dwelling] Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirsty Crew, I can only hope I've done this woman justice! I have many emotions about her and how she's portrayed in the company as a whole (of course I do, big sap that I am). Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and the king captain of this thirsty wasteland, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

This was a predicament she’d seen a thousand times before. Books, TV shows, movies. She figured maybe someday they would learn to plan for when the weather was bad where they were performing.

Nia sighed, her suitcase rolling along behind her over the tamped-down snow. Cutting a path through the drifts ahead was her current driving partner, who had maneuvered the dangerous roads like a trained professional. All they had on was a sweatshirt and some jeans out in the harsh elements, they should be freezing! But they showed no signs of having issues as their heavy boots stomped through the snow with ease, crushing it out into a path that Nia could safely follow.

“Not much further.” They said finally, gesturing up at the hotel in front of them. They looked over their shoulder to give her a quick grin. “How you doing back there, Snowbird?”

“I’ll be better after a hot shower.” Nia grumbled. Her shoulder had a bone-deep ache in it from landing oddly during the night's match and she knew if she didn't relax it out it would be much, much worse come the morning. The idea of her wearing tape like Cesaro sprang into her head and she snorted at herself.

“Truer words haven’t been spoken.” They agreed, yanking open the door to the hotel foyer and offering her a deep bow. “Ma'am.”

“You nerd.” She punched their shoulder gently on the way by, unable to help her smile. She hated to admit the effect they had on her, the way she always found herself a little quicker to laugh when they were around. It was frustrating because she knew what she was supposed to be like and yet there they were, always making her break character with some goofy joke. They had taken to calling her ‘Snowbird’ after learning she was a warm climate dweller (for the most part, of course), teasing her about all her 'retiree buddies'.

“They flee my northern climes from September on, to flaunt their incredible paleness on your sunny beaches.” They had grinned. “You’re the real deal though, a legitimate snowbird. Not some phony.”

Nia’s smile quickly faded when she was informed at the counter that her reservation didn’t exist. “It must have gotten lost in the shuffle, we’ve had a lot of last-minute cancellations and bookings today due to the weather.” The young man behind the counter said after trying her confirmation number three times. “We currently don’t have another r-”

“I can’t go back out there, I’ll freeze!” The hot shower seemed to be slipping through her fingers but Nia tried to keep her voice down, knowing that the last thing she wanted right now was to be labeled as 'difficult' or 'hysterical'. Regardless of how difficult she felt like being at the moment. “There’s nothing there? Nothing at all?” She asked.

“No ma’am, I’m very sorry but there isn’t.”

“Can I…can I sleep in your lobby? Push a few of the chairs together or something?” Hell, she’d slept in airport terminals before, this place was probably a thousand times safer than that. But the young man was already shaking his head, mumbling something about fire safety and building codes.

Her friend, camped out beside the elevator and scrolling through their phone, seemed to notice her distress. “Everything okay, Snowbird?” They called.

Nia huffed out a quick breath. “They don't have any of my reservation info.” She replied. “And there's nothing else available. I'll have to go back out and find another hotel.” She put her wallet away and zipped up her jacket again, cringing as she thought about being cold once more.

A hand abruptly landed on her arm. “No way, you’re rooming with me.” Her friend said firmly. “You put in all that work tonight, you deserve a rest. If you think I’m gonna’ let you go back out there, you’re crazier than I figured. C’mon.”

“But-”

“What, you wanna’ drive in this shit? I’m not letting that happen.” They cut in, frowning. “Please.”

“We don’t have any more cots or trundles, either.” The young man behind the counter seemed to have dissolved into permanent apologies. “I’m very sorry about all this.”

“Hey, it’s okay. This crap happens. I’ll figure something out. Snowbird, you’re with me.” Their fingers wrapped around her own to squeeze for a second. “Let’s get you that shower, huh?”

…

The aches always seemed to steam out under the pounding of hot water. Nia did her best to hurry, knowing that her friend was probably just as cold and tired as she was. Upon re-entering the room, however, she was greeted with the sight of her travelling partner in the process of pulling on a sleeping shirt.

“Oh! Sorry, my bad.” Life on the road meant that privacy was more imagined than anything else, but Nia still tried to offer the courtesy to her fellow performers. She held up a hand to block her view before dashing across the room back to her suitcase.

Her friend's laugh was muffled by the shirt. “S'okay, shoulda' stuck my head into the bathroom and asked for an extra second. Nothing you haven't seen before.” They struggled for a second, one of their elbows caught in the shoulder of the shirt. “How's your back? I know you took that landing pretty hard.”

Nia shrugged, rotating her shoulder and feeling the tightness still lurking. “I'm sure it'll be okay. A few rounds of P.T.”

“Good.” They finally managed to get the shirt on fully, their head popping through the neck hole after a momentary pause. “Hey, when you move up to the main roster do you think they'll give you a title shot?” They asked curiously, moving to sit cross-legged on the twin bed. They patted their thigh after a minute and Nia took up her place on the floor, handing her friend the brush and leave-in conditioner from her suitcase.

“I don't know if I'm looking that far forward yet.” Nia tilted her head back into their lap. “I don't know if Creative is looking that far forward either, honestly. Pretty sure my look isn't exactly the 'Women's Champion' aesthetic.” She made air quotes around the words, trying not to let the somberness seep into her tone. The tap on her head with the brush alerted her to the fact that her effort was in vain.

“You and I both know that you'd be a totally badass champion.” Her friend said firmly. “I get that you'd be fresh onto the roster and maybe you don't want to step on anyone's toes, but c'mon. You're the best candidate, you're strong and smart. Plus, you're damn scary when you want to be.”

“And when Creative wants me to be.” Nia tacked on glumly. “I swear, I'm just a caricature sometimes. Pigeonholed in this role of being protective, or beating everyone up like I'm King Kong for the first part of the match then falling victim to some silly little shot to the back of my head. It's so exasperating.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “I can do so much more than be some stupid muscle, you know?”

Strong fingers smoothed over her scalp, encouraging Nia's drowsy yawn. “I understand that. I know that you have to take at least a few of the cards that are drawn for you. And that's garbage because I also know you're a hell of an athlete.” Her friend put the brush down and started carefully plaiting her hair, separating it out to loosely braid it for bed. “I can't believe in this day and age that people still have to work so hard, uphill, against these BS stereotypes.”

“It's nuts.” Nia turned her head just a little to catch her friend's eye. “So...what do I have to do to get you on the Creative team? Specifically, writing my matches on the Creative team?”

Her friend's laugh was delighted, the noise sending tingles down Nia's spine. “I would be a terrible booker and you know it Jax! Fired within the month because I'd bring some revolutionary idea to the table like...you being crowned the Universal Champion after tearing Brock Lesnar's arm off of his body.”

“Shh, we’re not supposed to know about that belt yet. It’s a secret. Besides, they couldn't fire you! I think they're down to two people as is.” Nia snickered. “Everyone's jumping ship now that they know Smackdown will be its own thing. Wonder sometimes if I should too. Like, go do my own thing.”

“You do what you need to. Just know that where you go, I'll do my best to follow.” Her friend went silent for a moment as they tied off Nia's braid. “Gotta' take care of my Snowbird.” They continued quietly.

“Hey.” Nia caught their hand before they could pull away, tilting her head back further so she could smile at them. “Thanks.” Their resulting blush and stammer stuck in her brain while the two of them bedded down in the small bed.

Nia woke at some point during the night to them wrapped around her protectively, their arm over her ribs. A mouth pressed to her achy shoulder and they mumbled something, their voice heavy with sleep. “Hmm?” Nia murmured. They shook their head, snuggling her even closer. They were incredibly warm and Nia found exactly zero problems with being cuddled by her own personal space heater. She soon drifted back off, making those embarrassing little noises in her throat that she usually tried to stifle.

…

Another event, another airport. Nia had to smile this time though, back on familiar turf. She strode through the terminal with purpose, her traveling buddy trailing behind as they turned in place to look up at the high glass ceiling. Sunlight poured in, bathing the various indoor foliage features and making them appear twice as green and lush.

“C'mon, slowpoke! I'm not losing you in this place.” Nia scolded, chuckling at the bewildered expression on their face. “What, never seen a sunroof?”

“Listen, where I come from the sun is nothing but a distant myth. I respect and fear the brilliant hell-orb.” They joked. Nia's laughter rang out, maybe a little louder than she intended, but it was more than worth it to coax a smile out of her friend. “I'm glad my simple ways amuse you, Snowbird.”

“Never change, sweetheart.” Nia shook her head, rumpling their hair fondly when they fell into step beside her. “Now, I expect you to be able to handle yourself in the harsh elements here. No whining!”

“I would never!” They protested, grimacing abruptly when they stepped outside. “Oh. Oh ugh.”

“Ha!” Nia said triumphantly as they hurried to strip off their hoodie. “Welcome to humidity. Any Northerner's kryptonite.”

“You're the devil!” They squawked, stuffing the sweatshirt into their backpack. “The absolute devil. I'm...oh God, everything's going dark.”

They pretended to swoon into her arms and Nia couldn't keep from laughing, easily righting them with one hand. “On your feet. You know the rules, after that last fiasco we have a three hour allowance as far as checking in on our reservations goes.”

“That's only for inclement weather though!” They protested, squinting up at the blue sky overhead. “Place is cloudless, you can't possibly-”

“Trust me. Weather around here has a way of sneaking up on you.” Nia pulled out her spare pair of sunglasses and slid them onto her friend's face. “Try to keep up!”

…

“My reservation got canceled because of Wrestlemania.”

Nia looked up at her friend's words, startled. “What?”

“They 'accidentally' double-booked my room. I'm...I want to be mad but mostly I'm just so tired and hot I'd like to cry.” They said dully, seeming like they were inches from tears. “I wanted to sleep. I couldn't sleep on the plane because there was a baby crying and I forgot my headphones in my checked luggage and I'm-”

“Hey hey, shh. Easy.” Nia soothed, getting up out of her seat and quickly ushering her friend off into the elevator. “You're staying with me, then. That's only fair. We'll get you to the room, get you a nice shower.” She paused, essentially propping them up against one of the walls of the elevator and pressing their foreheads together. “You're going to be fine, you fragile Northerner you.”

“M' not fragile!” They growled. “I'm hungry and sweaty and bone-tired and I can't tell which one of those is the thing to fix first.” They scrubbed at their eyes angrily.

“Don't worry about it.” Nia (who felt a little guilty at the decent amount of sleep she'd gotten during the flight) took their hand when the elevator doors pinged open. “You get in the shower, then we’ll order food. You'll sleep better with a full belly.”

“Th-Thank you.” Her friend said in a tiny voice, still rubbing their eyes with their free hand. “God, can you even believe that Wrestlemania is in two days? You're gonna' be in Wrestlemania.”

“Well, so are you.” Nia pointed out as she opened the door to her room.

Her friend waved their hand impatiently. “Fuck that, you're going to be in Wrestlemania.”

“I'm going to lose at Wrestlemania.”

“I...seriously?” Their expression twisted with confusion when Nia nodded. “But that makes no sense, they've been building you as-”

“As a protective, glass-cannon enforcer. With lipstick.” Nia filled in wryly. “I'm good for throwing the other women around and looking intimidating. Me actually winning anything isn't going to happen.”

“I'm gonna' kick all of their asses.” They threatened, making Nia tousle their hair. “I’m serious. This is bullshit!”

“No, this is how it always is.” Nia corrected.

“Okay, look. I’m gonna’ shower because I probably smell like barn. And we’re gonna’ talk about this over food. I…pick something to eat while I get cleaned up. Please.” Their sentences were stilted and tight, like they were grappling with their emotions.

“Hey, you don’t need to be all wound up about this.” Nia shrugged, tried to act like her own disappointment didn’t sit heavy in her chest. “I’ll just wait until you’re done and you can-”

“Oh no you don’t. If you don’t choose something, I’ll play Yelp roulette again. You remember what happened last time.” They raised an imposing eyebrow. “For the sake of us living until Wrestlemania, I suggest you pick.”

“Okay okay, you drive a hard bargain.” Nia grumbled, already reaching for her phone.

Those strong fingers wove into her hair, a quick massaging motion on her scalp making her eyes flutter shut. “Thanks Snowbird. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it.” Nia rolled her shoulders once her friend had migrated to the shower. Her body felt overly warm despite the roaring A/C. This is stupid, you’re being stupid! She berated herself, staring blindly at the menu for several minutes before using the tried-and-true method of covering her eyes and picking a few items at random. Hopefully this is okay.

When her friend finally emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly more sane and awake, they wasted no time in plopping down beside Nia on the bed. “Listen up, Jax, because I’m only gonna’ say this once.” They rolled onto their back so they could look up at her. “That’s a lie, but whatever. Listen. You’re…you deserve to win. Ain’t nobody that works harder than you, even with this stupid cubbyhole-”

“-Pigeonhole.”

“Whatever, stupid dumbass restrictions put onto you by the company.” They growled, poking her knee. “Look, you’re cream of the crop material! Cream of the crop. How can they not see that?”

“Maybe they’ve been writing me this way because they think that’s what a ‘strong’ woman is. Big, angry, pretty, and easily broken by other women if they work together.” Nia hated how much she was defaulting to a shrug these days. “I should be grateful I’m even here, right?”

“Hell no.” Their irritation at the current conversation did make her feel just a little better. “You could be a brutal heel! Why won’t they take advantage of that?! You have evil potential!”

“Easy, I’m sitting right here y’know.” Nia pressed a hand to her chest and they laughed.

The room service arrived and Nia ate mostly in silence, just listening to her friend continue to rant between bites of their salad. Had she known they felt so strongly about this, she might not have even brought it up. But no, the thought of how they might have reacted if she lost and it blindsided them was crushing.

“Did you really think I was going to win?” Nia finally asked quietly.

“I sure as hell hoped you would!” They folded their arms, exhaling loudly. “But sure, we’ll give the Horsewomen their usual exhibition. That’s cool. Fuck the revolution unless it’s the same three or four women over and fucking over, right? Fuck me, what a load of hot garbage.” They griped, pushing their plate away to get up and pace. “I've got nothing against Charlotte or Bayley, shit, even Sasha, but this is exasperating. How the hell do you stay so level-headed over things like this?!”

“Probably because I’m usually written like an easily-flustered child.” Nia didn’t laugh, not exactly. The sound choked off in her throat. “I’m written as a trope. I’m supposed to stomp my feet when things don’t go my way, I’m supposed to scream and yell and be angry in the ring. I guess it’s…it’s easier to save my emotions for when I need to get a reaction.”

“Snowbird…” They sat down beside her again, hand reaching for her own. Nia had promised herself she wasn’t going to waste time crying over any more of Creative’s choices. She’d done that more than enough during her time with this company. “Fuck, Nia, don’t…look, c’mon, there’s no need for that.” They protested, knocking their foreheads together. “Snowbird don’t do this to me. You know I’m ugly when I cry.”

“It’s difficult.” Nia managed to say. “I’m tired of being pushed aside because I don’t have ‘the look’. I mean, I know it will happen just because. I guess I’m more tired of being upset about it.” She admitted. “I’m exhausted over being upset. I know since I’m the ‘big girl’ I’m supposed to be confident in my skin and ‘fierce’ or whatever the hell everyone is saying we have to be like this week. But it’s hard to be confident and happy with who you are when you’re constantly being told you’re going to be passed over for things because of who you are.” Nia tried to put her face in her hands but her friend stopped her before she could, making her look up at them.

They were clearly upset, their whole face drawn into a tight pinch of outrage. “You-” They sputtered unintelligibly for a good five seconds. “Look. Listen to me, okay? Just me. With my vast years of life experience across time and space or whatever.” They waved a hand dismissively.” I don’t say all my mushy stuff or go out of my way to try and make you laugh because I think you’ve got it easy, alright? I like making you break character. I like being the one that reminds you you’re not that person. I like letting you shine through, even if it’s just for a little bit. Hell Snowbird, I like you. The real you. Fuck how they write you. Some tiny-minded stereotype could never hope to contain the wonder that is you.”

“’Wonder’, huh?” Nia snorted. “Some wonder. I’m nothing but a crybaby.”

“You’re kind.” A kiss brushed her forehead. “You’re beautiful, you’re a model for fuck’s sake.”

“I was a model.”

“I’m sure you can still get yourself into something fashionably uncomfortable and ignite a catwalk any day of the week. Don’t interrupt me, woman.” They scolded, kissing her forehead again. “You’ve got this great sense of humor. Making you laugh is one of the best parts of my day, Snowbird. I feel like I did my job right if I can get you to laugh.”

“You…if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were…” Nia swallowed hard at their serious expression. “Um, never mind, I’m probably-”

“What? What did you think?” They pressed, sounding concerned.

“I’d say you were interested in me.” Nia mumbled all in a rush, thoroughly embarrassed. Great, perfect, wonderful. You’ve successfully made an ass of yourself.

“That’s correct, yeah.” They shrugged, stuffing their hands into the pockets of their pajama pants. “I mean, you don’t have to take it that way if me hitting on you makes you uncomfortable. Because I totally get that, I’ll stop if I’m making you uncomfortable. I know that I’m not really…’on your level’. I’ll never be as put together or as talented as you are. But I hoped if I told a few jokes, saw you safely through a few snowstorms, then maybe I’d have a shot, y’know?” Their words all spilled out in a nervous jumble, hanging in the air between them. “I like traveling with you. I like being with you. I like you.”

“I…” Nia was blown away by their confession, stunned silent. “Really?” She finally asked, her voice precariously close to breaking. Her friend nodded sheepishly, staring at the floor. “Wow.” Nia grabbed their arm and dragged them into a hug, holding them tight. “I woke up during the night when there was that mix up with my reservation and you were all wound around me, kissing my shoulder blade.”

“You’d hurt yourself earlier. Bad landing.”

Nia smiled. “Were you trying to kiss it better?”

“…Yeah.” They twiddled their fingers, looking up at her through their lashes. “Is that okay?”

Nia tapped her lower lip, the area still conveniently tender from a botched hit earlier in the week. “Y’know, I think this spot here could use a little TLC if you’re up for it.”

They nodded eagerly and Nia couldn’t keep back one of those noises as they quickly cupped her face and pulled her in for a kiss. Their mouth meshed with hers in a frantic motion, swallowing her soft whimpers greedily. Nia suddenly felt small and strangely vulnerable. Here was someone who could see her, the real her, and somehow they wanted her more that way. It was baffling.

“Why-” She began to ask when they pulled back.

“I’ve kinda’ had a thing for you for a while now.” The said breathlessly. “I didn’t know what your uh…preference was, didn’t want to be pushy.”

“You nerd.” She punched their shoulder gently and they giggled, like they were relieved. Their arms draped over her shoulders and they started trailing kisses down the side of her neck. Nia tentatively put her hands on their hips, her grip tightening when their mouth grazed her collarbone.

“This okay?” They asked softly, obviously interpreting her stiffening up as hesitance.

“Oh God yes, please.” Nia wasn't really familiar with this, but she definitely wanted to see what it could be like. Normally people wanted her to dominate them, to put in all the work. Due to her outward appearance there was always that assumption; she was larger than the average woman and could be very imposing if need be. So this was...different. This was new.

They smiled and drew her in for another kiss, those strong fingers tangling in her hair and tugging gently. “You haven't had anyone take care of you?” They murmured against her mouth. “It's always the same crap, isn't it?”

“No matter where I go.” Nia managed to say.

“Mm, that all changes now.” Their hands traveled lower, undoing the first button on her blouse. Slowly they worked their way down the line until her blouse was open, exposing more skin and (Nia had to admit) one of her most worn-out sports bras.

“Sorry, if I'd known that you would be taking off my shirt I would have dressed accordingly.” She tried to joke, but the heated look she got in return made her stomach clench.

“So you would have worn nothing underneath this?” Their voice was a seductive purr. “I like the nice shirts you wear when you have to be out and about, but I could definitely appreciate you with no bra in a nice shirt. Food for thought.” They grazed their hand over the sports bra, one finger tugging at the middle of the hardworking elastic to expose her cleavage. “I like this too, though. Might be fun to tease you through one of these, make you all wet for me without taking your clothes off.” Nia made another sound in her throat and they looked up, smiling at her. “Sound good, Snowbird?” Like they couldn't feel how excited the idea made her, like they couldn't hear her.

They urged her to lie back and she obeyed, thrilled and scared all at once at the idea of being at someone's mercy. Her friend smoothed her hair back from her face once she laid down, searching her eyes for much, much longer than Nia was used to.

“Is this okay?” They asked again, a little louder this time.

“Please.” Nia wasn't one hundred percent sure on what she was begging for, exactly. It just felt incredible to be able to ask for something for once. That helpless sound bubbled in her throat.

“Alright.” They smiled and pulled the sports bra up and off, the raw appreciation in their gaze making Nia shiver from head to toe. “Oh God, look at you.” They sighed, the flat of their tongue gracing one of her nipples with a hot, wet caress. “Why did no one do this for you? My poor Snowbird.” Nia whimpered and cupped their head, running her fingers through their hair over and over as they lapped and gently nipped at her peak. “I love your sounds.” They mumbled against her breast.

“They're weird.” Nia moaned.

“No, they're great.” They placed kisses that burned like fire down her torso and Nia's breath quickened, her fingers still grasping feebly at their hair. Their hands quickly flipped her skirt up and another kiss lingered on the waistband of her panties, dampening the trembling skin there. “Can I put my mouth on you?”

“As long as you keep asking me, you can do whatever the hell you want.” Nia replied shakily.

“I'd always imagined our first time would be with the candles and stuff.” They looked up at her, a devilish smirk twitching their lips. “Not complaining one bit. I probably would have tripped over the bed and knocked myself out on the end table, what with the dim conditions.”

Nia giggled, the noise weirdly high as she felt those damn fingers curl around the sides of her soaked panties and tug them down her thighs. “A memorable first time, that's for sure. I can make do with no candles.”

Her friend kissed her stomach, shoving her skirt up higher out of the way. “I want you to be able to watch me without stressing your shoulder.” Their smug tone was laced with concern and Nia was touched by their worry. “I know you have a few things to do later this week.” They maintained eye contact as they stuck out their tongue teasingly, and Nia let out a soft, keening whine when they dragged the flat of their tongue over her clit for the first time. “Oh, that's a good one.” They murmured, making her flush before they dove in to lick and nibble at her in earnest.

Nia threw her head back, releasing their hair to grip the sheets underneath her body. It was so ridiculously strange to have someone eat her out, without her having to demand it or sit on someone's face in a stereotypical display of dominance. Her friend was merciless in their assault, coaxing Nia's thighs wider with just a few hums. Nia started playing with her own breasts as they pushed their other hand into their pants, her hips rolling in sync with the sloppy kisses laid on her entrance. Two fingers breached her easily, sliding in and hooking up to make Nia cry out.

“That's right, beautiful.” They crooned against her, the words barely registering while Nia chased her completion feverishly. They stroked her clit with the flat of their tongue and she ground up against that mouth, those fingers, her whole body tightening as she drew close.

Nia couldn't have stifled the noises she was making even if she had wanted to. Moans and whimpers poured from her lips but that was alright, it was alright, because her friend was making noises just like she was, their soft, hungry sounds and humming reducing her to quivering under their mouth. “I-” Their mouth fastened down over her clit, Nia's back arched off the bed and she hung in an absolute purgatory for the longest second of her life before her climax struck.

Her hips rolled and shuddered and she threw her head back, only vaguely aware that she was practically sobbing with relief. Her friend gently soothed her spine back down onto the bed, continuing to lick Nia's clit softly until it was too much to bear and Nia had to cup their face. Their chin was soaked with her and they looked a bit dazed but incredibly satisfied with themselves. Nia kissed them fiercely while they straddled her thigh and bucked their hips, grinding their body down in harsh, quick motions. “Want me to come for you?” They asked through gritted teeth. “I bet you do, bet you fucking do, beg me, fuckin' beg me for it Jax.”

Now that was dangerous, their rough, desperate tone commanding her to obey. Nia's mouth felt dry and she swallowed quickly. “Please come for me.” She said softly, her hands grasping their hips and urging them even faster. “Get yourself off on me, come for me, come for me sweetheart.”

Their hands closed over her own on their hips and they tilted their head up, going still and moaning, “Oh, Jesus, Nia, fuck yes,” through their clenched teeth. They went limp and slumped forward, still weakly rocking their hips on her thigh.

Nia carefully eased them down, cradling their body against her own and stroking their hair as they shuddered intermittently. “Thank you.” She sighed into their hair. “Thank you so much.”

They moaned and tucked their face into the hollow of her throat. “So fucking comfy. Thank you, Snowbird, God.” They sounded completely worn out but sincere, one hand coming up to card through her long hair. “Thank you.”

“I'll let you sleep, okay?” Nia whispered after a minute of comfortable silence. They nodded, holding her tighter. “Sweet dreams.”

“Snowbird, I jus'...” They began, their voice petering out as they drifted off mid-sentence.

“I like traveling with you. I like being with you. I like you.”

Nia smiled to herself as she recalled their words, kissing their forehead and letting her own eyes close.

[kirishwima]

Hey there amazing! I saw you asking for prompts and since I enjoy all your fics and ficlets, what about a Hance or garrison trio roadtrip AU? Have a lovely day~

i am so so late to writing this ahh im sorry, but thank you so much!

i couldn’t decide between Hance or garrison trio so,,, i went for both! Who says Hance can’t take their small angry noodle friend for a road trip? >:3

******

Are there really any words to describe it?

That feeling-it’s when you’re driving down stretches of highways, flowing miles long and the sun is beating mercilessly down to the street, your car feels warmer, there’s music playing from the radio blasted loud and your friends are singing along louder than the singer, and it’d be annoying were it not for the sheer joy in their voices, the sound a melody that carries through the open windows, wind tussling your hair in all possible directions and you could nag about it but the breeze is so welcoming and soothing;

Have you felt that?Do you have a name for this feeling?

Lance isn’t certain.He’s not certain he even wants to put a name to it in the first place.

He looks to the back seat, Pidge with her hair tied into messy pigtails, her jean overalls a size too big and sitting cross legged with a game in hand, humming along to the music.

He turns to look to the drivers seat, the smile plastered on his lips spreading further.

Hunk, his usual bandana abandoned for a sunhat, his hands on the steering wheel and his mouth forming the lyrics of the song, the sun reflecting in his eyes making them melt like liquid ambers;

Lance changed his mind.There is a name for this feeling.

It’s called love.

Deciding to go on a roadtip was less of well, a decision, and more of an impulse really.

They woke up on Friday, at eight o’clock sharp, their yawns and mumbled good mornings the only sounds heard in their shared apartment.

Hunk was too busy leaning his weight onto Lance, the only one to be considered remotely a morning person out of the three, his chin resting atop Lance’s head as he made them all some coffee, humming along to whatever song had stuck to his brain the night before.

It wasn’t until Pidge-yes, Pidge, the one person whose rumoured to break your wi-fi router if you so much as look at her in the morning, came running to the two with a wide grin, waving her phone around.

“Classes were cancelled! For the entire day!” she gleamed, nearly glowing with excitement.

Hunk joined in, jumping off of Lance and towards Pidge, both of them excited for the prospects of doing absolutely nothing, but also too excited to sleep.

So Lance shrugged and suggested it-why not go on a trip? They could go outside of town, maybe stop by the beach, that amusement park in the next city, and come back tomorrow morning, either stay at a motel for the night or pull an all-nighter driving back.

He genially didn’t expect either of them to agree.

He definitely didn’t expect them to squeal with joy, their eyes so wide and giggles so loud he couldn’t help but shake his head with a laugh, and head back to his room to pack up a bag and get through his morning routine.

By nine they were standing in front of Hunk’s car, an older yellow fiat that had definitely seen some better days, but was well preserved with ‘love care and frequent check-ups’, or so Hunk insisted.

By ten they were already in the road, Lance’s arm resting outside the window, sunglasses covering his eyes but not the grin spreading on his mouth, the sheer glee coming from his friends infectious.

Hunk put a hand over the gear shift, letting it rest there before Lance sneaked a hand over his, interlacing their fingers.

Hunk smiled but said nothing, giving Lance a fond look with a quick side glance, one that Lance returned ten-fold.

“You guys are such absolute saps” Pidge teased, no hint of malice in her words.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t been that long since he and Hunk started dating.

They grew up together, they knew they felt something for one another, but it took a few more years and a pep talk from Pidge herself to get them to confess.They expected it to be awkward at best, that each skittering touch and gaze would cause their nerves to jump on end.

But that never happened.It wasn’t like first crushes, it wasn’t butterflies in your stomach and a knot in your throat.

It was more like two halves that met and got glued together, fitting so perfectly there was never a question wether or not they’ll fit.

Pidge, surprisingly, took it far more well than they expected, what with them all being flatmates and all-she’d make the occasional teasing remark, but other than that, she’d shake her head with a fond look, the same one they came to know she’d give her brother and family, to the people she loved.

Within another hour they reached their first stop, the view of crystal blues and the scent of salt being their tell-tale sign.

Lance all but shoved his upper torso through the window, laughing furiously as Hunk ushered him back in until he found a spot to park.

“The sea! We’re at the sea!” he yelled to the pier ahead of them, to the open skies above him.

The moment Hunk killed the engine Lance was already running out of the car, dashing through the pier and down the steps that lead to the beach, not caring that he had no swimsuit with him or a change of clothes.

He could distantly hear Pidge and Hunk running after him, a mixed chorus of “Lance no” and “Lance I swear to god-“ but he didn’t stop, feet light and carrying him through thigh deep into the sea, shirt and shoes forgotten somewhere along the way, not caring about the fate of the shorts he was wearing.

He was at sea.He was home.

With arms outstretched he let himself flop down and into the water, the sun warm enough to keep his body from freezing in the cool water-it may have been warm and sunny, but it was still spring after all.

He swam a bit further away, leaving Pidge and Hunk to their own devices, before meeting them back at shore, Hunk rolling up his pants enough to reach knee deep, Pidge alongside him tugging her overalls up and wincing whenever her feet made contact with a rock or seaweed.

They stayed there for a while, mainly waiting for Lance to get dry until Hunk sighed, giving him a spare t-shirt he had brought along ‘in an emergency like this one’-Lance smirked and kissed him, wearing his boyfriends’ shirt with a proud huff.

They grabbed coffee and breakfast at a nearby coffee shop, laughing to the point of tears when the cashier asked Hunk and Lance if ‘it’s okay to give their younger friend caffeine at such an age’, which prompted Pidge to look the cashier straight in the eye and order an iced americano, with triple shots of espresso.Lance had never seen such fear in a persons eyes.

Lance took to driving this time, stealing glances at  Hunk’s sleepy side, his eyes half-lidded and head resting on the window-the exact opposite of pidge, who three espresso shots later had went through the entirety of the Fire Emblem game she brought with her, and took to talking to Lance about theLoch Ness monster, and how “She’s real Lance. I’ve seen her with my own two eyes. She’s gay and dating a siren. They’re lesbians Lance.”

Their next stop came as a short break for lunch at a diner somewhere in-between cities;

“A luminal space!” Hunk and Pidge exclaimed with bright eyes, and Lance sighed, ready for what was about to be an hourlong of arguing over what a luminal space really was-and refusing to agree with either Hunk’s theory of them being portals to alternate dimensions, nor Pidge’s theory of being disruptions in the time-space continuum that were placed here as safe marks for aliens.

By the time they left the sun was already slowly easing down, not quite bidding the sky goodbye yet.

The sky tinted pink and purple as they drove, the sight of endless expanses of green around the highway, growing trees getting scarcer as they made way to their next destination.

Everything felt more mellow; the music hummed lowly on the radio, their chatter was less, the ice in their drinks stored in the cupholders slowly melting as the ice cubes clinked to one another.

Hunk was asleep in the backseat, Pidge content in just looking to the expanse of road ahead of them, a somber quiet falling between them.

“You know”, she said after a while, voice quiet, “I’m glad we got to do this.”

“The road trip?” Lance asked.

“That too. But just…everything. Meeting, becoming friends…I’m happy we had the chance to do that.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile, turning to face Pidge with the most sincere of expressions.

“So am I. Things wouldn’t be the same without you around Pidge-on” he teased, “I’m glad we’re friends. And I’m glad you’re here” he added, focusing his gaze back on the street.

He didn’t get to see what expression Pidge made.

He didn’t have to, her short laugh giving him the reply he needed.

*****

There’s still some purple hues in the horizon, but for the most part it’s dark, street lamps swirling into life.

Dark, except for the bright neon lights ahead of them, flashing in pulses and the distant sound of screams surrounding them.

Pidge’s face was all but glued onto the window, her palms leaving prints on the glass.

“The amusement park! Look at all those rides!” she squealed, feet tapping with excitement.

Lance laughed, looking to Hunk’s terrified expression.

“You’re not planning to-“ Hunk started, promptly interrupted by Pidge.

“I am most definitely planning on going to all the rides” she deadpanned, pointing to a particularly high flashing attraction they could see even as they were parking, “see that? I’m going to that first.”

“Pidge-“

“I do not care what the height requirements for it are Hunk. I’m a girl with a purpose and Mendel’s genetics can fight me.”

Neither Hunk nor Lance dared say anything-they were just glad Mendel wasn’t around for Pidge to fight.

*****Walking through an amusement park at night, where the lights illuminate the park into a virtual daytime, musics blending and dancing in the air, the scent of cotton candy and popping corn distinct and all-surrounding, there’s a childlike glee growing inside your chest, an innocence that’s laced with fear or, for some, adrenaline as you look to wagons turning upside down, rides that spin so fast you can only hear people’s shrieks, their bodies a blur of speed.

Pidge stopped and looked to each ride, animatedly talking about its mechanics with Hunk, Lance pitching in random sprouts of knowledge when he could.

He walked lazily, hand-in-hand with Hunk, Pidge leading ahead and pointing to each attraction and attempting to enter the more frivolous ones-only to pass by the ‘you need to be this tall to enter’ signs,  and promptly got nudged away by tired-looking employees, her pout growing bigger with each person that apologised and told her she’s not allowed to enter.

Not to say she didn’t sneak by a few-she hid herself between Lance and Hunk and went through the queue for one of those spinning rides, the ones that turn around an axis and around themselves with a speed that’s made for blending milkshakes if you ask Hunk.

She walked away from it stumbling with dizziness, but with the biggest, most mischievous grin on her lips.

Mid-walk she stopped, an eyebrow raising as she turned to face her two friends.

“So…Lance…I remember you bragging about how brave and how much of a realist you are…” she started, her face feigning innocence as she swung back and forth on her feet.

Lance gulped but nodded, not liking the direction this was going.

“So if I say…ask you to go with me to that” she nodded to what Lance now distinctly recognised as a haunted horror house, “you couldn’t possibly say no now could you?”

Hunk made a small ‘ooh’ sound from besides Lance, shrugging innocently when Lance threw a glare his way.

“Yeah, I’m not going in there”, Hunk shrugged, “but you guys have fun! I’ll go grab us some sodas until you finish.”

With one quick step to the side Hunk was gone, leaving Lance to his own devices.

Pidge raised an eyebrow, looking to Lance with a coy smirk.

“What’s it gonna be, brave sharpshooter?”

“You tiny devil.”

Pidge shrugged.

“That’s an accurate description. Now are you coming or?”

Lance knew he’d live to regret this. But he was not about to get his pride wounded over a horror house, thank you very much, and if he had to walk through dark corridors with random things creeping up to spook him to prove he was the brave sharpshooter he insisted he was, then so be it.

*****

Turns out Lance is afraid of the dark.And spiders.And small narrow rooms.

And Pidge.Lance is terrified of Pidge.

Hunk hugged him after, patting his back apologetically.He tried not to let Lance know that he could hear his screams all the way outside the attraction.

*****

By now it’s somewhere past midnight.

Pidge’s asleep, curled up in the back of the car, Hunk and Lance content with taking a short driving break to a side of the street that led to an eventual dead-end, looking down to the sea and the stars above, further away from the bright city lights.

There’s an endless amount of blinking lights, and Lance points to each bright star, naming the constellations and his favourite of the stars, back laying on the hood of the car, Hunk leaning besides him, hands clasped together.

There’s starlight in their eyes and cotton candy on their lips, both of them content in simply being there in that moment, letting the day’s excitement wane down into a happy memory, wearing tired happy smiles and clothes drenched in sweat and sea water, their feet heavy but hearts settled.

It’s a good day, Lance figures, and a good night.

And there’s a name to this feeling, the one that’s been cradled in his heart for so long.

It’s called joy.Sheer, indescribable joy.

*******

i love the garrison trio and,,,i love roadtrips

[lawrencedienerthings]

Greg Moore: Police and black folks — the swagger and disrespect must end

more news https://northdenvernews.com

I’m a 65-year-old black man, and I have literally spent most of my life doing everything possible to avoid encounters with police.

My mother warned me when I was about 12 to beware of the police because even though I was a good boy, I could be killed with impunity. I’d be just another dead black boy supposedly mixed up in guns, drugs or gangs.

I wish I wasn’t afraid of the police. I have never had a cop live on my street.  I’ve known only two law enforcement officers socially; one is a former FBI agent who I met a decade ago and is a great guy, and the other is a black cop who I played street basketball with in the 1980s. 

Gregory L. Moore

The vast majority of police never fire a weapon, but the bad deeds rightly get more attention because of the suffering.

As a journalist I did some of those stories. I wrote about suburban police officers using sap gloves to beat suspects. I wrote about a white cop who shot and killed an unarmed black man, who was on his way home from a party. The police officer had numerous complaints against him and was known in the department as the “Orkin Man,” after a commercial for a pest-control company.

I’ve made it this far by being extremely careful. I’ve never hung out in bars, don’t lose my temper with authority figures, and haven’t had a fight since high school, all in an effort to avoid any dealings with the police.

Yet, I know the fear. I have been stopped at least 20 times by the police, fortunately without escalation.  

Once I was stopped on an early Sunday morning as my family hurried to church. I was admittedly speeding. But you could feel the air being sucked in by my family as I pulled over and waited for the officer to approach. 

I rolled down the window, careful to put both hands in plain view on the steering wheel.  The officer asked me if I knew why he stopped me. I quickly offered that I was late for church and was probably over the speed limit. 

He said yes sir, that was correct, took my license and registration and walked to his cruiser. When he came back, he said he was giving me a warning. Shocked, I said thank you. He leaned into my car and replied: “Despite what you think, my job is not to make your day worse.” 

There have been other encounters like that. But there have been dark moments. 

Returning from a concert with four black male college classmates in the 1970s,  we were pulled over and ordered out of our car in the snow, some of us without our shoes or coats on, because we allegedly “fit the description” of robbery suspects. After standing in the cold for a half hour, we were let go after we checked out with no warrants. 

Then, there was the time in the early 1990s when I was traveling with my family from Boston to Vermont to start vacation. We were driving along a deserted New Hampshire road around midnight when we passed a cop sitting at a closed gas station.

My wife and son were slumped down in the car asleep, but I immediately knew it was trouble when the cop car slowly rolled out behind me. After following me for a mile or so, the blue lights and siren came on. My wife jumped up in her seat and asked what was going on. I told her I didn’t know.

READ: Colorado Sun opinion columnists.

I was driving the speed limit, so that couldn’t be it. The officer tapped on the window and brusquely asked for my license and registration. I calmly asked him what was the problem, but he silently stalked off as my 8-year-old son came to life in the backseat. 

As my blood began to boil, my wife and kid pleaded with me to stay calm. No other cars were on the road. After about 10 minutes, the officer came back and handed me my documents. My hands in plain view, I asked why he had stopped me. “You were driving too close to my vehicle,” he snapped. 

I sat there for a moment fuming, letting him take off before me. I told my wife that he stopped me simply because he saw a black man and suspected I was a criminal only to be surprised to find a family. 

Then, there was the time the cops showed up at my house in Golden. My wife was in the car with our two daughters, and when she buzzed herself into our gated street she noticed a police car pull in behind her.

She assumed they were heading to a neighbor’s house, but they pulled into our driveway and asked for her brother, who was living with us at the time. He is the nicest guy and has never been in trouble. 

But apparently he had gotten into a verbal altercation with a white guy after he rolled through a roundabout and cut him off as they both turned into a gas station. The enraged white guy berated him, and my brother-in-law gave it back to him.  As they both pumped their gas, the guy threatened to call the cops. My brother-in-law said go ahead, got into his car and headed home. It’s mind boggling that two cops showed up at our house simply based on the word of a white guy over a minor traffic dispute. No witnesses, no physical altercation, no evidence of a crime. 

After my wife in a tense exchange demanded the officers get off of our property as she held her brother in the garage, they finally left. Incredibly, he was issued a court summons, which was withdrawn after I called the police chief to object. It is the only time I have ever mentioned my position as editor during a personal complaint. 

We were outraged and have no doubt that my brother-in-law would have been face down in our driveway or worse had he stepped outside of that garage. And for what?

Watching the life ebb from George Floyd on TV brought these memories flooding back. I literally said that could have been me under that officer’s knee. And very few of my white friends can honestly say they had that feeling.

That speaks volumes. Over the years, I have had many discussions with white colleagues and friends about the police, and it’s clear that we live in different worlds. 

They have run from police, driven off from traffic stops, and flung clipboards handed to them across highways without any repercussions. I can’t imagine a black person getting away with that. Maybe that’s because for many whites they know cops as fathers, brothers, cousins, friends and neighbors. 

We, however, know them as a swaggering, disrespectful, and threatening presence. The history of the police and black people dates back to the slave catchers and overseers. A lot of police officers in our country come to the job generationally with stereotypes and disdain toward black people that has been handed down from the old days. 

Whether they want to admit it or not, it is part of the DNA of the profession, and it really doesn’t matter what color the person is who wears the uniform. Those attitudes are ingrained in the culture.

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So to fix the problem the culture has to be changed, which is no easy feat. We have had black police chiefs, and that has not made much of a difference. To change the culture you have to send police officers who murder innocent civilians to prison, plain and simple.  

Police officers who abuse their power have to be held accountable, just like in any other profession. A clerk miscounts the money, they get fired. A journalist makes big mistakes, they get dismissed. You’re sitting in the car when a companion robs a store, you go down, too. The argument that we ask police to risk their lives and make split decisions is no excuse for them being wrong when making life-and-death decisions. They should have a higher standard to be right when using lethal force, not a lower one. 

Reforming policing in America will require changing their culture, reinventing their training and unerring accountability.

I’m exhausted watching black men die at the hands of police. I hate seeing the fear in my daughters’ eyes from knowing I could die, begging for air, under the knee of a police officer.

I don’t hate cops. I fear them. But I’m about to turn 66 years old, and I’d like to exhale for a change.

Gregory L. Moore was the editor of The Denver Post from 2002 to 2016.

The Colorado Sun is a nonpartisan news organization, and the opinions of columnists and editorial writers do not reflect the opinions of the newsroom. Read our ethics policy for more on The Sun’s opinion policy and submit columns, suggested writers and more to opinion@coloradosun.com.

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Greg Moore: Police and black folks — the swagger and disrespect must end

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[swimmingwolf59]

Fireflies

(A/N) I've always thought Ronan's dreaming ability is the absolute coolest - like it's such an awesome idea, and Ronan always creates the most amazing and beautiful things. So of course I'm a sap and had to devote at least one prompt to how beautiful Ronan's mind is xD No warnings for this chapter, just pure fluff! Hope you enjoy c:

In the wee hours of the morning, Adam wakes up to a room full of fireflies.

He’s just gotten home for winter break, only the second time he’s been home in nearly five months. He’d come down for Thanksgiving, but that had only been four short days compared to the three weeks he now has with Ronan. It had been harder to leave the second time, and Adam had wondered as he drove away and saw Ronan’s face fall in the rearview mirror if it would ever get any easier.

Being apart from Ronan is…hard, to say the least. Ronan hates being on his phone and he can never handle it for very long, even for Adam. Their calls last about ten minutes every day and it’s not even comparable to talking to Ronan in person. 90% of how Ronan communicates is through his body language, and being unable to see it makes it hard to understand and just makes Adam miss him more.

Skype calls are a bit better, as at least Adam can see Ronan, but 90% of how they communicate is through touch, and not being able to touch Ronan or pet Chainsaw or hug Opal when he talks to them is torture. Though Adam has been starved of touch all his life, the three months spent at the Barns before coming to college had spoiled him, and now he can’t remember how he ever lived without it. He misses Ronan’s absentminded touches, from him briefly placing a hand on his lower back when they move around each other to slinging an arm around his neck when they watch TV on the couch. Adam’s hands have never been colder without Ronan’s fingers between them or his feather light kisses on his knuckles. Ronan had sent Adam off with about a suitcase full of his dream lotion for his hands, so at least they’re not cracked anymore, but it’s never the same.

The worst part, Adam found in the first few weeks of college, is that he has trouble sleeping without Ronan now. It’s too silent, too cold, too empty. Adam had gotten used to Ronan’s warm skin pressed against his, the sound of his breathing, the faint roar of his EDM pounding out of his headphones. Ronan usually plays with his hair while he falls asleep, something Adam never knew he liked until Ronan started doing it and something that he misses with an aching passion in college. He misses being able to shove his cold feet in between Ronan’s warm legs, making him yelp; he misses Opal running into their room, screeching and jumping on their bed until they get up; he misses the soft way Ronan will kiss him good night, never bothering him even when Adam falls asleep right away and he stays awake for another three hours; he misses being warm and happy and known and loved.

He even misses Ronan’s dreaming, good and bad. It gives Adam a sense of excitement upon waking up, to see what magical and mystical thing Ronan has brought back this time. Of course, not all he brings back is good, but they’ve got a system down of taking care of it together. If it’s blood related, Adam methodically strips and washes the sheets while Ronan clings onto him, desperate to know he’s alive. If it’s night terror related, they keep a shovel by their bed that Adam uses to kill it before they haul it outside together and Ronan uses that very same shovel to dig a grave for it. Adam doesn’t really like the killing part after the fact, when he worries for the millionth time he’s turning into his dad, but when he’s irritated at being woken up and the thing is trying to kill Ronan, his Ronan, he doesn’t have as much of a problem with it.

He’d do just about anything to keep Ronan safe.

Ronan’s nightmares had started occurring less and less with Adam staying at the Barns, but Adam worries about him now that he’s not there with him. Who knows what his nightmares escalate to without Adam there to calm him down? But Ronan never talks about it, and Adam has given up asking. Ronan seems okay, and from the secret conversations he has with Opal it sounds like his nightmares are for the most part staying at bay. He has his farm work to keep him busy, and Opal and Chainsaw to keep him company.

It makes Adam feel a bit better knowing that, but he still wishes he was there with him.

Even if he can’t be, though, the next best thing is when Ronan drives up to visit him at Princeton. He loves showing Ronan the campus, even though he knows he really must not give a shit, and introducing him to his college friends and roommate. Of course, he loves it most of all because he can have Ronan with him again, reaching out to touch him, sleeping with him in Adam’s small dorm bed. He gets more sleep than he does any other time when Ronan visits, and just for a little while it feels like home.

They have to be careful about Ronan’s dreaming, what with Adam’s roommate sleeping across the room, but the morning of when Ronan has to leave Adam always wakes up to find some little trinket on his pillow. The first time, it was a little statue of a raven that caws like Chainsaw when Adam taps it. The second time, it was a cashmere blanket that always smells like Ronan, even when he isn’t there. The third time, it was an opal, shiny and perfect. Adam keeps all of them on his bed close by, so it feels a little bit like he’s still with his family.

But Princeton will never compare to the quiet of the Barns, a blanket that smells like Ronan will never be like sleeping next to Ronan for real, little dream trinkets snuck into his pillow will never be like waking up to a room full of magic and wonder.

So when Adam wakes up that first morning to the fireflies, he nearly cries he’s so happy and relieved to be home. He’s missed every little aspect of Ronan so much.

“Ronan?” Adam whispers as he rolls over to face his boyfriend, but Ronan must have fallen back asleep for once, a rare blessing that Adam isn’t about to strip away from him.

So Adam just watches him sleep, admiring the way the faint glow of the fireflies illuminates Ronan’s pale skin. The insects wink on and off as they flit around, making it seem like the room is full of stars. A couple of fireflies land on Adam’s arm, their little feet walking across his skin tickling him. He stares at them in wonder, delighted that they don’t fly away when he leans in closer to get a good look at them. All of Ronan’s dream creatures love him, for a reason that doesn’t need to be kept secret anymore. It’s a little overwhelming for Adam sometimes, when Matthew crushes the air out of him in a ferocious hug, when Opal carefully grabs his hand and leads him around in the forest, showing off all of her discoveries, when Chainsaw lands on his shoulder and cuddles into his neck, content to fall asleep there.

Even after a year of dating Ronan, he’s still not fully used to being loved.

Rolling onto his back, Adam lays there quietly, watching the fireflies and listening to Ronan’s soft snores and the distant braying of cows and goats. They still haven’t figured out how to wake Niall’s cows, but Ronan has added new ones, both dreamt and bought, to the herd. He also bought a couple of goats and chickens, as well as one particularly feisty dream pig that likes to sneak up behind Adam and head-butt him. Ronan also grows all sorts of crops now, and last summer Adam had helped him set up a greenhouse for a rather impressive flower collection. The Barns are growing and expanding, in a magical and rewarding way that is every day becoming less like Niall and more like Ronan.

And maybe even a little bit like Adam.

Adam has taken it upon himself to start planting trees everywhere, from orange trees to pines to redwoods and everything in between. Ronan had offered to dream him up some soil that will make sure anything he plants grows, but Adam had refused; he wants to learn how the trees work for himself, what helps them grow, what doesn’t, what will and won’t grow in this climate. It’s his own personal memorial to Cabeswater, and maybe also a promise to himself to be more prepared to understand magical forests in the future.

He had let Ronan wordlessly hand him an unidentified seed, though, and when Adam planted it it grew into a completely blue tree. Its bark is a dark cerulean blue while its leaves are sky blue, and it apparently grows at random every type of blue food imaginable. Adam had even found blueberry cotton candy growing on it once and he’d laughed so hard he’d startled Sledgehammer the pig, who takes to following him around everywhere.  

He can’t believe Ronan, sometimes – despite all effort to suggest otherwise, his boyfriend has the most beautiful mind out of anyone Adam has ever met. Every day he surprises Adam with his innovation and seemingly endless amount of imagination. Ronan will think of something in an instant, something beautiful and creative and smart, that Adam would never be able to create in a lifetime.

He loves him for it – he’s so happy he has the privilege of being allowed to be this close to Ronan.

Adam isn’t sure how long he’s laid there staring at the fireflies when Ronan wakes up again. When he’s not paralyzed from taking something out of his dreams, Ronan’s awakenings are violent and sudden. One minute he’ll be absolutely still and the next he’ll be thrashing around wildly, throwing the covers off of him and rolling around until he’s comfortable and has worked out all of his sleep kinks.

It’s endlessly amusing to Adam, even if he often gets kicked in the process.

“You always act like the world is on fire when you wake up,” Adam whispers, unable to hold back from teasing him. He reaches out and presses a palm in between Ronan’s shoulder blades once the thrashing has calmed, gently tracing a hooked talon of his tattoo with a finger.

“Well, the one day I wake up and the world is on fire, you’ll be thanking me,” Ronan growls. He’s still half asleep, Adam notes wryly, as his eyes eventually widen when he realizes who exactly had been talking to him.  

“Adam?” he mumbles sleepily as he reaches up to cup Adam’s cheek in his palm. The soft way his first name comes out of his mouth still makes Adam’s heart melt.

“Hey.” He grins and places his hand over Ronan’s, hooking his fingers easily into the spaces between Ronan’s.

“What the hell are you doing up so early?” Ronan murmurs, impossibly soft. Before Adam can reply, though, Ronan looks around the room and sighs exasperatedly as he sees the fireflies. “Ah shit.”

Adam laughs – even in the dark he can tell Ronan is blushing. He wonders how much sappy dream stuff Ronan has had to tuck away while he was gone so that he’d never find it, too embarrassed to show Adam how much he missed him. It’s sweet, adorable, and Adam’s love for him surges warmly in his chest. This is what he’s been missing all this time.

So instead of making fun of him, he leans forward and leaves a soft kiss on Ronan’s temple, hugging an arm around his waist as he settles in next to him again. “I missed you too.”

[ladyofpurple]

The Parts of You, chapter 33

AO3

The drive back home from that afternoon’s photoshoot had been quiet and uncomfortable, but when was it not? The Gorilla drove with barely a nod to his charge as Adrien scooted into the backseat of the car, and Nathalie slipped in after him in equal silence. She’d barely said two words to him all day. He stared vaguely out of the window as the scenery flew by.

He hadn’t been dreaming — Ladybug had kissed him last night. And earlier this afternoon. Her earlier quiet, verbal assurances of their… whatever it was… They calmed him. Made everything more real. Of course, her hands all over him in broad daylight might have had something to do with it…

The car was too hot. In a fit of insolence tinged with desperation, he rolled the window down halfway, savoring the precious few seconds in which the brisk pre-spring breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his heating cheeks.

“Close that window,” ordered Nathalie, without looking up from her BlackBerry. “The seats have just been reupholstered.”

It wasn’t raining nearly hard enough to ruin the new Italian leather — it was barely drizzling, if that — but he complied anyway. After last night’s… incident, Nathalie had been stricter than usual. Perhaps she thought such an obvious show of weakness must be compensated for by an overdose of cold professionalism; it didn’t matter that he was the boss’s son with the power to fire her at will. She was still in charge.

He turned his attention instead to the glass itself, and watched as two fat drops of rain raced each other to the rubber rim at the window’s base. One of them paused in its descent, trapped between a smaller drip and a dry patch, and he tapped the spot gently with his fingernail.

“Those windows were just washed, Adrien,” Nathalie snapped again. “Stop fidgeting.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

He clasped his fingers together between his knees and simply watched the trees and buildings go by. He was tired. It was a good kind of tired — he wasn’t running himself ragged like he had at the beginning of the school year — but he still felt his eyes drooping, his muscles fatigued.

The photoshoot hadn’t been particularly difficult or even very long, as far as photoshoots went, but there were still costume changes, hot lights, uncomfortable poses. And that was after a deliciously sleepless night, an Akuma attack, tearing himself away from Ladybug, and running across half of Paris with Marinette on his back.

He’d been worried about her — they all had been. Alya’d been nearly feral when half an hour had passed and she hadn’t found her. Her worry had rubbed off on him too. What if she’d gotten caught somewhere? Knocked out? The Akuma hadn’t been particularly vicious, but things happened in panicked crowds.

Of course she’d been fine. Nino had found her. Adrien had met back up with Alya and they’d gone in the direction Nino had been sent when he didn’t return and… there they were. Hugging in an alley, for some reason.

It was the hugging that caught him off-guard. It shouldn’t have, and he didn’t understand it, but there was something… off about it. Not the hug itself, that wasn’t weird at all, but rather the way they both jumped when Alya called out. Like they’d been caught…

No, that was just stupid. He was projecting. Projecting what, though? It was a perfectly innocent hug between friends, and even if it wasn’t, he was the last person who should have any say in the matter. Still, there was a strange feeling in his stomach as Marinette quickly explained herself to an irritable Alya. Something that almost resembled jealousy, but no, that was too strong a word. He wasn’t sure what to call it, but he was pretty sure it came from the same place that made his pulse thud in his ears when she did a backflip off a halfpipe.

Which was why when he’d suggested they go back to school and the color slowly sapped from her face as her knees shook beneath her, he couldn’t just let her go. Let her wander off into the city in her state, regardless of whether or not she insisted she was fine. He’d hovered in that decision for a split second as she left them, continuing straight ahead as Alya and Nino turned to veer right across the street — and then their eyes met. Something passed between them then, her blue eyes catching the light, her freckles set in stark contrast across her pale face, and then her eyes glazed over and she stumbled again.

She was too far away, and the others hadn’t noticed — too caught up in under-the-breath bickering to see — but he saw. His vision wasn’t quite Chat Noir level out of costume, but it was still above average. He saw. And he knew.

“You guys go on ahead,” he’d said suddenly, and the others turned back in surprise.

“Why?” said Alya.

He scrambled to think of an excuse. “I — uh, my scarf!” He gestured vaguely back in the direction of the café. “I think you left it in the booth.”

“I did?” Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Didn’t I give it back to you when we—”

“It must have fallen out,” he lied apologetically. It was stuffed in the bottom of his bag, but even if it wasn’t it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d lost it. He had a dozen others in his closet at home. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be quick, but you guys shouldn’t be late to class.”

Nino looked at him for a moment, but waved him off. “See you in class, then.” Adrien breathed a tiny sigh of relief as they turned away.

He raced back into the alley and forced the change despite Plagg’s disgruntled mutterings, and when he bounded to the roof Marinette was straightening herself on the corner, apparently pretending to tie her shoelace. A cover, in case their friends looked back at her. Clever. He had to keep himself from laughing as she jumped at the sight of him.

They bantered lightly as they always did, which was nice, but then she admitted she’d been looking at him. At Adrien. A “stupidly attractive boy,” as she put it. His chest had tightened as she said it. He’d always wondered why she was so awkward around Adrien — he longed for her to talk as easily with him as she did with Chat. Of course it was easier to talk to Chat.

She wasn’t in love with Chat.

He wasn’t sure she’d accept his offer to take her home, and been nearly surprised when she did. It probably helped that there weren’t very many people around outside — he had a feeling she’d be slightly less amenable with an audience — but she’d climbed up on his back with minimal protesting, locking her limbs around him as if they’d practiced a thousand times. There was something familiar about her weight on his back, the strength and position of her grip, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He wasn’t sure how long Plagg’s second transformation would last without recharging.

He’d been acutely aware of her body pressed against him — her form not quite as… defined as Ladybug’s, beneath all her clothes, but her body heat radiating from her torso and thighs, her breath in his ear, the tension in her muscles relaxing as she got used to the height, the speed… At one point he thought she breathed a low sigh, and he’d had to concentrate extra hard on the next jump so he wouldn’t send them plummeting into the traffic below.

Why was this so hard all of a sudden? Marinette was just… Marinette. She was gorgeous, and his friend, but why the hell did he suddenly feel like this now? After he rejected her? After Ladybug? He’d pressed a quick kiss to her hand on impulse as he left her, and he could have sworn she started to blush as he vanished. Marinette… blushing? Over Chat?

But it wasn’t an impulse, was it? That was simply Chat’s way. He kissed the hands of pretty girls with whom he parted company. Except he didn’t do that to other people, not really. Certainly not civilians. He reserved his kisses for his Lady…

His train of thought screeched to a halt and he scrambled in the aftermath. No, not just his Lady. His Lady and Marinette. He’d tried to kiss her hand when he’d first introduced himself to her. Funny, he’d almost forgotten that. When Ladybug sent him to protect Marinette against the Evillustrator. The train of thought begrudgingly started up again. Ladybug and Marinette. Yes. They were the only ones, though…

Adrien leaned his head back against the headrest of his seat and closed his eyes. It felt like the car was spinning.

He hadn’t even realized he’d dozed off until the sharp draft from Nathalie opening the car door woke him up with a start. “Your father has been delayed,” she said, noticing him blearily rubbing his eyes. “He won’t be back until next week.”

“I didn’t know he was supposed to be home today,” he mumbled.

She pursed her lips. “Then I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She waited as he scooted past her onto the driveway. “Do you need me for anything else?” It was a stiff, formal request without substance. She didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted her here.

“Wha…? No, I’m fine. I have homework.” It wasn’t a lie, even if he had no intention on doing any of it.

“Then goodnight.” She slipped back into the car and slammed the door shut without waiting for a reply.

Adrien watched the car slowly pull back onto the road and disappear around the corner before he pulled out his keys. When he was younger, in that awkward stage between being young enough for an au pair and old enough to be left to his own devices, he used to dread these moments. Being left alone in the enormous house, all the adults in his life off with their own diversions or responsibilities. The year after his mom had disappeared was the worst. His father, more distant than ever; the Gorilla, mute and professional; Nathalie, completely unequipped to mother a child she never wanted or asked for.

The year before Chat Noir.

Now he savored these times. Being completely alone, without the possibility of his absence being discovered — it was a gift. One he was preparing quite gleefully to abuse to its fullest now. He smiled to himself. Oh, how far he’d come.

He deposited his bag unceremoniously somewhere inside his bedroom door and shuffled to the kitchen. Plagg wafted behind him. “Please tell me you’re not sneaking out again,” he drawled.

“Tell me, is it sneaking out when there’s nobody to sneak past?” mused Adrien, flicking on the kitchen light.

“You know what I mean.”

“Of course I’m going out, Plagg.” He opened the fridge. “I’m all alone and Ladybug’s waiting for me.”

“Did you plan this with her? With a time and a place?”

“No, but—”

“Then how do you know she’ll be there?”

Adrien took out a wheel of Camembert. “She’s always there, Plagg.”

“What time is it?”

He checked his watch. “Nine-thirty. Why?”

“Well, there you have it. She’s probably already asleep. Too bad, so sad.” Plagg dove into the box with a passion.

“Look, I’m sorry about the double transformation earlier, but you’ve had plenty of time to recharge. It’s been hours.”

“You’re a superhero, kid, and I’m a god. You can’t just go around changing willy-nilly because you want to run after your girlfriends.”

“My—” Adrien spluttered. “I don’t have — Girlfriends?”

“Yes, girlfriends.” Plagg took a dainty bite of cheese. “Ladybug and that Marinette girl. You can’t just transform to impress her all the time, you know.”

“I don’t — you…” Adrien took a deep breath through his nose. “I’m not abusing my powers,” he said. “Marinette needed my help.”

Plagg gave him a pointed look. “And you couldn’t have helped her as Adrien?”

“Chat could do it faster,” said Adrien, looking away. “I had to get back to school. Besides, Marinette and I are… pretty rocky lately.”

“It didn’t seem that way this afternoon,” said Plagg casually, carefully selecting his next wedge.

Adrien groaned. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” he complained, leaning against the counter. “Nino, now you…”

“Think about it, kid,” said Plagg simply.

‘I haven’t been that weird today, have I?’ wondered Adrien absently, picking at a bit of lint on his jeans. ‘Did I really act that strangely with Marinette?’ It had all seemed so natural, this black haired girl by his side, anticipating his every move as he anticipated hers… That twinge again, at the base of his skull.

“Ladybug,” he said dully. “It’s that magic, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Stop trying to find her,” said Plagg, almost gently.

“But I wasn’t, I—”

“You were,” said Plagg. “She likes you, so stop trying to impress people you think might be her. She’ll find you when she’s ready.”

It was possibly the sagest advise Plagg had ever given him, in the least gruff tone Adrien had ever heard him use, and he was about to say so when Plagg said, “Or else I’ll just refuse to transform unless there’s an emergency, and then you won’t get to see her at all.”

Adrien glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “You can’t do that.”

“Watch me,” said Plagg smugly.

Adrien leaned forward on his elbows over the kwami and the dairy-related carnage that surrounded him. “I could stop bringing you cheese, you know,” he warned.

Plagg didn’t even blink. “I could just phase through the refrigerator, you know.”

Adrien pursed his lips. “But how could you do that if I stopped buying it for you?” he countered.

Plagg stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

Adrien smiled.

Plagg threw up his paws in disgust. “Fine! You win,” he grumbled, cheese crumbs raining from his whiskers. “Just don’t come crying to me when all this flagrant overuse of my powers comes back to bite you in the ass because you’ve run me ragged, and suddenly there’s an Akuma attack and I’m too exhausted to—”

“Yeah, yeah, you done?”

The ring sucked Plagg in, complaining the whole way.

Chat slipped out the kitchen window and vanished into the night. As the cool night air ruffled his hair, his tail streaming behind him, his pulse was rapidly accelerating. In just a few minutes he was going to see Ladybug. It was a trip he’d taken a thousand times, but somehow it carried more weight now. She would be waiting for him, wanting him now. He was glad for his gloves as he vaulted over a lamp post. His palms were sweating.

He arrived at the Eiffel Tower mere moments before Ladybug did. He marveled at her, the simple elegance of her lithe body swinging up, curving and compensating the shifting of weight and gravity as she alighted on the platform. His heart ached.

“Evening, my Lady,” he purred at her.

She simply slipped into his arms.

“Ladybug?”

She squeezed him just a bit tighter before releasing him just enough to look up at him. “Hi, kitty,” she said, smiling weakly. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

“What’s wrong?” That aching happiness in his chest was quickly being replaced by concern as he searched her face, tired as it was. Her eyes were slightly red.

She sighed. “Bad day,” she said.

“Who do I have to beat up?” he said instantly.

She laughed. “Nobody, I promise.” She shook her head. “I’m just being stupid. Just… hold me for a while?”

He pulled her head to his chest. Her hair was loose now, curled from her earlier braids, and he ran his claws through it soothingly, gently, so it wouldn’t tangle. They stood like that for a bit, warm against each other in the chilly March air, until Chat finally broke the silence. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Her hands slid down his back until their fingers laced together, and she pulled away to lean on the railing, their hands the only remaining contact. “It’s just…” She sighed and shook her head again. “I have this friend,” she began.

“Oh no, not a friend.” She chuckled a little at his joke as he slid into place beside her. “Anything but a friend.”

She jostled his shoulder. “Ha ha,” she said drily. “It’s just…” She chewed on her lip. “She doesn’t think I could be Ladybug.”

Chat paused. “Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked hesitantly.

She shrugged lopsidedly. “She said I was too… me to be Ladybug.”

“…Oh.”

There was silence as Chat pondered this, as Ladybug stared off into the distance. He didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, of course any suspicion deflected was a good thing. On the other hand…

“She thinks a boy we know is secretly you,” said Ladybug absently. “And she thinks that he thinks I’m… well, me — Ladybug, I mean.” Her mouth twisted. “Or rather that, physically, I reminded him of… me. I’m too ‘me’ to be Ladybug, ‘personality-wise, of course,’” she quoted bitterly.

Chat glanced at her as she shrugged again, brushing some hair out of her eyes. “It’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she asked rhetorically. “I mean, this should be a victory, right? My friend’s… persistent, so if she’s so convinced I can’t be Ladybug, well…”

“It was still a shitty thing to say,” Chat offered.

She smiled slightly. “Yeah, I guess.” She glanced up at him. “I guess I just took it a little hard, that’s all.”

Chat pursed his lips. “What is it about my Lady that turns all her friends into idiots?” he wondered aloud. He caught her eye and grinned.

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “My friends aren’t idiots,” she protested.

“This girl, that loser last year…” Chat raised his eyebrows. “Maybe it’s catching. How long until I turn into a blithering moron?”

“Who says you aren’t one already?” Ladybug countered.

He clutched his chest with a free hand. “You wound me,” he said, putting off an expression he hoped was more pained than constipated.

She giggled. “I’m sure.” She lapsed into silence again, the humor slowly draining from her face. “There’s some other stuff too, but it’s kind of personal.”

He squeezed her hand. “That’s what I’m here for, Bug.”

“No, I mean, like, identity-personal.”

“Oh.”

She sighed again, deeper this time. “I wish…” she began, and trailed off.

“What?”

“I just… Sometimes I wish we could just… be honest, y’know? Just…” She gestured vaguely. “I wish it was safer to tell each other. Easier. But it’s not.” She paused. “It’s too soon.”

Chat’s pulse started hammering again, but differently this time. “It’s been three years, Bug,” he said tentatively. “Almost four.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, but this… This is new.” She squeezed his hand, sending a thrill right up his arm. “And it’s not safe.” She glanced up at him, the hint of a smile quirking her mouth. “But soon, right?”

He couldn’t contain the grin threatening to split his face in two, but he could restrain it. Slightly. “Soon,” he agreed, butterflies in his stomach roiling madly.

She smiled fully now, eyes sparkling in the weak half-moon. “Now kiss me, chaton, we haven’t got all night.”

He pulled her close, leaning down until their noses touched. “I beg to differ, my Lady,” he purred.

And as he kissed her, as her body pressed against him and her fingers coiled in his hair, his mind echoed with that glorious, wonderful word.

Soon.