#at least i hope? Man you can already see my wrist fatigue setting in

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

WWX gets up to no good

[First] Prev <--> Next

[aenaxes-moved]

no light in a dark room

[fox x gn!reader] after fives dies by his hand, fox comes knocking at your door.

warnings: general angst

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: this is all @amaittrtd's fault for getting me on the fox train (i wholeheartedly believe that palpatine played some awful mind trick on him and that fox deserves a warm blanket and a hug). i'm also well aware fox has a regulation haircut, but i fell in love with @amikoroyaiart's fox design so there's that.

It’s near 0200 when you rouse from your bed and open your door after two rounds of insistent knocking, the first testing, hopeful, the second quick to follow and frantic as you pull a sweater over your nightshirt and shuffle across the floor. You can barely register that it’s Fox in the doorway before he’s crowding you back into the room and pulling you tight against his armor, burying the grooves of his helmet uncomfortably close into your shoulder as your door quietly closes behind him. It’s too much, too soon, and so late in the night for you to begin to formulate the questions flurrying through your slow return to wakefulness.

Why is he awake and roaming the upper halls this late into the evening? Why is he still in his armor? Why hasn’t he taken his helmet off? Why isn’t he greeting you with that soft smile and a cheeky promise of late night stargazing? Why is he so scared?

So you stay standing in the darkness for what feels like a long while, silent but for Fox’s breaths, short and trembling through his modulator. He holds you, clings to you, unmoving and tight, a man drowning.

“Fox,” you finally say, just barely above a whisper. You wince as his grip tightens on your waist, vambrace digging into your side. “Fox, let me turn the lights on.”

You feel him shake his head, the cold plastoid edges of his helmet grinding up against your neck as he squeezes you just that much tighter, like he’s afraid to let you go, to lose you. And judging by the way your suggestion has his breaths uneven and heaving anew, even in your groggy state, you know better than to pry your arms out from under his embrace and reach for the light switch.

“Let’s at least sit down, okay?”

He’s silent a moment, then you feel him shifting away, just enough that he can unstick his helmet from the junction between your shoulder and neck, only to bow his neck low, his visor pressing through your sweater and into the bone of your shoulder.

“Okay.”

If you weren’t startled awake by his sudden arrival, you’re fully awake now. Awake enough to register the weary, hoarse creak in his voice, the barely-there tremor as he presses his palms into your skin, the faint scent of blaster smoke. He squeezes tight one more time before he’s slowly peeling his arms away from around you, and through the darkness, you watch him drop them heavy at his sides, shoulders brought low under their weight. Why hasn’t he taken off his helmet yet?

“Let’s just…” Slowly still, you lift your fingertips to the edges of his ventilator, just barely able to feel his shaking exhales puffing through the seal of his helmet. But even in his obvious panic, Fox is a trained soldier.

“No!” he cries, whipping his hands up and squeezing painfully tight around your wrists, enough that you yelp in surprise. And as soon as he’s holding you, he’s gasping loud enough to crackle through his modulator and releasing you, recoiling like he’s been burned and stumbling back on his heels until the hard back of his armor clacks up against the durasteel of your door.

You hear it clatter, then a soft thud—he’s slid down against his back—and you drop down onto your hands and knees, feeling blindly in the darkness until your fingertips touch what you suspect to be a kneeplate. Trailing higher, you feel the visor of his helmet close above the plastoid, then his vambrace, then his glove guards by the crown of his helmet. It doesn’t take much time at all for you to piece together your senses: Fox is pressed up against the durasteel, curled in on himself, his head on his knees, his hands clutching the back of his neck, his modulator betraying his quiet, hiccupy breaths through the mechanical whirr. The steadfast commander of the Coruscant guard, the man revered for his quiet, stolid strength among his men and his clean-cut dependability on the Senate floor, your soft smile to call home: Fox is sobbing against your door.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks between stuttering breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just—I just—”

“No, no,” you whisper, your knees knocking against his shin guards as you gently guide the side of his helmet against your chest. You’re sure he can feel the unsteady shake in your hands, your racing heartbeat, but how many times has he been your shoulder to cry on, all soothing words and grounding touch? He would argue otherwise, giving without any expectations for return, but you owe it to him to offer what small comforts you can. “It’s okay,” you croon, pressing your cheek against the top of his helmet. “You’re safe.”

Fox makes something that sounds like a dissonant cross between a sob and a groan, like the walls of a ship being torn apart particle by particle just before it dips below the event horizon and blinks out of sight. He wraps his arms around your waist and wails, and all you can do is hold him close in the darkness and hope.

Your knees burn by the time Fox’s cries have subsided to quiet, tremorous breaths, having held him close for what feels like a fraught hour. And when you’re just sure enough that he’s brought himself to a weak semblance of his usual calm, you lower your hands from the sides of his helmet, bringing one to gently rub at the back of his neck and the other under his chin to tip his head up towards you in the low light. He exhales shakily through the modulator.

“Better?” you ask. You wish you could lift the heavy helmet from his shoulders to see him in his fullness behind the plastoid, bared to you in all of his goodness and all of his fear, to ask to share in his burden, whatever it was.

Fox clears his throat, coughing awkwardly, but when he gently rubs his thumb over your hip, your heart warms; you already know your answer. “Yes,” he mumbles, bumping his visor against your ribs. “Thank you, my starlight.”

“The floor’s cold,” you murmur, kneading gently at the tense sinew of his neck. “Let’s go to bed?”

He nods against your chest, and you help heft him onto his feet, guiding him carefully to your bedside. Where Fox is normally straightlaced punctuality and organization that would put the regulation manuals to shame, tonight, you help him remove his armor piece by piece and let the plastoid clatter in a haphazard heap onto the floor by your bed. Tonight, he can be reckless and vulnerable and feeling. He deserves that much.

His helmet is the last to go when he’s bare-handed and stripped to his blacks. Without thinking, you reach for his head, but you’re quick to remember how that had started this whole ordeal in the first place, how he’d lashed out at you like a cornered animal, how he’d scared you half to death. You’re not opposed to him crawling into bed with you with his helmet—it’s a bit of an odd thought, his lean frame in his blacks topped with the bulky weight of his helmet that can’t be comfortable lying down, but considering the events of the night, you’re more than happy to make space for his comfort. You still ask anyways.

“Can I take your helmet off?” you ask, placing your palms on his shoulders and gently rubbing over his collar. You make sure to keep your voice as soft and low as possible so not to frighten him into another panic (what a notion! The unflappable commander Fox, startled by your voice). “I’ll keep the lights off. I promise I won’t peek.” You smile softly, though he surely cannot see you in the darkness. And for a moment, a searing bolt of doubt flashes through your gut as Fox stands before you in tenuous silence.

Then, his voice comes soft, almost timid, straining through the darkness.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Your heart aches. It burns.

“Yes, please.”

It’s the first time you’ve handled his armor like glass, having knocked on his helmet to say hello, dropped it on more than one occasion, and nearly slung the whole thing across the room when he’d heft you into his arms and laugh as you brought your legs around his waist. Your fingertips are light over the worn scrapes and crimson paint as you carefully, carefully press your palms into the plastoid and lift his helmet off his shoulders. It feels almost ceremonial, you think, as you see the dark silhouette of his head emerge from underneath until you can see the wavy top of his hair outlined in the low light. You carefully set his helmet on your nightstand and turn back to him.

It’s then that, for the first time this evening, you wonder what expression he’s wearing, how his eyes must be rimmed red and weary of tears, how all those years of fighting this perpetual war have deepened the furrow in his brow and the constant fatigue simmering just below his dark brown eyes. You wonder if he’s looking to you with an apology, with shame, with a silent plea for comfort, whether he’s seeking out your eyes as much as you are his. You have never been more desperate to see him in his entirety, open wounds and all.

But you have a promise to keep.

You thank the Maker that there’s just enough light for you to make out Fox’s outline, and you reach for him, lacing your fingers with his as you tug him a few steps towards your bed. You crawl in first, gently pulling him to follow suit. Normally, your nights sharing a bed with Fox begin and end with you tucked up against his broad chest as he curled secure around you. But in unspoken agreement, tonight, you shift yourself higher up on the bed, your back pressed against the wall as you open your arms to him, and Fox tucks up against you, his cheek pressed up beside your beating heart as you draw the covers over his shoulders and hold him close. You still feel the tension in his shoulders as you slowly comb your fingers through his wavy locks, but you are beyond grateful that the shake in his fingers has stilled, and so too, you hope, the wild thumping of his heart.

You open your mouth to bid him goodnight when, finally, he speaks.

“I swore I put it to stun,” Fox mumbles, just a hair above a whisper.

Oh.

“I thought I aimed for his arm.” His arms tighten around your waist, and he shifts so that his nose is pressed into the space just below your ribs, and you can feel the warmth of his breaths over your skin. “I knew I aimed for his arm.”

You continue to stroke over his hair. You’re not sure who he is, but you’re certain it’s one of his brothers. Fox had always been particularly sensitive to that. Loss. You want to ask, but you hold your tongue.

“And when the smoke cleared, I—I… I couldn’t look him in the eyes. How could I?” His voice is distant, the telltale quiver curling at the edges of his words.

“You did what you thought was right,” you murmur. If there are any lucid explanations to be had, they will come in the morning.

“I don’t think I thought at all.”

You aren’t entirely sure what Fox means. For all you know, it could be his unchecked grief stumbling over his tongue and placing words like plasters over the wounds left behind. It could be the aftershocks of whatever tragedy had occurred still rumbling through his lungs. It could be something more. You suspect it’s a combination of all three, but for now, for tonight, you dip your head low and press your lips against the top of his head.

“It’s been a long day,” you murmur, lifting your hand from his shoulder and stroking your fingertips down from his jaw to his chin. You lift his head just so, bringing him up just enough to crane your neck and kiss over his brow, feel him sigh against your chest. “Sleep. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

“You’ll be here when I wake?” Fox asks, lifting his chin to brush his nose over your jaw. The darkness will not let you see him, but you close your eyes anyways as you cup his cheek and bring yourself close. Pressing your brow to his, you’re close enough that you can feel his lashes flutter against your skin as he blinks, once, twice, waiting. You inhale, hold, and he exhales with you.

“Always, Fox. Always.”

[maplecornia]

chapter 30

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.85K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: another yoongles focus lol i just figured out that i really don't have much to say in these things anymore, i might save the a/n's for the end next time

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear | @mangminnie | @pixiekooo | @canarystwin | @cana

This is not exactly how you expected to meet Min Yoongi.

His hand tightens around your wrist as he drags you through the halls of BigHit, and you silently pray that your small legs can keep up.

Looking up at him, you can't help but be a bit confused.

Why is he so angry anyway?

You didn't do anything to him.

Certainly nothing worth yanking your arms off.

Wincing as he turns a corner, your eyes widen as he opens a door and practically shoves you inside a dark room. You stumble a bit, an inner instinct inside of you resurfacing. You find yourself frantically looking for any form of exit, any form of a way out. When you find none, you swallow hard, feeling your hands palpitate with cold sweat and your breathing run short. Turning briskly to where Yoongi stands in front of the door, you step forward, ready to push past him and bolt before you’re hurt, but the look in his eyes stops you.

They’re soft, confused and slightly caught off guard. You wonder if the fear that prickles off of your skin is as evident to him as it is to you. Taking a deep breath, you swallow hard, trying hard not to show your discomfort. Inwardly, you chastise yourself for even considering that Min Yoongi would have any malicious intent towards you, but you can't help it when put into a situation like this...

Dark room.

Blocked exits.

No way of escape.

You can't help but be on your guard.

A bit confused, but choosing not to question it, Yoongi gestures towards a clothing rack to the left. Blinking, you turn towards it, begging yourself to relax. When he advances into the room, however, you flinch and frantically back up, straight into a tray of forgotten makeup and hair products.

He immediately stops at the reaction, and you downcast your eyes shamefully praying he doesn’t realize what you’ve tried so hard to cover up. However, as he takes in your frightened eyes, tense stance, and the shallow breath, he knows that somehow he has triggered a memory.

From the looks of it, even a form of trauma.

Definitely not what I expected.

Taking a deep breath, he turns on the light before turning to you with his hands up in a form of surrender. Almost a peace treaty. "Relax, I'm just trying to get a shirt for you."

You swallow hard, already feeling a bit better with the light on. Chuckling nervously, you straighten and nod, running your hand through your hair.

"O-of course you were. What else would you be doing?" you try to swallow the sudden rise of bile in your throat as you rub your arms violently to ease the chill your memories have brought you.

Yeah.

What else indeed.

Confused, but choosing to leave matters out of his hand alone, Yoongi returns to his task and rummages through the clothes dangling on the coat rack. Once he's found his prize, he turns to you and throws it towards you. Your eyes widening, you hardly catch it before he's already heading out of the door.

"Shirt." He explains bluntly, and you nod, a bit surprised that he used English. You smile inwardly at the sentiment, however. The small taste of home certainly helped you to regain your composure. You give a weak smile and tighten your grip around the shirt, hoping that it would be a better outlet to release the emotions bottled inside.

"Thank you." You murmur, and he nods before turning to leave.

He almost makes it out the door, but when he remembers something, he turns back to you.

"Do you know the way back?"

"Back...?" you mutter, a bit confused, and he rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to smile.

Looks like she's back to normal.

"To the dressing room, you're supposed to help us with the photo shoot today." Your eyes widen at his explanation, and you faintly remember your soiled schedule. Cursing under your breath, you wish you had at least taken a picture of the thing before heading to perform your duties. Maybe then you'd have a backup.

Well, guess that's a good thing to remember next time.

Realizing Yoongi is still waiting for a reply, you snap out of your reverie and smile.

"Oh, yes. I think I can manage." He nods before turning around and finally leaving you alone, the door closing with a few words of encouragement.

"Hurry up."

With that, the door is shut firmly behind him and you let out a small breath.

Well, no need to be so cold.

But then again, it was kind of him to offer you a shirt and not to pry when you had that slight panic attack. If you can even call it that. Sighing, you turn to the mirror and place your hands on the desk, staring deep into your hollow eyes.

It wasn't always this way.

There was a time when these eyes sparkled with life. When they were filled with joy and happiness, not a care in the world. Where you could smile without a weight on your heart dragging you down. Where you could live without feeling guilty of it.

Why do you feel guilty?

He deserved what he got.

He deserved to die for what he did to you.

“But still...he was my father.”

Biting your bottom lip, you hardly notice it as your teeth pierce through your skin and blood begins to trickle down your chin. Only when the taste of iron on your tongue pierces through do you realize. Flinching, you shakily wipe the blood away and lick your bottom lip as though that will erase the pain bound tightly to your heart.

No, nothing can erase this.

I don't think anything ever will.

Swallowing hard, you choose to forget that which is best not to be pondered over. Turning the shirt Yoongi found for you, you slowly unbutton your own, pulling it out of the plaid skirt you've garnered today. You're thankful Yoongi has managed to find you a similar shirt to the one you brought in today. A white button-up that reminds you of the 19th century. Something a high-class man would wear to a gala per se. You smirk at the ruffles at the end of your sleeves and try to avoid your reflection in the mirror as you pull it on over your bra.

The only thing you would see would be another daily dose of self-deprecation and hatred.

You'd rather stop before it started.

Once the shirt is buttoned and tucked safely in your skirt, a few small touches added by you in order to fit your look, you look at your reflection and smile faintly. For a man's shirt, it fits your frame quite snugly. You wonder who exactly it belongs to, but figure you could just ask Yoongi later.

This should do nicely.

Smiling weakly in satisfaction, you turn to the door and open it.

You weren't expecting to see a very fatigued Yoongi leaning against the wall right next to the entrance. So you'd say your reaction was justified.

He would probably think otherwise.

At your shriek, he jumps halfway out of the air before turning to you in surprise.

"What the hell was that?!" He cries, and your eyes widen in ignorance.

"Me?! What about you? I thought you were going back to the dressing room!"

"Well, I--" he breaks off, finding nothing to say, and you raise an eyebrow in confusion. Swallowing hard, he turns his face away from you. "You were taking too long."

Rolling your eyes, you scoff.

Sorry, but I didn't think I was on a time clock.

"Besides, I didn't trust you to get there on your own." He explains, turning back to you with a scowl. You narrow your eyes at him yourself before noticing the slight rosy hue to his cheeks.

Is he...embarrassed?

Clearing his throat, he shakes his head before brushing past you and heading back the way you came.

"Let's go."

You stand there in stunned silence before turning to his retreating figure. Smirking a bit to yourself, you scoff in disbelief before jogging to catch up to him. You want to thank him for his help, but as the two of you head back, you find it hard to start a conversation with him.

Biting the inside of your cheek you turn to him, trying to study his expression.

He definitely has some sort of hidden animosity towards you even though the two of you have never met before now. However, he doesn't seem to hate you. He's been kind to you so far. In his own...weird way. But if he doesn't hate you then what's the reason for his behavior? Sometimes he seems perfectly fine, and then others he seems to be incredibly angry by your presence.

Then again...your presence is sort of foreign to him.

Maybe he just needs time warming up?

"She's hardly qualified."

Or maybe...

He knows you don't belong here.

"Do you need something?"

Jolting back to reality, you blink and find Yoongi to be regarding you with a perplexed gaze. Quickly, you snatch your eyes away and laugh nervously. You hadn't realized you were gawking at him this whole time.

"No, it's nothing..."

His expression changes as soon as you look away, darkens into something nearly unrecognizable. Turning away, he swallows hard, as though holding himself back. You, however, find this as a perfect outlet to start a conversation.

"I was just...wondering...W-why are you doing the shoot here?"

He shrugs, trying to avoid your gaze as much as possible.

"It's more convenient this way. Does the shirt fit?"

"Hm? Oh! Uhm, yes it does. Thank you."

He nods in response.

"Good, that was Enhypen's dressing room. They hardly use it other than the times they visit our company for shoots and such. Sunoo has a smaller build than most in our company so I thought it'd work best for you." He examines the shirt on you, and you can't help but blush, half wondering if you should cover-up. "Hm. It's tight in some areas but definitely better than wearing something like Jimin's."

You blush profusely at the comment and cross your arms around your chest. You have half a mind to smack him right then and there, but as a group of employees pass by you, you're forced to hold back. He smirks in satisfaction at your reaction, and you scowl.

"I see...thank you." You mutter between gritted teeth. He doesn't respond, just continues to smile that smug smile. Turning the corner, you find yourself in another realm of silence, but this time you don't really have the urge to talk to him.

He on the other hand...

"Has BangPD talked to you yet?"

Your ears perk at that and you turn to him, shocked.

How did he...

"I'm sorry?"

"About being a trainee." He replies with that debonair air about him. Swallowing hard, it takes you a while to respond.

“How did you know?” He gives a look at the ambiguous answer, but you meet it as an equally indignant one. You feel as though you have a right to know, and you won’t answer him so easily about something you weren’t aware he even knew about. Sighing when it’s clear you won’t give in as easily as he thought, he answers you.

“BangPD met with us to discuss your training.”

“‘Us?’ You mean...”

“Yes, BTS. He said as shareholders of the company, it was only right for us to know he was considering training you. He wanted our opinion.”

In short, they were deciding your life before you even had a chance to decide.

You don’t know why, but the thought puts a sick feeling in your stomach. The fact that a group of people were discussing whether or not to trust you, to accept you without even half of them getting a chance to know you or your abilities...Who gave them the right to decide that? Who gave them the right to take control of your future?

And what if you say yes? Do they even want you to succeed? What if they do? What if saying no let down their expectations? Why weren’t you told about this? Why weren’t you a part of the conversation?

Was it really too much of a risk?

"So?" He prompts before pausing in front of an elevator door and pressing the up button to the dressing room. "What did you say?"

You give him a look, hoping that will let him know that you don't want to talk about this anymore, but he doesn't seem to care. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly and you find that even if you wanted to, you wouldn't know what to say.

Does he think that this is an easy decision? There are things to consider, your future to think about, people who could be affected...

But really, what is there to consider?

You don't have anything to lose, not really.

And this is your dream.

So why are you hesitating?

You know why.

At the soft ding of the elevator arriving, you break eye contact and turn as the doors open. Stepping inside, you watch the doors slide shut before answering him.

"He told me to think about it."

Yoongi scoffs at the answer, biting the inside of his cheek in annoyance. He knew it'd be like this.

"What's there to think about?" At the question, you flinch but refuse to meet his eyes. "It's a yes or no question."

You bite your lip furiously, at war with yourself.

It's not like he's wrong but...

Yoongi glances at her from the corner of his eye and wonders what exactly everyone sees in her. He wonders what makes her so special. From what he's seen, she's incredibly ordinary. Sure she has a beautiful voice, her face is nice, but she can stand to lose a few pounds especially if she wants to be an idol.

Does she even want to be a performer?

There are so many others who have tried their whole life just to be considered for what they're offering here, and what?

It's too hard of a decision?

Animosity growing like a drug, he scoffs turning away.

"I was against it, you know." You turn to him, a bit confused at the statement. He sighs before continuing, a bit piqued at your behavior. "Your contract. I didn't want you to be considered as a trainee."

You should feel surprised. You should feel wronged, angry. But you feel none of those things. Instead, you understand him.

Smiling a bit bitterly, you turn back to the metal doors.

"I see." You reply, and he turns to you in confusion.

"You're not mad?" You shrug before turning to him.

"Why would I be?" He scoffs at the reply.

"Most would feel offended."

"Well, I'm not. In fact, I'm grateful."

Surprised, he turns to you. "Why?"

"At least you didn't lie or cover it up." You explain matter of factly and he shakes his head at you in disbelief as the elevator dings, announcing your arrival.

"It would've been better if I had." He mutters half to himself as the two of you depart, bowing politely to a few employees waiting to board the elevator. You shrug at the statement before glancing his way.

"Well, maybe I don't like people who beat around the bush."

He can't help but feel a bit stunned as he watches you walk a few steps ahead of him. He can't help but feel that he'll always be a few steps behind you. Shaking the feeling away, he peers your way.

"Are you scared?"

"Of what?"

"Debuting."

You swallow hard, not sure how to answer. Biting your bottom lip in concentration you consider the question.

Are you scared to debut?

"Yes."

Who wouldn't be after all? It's scary not knowing if the public will view you positively or immediately cast you aside. It's scary not knowing whether or not your dream will be achieved, whether or not you'll make it.

"Is that why you're hesitating?"

Spying the dressing room a few feet away, you shake your head at his question before replying.

"No."

You can deal with that fear...but what you're even more afraid of is betrayal.

Like what happened last time.

Yoongi stares at you for a moment and watches as you get that faraway look in your eye, the same look that tells him you're not really here. When the two of you reach the dressing room once again, he can't help but pause a few feet away from you. He has the sudden urge just to look at you, maybe then he'd be able to understand.

"You're not what I thought you were." He mutters, not sure if you can hear him, but at your smile, he knows you never stopped listening. You smile at him over your shoulder.

"I guess I don't like beating around the bush either."

𝔞/𝔫: i feel like this offers a lot of background to yen's past...which may be revealed soon

chapter 31 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[127-mile]

THE PROSPECT.

PAIRING: Biker Hendery x racer female reader.

GENRE: Gang, motorcycle club, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst.

WARNINGS: Car accident (the accident already happened when the fic starts), blood, injuries, strong language, mention of a dead relative, of neglect, illegal race, quick mention of guns.

PLOT: The biker and the car racer, it sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke, but it is not. The biker wants to taste normality, and the car racer is happy to oblige.

WORD COUNT: +6.3k.

A/N: This is part of the Adrenaline rush collab hosted by @lucas-wongs​​ | I'm also working on a fic from Johnny (the club's president)'s point of view.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" you scream in frustration.

You hit the steering wheel with your fists, and you ignore the throbbing pain in your right wrist. There's smoke coming out from under the hood, and you know it's only a matter of a minute before a spark threatens to set the whole car on fire.

You unfasten your seat belt, probably the only reason you haven't gone through the windshield, and you get out of the car, slamming the door behind you, causing the window to explode into pieces.

A car pulls up near you, and you turn your head. "The finish line is a hundred meters away, why are you stopping?"

Taeyong gets out of his car, and he gasps when he sees the condition of your vehicle. "Because I wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt." he responds, rubbing his sweaty hands over his pants. "She's good for the junkyard."

You didn't need Taeyong to figure it out. "If I call a tow truck now maybe I have a chance to still have a car tomorrow, what do you think?"

"If it doesn't catch fire, yes." he whispers.

You pull away from the curb when other cars are crossing the street at full speed, you don't want to get hit by a car after crashing into a fucking pole.

"You could have been first if you hadn't stopped." you say in a sigh.

He shrugs his shoulders. "There's no money to win tonight, I don't care if I win." yeah well, good money or not you would have liked to win, and you were so close, damn it! "And I can always find a way to be accepted for the next race. I know the organizer, I will tell him about you too."

Taeyong walks over, and he takes your face in his cold hands, which makes you hiss. "You are bleeding, you should go to the hospital." he says firmly and you roll your eyes, which shouldn't be as painful as it is.

"Do you really think I have enough money to go to the hospital? You're cute." you take a step back and Taeyong's arms fall to his sides. "Do you think the Neo garage is open at night?"

Taeyong sighs. "Call the garage to check, I'll call Ten to see if he can sneak you in to make sure you're okay." the perks of having a nursing friend who doesn't care about the rules.

You pull your phone out of the pocket of your jacket, and you wince when you see the broken screen, but at least it still works. It takes you a few minutes to find the garage number, and you heave a sigh. You're always doing repairs to your car yourself, but it's way too bad now.

"Neo garage, what can I do for you?" a voice asks after the second beep.

"Hi, I have a question, when someone calls you to pick up a wrecked car, do you have to call the police?" you ask in an annoyed voice, you have no choice but to ask this question which must be bizarre, since the person chuckles on the other side.

"No, we don't call the police unless you ask us to." good to know, you won't end up in jail tonight.

"Perfect. I had an accident, and if you could come and pick it up that would be nice, if it didn't catch fire before you got there."

The person hums. "Where are you?"

You look around, and you shrug your shoulders even though no one can see you. "I am on the main street, in front of the tea shop."

"Alright, I'll be there in ten minutes." and the person hangs up.

You put your phone in your pocket, and you approach Taeyong who is waiting. "The tow truck is coming." you say, and he nods.

"Ten said the emergency room is empty, you can go, he will let you through without having you fill out the papers."

You have the choice between going to the hospital to check that your wrist is not broken and that you do not have a concussion, or to wait for the tow truck, the choice is already made, you love your car more than you love yourself. "Go, take my car, I'll wait for the tow truck, I'll send you a message later."

You frown. "Are you sure? Weren't you supposed to spend the evening with Doyoung after the race?"

Taeyong hands you the keys to his car. "He will understand." you thank him deeply and get in his car. "Please, no accident with my car or I'll kill you." he says and you nod with a thin smile.

"I'll try my best."

You hope it's not the last time you'll see your car, and you drive to the hospital which is a few minutes away.

Either way, taking Taeyong's car after banging your head against the window was a bad idea, but you park in the parking lot without a hitch. You are an amazing driver. Most of the time.

Ten is already near the glass door when you approach, and he presses his hand against his mouth. "You look like shit." he says, voice muffled by his hand.

"Thank you very much, you should see the condition of my car."

You follow Ten in the hospital, and in one of the emergency rooms, and you sit on the edge of the bed. "You'll have to take an X-ray to see if you don't have a concussion."

You shake your head. "I don't have a headache, I don't feel nauseous, I am not tired, I have nothing Ten. Just clean my wounds and look at my wrist, I have to go to the garage after."

Ten sighs. "Stubborn."

Ten takes care of the wounds you have on your forehead, cheek and lip, then he looks at your wrist. "It's swollen, can you move it?"

You move your wrist, biting your tongue to avoid growling in pain. You can't be in a plaster. "See, it's not even broken."

Ten narrows his eyes. "I don't believe you. I'll wrap it in a bandage, and I'll come see you tomorrow to check to see if it hasn't gotten any worse." he mumbles, wrapping your wrist and part of your hand with a itchy bandage. Great. "If I ask you to spend the night here, you are going to refuse?"

You shake your head and he sighs. "Why are we friends?"

When your phone vibrates in the pocket of your jacket, you pick up. "Taeyong? Did the car catch on fire?"

He snorts. "No, your car didn't catch on fire. It's in the garage, they'll take care of it tomorrow morning, so go home, I'll come pick up my car later."

"How are you going to get home without your car?" but you don't have an answer since Taeyong has already hung up, he finds that hanging up is much easier than arguing with you. He is right, and you love him for that.

"Thanks Ten, I owe you one." you stand up from the bed, and Ten throws his gloves in the trash.

"Take painkillers before you go to bed, it won't stop making you feel like you're dying, but it will help."

You kiss his cheek, and you walk out of the room, making sure no nurses are around, then you walk out of the hospital. The cold night air whips your cheeks, and you close your eyes, it feels good on your burning skin.

It takes you a little longer to get home, due to the fatigue that has suddenly crushed on you, and when you walk in your apartment the first thing you do is drop onto your bed, ignoring your limbs crying out in pain.

When you open your eyes, your room is bathed in light and yet you have the impression that you have barely slept a few minutes.

You turn on your back, and you growl. Maybe you should have listened to Ten and taken an aspirin before going to bed, because the pain is so bad you can't think straight.

It's like you have an elephant lying on you. Or like you've been in a car accident. Your humor makes you smile.

With your fingertips, you reach for your phone in your blanket, and you sigh when you see your friends' messages. Ten and Taeyong want to know if you're still alive, Doyoung is laughing at you, and Kun tells you that you should never have taken part in the race in a "I told you so" way.

You answer Taeyong and Ten with a simple: Alive.

It's almost two in the afternoon, which means your car should be finished, or at least they should know if your car should be scrapped or not.

You get up, and if you thought you were in pain, it's nothing like the pain when you shower and get dressed. It's horrible, you want to die, just like Ten said you would. Stupid nurse.

Rather than taking Taeyong's car, you walk to the garage, and a strange shiver runs through your body as your gaze lands on all the motorcycles that are parked in the parking lot. You know these are the bikes of the mechanics, and the club members.

This club has quite the reputation.

You approach the small building which contains nothing but a desk and piles of papers which are scattered over it. "Excuse me?"

A young man turns his head towards you, and he smiles. "Hello, what can I do for you?"

You clear your throat, resting your shoulder against the doorframe. "My car was towed here last night, it's a black shelby." you explain, and he nods.

"Oh yeah, I thought the mechanic was going to cry when he saw the state your car was in. Something about the Shelbys needing to be treated with love."

You roll your eyes, but you giggle. "I totally agree, but the pole I hit last night didn't think the same."

"I don't think it's over though, do you want me to take you to see it and talk with the mechanic?" he asks, getting up from his chair, and you nod your head. "Follow me."

You follow him to the garage which is only a few steps away, and you wait when he goes inside. "Hendery, the owner of the Shelby is here."

The young man smiles at you, and he goes back to his office. Immediately, a man arrives, wiping his hands full of grease on a piece of cloth which he stuffs in the back pocket of his pants. "I am Hendery." he says. "I'll shake your hand, but I'm dirty."

You shrug your shoulders. "It's okay. How's the car doing? Will I be able to get it back one of these days?" you ask, trying to hide the anxiety in your voice. You put in so much money to have this car, and to make it perfect that it would be a shame to have to throw it away. Well no, it would not be a shame, it would be absolutely heartbreaking.

"Yeah, there's going to be some work to have it rolling again, but I can do it." he says and it's like a weight is lifted off your shoulders. "Though, the way you treated it, I shouldn't even give it back to you."

You open your mouth, and you see the shadow of a smile on his face. "What? But it's my car! It's not my fault I hit a post."

Hendery shakes his head. "Besides, how did you manage to hit a pole? Considering the condition of the car, you must have hit it at a very fast speed."

You shift from one foot to the other. "I wasn't going that fast, I was just driving around town and had to look at a storefront and didn't see the post." you mumble. You're normally a really good liar but for some reason you just can't seem to do it with him.

"I'm giving you a second chance to tell me the truth." he says in a voice he wants firm, but he can't help but smile, he is clearly messing with you.

"If I told you I had an accident during an illegal race, would you believe me?"

He snorts. "Not really, no."

You smile. "So it's definitely not because of an illegal race. Can I see my car?" you ask to change the subject, and he invites you to follow him in the garage to your car. In bright light, it looks much worse than in the dark last night. "My poor baby."

Hendery looks at you, then he looks at the car, then he looks at you one more time. "A normal person wouldn't drive a Shelby." he suddenly says, and you tilt your head.

"Of course it's not a city car." you answer. He works for a club which is known for its illegal activities, it would be hypocritical if he were to report you to the police, and even then there is no proof, so you have no reason to lie. "So do you believe me?"

He nibbles on his lower lip, and he nods. "Yeah, I think I believe you." he puts his hand on the dented hood of the car. "And that's so fucking cool! I've always heard about the races in town, but I've never had the chance to meet anyone participating in it."

You shrug your shoulders. "I am Y/n." and he smiles.

Hendery walks around the car, and he cites all the things that need to be fixed, or changed, and when he stops talking, the weight is back on your shoulders. "It's going to cost me both of my kidneys."

He laughs. "Oh yeah, it's going to cost you a lot of money." when he sees your worried face, he puts his hand on your shoulder, which he regrets because he knows that there will be a trace of grease from the shape of his hand on your t-shirt. "But I'm sure we can work it out."

"Tell me?"

Hendery seems to think about it, and when he has an idea, his face lights up. "If you take me to a race, and if you can convince someone to let me get in their car, I could take care of your car outside of my working hours, and it will cost you next to nothing."

It's something very simple, it's not like the public isn't allowed to watch the races. "For that you have to promise me that you won't call the police."

He arches an eyebrow. "Why would I do such thing?"

"I don't know! We don't know each other, maybe you are looking for a way to get me arrested to keep my car."

Hendery throws his head back, and he laughs heartily. "I love your car, it's true, I'm mad at you because you broke it, it's true, but I prefer my motorcycle."

You turn your head towards the motorcycles. "Is one of them yours?" Hendery nods, proud of himself. "They're cool. They don't go as fast as my car, but it's cool that you like the quietness of a small motorcycle."

The way Hendery's eyes widen is almost comical, so you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing. "A small motorcycle? Are you kidding me? Have you at least ever been on a motorcycle?"

You shake your head. "No. I don't like motorcycles, they don't give you enough adrenaline." adrenaline is one of the reasons you race on the daily, you can never get enough of it. You crave it, it's a bit like a drug. "But I don't have to get on a motorcycle to know you could never beat my car."

Hendery crosses his arms against his chest, and he tries to make himself taller, which is amusing. "I could beat you in a race with my motorcycle."

You giggle. "You could beat me if I had to drive my car in this state, for sure. But otherwise you don't stand a chance boy."

Hendery's cheeks turn red, and you don't know if it's from anger, or from embarrassment. All you know is it's a lot of fun. "Prospect, what are you doing?" you hear, and Hendery doesn't waste a second getting out of the garage.

You can't hear the conversation between Hendery and the other person, so you run your fingers across the body of your car. You hope you can drive it quickly, you don't want to miss the next race. You could of course ask a friend to lend you a car, but it won't be the same. But you would have an excuse.

When the conversation lasts for over five minutes, you decide to leave the garage, and you meet the gaze of Hendery who you smile at. "Thursday, 10 p.m. in front of the garage, don't be late." you say, and you walk away.

"What was that?" the person asks with a laugh, and Hendery has to shrug because you can't hear an answer.

If you want to impress Hendery, you're going to have to find a good car.

"Not even in your dream. No. No."

You sigh, exasperated. "Please? It's just for one race while I wait for my car to get out of the garage!"

Doyoung looks you up and down, judging you without even hiding it. "You will never touch one of my cars." you pout, but he looks away, he knows you too well.

"Why not? You don't even race, you don't even drive your cars, it won't kill you to lend me one!"

He crosses his arms against his chest, his brow furrowed. "You had an accident with your car, I don't want to risk losing one of my cars." it's a low blow, you think.

"It's not like I had an accident on purpose!" you mumble, and he shrugs. "Taeyong, do something! You know very well that I'll be careful." you turn your head towards your friend who shakes his head.

"Keep me out of this conversation." he says.

"It's okay, I'll ask someone else. Maybe Yuto will accept." you turn on your heels but a hand lands on your shoulder, and you smirk.

"Don't go see that idiot, he would be able to give you a car he messed up with on purpose! You know he is up to no good."

You chuckle. "He would do it to you because you're a jerk, but he wouldn't do it for me." you know this is wrong, Yuto knows that you are friends with Doyoung and he will not hesitate to attack you to reach him. Or any of your friends for that matter.

Doyoung mumbles something you don't understand, and he heaves a long sigh. You know you won. "One car, for one race, and if you damage it, you'll pay for the repairs." Doyoung is filthy rich but he acts like a broke bitch most of the time.

You turn to face him. "I promise you'll get your car back in the same condition you gave it to me, and I'll even fill up the tank!"

"You better."

And that's why the following Thursday, you park in front of the garage, sitting behind the wheel of one of Doyoung's cars. A car that will never be as fast as your Shelby, but which could perhaps give you a chance to win the race, or at least to make it to the top 3.

You really don't understand why Doyoung has so many racing cars in his garage when he doesn't do anything with them. Probably something rich people do that you will never understand.

You jump when little knocks are given against the passenger window, and when you turn your head, you smile when you see Hendery. You weren't sure he would come. "Come!"

He opens the door, and he sits down. "I'm not late?" he asks, and you shake your head, making the engine purr, foot on the gas pedal.

"Not at all. I hope you're ready because you're going to be with an amazing racer tonight."

Hendery's smile could almost blind you. "Oh really, who?"

"Me."

Your shoulders drop when Hendery's smile fades and you refrain from hitting him. "Hey! Are you disappointed? Because if you are you can get out of the car and go fuck yourself!"

Taeyong would have gladly agreed to take him in his car, but since you were lucky enough to be accepted for the race despite not having finished the previous one, you thought it would be better to have him with you.

He shakes his head. "No, I just didn't expect you to race without your car."

"This car is definitely not the ideal car, but that's all I could find since a certain mechanic hasn't finished fixing my car yet." you tilt your head and Hendery laughs.

"Sorry for having other priorities besides your car."

You snort. "And what's taking you so much time? Waxing the club members' pumps?"

He rolls his eyes and you decide to get out of your parking space, it would be a shame to be late for Hendery's first race. "It is more complicated than that."

You hum. "A guy called you prospect last time, what does that mean?" you do not know if you have the right to know since you are not a member of the club, but you are quite curious.

He turns his head to the window. "Prospect means prospective member. Basically I'm being given undesirable tasks until they decide if I have what it takes to be a full member of the club."

You scoff. "So you're their maid? You do the dirty work?"

Hendery shrugs, and out of the corner of your eye you see him smile. "That's a way to see it."

"And what made you want to join the club?" you don't know if it's too personal, but it's interesting. Hendery never had the chance to meet someone street racing, and you never had the chance to meet someone wanting to be part of a club like the Neos.

“My older brother joined the Neos when he was very young, so I grew around them a bit. Then when he died the members said they would always be there for me, to meet my needs and they offered me a job in the garage. Of course, working in the garage doesn't mean I had to join the club, but I do enjoy being around them so when I asked, they immediately agreed to make me the new prospect."

You didn't think he would tell you something so personal, but it's a sign that he trusts you, right?

"I'm sorry for your brother, but it's good if you've found yourself a new family with the club."

His  smile is so big and sincere that you can't help but smile too. "Yeah, they're awesome, they take good care of me."

The race is in another city, which makes the trip a little longer, but the silence is not heavy, it is pleasant. A silence that is suddenly broken by Hendery wriggling in his seat. "So what made you decide to start street racing?"

He decided to be sincere and personal, so now you have no choice but to be too. "Uh," you start to say, "my parents decided to have a child to salvage their mariage, not because they wanted one, so they never had that parental fiber." Hendery hums, prompting you to keep talking. "Life at home was not fun, I was basically left on my own devices all the time. And when I understood they didn't really care what I was doing, or where I was, I started hanging out with the 'bad kids' at school and they introduced me to street racing. I did my first race way before I had my driving license, and the rest is history."

Hendery heaves a sigh. "I'm sorry about your parents, but in a way it gave you the opportunity to find something you love and are good at."

You smile. "That's true."

You would of course have preferred to have loving and present parents, but it's too late to change things and you're not unhappy with the way your life has turned out.

You decide to change the topic, you don't want to continue with the delicate and sad subjects. "You are going to meet my friends, and I hope you are ready, they are impossible to live with."

You stop at a red light, and you see Hendery's gaze. His eyes are bright, and you wonder if it's because he's excited. "Really? I can't wait!"

You chuckle. "Do you have friends Hendery?"

His lower lip juts out and he shakes his head. "The members are my friends, of course, but we don't do anything fun together, just garage and club related stuff." poor guy.

"Well you are about to have new friends and they are terribly annoying, you'll soon regret meeting them, trust me."

After ten minutes, you approach the zone of the race and the crowd is already making it hard to drive to the start line. "Oh come on, I can't have blood on the car, don't make me roll you over." you mumble and Hendery laughs.

When you finally park the car, you get out. "Come on!"

Hendery gets out of the car and it's like being with a child, he is looking around with big eyes and a bright smile. "There are screens that allow you to see every corner of the race so you don't miss anything, a group that takes care of capturing the location of the police, this kind of stuff."

"And over there you have the worst human beings." with a nod you indicate a group of people. Your friends.

You approach your friends, and you put your hand on Ten's shoulder to get his attention. "What are you doing here, don't you work nights normally?" you ask immediately and he shakes his head.

"No, I asked a colleague to take care of it, I wanted to see you lose the race."

You roll your eyes, and grab hold of Hendery's wrist to pull him closer. "This is Hendery, he works in the garage where my car is. He wanted to see a race in real life." you explain. "Hendery this is my friends, Taeyong, Doyoung, Ten and Kun."

"Nice to meet you guys." Hendery says, and the boys shake his hand. "I'm really excited!"

"He's going to ride with me." you add, and Ten puts his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing at all. Have fun Hendery, because this might be the last time you'll be excited about something. You're going to die tonight. You should give me the number of someone to contact to let them know what happened."

You hit Ten's shoulder. "Come on, I had one accident. And if I crash Doyoung's car, he is going to kill me." Doyoung nods his head.

"She is right."

"The race is about to start." someone says in a megaphone. "To the participants, please join your cars."

You turn to Hendery. "If you want to watch, that's perfectly okay." he shakes his head, and he walks towards your car.

"Nah, I'm going with you." cool cool. You don't remember the last time you had someone riding with you, so you better not mess up, that would be embarrassing.

"One condition," you say, sitting behind the wheel. "you'll take me on a ride on your motorcycle." you never tried a motorcycle before, and even if it was fun telling him he wouldn't beat you in a race, you don't want to die stupid.

"Deal."

You start the engine. "If you feel sick because of the speed, please don't throw up inside of the car." you don't plan on stopping for any reason. And you don't plan on cleaning the car if he gets sick.

Hendery laughs softly, but he stays quiet.

Out of the corner of your eye, to see his mouth open when you press your feet on the gas pedale. "Let's go baby." you whisper.

During the first part of the race, Hendery is mostly silent, only making little surprise noises when a car gets a little too close to his door for his liking, but after the second roundabout he starts to laugh. "It's incredible!" he exclaims, a hand resting on his heart which must beat wildly.

"Do you like it?" you ask, and he nods vigorously. "Being behind the wheel is even better. I'll give you a try someday." not during a race, but on a racetrack, with no other car around, and with a car that you won't have a problem with if it breaks.

You laugh when you drive past Taeyong's car, and he gives you the middle finger which makes you laugh even more. "That's it Taeyong, stay behind, that's where you belong."

You see the finish line, but you also see the car in front of you, but you don't try to overtake it, second place is perfect, especially with Doyoung's car.

Hendery screams when you cross the finish line, and when you brake, he's quick to unbuckle his seatbelt to turn towards you. "Oh my god you are the best!"

You can't help but smile. "So I've been told! You don't regret going up with me?" he shakes his head, and you get out of the car.

"You cut me off!" you turn when you hear Taeyong's voice, and you scoff.

"It's a race Taeyong, not a ride, it's normal that I cut you off!"

He pouts. "I made a bet with Ten that I would finish before you. I lost 100 bucks."

You shrug. "That's too bad."

You congratulate the winner of the race, and you make your way to Hendery who is already talking about his experience with Ten and Kun. Both of them are listening to him with attention, something you are not used to. Did he win the hearts of your friends in less than an hour when you've been trying for years? That's not fair!

"Thanks again for the car Doyoung, I owe you a big one." you say, handing him the keys and he shakes his head.

"Keep it, at least until you'll get your dear Shelby back." how sweet of him, and you wonder if he would have offered his car if Hendery was not around. You hate it here. "Hendery, it was a real pleasure to meet you, I hope we can see each other again." he says, and the other boys agree one after the other. "Y/n, please give us his number so we don't have to go through you to see him."

You bite the inside of your cheek, and Hendery wraps his arm around your shoulders. "We're a package deal. If I come, she comes."

"Already? That's adorable!" Ten cooes and you want to punch him, but not in front of Hendery. Later.

"Come on, I'll bring you back." you mumble, grabbing Hendery's wrist to pull him back to the car.

It's a bit difficult to ride with the crowd around, but you manage to do it, and when you finally find yourself on the road, you heave a sigh. "Will you come back for another race?" you ask, and he nods.

"If you want me, yeah, I'll come to all the races! I'm gonna work hard on your car so you can show me everything you've got!"

"And if you're good, maybe you can even ride my Shelby one day." it's a decision you can change depending on Hendery, but it could be fun.

His mouth opens wide, and you giggle. "It would be such an honor!"

The rest of the road is pretty quiet, and after the hubub of the race, you're not unhappy. When you arrive near the garage, you notice that a lot of people are in the yard. "A party?" you ask.

"Yeah, one of the club members was due out of jail today so they're celebrating his comeback."

You hum. "Didn't you want to participate?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "He was already in jail when I joined the club so I don't know him. And frankly? I'll miss every parties in the world to participate in another race." adorable.

"Good to know. Thanks for being a good co-pilot." Hendery smiles, and he even leans in to kiss your cheek before getting out of the car and waving to you.

Well, that was unexpected.

The next two weeks are pretty much the same. You wake up, and you spend your breaks at the garage, looking at Hendery working on motorcycles, cars, and of course, yours when he is done. And you honestly appreciate his presence. His, and the members of his club, they are all very sweet to you, and to him. They mess with Hendery a lot, but you can see that they cherish him a lot. And weirdly enough, it appease you to know he has a family to look over him.

"Your car is done."

A weight falls down on your stomach when Hendery speaks, but you smile nonetheless. "Already? I thought it would take more time." you say, stepping inside of the clubhouse. Hendery is sitting on a stool behind the bar, a glass of water in front of him.

"The guys gave me more time to work on it." that explains a lot.

You sit down next to him. "I'm happy to have my car back, but it's a shame, I really liked spending time with you here." Hendery turns on his stool, a smile on his face. You wonder if he ever stops smiling.

"Me being done with your car doesn't mean you can't hang out at the garage. I asked, and Johnny doesn't mind." Johnny, you learnt, is the president of the motorcycle club. He is still young, but he was apparently voted in after the death of the past president.

"...we need to figure out how to get the guns out without.." the door of the clubhouse opens, and the conversation stops when your presence is noticed. "Oh hey Y/n! What's up?"

You smile at Yuta, the sergeant-at-arms. "The usual!"

The young man's smile is a bit tensed, maybe because you heard a part of the conversation and as you are not part of the club, you probably shouldn't have, but you don't mention it. "Stay out of trouble, okay?" you nod and he steps inside of the meeting room with a few other members that you saw a couple of time around the garage.

"Did you hear what he was saying?" Hendery asks, nervously playing with his fingers and you shrug.

"Heard what?" you like Hendery, and he likes the club, you wouldn't gain anything by speaking up about the things you hear on the daily.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" he asks suddenly, standing up from his stool. "I did promise to take you on a ride on my motorcycle."

"Let's go!"

You follow him outside of the clubhouse and to his motorcycle. He hands you a helmet that you put on your head, and you wait for him to get on the motorcycle to climb behind him. "Hold on to my waist, and if you want to stop, pinch me, I'll understand." you don't know how safe it would be to pinch him while he drives, but you accept.

"Yes sir!"

You became acquainted with the sound of a motorcycle engine, but it still gives you chill. It's different of a car, of course, but it still brings you the adrenaline you love so much. Car, motorcycle, as long as it has wheels and purr, it's the same.

Hendery leaves the garage, and instead of driving toward the city, he leaves it.

And you soon understand why. On the hallway, he can drive as fast as he wants without being bothered by cars and trucks. And the feeling of the wind against your face is amazing. It makes you smile, it makes you want to scream.

And just like that, with your arms around his waist, your head against his shoulder blade, you understand how happy you are to be here. To be with Hendery. With the wind whipping your face, and his laugh echoing around. Breaking your car wasn't such a bag thing, it gave you something akin to love.

[captainrexisboo]

Comfort

Excuse the mess. I wrote this in less than eight hours, I’m a little in my feelings at the moment, and frankly all I want is a nice warm hug from my favorite Captain.

Warnings: Rex x Reader, unrequited love (but not in like a bad way), emotional vulnerability, allusions to minor depression (or at least disassociating symptoms), reader is a woman

Ultimately, this is a comfort fic. It’s a little personal, but my same rules still apply, comments of any kind are welcome and my dms are always open. Love y’all!

Edit- link to Pt2: Butterflies

~

You were always with him.

Rex saw you being held, kissed, and cooed at by that nat born training officer whenever the flagship landed back on Coruscant, and it always made him feel so bittersweet. You weren’t his, but you were happy, and he could live with that.

Until one day you weren’t.

Rex turned the corner of the base to see you in a serious conversation with your partner. Your face was contorted in deep confusion, biting your lip and eyes down, searching the ground for answers. Rex watched as your confusion turned to something mournful, something more set and focused, and...tears. Tears were fogging your usual bright gaze, and he couldn’t stand back any longer. He walked forward, stride tall and proud as he walked to where you were, not even bothering to address the officer, “Ma’am, are you alright?”

“Excuse me, this is a private conver-“

“Sergeant, please,” you shushed the man in front of you, a hand coming up to lay against his chest. The move was delicate, but the familiarity in which you rubbed your thumb in a circle of the button of his fatigues told Rex exactly what the gesture really meant. Especially when the man blinked back his own tears, swallowing whatever emotion was caught in his throat. Rex felt himself hold his breath as you looked up to him, eyes wide and watery with a small, tight smile, “Yes, Captain, everything’s fine. Personal business, I’ll be aboard the flagship soon.”

Rex nodded curtly, eyeing the nat born officer through his visor before walking away. If this was the discussion he thought it was, then your previous behaviors these past couple missions suddenly made sense. Your quiet spaciness, your distant rehearsed replies, the way your smile felt like a wall you built up to keep whatever you were experiencing from breaking through.

As the Admiral’s secretary, you were kept very busy- especially considering all the types of reports surrounding the ‘tactics’ that the General used- but you always tended to emanate a warmth and kindness to everyone aboard. You were dear to all the 501st and ship staff, able to offer a bit of softness to everyone in the trying time of war. Rex always felt lighter after being greeted by you after coming back to the ship from the battlefield. After the blue shadow virus incident, you had even hugged him, and that stuck with him. The way you lit up when he walked aboard the Resolute at the time, waiting until the two of you were alone and just squeezed his middle so tight- he wasn’t expecting the amount of strength in you. You let him go with a relieved chuckle, welcoming him back with his full health, and then he found that he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you always seemed to have a bit of sunshine in your pocket.

These past few months however, the smile seemed more of a mask. Your lilting tone was empty, and your eyes stayed downcast unless spoken to, and even then your gaze was uncharacteristically lifeless, no matter how much your words said otherwise. Rex was worried about you, but he didn’t know where to start, so he kept his distance. He watched from afar, and wished he could hold you close like that Sergeant back on Coruscant base. Wished it was him to whisper loving words to you, letting you know how important and cared for you are, he just wanted your warmth to come bursting through you again. He still wanted to do that, but of course he’d need to give you time.

He leaned against the hull of the flagship, arms crossed as he waited for you. He just wanted to be sure you’re all right, is all. He nodded and informally saluted to each of the men already coming aboard ship, still dutifully watching the hangar’s entrance. Finally you came through the wide archway, head down, thumbing away tear stains on your cheeks. Rex felt himself straighten off of the hull, standing perfectly postured like the soldier he was and...froze. What should he do? How do you comfort someone after...that? Give him a grieving brother who lost their kih’vod in battle, a Padawan turned teenage soldier, or even an ori’vod who feels lost in their position.

But a broken heart? By choice?

You were nearly in front of him now, and he was gaping like a fish under his helmet. What could he do?

“Miss,” he started talking before he could stop himself, his tone a little louder than intended, making you jump a little, before his open palm displayed respectively in a gesture of concern. Clearing his throat, he pitched lower to sound hushed, but caring, “If you need anything, you’re welcome to come to me. Or the rest of the legion, we’ll be there for you, just like you are for us.”

He watched you stare at him with wide eyes, red and puffy from crying. Your parted lips trembled with every breath as you blinked away the residual blur of your current emotion. You let a small, barely there twitch upturn a corner of your lips, but it was enough that Rex felt a bit of your warmth slip through. Your true warmth. It was a start.

“Thank you, Captain,” you sniffed, voice slightly raw and fist still rubbing at your face, “I’ll take you up on that offer, but right now I just need some space.”

Rex gave you a slow nod in understanding, exhaling slowly. He could give you time, as much as you needed, as long as you knew his offer stood. He stiffly about faced, about to walk aboard the ship himself, when you let out a quiet warble, “Actually, sir-“

The sound of a low sob made Rex turn around so quick, with barely two steps he let himself engulf you in his arms. Before he could apologize and ask if this was okay, you had brought your own arms up around him, limbs shaking as they tightened their grip. You were muffling your cries into his chest, wetting the armor with your tears and broken cadences of hot breath. Rex just let you cry, let you break- everyone needed to sometimes. He rubbed circles into your back, holding you to him, repeating a mantra he hoped held truth, “Everything will be all right. Everything will be alright.”

“I wish I could be mad at him,” you cursed, sobs coming down to rough hiccups, “But I can’t.”

Rex hummed low, rocking you a bit in a steady sway, “I can. Kriff that guy, never even knew his name.”

Your laugh was broken and thick, a quick puff of air coming out of you, a bit like a cough. You angled your head up to look at you through a misty gaze, “Thank you, Captain.”

“Rex, miss,” his hands came up to your shoulders as you pushed off of him, “If you ever find yourself needing my support, please. Call me Rex.”

You brought a hand up to one of his, squeezing his wrist slight, “Then, thank you. Rex. You have my permission to call me Y/N, whenever you please.”

Rex let a small smile form underneath the safety of his helmet, “My pleasure, Y/N.”

He was so enamored by your light touches to his wrist, by the way your warmth seemed to be cracking through ever so slightly, he almost forgot where he was. Once he remembered his hands were keeping you still in place, he cleared his throat and removed them with a slight jerk of his elbows, “S-sorry. We should probably go aboard now. Ah, after you?”

You gave him a slight, sad smile as you nodded to him. But it was a smile nonetheless, and it was yours, and it was true. Rex felt himself return the soft gesture to you, not that you could see it as you walked away.

It was a good start.

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Part 1

Tarlos | period drama/grudging acquaintances to lovers | Part 1/3 

Read on ao3

Thank you to @oquinn53 and @resiotcage for cheerleading and reading ahead of time. You both give me the motivation to keep going. 

Title by @oquinn53 :)

By law, TK Strand cannot inherit his father’s railroad empire until he marries. He has absolutely no intention of finding a husband on their trip down to Texas, but he finds himself blindsided by Mr. Carlos Reyes, only son of Doña Marialena Reyes. The problem is that Mr. Reyes resents the Strands coming to buy up parcels of his family’s cattle estate to build a rail line on. TK is perfectly happy to leave him to stew in his anger, as he has no use to see the man after the end of the week. However, TK will find that the heart wants what it wants, and there’s rarely anything one can do about it. 

Set in 1885

Below is an excerpt, full part 1 from the beginning is under the cut!

TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

Part 1

“Ms. Mercer’s proposal looks promising,” Owen says, mostly to himself but loud enough to include TK in the conversation, should he wish to participate. “And Mr. and Mr. Felton-Lowman have quite a sprawl, though it does look to contain more elevation than I was hoping. I thought all of Texas was supposed to be flat?” Owen muses as he tosses the papers back onto his makeshift desk.

TK is only half listening, choosing instead to stare morosely out the window at the passing countryside of the American South, eyes at intervals tracking livestock in the fields and lingering drips from this morning’s light storm rolling down the glass window of the lavish Pullman they’ve commandeered as their vessel for this journey. His father, bless his soul, had tried to get TK to care more about the business as of late, and truth be told, TK was very interested in the workings of his father’s company and he did take great pride in being able to inherit it someday and make his father proud. It was just that recently, he’d had his heart thoroughly crushed by an absolute rake of a man and he’d rather wallow in self pity than think about geological surveys and boundaries for livestock movements.

TK heard his father sigh, a sure sign that a lecture was coming soon. TK took a breath and held it.

“I wish you’d forget about that awful boy, Tyler. You wouldn’t have wanted a life with him anyway. His family was barely polite at best, and scandalous at their worst. Honestly, you got out on the good side of things.” TK wanted to say that he didn’t care about things like status and scandal, he cared about love and commitment.

Turns out all Alexander had been able to commit to was his harem of stable boys and footmen that TK had known nothing about until it was too late.

TK blew out his breath. He knew his father meant well. Owen Strand was not overbearing as some other fathers were, especially with an only child upon whom everything rested. He wished his son to be happy and settled, is all. TK knew this, and still he couldn’t help his sullen reply.

“Yes, father, I shall just forget. Forget every sweet nothing and every second and third dance. Forget every promise and every earnest declaration. Forget that it was all a lie. Yes, my mind shall be rid of Alexander’s presence by sundown. Then we shall celebrate. How simple.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted to be angry for a while. He’d only found Alexander with Mrs. Howell’s second footman three days earlier. It still stung.

As the train rattled on, closer to a place that TK was of a mind to understand was so far from proper civilization as to be considered exotic, he felt his father’s disappointment cling to him. That hurt worse than what he’d seen Alexander and the footman doing--which was something for which he was sure a name had not been invented yet.

“I’m sorry, father. It’s just that you’ve set this deadline for me with no explanation as to why, and I don’t want to let you down but I’m afraid I’ll never find the right man for me. I had thought it would be Mr. Thompson, but I was mistaken. Sorely mistaken.”

At this, TK looked up to catch his father’s soft look of commiseration. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, but you are getting on in age. Most boys are married off by three and twenty, and you’ve gone nearly four years past that. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You need to secure a match that makes you happy, but you’ll need to do it sooner rather than later.”

“Why, father? Why must I rush such a momentous decision? You are in perfect health! I have another five or ten at least!” At this, he caught a very minute shift in his father’s countenance, something like pain, but it was gone in an instant. His father was the most stoic man TK had ever had occasion to meet; if he was in pain at all, no one would ever know. It must have been a trick of the flickering pre-dusk light coming through the windows of the train car. Owen took on a playful tone.

“Five or ten? What respectable young lad would want to marry a man of thirty-five? You’d practically be spinster by then,” he joked fondly.

“You’re a good deal past thirty-five and I’ve still seen twenty year old Miss Brinkman making eyes at you across the dancefloor of an evening. If I’ve inherited your genes I’ve nothing to fear,” TK shot back with a barely there smirk.

“Thank heaven for us all, but you’ve got your mother’s beauty. I couldn’t have asked for better,” Owen said quietly. TK’s mother had been gone these past ten years. A bout with pneumonia that the doctors could not cure had taken her from them. “But you do have my charm, I’ll allow you that. You should put it to use down south. Perhaps a cattle baron might catch your eye?”

“Oh by God, no. I couldn’t imagine whiling away my days on a smelly farm trying to read reports by moonlight and taking my sullen and fatigued husband to bed only for him to fall asleep minutes after his head hits the pillow. No romance in hard labor, that’s for sure.” TK shuddered a bit to think of life on an actual farm, constantly smelling of hay and manure like some streetsweeper back in Manhattan.

“I do believe successful cattle barons can afford more than a few tawdry tallows, Tyler,” Owen quipped with a smirk before turning his attention back to the maps and surveys scattered in front of him. The conversation that, just moments ago, had been fraught with uncertainty and earnestness seemed to flutter into the wind. TK and his father were like that most times: they’d lay things out on the table between them, and if it clearly couldn’t be resolved in a single good-natured quarrel, they both gave themselves time to regroup to resume the discussion at a later date.

For this particular subject, TK was coming to think of that ‘later date’ as a cuff slowly tightening around his wrist, the chain binding him to his destiny getting shorter and shorter.

He looked down at his hands, privileged hands that hadn’t had to do much manual labor in his life, save for the few times his father took him to the yards to show him how things were run. Owen, on the other hand, was an entirely self-made man, who saved and invested his earnings working for Vanderbilt and made enough to purchase his first railcar at just twenty. He contracted it with the Erie and charged passengers thirty-five cents for passage between New York and Boston. From there it only grew, to what was now a very respectable business, looking to lay lines of their own. Perhaps not the largest--that was still Vanderbilt’s claim--but certainly a player on the board.

And it would all be TK’s if he could just hurry up and fall in love already.

_______

The carriage from the station drove them twenty miles through gorgeous hill country. The cattle and horses grazed on rolling plains that swelled gently as they approached the horizon. It was warm, but not unbearable, which TK attributed to the absence of industry steaming and smoking and saturating the very air in one’s lungs as it did in Manhattan. Furthermore, despite the over-abundance of livestock surrounding them, the smell was far more pleasant than he was used to. TK could not help but conclude upon this observation that maybe it was not the horses that stunk, but the people. After all, fresh air was a luxury very few could afford, and they usually had to go thousands of miles to get it, such as he and his father were doing now.

Still, he held to his earlier affirmation that he could not see himself making a life in a place such as this. Despite the fact that he’d concluded they apparently smelled horrid, TK loved being around people. He supposed that was to be attributed to being an only child, and having no siblings underfoot to raise ruckus and otherwise pierce the silence that hung heavy over their home of late. Even though he’d not experienced that kind of life, he’d always hoped to make a large family of his own, his husband and he adopting ten or more children to raise and fawn over. TK had never considered for a moment that he wouldn’t be a father, regardless of his proclivity for finding only men attractive in any way. Some of that persuasion chose to remain as partners only, bequeathing their fortunes, such as they were, to their universities or other charitable pursuits. But TK had always wanted a house full of mouths to feed and hearts to warm.

He dreamed about the day when he could look over at his husband, gray-haired and body-bent, and smile at what they’d created.

Except it did not seem as though he would be acquiring a husband any time soon, and that thought vexed him more than he let on to his father. Yes, he agreed that he was getting on in years as far as marriageable age for young bachelors was concerned, but his one universal truth was that he would not settle for someone who was not the love of his life. That conviction, though others called it foolish, was the great constant that ran through every interaction TK had with any handsome man he happened upon.

He was determined to uphold that promise to himself, no matter how many years passed. If the right one came along, he’d know it. No matter for the moment, anyway, as he was doubly sure he’d not meet the love of his life in the middle of cattle country.

As the carriage rounded another gentle swell, a rather large bright structure came into view. TK put his hand up to shield his eyes for a moment, as it seemed the very sun shone out of the building. As they drew closer to the drive—lined with giant oak trees on each side like twenty such sentries—it became apparent that the house was not radiating light, but reflecting it. Every upright surface was covered with glittering textured limestone, something TK had seen here and there on their travels through the southern states. Also something they had encountered before was a grievously oversized stoop—which these people called porches—that spanned the entire width of the house, and it was evident that it wrapped around to the sides as well. It was dotted here and there with rocking chairs and benches, each with a wool blanket or cushion thrown haphazardly onto the seat to aid the sitter’s comfort on the otherwise hard wood surface.

They reached the house after a long drive up, and the carriage deposited them at the bottom of the steps up to the grand estate. TK had seen mansions in Manhattan and beyond, but this house was like a full government building. It was massive. He wondered how many people lived here.

As their driver helped them from the carriage and began to let down their luggage, a shriek of delight could be heard just inside the door. TK jumped for a moment, not expecting such a sound in such a peaceful place, before he was bombarded with the view of three bright young ladies in finely detailed seersucker and bustled skirts.  

“Oh, you’ve arrived at last!” the one who looked to be the eldest exclaimed. She was tall, at least half a foot taller than the other two, with ink black hair tied up in neat chignon. Her sleeves accented delicate wrists and her waist was nipped down modestly. She smiled like TK and his father arriving was akin to a grand parade, when really they resembled world-weary travelers who could barely un-stoop their backs from so long inside the carriage. The other two young ladies—girls really—giggled behind their hands. They bore a strong resemblance to the elder; certainly they were all sisters.

Ever the gentleman, TK removed his hat to gesture to the ladies, who gave curtsies in answer. Owen did the same, and received curtsies that went just a bit deeper. “Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen called with a smile. “I was told I could meet directly with Doña Marialena upon our arrival.” He quirked his eyebrow up in question, even though it was perfectly plain that none of these girls was old enough to be the proprietor of this estate, unless they had been sorely deceived. TK thought he might admire someone capable of extending that sort of ruse for as long as they’d been corresponding with the Doña. But alas, a moment later, a much older woman who resembled quite strikingly all three ladies gathered on the porch emerged from the wide open front door.

The Doña was an intimidating woman on her own, but the height afforded her by their current positions made it seem even more so. TK tucked his hat into his elbow and bowed low, following his father’s action. The older woman bent her knees a bit, and TK noticed she did not descend the steps to meet them, but instead kept her position above, behind her daughters.

“Welcome to La Hacienda Reyes, gentlemen,” she intoned in a very slightly accented, gravelly voice. It should have sounded harsh, but it just sounded well-used, as though she’d employed it many times to shout at her daughters for their impropriety at scurrying out to meet guests on the lawn without their bonnets, as she looked apt to do right this very second. TK did not mind their state of dress so much, as rules were getting a little more lax for the younger set these days, especially in the city. Though, now that he thought about it, these country folk might be a mite more traditional, but he let the thought fade into obscurity as the Doña smiled softly down at him a moment later, as if sharing a secret.

He and Owen approached the steps as the Doña descended to meet them. Owen made their introductions as TK took her hand in his, giving a small bow as was customary. He let his father lead the conversation as he made his way over to the daughters assembled on the lawn. He kissed each of their hands in turn, learning that their names were Christina, Elena, and Raquel, from eldest to youngest. He was also informed that Christina was not the eldest in the household; her sister Rosa was ten years her senior and married, and she and her wife were summering on the East Coast.

As Christina regaled TK with how wonderful and filled with revelry their visit was to be, a lone figure appeared at the edge of his vision, galloping up quite swiftly on horseback. The animal was beautiful, sleek and black and moving with its rider as though they were one. As they drew closer, Christina also lit on to the approaching figure.

“Oh, there’s my brother. Mamà will have his head for not meeting you directly, as the man of the house should. Even though he won’t inherit, she still insists he accompany her when seeing to the business of the estate, especially when Rosa is away.”

“I’m sure he had urgent business to attend,” TK offered, however he did not know what kind of business a man in fine brocade—as he could now see the golden threads shining in the Texas sun—would have out in the fields. “We did arrive earlier than expected, I believe. Our apologies.”

“Oh, no. He wished to stay away. I’m of right mind to assume he thought we’d already be inside by now and that’s why he’s made his appearance, and he’ll be sorely thwarted to see us still about.” She fought to hide a smirk, and TK was intrigued. However, he didn’t have time to contemplate on the apparent lack of manners of the man of the house before the man in question was upon them.

He was invariably handsome, that much was clear on his approach. He had tanned skin that shone in the rays of the afternoon sun, and curls atop his beautiful head that caught that same light and transformed into blacks and browns and golds as he moved. He was fit and tall, as TK could tell even from his seat on the horse, and he commanded an air about him that sang with regality. As he disembarked from the saddle, TK was struck dumb at the fluidity of his movements. It was as if he was still galloping along with the horse, moving slowly and rapidly at the same time, body deliberately placing itself where it needed to be rather than flinging his limbs about as some proud men were wont to do when they felt the urge to assert their authority.

As he turned to face the gathered group and at last revealed his face from a close angle, TK was struck dumb. This man was gorgeous. Exquisite. A dream made flesh. TK could all of a sudden imagine what this man looked like when he smiled, when he was upset, when he was elated, when he cried. He could picture a thousand candlelit dinners at the Fifth Avenue Hotel across from this man, surreptitiously dragging their toes against one another under the table, faces and hearts alight with the impropriety of doing such a thing in public, but being too enamored of each other to care.

He could picture all of this so clearly and crisply that he could almost smell the gardenia adorning the little vase upon the table. That was, until the man opened his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” he spit, as though the word were a curse upon their persons. He turned to the Doña and intoned in a volume that was surely meant to be overheard but made as if to seem secretive, “Mother, I thought you said only one was coming. We must entertain two greedy industrialist blackguards for the whole of the week when we’ve not even fully migrated the herd?”

At this, Doña Marialena did not even flinch. She simply leaned in closer to her son and spit out a quick succession of words no doubt meant to silence his gaucherie, but which only served to wind his already pinched countenance into a tighter knot. When their short exchange had ceased, he looked mildly chastised but still as though he would rather be anywhere than here, meeting TK and his father on the front lawn. However, after receiving that nearly silent dressing down from his mother in front of their guests, he screwed his face into a more acceptable visage, and approached Owen, who was holding out his hand.

Doña Marialena made their introductions, “Carlos, this is Owen Strand and his son, TK. Mr. Strand, this is my son Carlos. Please excuse his horrendous manners.”

Carlos took Owen’s hand. “Welcome to our Hacienda, sirs. You are from New York, is that correct?”

“We are. Nearly a fortnight’s journey to get here, but it was beautiful country to pass through,” Owen answered in a friendly tone, unfettered by the exchange of impropriety that had just taken place and determined to move into more friendly territory.

“Ah, well. Let us hope your trip was not in vain,” Carlos answered with a barely there sneer. He turned to TK and offered his hand as Owen and the women turned to shuffle inside the house.

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Reyes. I hope we can find some mutual agreement that is beneficial to all in this endeavor,” TK said solemnly while shaking the man’s hand. He’d abruptly become determined to dispense with all amorous thoughts of this abhorrent man. He and his father were here to do business, attend a party or two, and leave with contract in hand, and nothing more.

“There is nothing beneficial to my family about breaking off pieces of our home to sell to ardent capitalists,” Carlos hissed in a volume meant only for TK. “My grandfather’s blood is boiling in his grave as we speak.”

“Well then I suppose it is advantageous for us that you are not the one making decisions about the estate. Your mother seems quite keen to receive the compensation of ‘ardent capitalists’, as you say. Perhaps there are some issues with the household which require assistance which you, as third born, were not made privy to, sir.” TK could not help himself, and shot back the jab without thinking it through. It was ill-bred talk of money in the open, and much more so to bring it up in a first meeting, but Mr. Reyes was the one who’d alluded to finances first, so TK felt little remorse upon seeing the other man’s face flash with indignation.

Mr. Reyes looked as though he wished to lob one last verbal volley at TK, but seemed to think better of it which was a surprise given his utter lack of tact until that moment. He turned away from TK with a last look of barely tempered rage in his brown eyes and made his way up the steps and into the house.

TK followed, determined not to ponder on why that look had given him gooseflesh in a way that did not suggest fear for one’s life, but rather intrigue at what other thinly veiled emotions his own words could make those eyes flash with.

_______

Dinner was a modestly lavish affair. The table was adorned with yellow roses, to symbolize friendship and cooperation, which TK thought was a nice touch from the staff yet ultimately ineffective.

Well, possibly not entirely ineffective, as his father was currently wooing and entertaining the four women at the table with his usual easy charm, and they all seemed to be devouring his anecdotes and quips with good spirts.

It was Mr. Reyes that seemed out of sorts with the rest of the party. Even TK himself was beginning to forget their fraught exchange on the lawn and give in to the revelry of the evening. Truth be told he was glad to be at table with someone other than his father, who tended to give him pitiful looks and well-meaning advice about his recently broken heart. TK also had to admit that along with the laughing women, even Carlos himself was a nice change. His presence gave TK something to focus on other than thinking of his failed chance at happiness.

As it was, TK had already forgotten that he’d vowed he would not focus on Mr. Reyes at all.

“Your father tells me you are six-and-twenty and still a bachelor? How ever have you managed that?” The Doña asked across the table. Given his current preoccupation, TK didn’t even take the slightest bit of offense from the statement. It was helped along by the kind look in her eyes.

He gave a bashful chuckle. “Hard work and perseverance, ma’am,” he joked, and the table laughed along with him, save for one. “I’ve simply not encountered the right match, I’m afraid.”

“If he was married to the work, I’d be less anxious, but alas…” Owen trailed off with a good natured smile. Even with all his father’s nagging, TK knew in his heart that his father wanted his son to be happy and unhurried in choosing a husband.

“I’m holding out for my perfect compliment. Is that so naive?”

“Maybe not for a man in such good standing as you. I’m sure you have suitors left and right vying for your attention, Mr. Strand,” Elena said from across the table.

“I’m afraid at the moment I am quite unadorned with neither suitors nor passing interest,” he answered her.

“I, too, am similarly afflicted,” Elena mourned with a sigh. TK thought she couldn’t have been more than seven-and-ten, quite young to be so concerned. Then again he thought perhaps the country was different than the city. The Doña was mature to be sure, but she looked much younger than he’d thought a woman with a child of more than thirty years—as had been hinted about the absent Rosa—would look. She must have been wed around Elena’s age after all.

“Oh hush, sister. Your situation is not nearly as dire as mine,” Christina said. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead in an affected swoon. “Whenever shall I leave the nest?”

“When someone who possesses such a lack of wits that it precludes them from knowing better comes to sweep you off your feet,” said Raquel. Her sister gave her a scathing look before smirking and presumably kicking her lightly under the table. The younger sister just giggled and went back to her meal.

As TK watched the family interact, lightly teasing each other good-naturedly but never outright insulting each other, he could sense the love and connection among them. Oh, how he longed for a large family such as this someday. Surrounded by his children and their love for each other that ran so deep as to assure each and every one of them that no matter what was said in jest, they were always seeded first in the minds of the rest.

Even with all the lighthearted conversation going on at table, the sole Reyes son was still silent. TK thought it odd that such a stoic, contemptible man could be born into a family of such vibrant women; he was surrounded by their vivacity every day and still he was unmoved to even smile into his potatoes at their revelry. The rest of them also seemed to sense that Mr. Reyes did not wish to partake in the lively conversation, as none of them moved to include him. The Doña glanced to her son every now and then, and TK couldn’t have said her expression looked reproachful (as he would have agreeably afforded her) but it did not look content either.

Perhaps this was not usual behavior for Mr. Reyes. If that was so, then it really was the Strands’ arrival that had put him out of sorts and TK had no recourse to remedy that at present. He and his father were here for business that must be conducted, and Mr. Reyes would just have to live with that.

The Doña had apparently noticed TK going quiet among the ruckus and subsequently had noticed his earlier gaze flickering around the family accompanied by a soft smile. It seemed as though she’d misinterpreted his attentions, however.

“Perhaps the perfect compliment is sooner encountered than you think.” She gave a very slight incline of her head, seemingly meant to indicate Christina, who was sitting to her right and had proceeded to blush so profusely TK was momentarily concerned for her health. He endeavored to be diplomatic but firm against the Doña’s clear initiative, which was impossible for anyone at the table to miss.

“Ah, your family is lovely, Doña, but I fear your son and I would need to converse at length before we could find views on which we do not differ at the moment.” It was part lighthearted joke, part barely concealed jab at Carlos, and part signal of his preferences, so as not to invite any more ideas about betrothing him to one of the daughters.

Alas, he did not miss the Doña’s sharp eye turn to her son before landing back on himself in quick succession. Given their greeting, the Doña should not rightly expect there to be any amorous feeling available between them. Her face relaxed after a moment, and she returned her gaze to the rest of the table. TK did not feel cowed, per se, but the weight of her scrutiny could still be felt upon his cheeks. He was immediately given to wonder what could be contained behind those steady brown eyes, so like her son’s.

As the conversation resumed—Christina was finally ribbing her brother for his lack of mirth this evening—yet again TK found himself studying Carlos Reyes, handsome specimen that he was. But the cut of a man’s jaw and the shine of his eyes did not a welcome companion make, in TK’s view. Sure, he’d lost himself for a moment in the man’s fluidity of movement, the low timbre of his voice, the fire in his expression. But the measure of a man is in his actions, not his appearance. A man can appear any way he wants to; it is his behavior that epitomizes his character. Carlos Reyes had shown himself to be headstrong, closed-off, and prejudiced. TK had no use for such a personality. Carlos could while and wallow away his days alone for all TK cared. He would leave here with no attachments and that would not be a hardship.

Just at that moment, the man in question met his eyes. They stared for a moment, caught in some trap of unconscious strain, seemingly bound to the attempt to find the measure of each other in a single look. When TK looked away first, he felt as if he’d lost some contest.

When he chanced a glance toward the man again, he found his gaze hadn’t wavered but was now more open than it had been since they’d met, which admittedly was not to say much.

Later that night, when Christina had shown them to their guest rooms, Owen made an observation as they dressed for bed.

“The girls are quite well-bred,” he stated, apropos of nothing. The caliber of the family had no bearing on the land, therefore it was of little interest to them in coming into this negotiation. At least, that is what TK believed. His father, it was apparent, thought differently. “And Doña Marialena is a fine head of the household. She has taught her children well.”

At this, TK scoffed.

“And her son is quite adept, don’t you agree?” Owen continued as he hung his dinner jacket away. “A good man who knows the value of family and home.”

TK could not let this statement slide. “A good man? He’s an absolute cad!”

“Oh? He was perfectly cordial during dinner. There was that snafu when we arrived, but that was cleared up quickly. I say, he’s a fine man.” TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

_______

The morning after their first night in La Hacienda Reyes, TK woke with renewed energy to be devoted to forgetting Carlos Reyes even existed.

This endeavor proved extremely difficult when upon descending the stairs to the foyer, the man in question was seemingly awaiting him, pacing across the marble floor with agitated clicks of his boots. The sight brought TK up short, and he consequently forgot that his father was just behind him, causing Owen to collide into his back and sending TK tripping down the last two steps—

Straight into Mr. Reyes’ arms. They were pressed together so tightly for a moment that TK swore he could feel the other man’s exhales as they left his nostrils, softly caressing TK’s cheek as they went. One of his hands was gripped tightly on TK’s shoulder while the other had instantly wound its way around his waist to steady him.

It took TK an inordinate amount of time to catch his breath, all the while feeling that very firm body against his. As his senses returned, he felt himself blaze with the most furious blush at the proximity, and hurried to right himself. He nearly butted his head into the other man’s nose in the process, but proceeded to stand upright without further incident. He set about straightening his waistcoat before looking up and catching Mr. Reyes’ eye almost by mistake.

The other man seemed just as red in the face as he. They held each other’s gaze for a split second longer before TK was violently reminded that the incident had not happened in private, but that the whole of the ghastly encounter was overseen by his own father.

Owen asked, much too late in TK’s opinion, “Are you alright son? I apologize for being so clumsy there,” he added in address to Mr. Reyes.

The man of the house was the first of the pair at the bottom of the stairs to regain use of his tongue. “It’s quite alright, sir. No harm done.”

“That’s true, as you were here to prevent it. Lucky, that.”

TK thought to himself that he would like to disappear from this mortal plane rather than be party to his father’s smug innuendos, especially after their conversation last night and TK’s renewed vows of thoroughly avoiding the man of this house.

Mr Reyes, however, seemed unattuned to Mr. Strand’s jabs, and simply addressed them both again cordially.

“Good morning to you both, I hope you slept well.” They replied that they had, as was proper, despite TK’s own thoughts. He wasn’t about to share that . “I’ve actually come to offer you a tour of the grounds at my mother’s behest, and also in apology for my unmitigated rudeness upon your arrival.”

TK was inclined to believe the apology was also at the Doña’s behest, if not absolutely forced. She seemed a formidable enough woman to demand decorum from her adult son.

“I understand your company is pursuing the land in the northwest quadrant of the estate. It would be my pleasure to take you there so that you can survey at your leisure.”

“So early?” Owen asked. They had not yet broke fast.

“Yes sir, in order to avoid the humidity of midday, I thought we’d ride out closer to dawn. Our cook has packed some provisions in lieu of the breakfast meal.” At this, he gestured to a medium sized basket atop a side table by the door, apparently from which the scent of bacon—as TK had just caught on the air—was emanating.

To be quite honest with himself—which he would admit much, much later was not very honest at all—TK was not at all looking forward to spending the morning with Mr. Reyes and his ridiculously dashing seat on a horse. His father being there would temper his mood, but he’d rather spend the day walking about on his own, soaking in the fresh air and solitude of the country. Or even alongside his father and the Doña, negotiating the sale of her land, as Owen had expressed his desire that TK begin immersing himself in the business and he saw no better time than now, in avoidance of any extra time spent in Mr. Reyes’ presence.

The man made him hot around the collar and jittery, and the real problem was that TK was even more angry that neither of those emotions were particularly loathsome at the moment and he could not explain to himself why.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Reyes. Unfortunately, I really must sit down with your mother and ask her about some specifics regarding the provenances, so I must decline your kind offer.” At this, he turned to TK, who was already giving him wide eyes of panic before he even opened his mouth. “TK, would you be so kind as to accompany Mr. Reyes around the property? You know the general gist of what we are looking for, and you can report back to me with what you find. I’d really appreciate your help on this, TK.”

The man was practically grinning like a fool. TK thought he might keel over right there on the marble tiles of the Reyes’ foyer.

Mr. Reyes’ face was unreadable at the moment, but TK could imagine the line of his thoughts. The two of them no more wanted to spend time with each other alone than either would want a hole in the head.

Mr. Reyes, however, was the first to recover from the abrupt change in plan, with a direct capitulation that TK could have punched him for, had he been a less tactful man. “That…would be agreeable,” he said haltingly. He turned to look at TK, who schooled his countenance into something less vile than he felt this turn of events warranted. “Would that please you, Mr. Strand?���

Would it please him? Absolutely not.

“Of course, Mr. Reyes,” he said tightly, resigned to his fate. “I look forward to seeing your lovely estate and hearing its history.”

Mr. Reyes looked almost surprised at his cordiality, and TK congratulated himself on his capability of social falsehood.

_______

Their journey was to take them from the back of the house out and around the northwest corner of the ranchland where they would stop to breakfast at a small manmade lake and then south to the orchards, through which they would find themselves back at the west side of the house. All told, Carlos informed him, the trip would take them for six miles. TK resigned himself to a morning of misery, and judging by his would-be companion’s face, he was not alone in that regard.

Their basket of provisions securely fastened to Mr. Reyes’ saddle, and both saddles securely fastened to their mares, the pair set off in silence other than Owen’s shout of farewell from the porch.

They strolled along at a leisurely pace—too slow for TK’s regard—for quite a while before either spoke. Mr. Reyes looked over to TK with a judgemental eye before saying, “Watch for snakes in the grass. Flor will not spook at them, but she will spook if you do.”

“I’m not afraid of snakes,” TK snapped, although he couldn’t rightly say he’d ever seen one up close. “Furthermore, I am high on this horse, why would I worry about something as low as a snake?”

“Rattlers can jump. They’ll have your boot off and will have half devoured your leg before you can think to turn the horse.”

TK whirled to look at him, consequently causing Flor to twist toward Mr. Reyes and Jimena, putting them much closer than TK would like after their bout that morning. He knew his face was a mask of barely concealed horror, the image Mr. Reyes’ words had conjured up no less than tremendously frightening to a city gentleman.

Mr. Reyes’ face, however, was all mirth; his cheeks were reddening in the effort of holding back his obvious laughter, which he gave up the moment TK noticed his ruse.

“That was a bold-faced lie and you are a scoundrel for it,” TK muttered, feeling teased.

“I’ll take that judgement just to see the terror on your face again,” Mr. Reyes laughed. TK was determined not to acknowledge that the man had a nice laugh, a full bodied, soft-edged one that sent warmth down to the tips of TK’s toes. TK was also determined to keep the scowl upon his face for the whole of this journey, never mind the wrinkles he was likely to develop. Curse this loathsome cowboy and his ill intentions and his shining curls and his full lips. They lapsed into silence again for another half mile.

In his endeavor to ignore his companion, TK failed to notice how he was being closely regarded by said companion. He should have been able to feel the gaze upon the side of his face like sunlight as heavy and warm as it was, but alas he remained ignorant of it in favor of the beautiful countryside.

TK began to notice little strains of wildflowers growing on the gentle swells of hills here and there, their elevations no more than four or five feet. It was like looking at someone’s floral bedding that had been disturbed in sleep and not righted in the morning; soft, loved, and lived in, a safe place to come back to at the end of the day, a warm comfort to calm the tumultuous stresses one was apt to battle in the waking hours.

“The red and orange ones that reach toward the sky are called Indian Paintbrush,” Mr. Reyes intoned softly causing TK to turn his gaze away from the flowers in a startle. It had been so quiet he’d almost forgotten his company. “There,” Mr. Reyes pointed, urging TK to return his focus to the flowers. “That line there is all paintbrush. And the purple spiked ones are Horsemint.”

“Why are they so named? Do they taste of mint?” TK wondered aloud.

“I’m…not sure. I’ve never had occasion or urge to eat one. Perhaps the name means only horses would taste the mint, but Flor and Jimena do not seem so inclined either.” His chuckle was tacked on at the end, but it didn’t feel accusatory this time. It sounded as if TK had honestly stumped him with his question and he was considering the answer in earnest, but had ultimately come up short of a correct guess.

TK focused again on the sweeping little hills as they continued to trot along. “And the pink ones? What are they called?”

“Ah, I believe those are Evening Primrose. Those are the most prominent of the wildflowers here, as I’m sure you can tell. Quite boring to look at compared to the others, but a constant nonetheless.” His tone gave TK the impression that he, too, found the fields of flowers calming. It would make sense, seeing as this was his homeland. Or…was it?

“Have you always lived here? Or did your family come into the property recently?”

“My great-grandfather purchased the land at a pretty steep discount in twenty-six, just a couple of years after the Colonization Law took effect. He came far enough north that he wouldn’t be too crowded in with the rest of his countrymen, and settled the bit to the south of us, where the house is located. He did build it, but it was not as large as it is now. It’s been expanded with both generations since, I believe.”

“Your great-grandfather came from Mexico to settle?”

“Technically, this was Mexico still when he came, since the war for Independence was not won until thirty-six. But yes, he came from Guadalajara. He thought less over cultivated land would suit better for cattle ranching, and it turns out he was right. We now have three hundred head.” His voice was proud as he recounted the story, and TK was drawn in by the clear reverence he had for his family history. He wanted to hear more, so he asked after how the estate came to be so large.

“My grandfather negotiated the rest of the land from the tribes settled here at the time, which admittedly were so few in number that the endeavor was swift. He offered them fifty head and a handsome cash sum as well, and the deal was struck in accord. The tribe moved north to the central territories and are still there today I believe. We’ve had a few high ranking members as visitors in my youth, and they were always amiable and welcome.”

Mr. Reyes’ soft smile had drawn TK’s attention again and this time he let himself look. The man practically glowed as he talked of his heritage, his family, and it was rather intoxicating. TK wanted to ask after more, but it seemed they’d reach the aforementioned lake that they were to stop and break their fast beside. He allowed Flor to carry them to a stop at a suitable spot and dismounted, again allowing himself to watch as Mr. Reyes did the same. He was taken in by the same fluidity and grace as he had been the day previous, before their awful actual meeting.

TK was finding it hard to remember Mr. Reyes being crass yesterday, no matter how hard he tried.

In tandem, they  spread out an extra saddle blanket in the grass, still slightly damp from the morning dew. Their provisions were divvied up and tea was poured into metal cups, and TK was just about to take his first sip when Mr. Reyes spoke, and his tone bade TK listen carefully.

“Mr. Strand—“

Without rightfully thinking about it, TK interrupted him with, “Please, you should call me TK. Well, my name is Tyler, but only my father calls me that. Friends call me TK.”

Mr. Reyes looked taken aback for a moment, possibly at the implication of friends , but TK kept his face impassive. He’d not have them making a mountain out of a grain of sand such as a name. They were to be business acquaintances anyway, and they should address each other as such. All of Owen’s partners called him by his first name, so TK took a page from his book by extending the offer. It would help keep his mind firmly on their business relationship.

It absolutely was not so he could hear his name, both sharp consonants of it, softened in Mr. Reyes’ steady timbre.

“TK,” he corrected, and the named man swallowed a sigh at being proven right about the sound of it coming off those lips. “I would like to—that is, I am committed to—well, what I would like to say is—“ he halted, frowning down at an apple clutched in his own hand. He set the apple aside, and turned to TK directly.

“TK, I mean to sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was rude and judgmental without cause, and I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me that transgression, as I do hope we are able to work together seamlessly in this partnership.”

It seemed sincere, TK thought. The man’s eyes were fervent and his face was open in a way it hadn’t been since the Strands had arrived. For a moment, TK was lost in those eyes that reflected the climbing sunrise off the water of the small lake like Mr. Reyes was radiating the warmth of goodwill through his very irises. His eyes were soft, inviting, shining with their earnestness. It was a long moment before he spoke, which Mr. Reyes seemed to take as reservation but was in fact TK pure preoccupation with studying the man’s face at the most inappropriate of times.

“I do hope I haven’t ruined things between my family and yours,” Mr. Reyes went on. “It’s just that I—well I’m quite attached to my home here and my pride is tied up in what my forefathers accomplished.”

“To see it broken up and sold off is to admit defeat that this generation could not hold the line,” TK finished for him, and his eyes grew wide.

“Yes, precisely.”

“I have misgivings about that kind of thing also. My father built such a tremendous enterprise—nothing like the Vanderbilts of course, but sprawling in reach nonetheless. I…find myself at times overwhelmed with the prospect of taking it on alone.” It must have been the country air, the absence of all human life for a few miles, and the still burgeoning sunrise combined that made his tongue so loose with such intimate thoughts. Surely he was losing control of his faculties if he was given to sharing his heart in this way, TK mused.

Even so, Mr. Reyes’ face had not closed off yet; it remained open and inviting to those thoughts and perhaps welling up with some of his own to share, now that the barrier had lost a few bricks and they could see each other over their respective sides of the wall they’d built over the previous day and evening.

“But, you won’t do it alone, will you? You cannot inherit until you marry, by law,” Mr. Reyes reminded him. Those deep brown eyes were on him again, somehow more liquid than before. TK must be imagining things now. He blinked the line of thought away.

“Yes, that’s true. But who’s to say I’ll marry a man who wants to be involved in the railroad business? My true love may be a man of the arts, constantly shut away in his studio creating pieces to adorn our home and teaching our children to appreciate the craft of them. Or he may be a man strongly devoted to politics and spend months away from home campaigning for the betterment of the American people. Or he may prefer the country life to the city, and I must remain in the city for the business for the bulk of the year. So you see, I may yet end up running the business alone, even if my life will not be spent in solitude. If I marry for love, I’ll be glad of that connection regardless if I get help with the business. Help is not what I’ll be marrying; it will be companionship outside of worldly endeavors that will make it worthwhile.” The picture he’d painted for himself inside his head was content, and he noticed he’d closed his eyes for a moment while he’d intimated the details to Mr. Reyes.

When he opened his eyes and refocused on his company, he saw Mr. Reyes duck his head slightly, a faint blush high on his tanned cheekbones. TK wondered if the other man was embarrassed of the intimate turn their conversation had taken, and hurried to move them to more casual topics.

“I do apologize, Mr. Reyes, I did not mean to be overly familiar with you. God above, it must be the early hour that has me as yet unable to master all my faculties.”

“No, please, do not apologize. I simply—that is—I do…admire your candor and conviction. Marrying for love is not rare, but it is not the standard. To be so assured of your path in life is enviable. I admit I haven’t given much thought to it myself.”

“You don’t think of who you’ll marry?” TK asked. He’d thought of nothing else since he was a boy.

At this, Mr. Reyes’ eyes turned down for a moment, a cloud of something passing over his features before the sun shone through his expression again. “Not in the sense you’ve described, no. I supposed I always knew I would marry, because I knew I would not inherit the estate—though I do envy Rosa a bit—but I’ve never imagined what kind of man I would spend my life with. I always assumed I’d know who he was when he came along.”

Their eyes met and for a moment not even the crickets or birds or any other constantly buzzing creature could be heard. TK was the first to break it, albeit in a slightly hushed tone.

“And he hasn’t come along yet?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Mr. Reyes answered. He looked disinclined to elaborate. They gazed at each other a moment longer before Mr. Reyes broke the contact and gestured to their spread. “We should partake of Mrs. Smith’s generous meal. It seems she packed for much more than three this morning,” he laughed, and it only sounded a little forced. “I assure you, the fresh bacon cooked in rosemary will change your perspective on life the moment it hits your tongue.”

TK took the change in subject gracefully, also keen to step back from the precipice they’d found themselves on much too early in their acquaintance, truth be told. They’d forgotten themselves but no harm had been done, and they could go on as intended—as short-term business collaborators only.

_______

They rode the rest of the way around the western perimeter as the sun reached higher in the sky, Mr. Reyes pointing out landmarks here and there. Ostensibly this outing was for TK to survey the land for it’s viability for their project, and he was doing so, but he was also enamored with Mr. Reyes’ ability to guide them along with enthusiasm and grace. It was very clear the man loved his home and was deeply proud of it, and TK was entranced when he talked.

By the time they reached the apple orchard, TK had stopped deluding himself that he wasn’t fond of Mr. Reyes. He’d had his misgivings from the beginning, and for good reason, but there was a good man underneath the initial prickliness. Mr. Reyes could be likened to a cat protecting its young. Docile for the most part until his family was threatened, and TK could see where he’d felt that way initially. Mr. Reyes had come around quickly though and TK was not sure how much of that was due to his mother’s insistence and how much was just their conversation on this journey around the property in the early morning light.

“It smells so heavenly here,” TK mused aloud as the horses picked their way between the lines of trees. To be able to be abreast of each other to properly hold a conversation, the horses were so close that occasionally TK’s knee or thigh brushed against Mr. Reyes’. It startled him each time, even though he’d come to expect it. He supposed it startled his body but not his mind, which was a disconcerting feeling indeed, but not altogether unpleasant.

“They are called Gala apples. They thrive quite well here in the moderate rain. Would you like to try one?” Mr. Reyes asked. TK nodded with a small smile, and watched as Mr. Reyes dismounted Jimena and left her untethered. He turned back to TK and held out his hand. “Come along, it tastes better if you fetch it from the tree yourself,” he teased.

TK stared at the outstretched hand before taking it and dismounting gracefully, coming familiarly close to Mr. Reyes for the second time that day. This time, only their hands were touching as opposed to their whole bodies—as they had been on the stairs that morning—but it felt almost more intimate. TK noticed that they’d paused to regard one another again as they had multiple times on this journey. However, as they had done each time, they broke their gazes and their contact and went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. The only problem was that each time it happened—and this incident more than all he rest—set his heart aflutter in such a way as to distract from all else in the moment. It took him increasingly longer to come back to himself each time.

He watched as Mr. Reyes took a wooden-runged ladder from a pile on the ground and set it against the trunk of the nearest tree. Deftly, he climbed a few feet, reached up, and plucked a ripe bit of fruit from one of the lower branches before coming down off the ladder assuredly, his steps practiced as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Perhaps he had.

TK held his hand out for the fruit, but Mr. Reyes pulled it back and away. “Ah, ah. This one is mine. I told you, it tastes better if you fetch it yourself. I set your example, now it’s your turn,” he said, spitefully taking bite out of his prize, then using it to gesture to the ladder.

Unfettered by Mr. Reyes’ teasing, TK was determined to show that he could keep up with his companion’s prowess. He approached the ladder, assessing it for any weak points before tentatively stepping onto the first rung. It bowed gently under his weight, and he paused a moment to gather himself.

He felt a hand upon his hip and froze for a moment, feeling distinctly untethered. Looking down, TK saw Mr. Reyes’ earnest eyes on him, one hand steadying TK on the ladder and the other still casually consuming his fruit. He gave TK a reassuring smile and nodded in the direction of the tree, encouraging.

The climb to the correct height took TK a bit longer than it had the cowboy who was used to such endeavors, but he managed. He plucked a juicy-looking specimen from a close branch before carefully climbing down, deliberately placing each footfall for optimum support from the wooden rungs below him. It was slow and arduous, but he accomplished it.

Once landed on the ground, he held up his spoil triumphantly. Mr. Reyes smiled.

“And now, Mr. City Gentleman, you have farmed apples!” He declared.

TK bit his lip for a half-second before being unable to hold back his mirthful laughter. His eyes crinkled and his cheeks ached with it, and it felt so good that he didn’t notice his companion was gazing at him once more, admiration and awe in his expression. When his laughter came down to a more manageable level a few seconds later, they were caught in each other once again, as they had been many times that day. TK’s smile was still spread across his face and he looked up through his lashes at Mr. Reyes to see a serenity over his countenance that had yet to be shown since they’d known each other.

It was beautiful.

Just as quickly as the moment had began, it passed, with Mr. Reyes fingering his collar away from his neck in what seemed like a nervous gesture. “The heat is beginning to get oppressive,” he offered in explanation, though said heat was not yet unbearable in the slightest. “We should retreat to the safety of the house.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I wonder if our parents have concluded their negotiations for the day. I’d like to convene with my father to let him know what I’ve seen.”

“Of course, well. Shall we?” Mr. Reyes gestured down the path between the trees, Jimena’s reins held loosely in his hand as he led her on foot. TK grabbed Flor’s lead and followed in quiet contemplation. He realized his manners had slipped.

“Thank you, Mr. Reyes, for this tour. It was enlightening, as well as a pleasant diversion.”

“You are most welcome. And please, call me Carlos. After all, we are to be friends, as you put it.” His smile was radiant.

“Carlos,” TK tried out the name on his tongue with a nod. It tasted like the smoothest brandy, and TK felt like he was already drunk off of one sip.

“I wanted to reiterate my apology, to make sure it is clear. I judged you and your father before I allowed you to state your intentions. Your plans for the land, so far as you’ve told me, will not impact our operation negatively and I get the distinct feeling it is your mission to keep things that way as you work your way across the country. So I thank you for your discretion, and I once again humbly ask you to forgive my behavior yesterday.”

“It is already forgiven!” TK tells him, wanting to put any and all ill will behind them after such a glorious morning. “Do not worry over it any longer. Let us be friends from this day forth.”

Carlos smiled so wide it momentarily arrested TK’s heart.

They reached the house in due course to find Elena on the porch frantically waving a piece of paper in her delicate hands. They tethered the horses to the post off the side of the house and approached. The girl looked as if she could barely form words through her excitement.

“Carlos!” She cried as they ascended the steps and removed their hats. “Guess who’s coming to the ball tomorrow night!”

“I’m sure you will tell me without me having to guess,” her brother teased good-naturedly, sharing a conspiratorial smile with TK as they passed into the foyer.

“Mr. de Castillo,” Elena said, giving the name a weight that surely meant something, but which TK could not discern. He’d never heard the name before, but then again he did not know the upper class set of this region well enough to know their names and statuses that might warrant such excitement.

When TK turned to face Carlos, he wondered what Elena could find so appealing that her brother seemed to find mildly horrifying, judging by his expression. His eyes cut to TK and they almost looked…guilty.

Elena went on, oblivious to her brother’s distress. “His letter is posted from Santa Fe nearly two weeks ago, and he says he should arrive just in time to dress and attend. Isn’t that marvelous news, Carlos? He hasn’t come east since the fall. Oh how we’ve all missed him.” She put emphasis on certain parts of her sentence that didn’t entirely make sense to TK, but he could feel a growing lump in the pit of his stomach as he watched Carlos’ face drain of color slightly.

“He sounds like a character who’s good to know, if his presence at a dance excites you this much,” he offered to Elena to try and ease the focus off of Carlos, for he seemed unable to speak at that moment.

“Oh, it’s not me he excites,” Elena said, cutting her eyes to TK’s right, smirking but saying nothing more. TK did not turn to look at Carlos again, because that lump in his stomach was getting heavier the more Elena talked and he was not rightfully sure he could put a name to it just yet. Looking at Carlos’ guilty face was surely to spell it out quicker than he’d like. He halted his train of thought and plowed on.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this esteemed Mr. de Castillo. You said he’s not come east—do you mean to say he is from the west coast?”

“Yes, San Fransisco! His father rushed there in forty-nine and made quite the coup. They’re able to give the Rockefellers a run for their money, I’d wager,” she said. “And he’s so handsome as well.”

That bit tacked on at the end was again delivered with a weighted look at Carlos which TK again ignored.

He was saved from replying to Elena’s last comment by his father and the Doña appearing in the foyer.

“What’s got everyone in a fuss?” Owen asked.

“Mr. Fernando de Castillo is coming to the ball tomorrow night!” Elena exclaimed, elated to share her momentous news with anyone who would listen.

“De Castillo…” Owen pondered, “Is that Isador de Castillo’s boy? Of San Fransisco?”

“Yes, the very same. Mr. de Castillo the younger visits us quite often, as he’s got business back east with his company and likes to stop for a week or so on his way through. We’ve all grown quite fond of him, especially Car—“

“That’s quite enough, Elena. The Mr.’s Strand are not interested in country gossip. Run along and find Constance to start your lessons. Your sisters are already studying while you’ve been flitting about.” The Doña’s voice was firm and clearly dismissive. She glanced at her son and TK in turn, before turning her attention back to Owen. “Mr. Strand, might we all go into the drawing room for tea? Our sons can regale us of their journey around the property.”

Owen’s smile was wide and eager as he looked to the two young men. “Of course, I cannot wait to hear your thoughts on the land, TK. The Doña and I will also impart to you what we’ve agreed upon thus far, though there are still the finer details to work out.”

Carlos immediately followed Owen into the room off the left side of the foyer, barely sparing TK a glance in contrast to all their lingering looks throughout the morning. That, combined with Elena’s cryptic words regarding their future guest, unsettled TK more than he would have liked. Still, he was determined to soldier on in his mission to become good friends and business partners with Carlos and the rest of the Reyes’, and he’d not let a silly thing like a matter of the heart—which may not even exist—get in his way.

[walkerwords]

“The Bowman’s Sister” Part 2 of 4 - Daryl x Sister!Reader

GIF CREDIT: https://gfycat.com/queasycourageouskookaburra

PART I PART III PART IV

Word Count: 3194

Daryl Dixon & Sister!Reader (Rick x Reader in future)

Warning: none

Song I Wrote To: “Silhouettes” by Of Monsters And Men

Summary: After being reunited with your brother, Daryl, you try to adapt to the prison life by talking to Carl, going on a run, and getting to know some of your new fellow survivors. 

Note: Yeah, that summary is shit, but this is the continuation of part one. Not sure how long this will be, but I wanna see what where I can go with it. I won’t be uploading on any schedule as of right now, but I’ll let ya know if i do.

------

That night you lay awake, your eyes on the ceiling.

You had convinced Daryl to retake his bed as you took the top bunk. He had offered to find you a cell of your own, but you had decided to stay with him as long as he would have you. You weren’t ready to sleep alone again.

Below you, you could hear your brother’s snores. He had crawled into his bed only an hour ago as he switched his watch shift with Sasha. Apparently, they needed more security due to a threat that was not exactly gone. Michonne had told you about the Governor and Woodbury. You had heard of the town in passing but never ventured there yourself. It seemed too good to be true and apparently it was.

You learned that one of their people, Andrea, had died there and then Daryl was the one to tell you that the Governor was the one to kill your big brother. However, it was Maggie who later told you that Daryl was the one to put him down the second time and that nearly broke you. You and Merle were supposed to be the older siblings, the ones that looked out for Daryl, and yet here was looking after the both of you.

Slipping your hand under your pillow, you pulled out the knife Daryl had given to you earlier that day. He also gave you new bullets for your gun. You kept your pistol with your bow and quiver down below, but the knife was never far from your reach. 

The problem was, you weren’t sure if you trusted these people. 

There was no denying that you loved your brother and that Rick seemed to be different than you first thought, but the welcoming demeanor was still a bit of a shell shock and it would take some time. Something about the prison reminded you of the old apartment building you used to live in when you and Carter first got together. Merle had said that it also reminded him of being on the inside. 

Thinking of Merle put a heaviness on your heart. You didn’t want all the gory details, but you needed to know what had happened. A part of you needed to go find the man that did this to you and your brother. You were gathering, however, that Merle was not exactly a welcome addition to the group when your brothers had met up with the rest of them in Atlanta.

You understood that. Merle Dixon was a tough asshole to get along with. He even bashed on Daryl when he got the chance, but he had always had a soft spot for you and you also knew he took the brunt of the beatings your father dished out. There wasn’t even a grave you could visit, but then again, Carter and Hannah didn’t have graves either. 

Carefully, so as to not wake Daryl, you slid off the bed and lightly landed on the stone floor. You froze, waiting for him to wake up, but he remained asleep, his arm thrown over his stomach as he slept off his long day. Grabbing your bow and quiver, you stepped out of your cell and into the main block. Snores echoed around you as you slowly made your way to the main door, needing to be out of the cramped building. 

As soon as the night air and the sounds of the Dead at the fence met your ears it was oddly comforting. Taking a deep breath, you moved through the courtyard, keeping your eyes on the Walkers. The word these people used for the Dead was slowly growing on you. 

You made your way through the first gate and over to one of the empty watchtowers. Sasha was in the tower to your left, but you ignored her obvious glances and climbed the stairs. As soon as you exited onto the platform, it was as if you could finally breathe. Of course, you were happy to be with Daryl and safe behind fences, but the cell had been near suffocating. Even with the Walkers and the Living out to get you, you had to admit that you felt better outside. 

Leaning next to the railing, you crossed one foot over the other and listened to the world. Your mind kept wandering to how the world used to be. It was the simple things you thought of: the sounds of kids after school as they played at parks or on their bikes; the ambient noise of a TV being left on in the background of the house; even the occasional roar of a plane in the sky above. 

The night was now clear and full of stars. Without all the light pollution, it was as if you were looking at a different sky. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” You turned to see Carl exiting the tower behind you, his hat slightly askew. 

“It’s fine, I didn’t think anyone would be up here,” you said, relaxing again. 

“Yeah, we usually have at least two people on watch at a time.” 

“Because of the Governor?” you asked. Carl nodded, joining you at the railing. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and to make sure the fences hold.” You nodded, fiddling with a ribbon that was tied around your left wrist. When you noticed Carl staring at the movement, you tugged your sleeve back down. Carl was quiet for a moment before turning to you again. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Just not used to being...secure, I guess,” you admitted. 

“I get that,” Carl said. “This is the first place we’ve found that has been this safe. We were at a farm for a while, but it got overrun. We lost people there...and here.”

“I’m sorry,” you said and you were. It was never easy losing people, especially at his age. “Your mom?” you asked, noticing nobody had claimed themselves to be Judith’s mother. 

“She died when Judith was born. I had to put her down a second time.” Jesus, you said to yourself. You reached out carefully and squeezed his shoulder. 

“That’s rough,” you told him. “My mom died when I was around your age too.” 

“I know,” Carl said, “Daryl told me about the fire.” There was a touch of a smile on your face as you thought of that. Daryl telling the young boy of your mother to comfort him was nice to hear. It was a very Daryl thing to do.

“Hey,” you said, looking at him in the darkness, “you still have your dad and sister, right? And from what I can tell, the people here care about you. Don’t forget you still have family, okay?” Carl gave you a small smile of his own. 

“Why are you up here?” he asked. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said with a shrug. 

“Me neither” he admitted. You thought for a moment before pulling your quiver off your back and digging the glue and extra fletching from the small pocket on the side. 

“Well, do you wanna learn to fletch some arrows?” you offered. You waved one of your projectiles at him before a smile spread across his face.

“Definitely,” he said. You nodded to sit down next to you against the tower wall and together you got to work on fixing and fletching some more arrows for you. You would need to fashion some more bolts for Daryl as well. As Carl carefully worked next to you, you assisted in whatever he was having trouble with, but the kid caught on quick. 

As the night wore on, fatigue finally caught up, and slowly, you drifted off to sleep with the kid next to you, already passed out on his own.  

------

The next morning you were down by the fences.

You worked with Beth, killing the Walkers that pressed against the fence. Using the end of a sharpened broom, you easily sunk the wood into the decaying flesh and if you were being honest with yourself, it was oddly therapeutic.

You kept thinking back to the conversation you had had with the younger Grimes the night before. It was one of the nicest conversations you had had since the world had ended. Just two people watching the stars and listening to one another. You were hoping for that to happen again and maybe even with someone over the age of sixteen.

Beth was getting tired so you gestured back up to the cell block to grab something to eat. She agreed and the two of you started to head back. As you stepped into the thick grass of the field, a familiar sound echoed through the air. The Walkers groaned louder as the rumble of a motorcycle split the air. 

Merle’s motorcycle. 

A grin spread across your face as Daryl rode out towards the front gate. Rick was waiting for him with Glenn, both armed and ready to head out. “Beth, I’ll meet up with you in a bit, okay?” 

“Okay,” she said, touching your arm briefly before heading to find her sister. You approached the three men, your hands slipping into your pockets. 

“Going out?” you asked, stopping next to your brother. He nodded. 

“We need medicine and some more clothes for the little one,” Daryl explained, not looking at you. 

“Great, let me grab my stuff and I’ll come with,” you said, already knowing what he was going to say. 

“Yer stayin’ here,” he told you, his blue eyes locking with yours finally. 

“Why’s that? Ya’ll got a rule against women going on runs?” you asked, even though you knew Michonne had gone out just yesterday for a few hours on her horse. 

“Ya just got here, (Y/N),” Daryl said, “take some time to rest.” You looked at Rick and Glenn, gauging their faces. 

“We could use another set of eyes,” Glenn offered and you gestured to Glenn expectantly. 

“Daryl,” Rick said, gaining the other man’s attention. “We’ll keep an eye on her. Besides, you were the one who told me she was a good shot.” You raised a brow at that. Daryl chewed on the inside of his cheek for second before nodding. 

“Fine,” he conceded, “grab yer bow.” 

------

You clutched at Daryl’s waist as he roared down the road. 

It had been a while since you had been on a bike, this one in particular. The feel of the bike was familiar and it made you smile as you leaned your head on Daryl’s shoulder, watching the forest pass by in a green blur. Rick and Glenn followed in a car as Daryl led them towards a strip mall not too far from the prison. You would be back before dark. 

You passed Walkers on the road, some barely able to move as they were missing limbs and baking in the Georgia sun. You kept your head ducked behind Daryl’s back to block the wind as he sped through the dilapidated roads, careful to dodge any debris on the road ahead.

Another ten or so miles and he slowed, turning into the mall. You climbed off the bike as he put down the kickstand and stretched out your legs and back causing Daryl to chuckle. “Shut up, it’s been a while,” you defended. Daryl raised his hands in surrender and picked up his crossbow, loading a bolt.

Rick and Glenn joined you both as you surveyed the buildings before you. “Drug store is there,” Glenn pointed to a building with thick bars on the windows. “No guarantee anything will be left, but we’re running low and the Doc is gonna need them when it gets colder out.” 

“(Y/N),” Rick said, gaining your attention, “what did you do before the Turn?” Daryl snorted and you smacked his shoulder.

“I was a psychiatrist, specifically for veterans,” you explained. 

“She was a shrink,” Daryl corrected and you responded with a roll of your eyes. 

“You didn’t seem to mind when you stole my prescription pad,” you pointed out. 

“That was Merle, dumbass,” he scoffed as he headed to the car to grab some bags they had taken to fill. 

“So you know meds?” Glenn asked. “We have a few from the Doc to look for, but we don’t take him out of the prison just in case.” Glenn handed you a small list that Caleb, or Doctor S, had written for them.

“I know some of these,” you nodded. “Want me to take the pharmacy?” you asked, jabbing your thumb towards the drug store. 

“Sound good to me,” Glenn agreed. 

“Good,” Daryl said, tossing you a bag. “Let’s go.” You held your tongue about not needing a babysitter and saluted to the other men and followed Daryl. While Rick and Glenn scavenged for clothes and any other food they could find, Daryl broke the lock on the door of the drug store. 

Daryl went in first, his bow up and sweeping the aisles. You followed close by, watching his back. As you turned towards the final aisle in the small store, a Walker reached out and grabbed at Daryl’s boot. He wasted no time in shooting it through the eye.

Retrieving the bolt, he reloaded it and took another look around before nodding to you. “Seems clear, don’t drop yer guard,” he warned. 

“Yes, Sir,” you sassed and pushed past him. You scanned the many shelves, tossing things in your bag as you went. Daryl wasn’t far behind you and every time you looked at him, he quickly glanced away as if he had been staring at you, observing your every movement. 

Ducking into another aisle, you began grabbing up all the rubbing alcohol and bandages you could get, trying to keep out of his gaze. When a Walker, nearly just bones, grabbed your foot from under a collapsed shelf, your boot connected with its skull. The creature dropped immediately and you shook off the brain matter that stuck to the leather. 

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked, coming around the corner. 

“I’m fine, Daryl,” you said, stepping over the corpse and heading for the pharmacy at the back. Daryl wasn’t far behind, his own bag nearly half full already. You hopped up onto the counter and knocked against the metal cage a few times and listened. When nothing came for you, you dropped to the ground and started making your way through the inventory, searching for everything on Doc’s list.

Daryl grabbed up more bandages and even found a new pair of crutches for Herschel if he needed them. You continued through the pharmacy, but when you once again found Daryl watching you, you out down the bottle of pills you had been holding and faced him. “What is it, Daryl?” you asked. 

“Nothin’,” he mumbled, dropping his head. 

“Don’t ‘nothin’ me,” you said, reading him like a book. “What’s wrong? You still pissed I came with you guys?”

“Nah, that’s not it,” he said, looking at you again. You waited. Daryl sighed, hiking up his bow on his shoulder. “Yer too calm,” he said. “Yer whole family is gone and yer actin’ like nothin’ happened.” 

“Not all my family,” you reminded him. Daryl set his jaw. You stepped closer to him. “Daryl, I’m doing everything to keep it together right now,” you told him. “You think it’s easy for me to get up every morning with her face still in my mind? You think that I don’t hear her screams every time I go to bed or see Carter’s blood on my hands every time I kill a Walker? I see them and feel them every damn day, but I don’t have the luxury to wallow and break down. If I sit and cry and don’t keep goin’, I’ll die and then their deaths mean nothing.”

“I know,” he whispered. 

“You know what the last thing Car said to me? He told me to go find my brothers,” you said, taking his hand. “Carter never thought for a moment that you two jackasses died and that is what kept me goin’. That is what is keepin’ me calm.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Daryl admitted, squeezing your hand tighter. 

“But ya have,” you reminded him. “Carl told me about the people you’ve lost. He told me about Sophia.” 

“She wasn’t mine,” Daryl told you. 

“But she was innocent and you cared enough to look for her all that time. She was just a child, too, Daryl.”

“Are ya gonna tell me it wasn’t my fault?” he asked. 

“Nah, you already know it’s not.” You leaned forward and kissed his forehead just as you used to when you were younger. “You reek,” you said, scrunching your nose. 

“Welcome to the end of the world, sweetheart.”

------

The two of you, after filling your bags, met up with Glenn and Rick. 

Glenn was on his back in the parking lot, pushing a Walker off of him as Rick stabbed it through the head. He grimaced as Rick helped him up. “Why am I always the one to get tackled?” Glenn asked, picking off pieces of Walker from his shirt. 

“Cause ya never shut up,” Daryl said as you two approached. 

“Hilarious,” Glenn shot back. “How’d you do?” Glenn asked you. 

“Got what we needed,” you confirmed. “You?’ 

“We got enough for now,” Rick said, raising the bag he had with him. “Gonna need to get some fresh meat soon, though,” he said looking at Daryl. You turned to your brother, surprised. 

“You hunt for them?” you asked. Daryl shrugged. 

“Someone has to,” he muttered. You rolled your eyes at his modesty. 

“Well don’t expect me to do any huntin’,” you said starting to load up the duffel bags. “I didn’t get the mountain man gene.”

“I don’t remember ya being this annoyin’,” Daryl said with a small smile. You shoved him lightly. You turned to look at Rick and Glenn. 

“How have ya’ll put up with him for this long?” 

“He’s like a stray dog,” Glenn joked, “Just kind of kept following us until we decided to keep him.”

“Keep laughin’, Rhee,” Daryl said. Glenn grinned at him and Daryl rolled his eyes, climbing onto his bike. Glenn went to get in the car and Rick grabbed the other bag from you. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly to Rick. He looked at you in confusion. 

“For what?” 

“For keepin’ an eye on him. Looks like you’ve gotten pretty close,” You said, looking at Daryl as he checked his bike. Rick placed his hand on your shoulder. 

“He’s saved my ass a few times too. We’re alive because of him,” Rick admitted. You looked up at him and into those blue eyes that had seen some brutal thing and saw the truth. Rick and Daryl had become brothers and it made your heart swell. 

“Thanks,” you whispered and patted his hand before joining Daryl on the back of the bike. “Any chance I can convince you to let me drive?” you asked, peering over his shoulder. Daryl snorted. 

“Sorry, only mountain men get to drive,” he said and you rolled your eyes. 

“Very funny.” 

[alovesongshewrote]

Swords and Stab Wounds | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You had moved to Arcadia to avoid participating in world ending cataclysms, but fate had something else in mind.  Now you’re helping stop the Eternal Night in some unconventional ways.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x StronglyHintedtobeaDemigodorOtherMagicalCreature!Gender Neutral!Reader]

Word Count:  2,364 approx.

Warnings:  Stabbing, minor mentions of blood, a wee bit of angst, swearing, Archie doesn’t like you (it’s because of the stabbing,)

masterlist

This wasn’t happening.

Nope, nope, nopenopenopenopenopenopenopenope, not today.

You were not okay with this, so you had elected to ignore it.  But that never works, does it?

So, now you were face to face with a great monster beyond comprehension.  The sky was orange, monsters and men were fighting everywhere, and some lady in golden armor was pretty clearly trying to take over the world.  And you had moved to Arcadia to avoid this kind of thing.

You sighed.  This demonic creature of sin wouldn’t wait for you to process everything that had happened today.  It was time for action.  You looked around for something to defend yourself with. There wasn’t much.  Just a few sticks and a fast-food cup.  You wished you had a sword.  Any sword.  There were no swords.  You turned back to the awful horrible abomination advanced above the human mind.  It was advancing.  That wasn’t good.

Before you could decide whether to run, fight, or give up, a boy emerged from absolutely nowhere and struck the thing with a guitar, killing it instantly.  This did not phase you, stranger things have, in fact, happened.

“You alright darling?”

Oh shit, he was talking to you.  And he had an accent.  Nice.

“Uh, yeah, I’m good,”

The boy gave you a thumbs up and ran back into the fray.  You should’ve probably gotten in there too, but also nyeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, no thank you.

As if it had heard your hesitation, the universe decided to make this worse for everyone involved and blow up some various objects.  You couldn’t tell what it was, you just saw fire and smoke.  And then you heard the screams.  As done with war and fighting as you were, you couldn’t stand by and let innocent people suffer.

It was time to go find a sword.

--

Finding a sword was not as hard as it sounded.  There were a lot of them lying on the ground, just none in the spot where you’d been attacked.  T’was inconvenient.  As you fought, you realized that these were probably weapons of the deceased.  You could mourn later, now was the time to- DUCK.

You maneuvered around one of the regular bad monsters (not the colossal tower of pure malice that you’d been saved from earlier,) finding an opening and striking.  Fighting came to you as easy as breathing.  Since you were a child you’d been fighting.  Fighting for your family, your friends, your home.  And now you were fighting again, for the innocent.  When would the forces of evil take a nap?

‘Probably never,’ you thought as you slid under a sword, turning on your knees to slice the back of the creature’s knees.  

Maybe it’s good that some things never change.  Evil always wants to fight, and knees are always a weak point.

You stood, taking a deep breath as you looked at the carnage around you.  Most of it was actually caused by you.  You were very good with a sword.

“Woah,” a voice came from behind you.  You spun around, pointing the tip of your blade at the new opponent, but instead of another rock-thing, you found the boy who had saved you earlier.

You lowered your blade, “Hey,”

The boy walked towards you, taking in the field of rock at your feet, “This is-”

“Different?”

“Nuclear!  Maybe you didn’t need my help after all,”

“Oh, no, I totally did.  I had no weapon and no hope,”

The boy seemed taken aback by your words.  Arcadians probably weren’t this blunt, at least under normal circumstances.  You weren’t sure, you had only lived here a week.

“Alright then, do you-”

“DOUXIE, LOOK OUT!!”  a voice called.  You had no idea where it came from, but you didn’t care.  A monster had appeared behind the boy, and it was ready to strike.  You had five seconds to do something.

And in those five seconds, you did what anyone else would do and you ran them both through with your sword.  It was super effective.

The boy cried out in pain, because, you know, he’d just been stabbed, and the monster crumbled to stone behind him.  Good.  Now all that was left was to take care of the boy.

You withdrew your sword from his abdomen, earning a groan of pain, “You-you stabbed me,”

“Yes, you’re very observant, now let me see it,”

You put your weapon on the ground, not super jazzed about his blood coating the blade.  Oh well, sometimes sacrifices must be made.

You helped the boy lie on the ground and moved your hands above his wound.  You were ready to go, but then a dragon attacked you.

It wasn’t a big dragon.  In fact, it was about the size of a cat.  However, size doesn't really matter when it comes to damage dealt, and this cat-dragon was dealing a lot of damage.

“What the fu-”

“STAY AWAY FROM HIM,”  Oh, so this was an angry cat-dragon.  Probably the boy’s.

“Okay, dude, calm down, I can’t help if you don’t let me,”

“You’ve helped enough!”  Cat-dragon was still not pleased with you.  And was still attacking, so you moved your hands, stopping the creature in mid-air, grabbing it from where it flew.

“Okay, look,”  you sighed,  “I am sorry I stabbed your friend, but if you don’t let me heal him, he will die,”

“Ughhh, thanks for that,”  you wondered if the boy was always this funny, or if it was just the stab wound talking.

The cat-dragon fixed you with a terrifying glare, one that would have turned you to stone if you didn’t have work to do, “I will let you help him, but if you try anything you’ll be burned to a crisp before your body hits the ground,”

It was an impressive threat, especially from such a small creature.  

“Don’t worry,” you said, setting the cat-dragon down, “I won’t hurt him anymore,”

The cat-dragon then turned into an actual cat, curling up next to the boy’s head.  It was then you realized that the creature was wearing some really nice glasses.  You had several questions but now was not the time.

Wasting no more time, you shut your eyes and took a deep breath.  Silently, you placed your hands upon the boy’s stab wound, wincing slightly at the feeling of his blood covering your skin.  You felt bad about it.  There were probably better ways to kill that monster, but you couldn’t focus on that right now.  You had to focus.

And so you did.  And the magic flowed through you.  It was soft and warm, and bright.  You relaxed, letting the spell numb you, calming your nerves, and mending your broken skin.  It felt like a soft fire, lighting your soul ablaze, and taking everything else with it.  And then you felt numb.  The magic was burning through you, and burning out.  Exhaustion began to claw at you, but you bit your lip and persisted.  You were nowhere near finished.

Now it was the boy's turn.  Raising your hands, you let the spell drip from you and onto him.  Hopefully, the magic had taken enough energy from you to spare him from the numb fatigue that tore into you.  God knows you’d already caused him enough pain.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the magic to heal him.  A few minutes went by and his breathing returned to normal.  He would be okay.

And with your positive diagnosis, you let the spell go, releasing the energy into the universe and knocking you over.  You elected to remain on the ground, groaning.  You could hear the cat-dragon-cat talking to the boy.  You should probably say something too.

 “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for that,”

You waited for a moment.  Something else blew up nearby, but you needed a minute before you had the energy to care about it.

“I’m sorry I stabbed you.  I really couldn’t think of another way,”

“Why not let the troll attack me, and if I got hurt you could heal me then?”

“I couldn’t know how bad it would hurt you.  I don’t know very much about what’s going on here.  But I do know that I can heal a stab wound.  A… what did you say troll?  A troll attack I don’t know if I could manage,”

“That’s… fair?”

“Thanks,” you nodded, even though he probably couldn’t see you.  There was more silence, another explosion.  You really wanted a nap.

“So, your cat-dragon talks?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s a shapeshifter, actually.  My familiar,”

“Dope,”

“My name is Archie, however, you may not address me at all, much less by my name,”

“That’s fair,” you said, closing your eyes.  There was a rock digging into your side.  You couldn’t nap here, “I did almost kill your guy,”

“My name is Douxie,”

“Cool, cool, cool, I’m (Y/N),”  you sat up and turned to face him, letting yourself take him in for the first time.  

He was definitely cute.  He was tall with a very nice face and hazel eyes that stunned you for a moment.  His black was dyed blue at the ends, and the ends themselves were so long that they hung in his face.  He had an aesthetic going for him for sure, a black hoodie, skull necklace.  What would that be, cryptidcore?  Dark academia?  Punk?  The metal cuff on his wrist definitely added to the confusion, but it probably didn’t matter too much what aesthetic this guy subscribed too.  Maybe, if one day fate was kind enough to let him forgive you for stabbing him you could ask.

For now, there were more pressing questions,  “So, what’s your deal?  You have a familiar, so you’re either a witch or a wizard,”

“Wizard.  What about you?  Not everyone in this town can run a man through with a sword and heal him immediately after,”

“Good to know.  In short, I’m a healer witch with a sword.  In long-form I was a child soldier sent into a war that I never should have been a part of because of who my parents were,”

“Oh...  (Y/N) I’m... I’m sorry-”

“It’s not your fault, it was a long time ago,”

“A long time?”  Douxie sat up, “So you-”

“Yeah, I’ve been around for a while,”

There was another second of silence while you both tried to figure out what to say next, but that stopped being a problem almost instantly.

“Douxie, I don’t want to stop you from bonding with the witch who stabbed you,” Archie said in a way that made it 100% clear that he absolutely wanted to stop Douxie from bonding with the witch who stabbed him, “But there is still a battle going on,”

“Right,” the wizard stood up now, without any sign that he’d been dying a moment before.  You’d done well healing him. 

“Well, (Y/N), I guess I’ll see you on the other side,”  he extended a hand to you.

You looked up at him.  Maybe this was the start of forgiveness.  That would be nice.

You took his hand and stood.

“See you on the other side, wizard,”  you took a moment, debating whether or not this next move would be a good idea.  It was a bad one, but you went for it anyway, “Bye Archie. I like your glasses,”

You ran off before the cat could threaten your life again.

--

It had been, like, a week, since Morgana and the rock squad had tried to bring Night Eternal to Arcadia, and you were settling in pretty well.

You had finally unpacked all of your things, including your decently sized sword collection, now with the addition of a Gumm-Gumm sword (not the same one that you’d nearly killed Douxie with.  You still felt guilty about that and you’d decided to pick up a new one.)

Now, you were out for a walk near a bookstore.  It looked interesting enough, so you decided to look into the front window, only to jump out of your skin when you saw Douxie on the inside, sweeping away at the floor.  Unfortunately, he also saw you.  So you decided to run.

You didn’t get very far.  The wizard caught up to you almost immediately without having to run.  It was your fault though.  You had run into a dead-end alleyway.  

“(Y/N)!  Hey!  How’ve you been?  I haven’t seen you since-”

“Since I stabbed you.  I’m sorry about that by the way,”

“I mean… I wasn’t going to say that, but you are forgiven,”

“Great!  Now if you excuse me, I’m just gonna,”  You began to walk to the end of the alley, planning on climbing over the wall to get out of this awkward situation, but once again, you did not get far.

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?”

You froze with one leg already on the wall.  Slowly, you turned to face him. “I’m sorry, but did I not stab you a week ago?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t see how that interferes with coffee,”

“Why-what-how do you,”

“Are you okay, love?”

“Why don’t you hate me!?”

Douxie blinked and then smiled at you.  Your knees felt weak.  Was that a wizard thing?  Was he doing that?

“You weren’t trying to hurt me, you were just doing what you thought was right.  You have a weird way of doing things, but I respect it.  Archie on the other hand-”

“Will your familiar kill me if I get coffee with you?”

Douxie put a hand to his chin, “He might try, but I won’t let him,”

You laughed at that, just a little, “Good.  In that case, I’d love to get coffee sometime,”

“Brilliant!  Now, do you want to get out of this alleyway?”

“Yes,”

“Okay, let’s go,”

And from there, the two of you had a very nice conversation on the way back to the bookstore where Archie tried to burn you alive.

It was a nice walk though, despite the singed edges on your clothing from the familiar at your destination.  From the sounds of things, you’d get to know what aesthetic the wizard subscribed to very soon.  And for the first time in a long time, you actually looked forward to something.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Lonely Together (3k, Barry Allen/Bruce Wayne, M)

ao3 link

Barry needs others, yet whether by his enemies or his own actions, he ends up alone. After Iris leaves him, Barry feels as if he drifts through life. Like lightning humming in the air without a rod to ground him.

Until he struck another lonely soul and entered a relationship he never thought possible. Now, months since he and Bruce began sleeping with each other, Barry feels settles. At peace in a way he hasn't felt in a long while. Since he and Iris started petering out.

But it's not love... is it?

           Barry wakes unintentionally, consciousness stirring without say. Currents of electricity that relentlessly hum under his skin strengthen in another’s presence. Especially when it’s familiar. They spark like lightning, striking until he surfaces from sleep’s drowning tides. His eyelids flutter open, though his head remains pillowed by soft down. He watches, shadowed in darkness, as Bruce sneaks around the room. “Hey,” he drawls, voice scratchy from sleep. Grin unfurling lazily while Bruce’s form tensed, “you just swing in?”

           Bruce sets something down on a neighboring dresser, turning. He can’t see fine details, like his self-disparaging frown or furrowed brows interrupted by a wrinkled comma, but Barry imagines them easily. Knows these features intimately. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

           An unnecessary apology. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here,” Barry replies, then drags his hand across the comforter. Thumb brushing against a loose seam. “So, I guess we’re even.”

           “You didn’t mean to?” Bruce asks, advancing. He sits on the opposite side of his bed, finding Barry’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “What were you doing then?”

           “Waiting for you.”

           He arrived earlier, vibrating past security and locked doors. Shouted into an empty apartment where his voice echoed, unanswered. Half-a-second spent checking each room, Barry knew Bruce wasn’t there. Slowly, Barry retraced his steps. Stood near the front door, wondering. Debated if he should leave for Central City or stay in Gotham. Both options similar in that no matter what he decided, he’d be alone.

           They were different types of loneliness, however. He left Central tonight because what he faced was too suffocating. Barry ran and ran, only it waited there behind every corner. Inescapable on well-tread streets he loved. Growing from cracks on sidewalks like weeds, strong despite how many times crushed. Returning even if ripped out of the soil. And while these desolate sprigs littered his city, it didn’t compare to the jungle in his home. Wild, vast, with hanging vines that slithered across his shoulders. Tickled his neck during particularly quiet moments that made Barry acknowledge how empty it seemed after Iris.

           At least, in Bruce’s apartment, it was different. Like being alone in an elevator that crawled upwards.

           Less insistent. More manageable. Its presence didn’t insist recognition, merely a temporary visitor. Disappearing soon as Bruce arrived back. Barry walked towards Bruce’s bedroom, resolute, shedding his clothes along the way. He grabbed a book he hadn’t finished reading since last he was there. Settled down and opened to a bent age corner.

           He can’t feel the book. Bruce must have removed it. Maybe it’s what woke him.

           Leaning forward, Bruce presses a tiny kiss at the seam of Barry’s lips. Pulls him free of his thoughts. “I’m sorry,” he tells him, “I was out later than I expected, than I wanted to be…”

           “It’s okay,” Barry whispers. His other hand slides into his friend’s hair, playing with it. Brunet curls soft and damp from sweat. “I’m okay.”

           He nods, yet Bruce still looks troubled. Dark gaze piercing, staring deeply into Barry’s own. Drifting closer, their noses brush. Bruce speaks again, breath ghosting over his mouth. Warm and intoxicating. “If you’re able and… in the mood…” he offers, “We can…?” Bruce trails off, not bothering with saying the rest. Barry understands regardless. Because of how he hovers, braced atop him, Barry caged in on either side by Bruce’s arms. Because Bruce asks his own way, through gentle squeezes of their joined hands that he repeats in rapid succession. Because they’ve done this before and grew far beyond the rushed unsurety from their first time.

           Barry kissed him, accidentally. Compelled more by a longing for touch than of Bruce. For a distracting, newer sensation besides the soul-crushing hollowness that roared inside his chest since Iris ended things. Needed some reminder he was alive after another harrowing mission that almost cost the League their lives, again. Again.

           Like a rowdy storm, Barry thundered with unexpressed adrenaline that demanded release. A lightning rod he could cling to, grounded and tethered in the present.

           Bruce was there. Offering Barry coffee from their conference room’s private pot, a gesture of solidarity at being forgotten while everyone else fled for home. He accepted the gifted novelty Superman mug, sipping absentmindedly. “It’s decaf, drowning in cream, smothered in sugar…” Bruce said, “that’s your usual, right?”

           It was. Bruised, bloodied, and exhausted from battling ancient, cosmic entities hellbent on planetary destruction, and Bruce remembered how he liked his coffee.

           The mug shattered as he dropped it, but Barry did not hear more than a tinny pop. His drink splashed their feet, leaving brown, splotchy stains he noticed hours later. Barry jumped Bruce, hauling him close by his cape. Kissed Bruce as his mind played static. In rapid succession, that static disappeared. Rationality descending with vengeance, circling, bombarding Barry with explosive truths.

           He kissed Batman. That’s his friend. He kissed Batman. He’s a man. He kissed Batman. Inside the Hall of Justice, where anyone could find them. He kissed Batman. He kissed Batman. He kissed Bruce.

           Drifting apart, he ignored tingling skin to pry a coherent thought out from the overgrown bramble that was his mind. “Bruce,” Barry choked, grip on Bruce’s cape loose and dangling. Gaze dropping, he focused on his chest. Bat fluttering with every exhale. “I… I don’t, I’m so – “

           Bruce wouldn’t let him explain, roughly capturing Barry’s lips in response. Frenzied, trapping Barry between his body and the table. With a passionate reception like that, Barry felt his worry melt. Became a gentle tide coaxing him deeper. Willingly swept farther than his cares might reach. Bruce’s deft fingers trailing, tickling, at his sides made thinking about the empty bed in his apartment very difficult. When he pulled his cowl back, pinning Barry with an indescribable hunger burning behind his eyes, any disappointment over an understocked fridge waiting at home disappeared. And as Bruce slid one glove off using his teeth, second hand preoccupied teasing Barry’s waistband, Barry’s sole concern was unhitching his friend’s belt.

           “Yeah, like that,” Bruce sighed, “let me make this good for you…” He touched Barry’s already half-hard cock, cupping it. Rhythmically sliding his hand while their hips ground together. Barry softly cursed, pressure mounting. Bruce’s dick throbbed against his and tempted him further, headed for the edge. Plummeting when he twisted his wrist, Bruce sucking an aggressive mark below Barry’s chin that joined a loose collection of already fading bruises.

           Barry came, panting, chasing those last few seconds of bliss until his muscles sagged from fatigue. Kept upright by his friend’s strong hold. Bruce joined him with a strangled curse, head resting on Barry’s shoulder. Panting, they lingered in each other’s embrace. Aware that this meager amount of pleasure had redefined their relationship.

           Hours later, Barry lay awake in bed. Mind restaging their sordid affair, body igniting at the memory of where Bruce grazed him. He fondled pale skin, unblemished now that his accelerated healing factor kicked on. Barry wished it hadn’t. Admitting that, then, even as a whisper from his subconscious, terrified him. Grabbing the pillow on Iris’s untouched side, he held it across his face. Screamed his frustration, and again when he realized her scent finally faded from the fabric.

           Those next few weeks were awkward. During meetings, sitting feet from where he orgasmed and pretending it never happened while evading Bruce’s searching gaze. Boundless excuses, lies, of where he needed to be. Fleeing before Bruce could reach him. Volunteering for any mission, throwing himself into heroics where bad guys needed defeating, lives were saved, and he could act like nothing about his world changed.

           Anything that kept him from asking questions he could not answer truthfully.

           Despite his best efforts – his superhuman speed – Bruce pulled ahead. Running a marathon instead of the sprint Barry hoped it was.

           “We need to talk,” he said, “about… coffee, the other night.” Bruce’s grip tightened on the Javelin’s yoke, glare firm and unwavering out at space. Barry, meanwhile, shrunk in his seat. Conversation he dreaded crashing into him like a meteor.

           Oliver radioed Barry for a mission, about a distress signal League channels recorded. From what they deciphered, the code was obsolete and most likely false. However, sparing resources, he figured a small team could check. Confirm their prior suspicions. Barry agreed, racing over. Only he hadn’t realized his teammate for this mission would be the same man he was avoiding.

           Following debriefing and takeoff, they traveled in uncomfortable silence broken with Bruce’s demand.

           Barry reigned back telltale vibrations, hiding his nerves. “Okay,” he said, “Yeah…” He squeezed his fists and chuckled, “You know how I take my coffee?”

           Bruce allowed him this short reprieve. “It always struck me odd, and… hypocritical, how you liked it. Why choose decaf if you’re adding that much sugar?”

           “It offsets the bitter taste, is all.”

           “Barry…” He wrangled their conversation onto its path once more, tone absent of any levity. “What we did, I…” Bruce paused, testing what he wants to say. Lines around his mouth shifting as he cycles through his thoughts. “I’m not sure how we should proceed.”

           “Neither do I,” Barry shrugged, “Not talking about it was working well for me.”

           “You’ve been acting noticeably strange during missions. I’ve been… unsettled, too. At times.” Barry’s chest twinged, an annoyance he dealt with by crossing his arms and scowling. “If this continues, affecting future missions –“

           “Because it’s always about this mission, isn’t it?”

           Bruce sighed, then Barry felt a gentle brush against his elbow. Leaving the Javelin on autopilot, he let his hands wander. They settled on Barry. One at his elbow, another squeezing Barry’s knee. “Do you…” Bruce strained, forcing his next question past with serious effort. It piqued his interest, wondering what he might say. Obviously difficult, Barry sloped forward as the silence grew. “Do you,” he finally continued, “regret… what happened?”

           He should. They were teammates. Friends who stupidly jerked each other off. Bruce… was the first man he ever let touch him that intimately. Combined, these arguments battered down like a hurricane, reasons how everything about what he and Bruce did – what Barry initiated – was an enormous misunderstanding. A mistake that never should have been. And yet he could not cobble together some form of regret.

           Worse, Barry still yearned for more.

           Barry did not believe he deserved more. The ink from where Iris’s name was tattooed on his heart hadn’t fully disappeared; a relic of what he lost, stinging with each beat. Those scant moments, lost in the throes of passion alongside Bruce, were some of the best he had in months. He made Barry forget his failed relationship like a strong drink or the best drug. How was it possible?

           Determined, Barry turned his neck slightly. Readied a false speech, about being tired and shaken. That their tryst meant nothing and should be forgotten.

           Except he caught Bruce’s stare. His naked gaze, cowl discarded when he wasn’t looking. Layers peeled backwards, exposing a vulnerable side of his friend Barry rarely saw. Shoulders hunched, weighed heavily by an answer Barry hadn’t given. Wisps of disappointment hung in the air like smoke from an ashen cigarette. He cleared his throat, going over what he wanted to say.

           Then tossed the script.

           “I… No,” he confessed, surprising both of them. Bruce’s jaw shifted and a small gasp escaped. “I don’t.” It was his turn. “Do you?”

           His hand slid across his forearm, covering Barry’s hand. “No.”

           “…What do we do now?”

           Humming, thumb petting his upper shin, Bruce offered a suggestion. “It’s been… hard for both of us, hasn’t it? The lives we lead… there’s little chance for that kind of peace. Boats with no safe harbors to rest at, not anymore.” Not since Iris, in a cold whisper, explained how claustrophobic and helpless Barry left her feeling most days. Not since Selina and Bruce came upon a crossroads and chose different paths. “I think that if we want to… engage in activities like – uh, like coffee, then why shouldn’t we? As long as we’re mature about it, and what we do won’t interfere with our duties…”

           Barry weakly snorted, Bruce’s clinical description goading him into it. He laid the idea out logically and he found no flaw in his reasoning. A small crack of doubt shoved its way in, that he misheard. Bruce suggesting, put crudely, a ‘friends-with-benefits’ arrangement? But then Barry remembered how eagerly Bruce flew, chasing his lips. That it was his hand edging him into completion. Suddenly, it didn’t seem like the wishful thinking he assumed.

           Especially as Bruce’s hand crept towards his waistband. “What are you -?”

           “Incentive,” Bruce smirked, “Showing you how good this will be. That I can make it.” ‘Let me make this good’ was what he said, while jerking him inside the Hall. “Is that okay?”

           Chuckling, Barry brushed his wavy bangs back. “I thought you didn’t want this to get in the way of our jobs?”

           “Autopilot is an amazing invention. Doing our job at double the speed, leaving more time for… coffee.”

           Barry kissed him, punishing him for such a lame joke by nipping his bottom lip. Soothed it with his tongue while he helped Bruce, shimmying his hips. Pants bunched near his knees, Barry’s cock bobbed between his legs.

           Bruce climbed out of the pilot’s seat, kneeling at his feet. “So,” he growled, breath hot as it hit his twitching cock, “that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”

           “This is dumb. Dangerous. And it’s going to end poorly for the both of us,” Barry muttered, grip twisting in Bruce’s hair after he licked a strip up his cock, “Of course we’re doing it.”

           He was mostly right. During a particularly harried affair, Barry caught sight of his costumed reflection in one of the League’s interrogation rooms’ one-sided mirrors. Watched as he thrust his cock, Bruce’s ass accepting its length. His face, masked, contorted pleasurably. Barry stuttered, taking in the full picture. Flash fucking Batman, like they were a bad porno. If only the camera wasn’t disabled… Scoffing, he relaxed his grip on his friend’s hips. Instead reaching for Bruce’s cowl, ripping it off. His, too, in the next beat. “What?” Bruce asked.

           “This is so stupid,” he huffed, hips rolling slower than before, “What are we even doing?”

           “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

           Barry sighed, “No, like… objectively. Aren’t we too old to be doing this, or… I don’t know, better than it? I doubt this is what most people imagine heroes do in their spare time.”

           “We’re only human, Barry,” Bruce said, grunting as he slammed into his prostate, “We can… can afford a few minutes off the pedestal.”

           “I guess…”

           “Hey,” Bruce twisted, catching his eye in the mirror, “are you having second thoughts?”

           “No.”

           “This is good?”

           He languidly traced Bruce’s spine, cautious of every bump. “The best.” Then, pressing hard at the dip of his ass, he added, “Even if Oliver expected us at training five minutes ago.” Barry orgasmed, Bruce’s laughter booming and stretched hole choking his cock.

           Dumb. Dangerous. Although their situation actually improved since they began, and Barry cannot picture this ever ending.

           Bruce noses at his chin, stubble scratching his neck. “Hey,” he asks, “is this good?”

           “It is,” he responds instinctively, “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

           “Was it?” Bruce lavishes a spot under his ear, one that electrifies his entire body, “Then I guess I’m not really being good, am I?” He sits on Barry’s cock, sliding his ass along its length. “Are you still with me?”

           “I never left.” Barry kisses him, smiling wide enough he ruins their embrace. His hands roam, active participants now. Crossing the planes of Bruce’s body for purchase. However, in his search, he brushes against cuts and wounds different from those he knows. Passing a deep valley at his ribs, Barry’s thumb dips into a small lake. Bruce’s breath hitches, coughing a low whine. Barry ends their kiss to study his wet thumb. Copper invades his senses, and his eyes adjust enough he sees red. “You’re hurt.”

           “Not badly,” Bruce amends. He rests his forehead against Barry’s. “It’s nothing, I… I took a hit, earlier. Harley didn’t see the blade and – it doesn’t matter –“

           “It matters Bruce,” Barry tells him, “Of course it does.” He taps on Bruce’s shoulder, signaling for a dismount. Bruce listens, wincing as he settles onto his side. “This shouldn’t be good for just me. You deserve it, too.” As he speaks, Bruce’s head lists, lashes fluttering. Barry notes the bags pillowing his eyes were puffier and more purple than ever. “Are you up for this?”

           Bruce sighs, “You came all this way –“

           “Yes, I did. But I didn’t ask about me, Bruce.” He caresses Bruce’s face, unbloodied thumb grazing his lip. “What do you want?”

           “I…” Bruce levels his focus elsewhere, gazing past Barry. Afraid. “I’m tired, and I could really sleep. But I, uh… I’d rather not sleep alone.”

           Neither would he. “Okay.”

           “Okay?”

           “I mean,” he turns, staring at the ceiling, “I was already asleep before you got here. And I bet you were gonna slip in beside me, weren’t you? If I didn’t catch you?”

           “I… I was.” Bruce collapses, head landing atop Barry’s chest. Hairs tickling his chin, arms curling around his waist. Yawning, Bruce snuggles him close. “We can finish this later, in the morning… if that’s okay?”

           Barry threads his fingers through Bruce’s hair, smiling. “We don’t have to. If we can’t, then we can’t.” He repeats this, a melody that helps his friend drift off. Barry’s voice fades, soon silence overpowering the mantra.

           Body leaded but unbidden by shame, Barry continues lazily stroking Bruce. Petting him felt nice. Somehow better than the heavier actions previously done. Reminds him of better nights, when he and Iris lay together in bed. Exchanging tidbits about their day until they fell asleep. Before those cracks in their relationship spread and it shattered.

           Thinking about Iris stings, but not like it used to. Dulled by Bruce’s very presence. A man who lived in shadows bringing a new light into his life.

           He glances down at Bruce while he slumbers, heart sparking wildly. A possibility flashing like lightning inside grey rain clouds. That Barry could one day fall in love with Bruce, if he hasn’t already.

[write4tomorrow]

A Game at Speed (Part 4)

 Word Count: 3201

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary: About a year after The Rise of Skywalker, peace in the galaxy is fragile. The Resistance is faced with new diplomatic problems as they try to maintain the peace. Trade routes are especially tricky and has forced Y/N to test her abilities as a negotiator. Due to tirelessly, negotiating with different planets and systems, Y/N has become the new face of peace and hope. Does this make General Poe Dameron jealous? 

Genre: Adventure / Fluff / angst 

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3     PART 5 Epilogue (Complete) 

The only good thing about your situation right now was that Nix had taken those awful cuffs off of you. Upon being released, you literally fell into Nix’s arms. Your shoulders felt worn and the sudden movement made you cry out. To your disgust, Nix held you against him. He whispered soft words into your hair and picked you up as though you were his new bride. You didn't have the energy to fight back. You knew that recording the message for Nix would take all the strength you had left. 

Nix took you to a small bedroom and left. Was this where you had woken up before? You became too distracted by the bustling droids around you. There were no windows and no clocks. You had no idea where you were but you didn't have time to find out. After allowing the droids to arrange your hair and clean your face, you numbly changed into an outfit that Nix had chosen - complete with gloves. You looked at your body for the first time in recent memory. Your wrists were different shades of awful colors. Your shoulders were stiff and your ankles were weak. Your cheeks and jaw held a new edge from fatigue that you hadn’t seen in yourself since the war. You looked nothing like a politician and every bit the war worn spy. You took pride in your wounds and tried to find some new encouragement from them, but all hope left you when you saw Nix again. When he returned, you realized that you both wore the same colors and matched like an Old Republic couple. You felt like you were in a nightmare. 

You did not speak to Nix. You told yourself it was out of anger, but you didn't really know what to say to him. There was hate in your bones for this man but knowing that Poe’s life depended on your actions made you feel bare and helpless. 

Nix talked enough for the both of you. He explained that the two of you would stand together and deliver a set of prewritten lines. You would smile and take his arm and play the part of the politician. All you had to do was read the lines out in front of you. Then, the two of you would board a ship to the larger of the two battleships where the two of you would happily continue your lives.

“I will never be happy with you, Nix,” you said. Your voice was flat, void of emotion. Your words sounded like a statement of facts rather than promise. 

“You will be once you forget about my… indiscretion, as you would call it.” Nix kept marching you down the hall. He did not look at you and you felt anger boiling inside of you. Indiscretion? Is that what you would call it? Oh no, this was an act beyond forgiveness and you would not allow Nix to make you forget. 

“Nix,” you continued in a monotone, “I would rather die than be with you.” In an instant, Nix whirled on his heels. His hand was in your hair before you could move. He pushed you against a wall and pulled your hair so that you were forced to look up at him. His other hand was clamped around your jaw. 

“I never want to hear you say that,” Nix hissed, “if you can stand to sleep with that General than you should feel honored to be by my side.” Nix was crazy. You began to speak, to tell him that you and Poe never did anything, but he pulled on your hair which forced you to yelp instead of speak. Satisfied with your cry, Nix let go and forcefully intertwined his arm with yours. He practically dragged you down the hall as he kept talking. You would come with him to the new ship to broadcast the message. Once the message was out, Nix promised that Poe wouldn’t be released.

“Why can’t the message be broadcasted on this ship?” You asked as you trudged down the hall with Nix. You knew you were risking another outburst from him and prepared to be thrown against the wall once more. To your surprise, no attack came. From the corner of your eye, you saw a sly smile creep onto Nix’s face. 

“My dear,” he asked coolly, “what makes you think we’re on a ship?” 

Almost simultaneously Poe Dameron was being told the same thing on the Resistance base ship. He stood at the table of the Generals, looking at everyone in the room. He couldn't stop moving. Rose had joined them and there was talk of calling Rey back from her mission of helping the Empire children find their families. It was a feeble thought and not likely to work in time to save you. 

“Y/n is on Kamino,” Connix said as she read the report the Resistance hackers sent her. “She’s being held on a small base on Kamino that was auctioned off after the Clone Wars. We have the fuel to send small fighter planes but we can't send this whole ship and Rey has the Millennium Falcon.”

“Great! Let’s go,” Poe wanted to get in a ship and blow something up. Still, he knew that he couldn’t lead this team into battle without being prepared. Leia would never forgive him. 

“I know it’s probably a trap,” Poe added quickly, “Altross knows that we know he has y/n. He knows that I will- that we will come for her. I think Finn and I should go to Kamino. We’ll search for y/n. However, after we land Connix and Rose will fly in if it's safe. Lando, please stay here and monitor things from the ship. We need to know if we receive any more messages.” 

“Connix should stay here,” Rose insisted, “she can read the transmission waves - encrypted or not - better than anyone. I can go alone, after you and Finn.” 

“No,” Poe said, thinking through the plan, “you’re right, Rose. Connix will stay here with Lando.” Connix began to protest but Poe silenced her. “I will go down to Kamino first. Then, only after I know they haven't detected me, Rose and Finn will join me.” As Poe spelled out his plan, disagreements erupted around him. However, they were quieted by Calrissian. 

“Poe is right,” Calrissian glared at everyone in the room, “we don’t have much time to form a plan and this is the best we have. If one person goes down to Kamino first, we risk losing the least. This council has already shrunk from six members to four. We do not need to risk anymore than is necessary. Y/n would be beside herself if she saw the way we were acting.” His words struck the room into silence. Poe, as well as everyone else, knew Calrissian was right. 

The next hour was spent loading ships, arming droids and trying to prepare for every version of the worst case scenario. Poe couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to you on the street in Coruscant. He knew the kind of bravery it took for someone to face Kylo Ren, he has been subjected to that Sith’s torture himself. He admired you for your resilience. He could see your face, in his mind’s eye, twist as you recalled how you received the scars on your arms. He wanted so badly to kiss away every horrible feeling that you’ve ever had when you told him how you hated seeing your own skin. Poe knew you must have trusted him a great deal to share that pain with him. 

The clearest thing about you, in Poe’s memory, was your laugh. He thought back to your arrival on Coruscant. Poe intertwined his arm with yours and you smiled at him. Your grin was mesmerizing and when you laughed a moment later, Poe felt weak kneed. You seemed to illuminate the world around you with just a smile. Your laugh was better than hearing his engine start up for the first time or hearing BB-8’s victory beeps. Something in his chest ached at the thought of never hearing the sound again. He wanted to make you smile and laugh more than anything. 

Before Poe jumped into his x-wing, Connix pulled him aside. 

“You know the game, Dejarik?” Connix asked. Poe nodded and tried to hide his surprise. Of course he knew the game. Finn, Chewie and Poe has spent many hours on the Millennium Falcon playing it. Chewie always won, but Finn and Poe put up a good fight and their holographic creatures never lost without putting up a valiant effort. 

“I used to play with y/n all the time,” Connix was speaking quickly, “she almost always won because she understood that it wasn't a fast game. She took her time and she knew her opponent. Y/n won because she knew me. She knew how I would respond to certain situations.” Poe knew where this conversation was going. 

“I get it,” Poe said, “I’m not Leia. I rush into things and I make a mess. I’m just a fly boy and I shouldn't rush into this, but-” 

“No, Poe,“ Connix’s voice was soft, “I know you think that everyone is telling you to slow down and think about what you’re doing. Maybe that’s what Leia would have done. Who knows.” Connix glanced around at the bustling people in the hangar. Everything around them seemed to be moving so quickly but Connix kept talking. “Right now, we need to move fast. This isn’t a slow game of dejarik. We don’t have time to assess what Altross’ next move will be and I don’t think he really has time to prepare for our’s. Anything he plans to do will be sloppy. Anything we do will be sloppy if we try to over think it. We’re playing a game of strategy at speed and we need fly boy, Poe Dameron. Y/n needs the fastest pilot in the galaxy. Get in and get out. Bring her home, Poe.” Upon hearing her words, Poe smiled and hugged Connix. 

The easiest part of Poe’s day was getting to Kamino. He knew the way by heart and being in his small ship with no one but his droid was refreshing, almost meditative. He found a small base that matched the coordinates Connix had given him. The rough seas that surrounded the strange base made it more difficult for Poe to find a place to set his ship down, but he wasn’t the best pilot in the Resistance for nothing. 

As Poe made his final descent onto his landing spot, he noticed a ship being loaded and fueled for take off. It was large and luxurious and could easily transport fifty people. From the looks of the sleek exterior, the ship could also keep the passengers entertained for the duration of the ride. The ship could belong to no one but Altross. Poe had to work faster than he thought. 

Getting into the base was easy. BB-8 made quick work of the security. The inside of the base was sparsely populated. Poe had no trouble hiding from the one or two people he passed every few minutes. The only problem was that Poe had no idea where he was going or any clue as to where you were being held. 

“Make sure she’s unconscious when she is taken to my ship,” said someone close by. Poe knew that voice. “She’s more trouble than she seems but we’ll take care of that soon.” Poe tucked himself behind a corner. From his hiding spot, Poe watched Altross stroll down the hall. He was flanked by two men but Poe knew that Altross was the only chance of finding you in time. 

With BB-8 on his heels, Poe stayed a few steps behind Altross. He tried to muffle the sounds of his feet against the cold white floor. Altross seemed to be too caught up in giving orders to pay attention to what lurked in the shadows. He marched with the precision of a General who believed that he had won the war. It didn't take long for the tall man to lead Poe to a dark room. 

Altross entered, leaving the door behind him open. Poe couldn’t see into the room, but like Altross, he recognized your voice when he heard it. Altross was talking to you, but you weren’t listening. You were saying something to yourself in a low voice. Poe couldn’t hear anything you were saying but he could make out each of Altross’ words clearly. 

Yet, almost out of nowhere, your voice overpowered the hallway. Poe’s blood ran cold as your scream echoed around him. The only other sound was a faint buzzing that made Poe’s hair stand on end. Something was terribly wrong. He didn’t know if BB-8 moved first or if he did, but Poe and his droid were rounding the corner before he had an opportunity to think about his actions. 

There were a total of five people in the room: Altross, the two men he entered with, one man standing by some controls, and you. With a blaster in his hand, Poe shot the men that tried to shield Altross from him. He made an attempt to shoot the man by the controls but he was safely behind you. There wasn’t a clear opportunity for Poe to shoot Altross either without also blasting you. Now, the two remaining men were shielded from Poe’s blaster. Somehow, during the chaos, Altross positioned himself directly behind you.

Poe took a moment to look at you. Your arms were bare and your scared forearms were exposed. Your hair fell around your face as your head hung forward. Your body hung in the air to form a horrible x. The clothes you were wearing seemed to match Altross’ uniform and, in a sick way you seemed like a terrible doll that Altross had over used. Poe knew you deserved better than that and he turned his attention back towards Altross. This man was going to pay for this crime in blood.  

As Poe kept his eyes and blaster on Altross, he heard you muttering something soft under your breath. You didn’t even seem to notice that two men were unconscious at your feet. 

“Altross,” Poe seethed, “You’re coming back with me, right now.” 

“Dameron,” Altross replied in a mocking tone, “if you’re lucky you will leave this base with just one other person. You’ll just have to decide if it’s me or her.”

“The memory device…” Poe looked at the machine around you and the cuffs around your wrists. They were too tight and your hands were a strange color. Altross nodded as Poe understood.

“She’s already forgotten you,” Altross was teasing Poe and it was working. Before Poe could do anything, Altross muttered something to the technician behind him. To Poe’s horror, the cuffs around your ankles and wrists began to send pulsing waves through your body. You began to writhe against the chains and scream once more. 

“Chase me,” Altross yelled over you, “or save her!” Altross dodged Poe’s dive towards him. He moved with agility and slipped out of the room. Poe swore but he didn’t hesitate and shot the technician at the controls. He didn’t have to tell his droid what to do as BB-8 began working on the controls. In an instant, the pulsing stopped, the cuffs around your joints released you, and you fell into Poe’s arms. However, your eyes were far away and didn’t seem to focus on him. You fought against his grip. Poe had to practically restrain you in a hug. He could finally hear what you were saying, though.

You were muttering coordinates. Again and again, you said the same numbers. Your voice was rough. You felt lighter than he thought possible. Poe wondered if you had eaten or had anything to drink in the three days since he last saw you. 

“BB-8, remember these numbers!” Running out of the room with you still fighting against his grip, Poe recited your numbers to BB-8. Poe lead the three of you to his ship.

“Hey, hey,” Poe began to whisper in your ear, “it’s okay. It’s Poe, your husband, remember? I’m the really attractive General you were undercover with? Remember? You’re safe now, y/n.” At the mention of his name, you began to calm. You stopped talking and after a moment, your eyes seemed to focus on his. Poe strapped you in as you lost consciousness. 

You woke up on a med bay bed of a small resistance ship. You heard Rose’s voice somewhere far away. You knew that smart thing to do would be to ease yourself back into this world. You felt groggy but desperate. There was something familiar and safe about your surroundings but you couldn’t waste time familiarizing yourself with them. You sat up in the bed and tried to get out, but a pair of hands pushed you back down. The bright lights around you made it too difficult to see. 

“Coordinates! I have to write down- I need something to write with!” You were shouting, eyes clamped shut in an attempt to recall the coordinates you had heard Nix say. That bastard made this mistake of saying the location of his lead ship within your earshot. 

“BB-8 has the coordinates. We’re headed there now.” You froze at the familiar voice. Opening your eyes, you were met with Poe’s concerned face. He was pushing you back against the pillows and there was concern etched into every crease on his face. 

“It’s Poe,” He said softly, watching your face, “you remember me, don’t you?” His voice wavered as he spoke. You couldn’t help but smile. 

“How could I forget General Poe Dameron, best pilot in the Resistance? Weren’t you my husband for a little bit?” You were laughing and possibly crying? Your voice hurt to talk and your head had never been in more pain but you needed to make sure Poe was okay. You wanted to know more, to say more, but Poe crushed you with a shuddering hug before you could say anything else. 

“How did you get off of Nix’s ship? Out of his control?” You asked as he only tightened his grip. A couple of your tears fell onto Poe’s shoulder before he pulled back a little at your question. 

“I was never under his control,” Poe looked as confused as you felt. Still, you had to push past this. There were more pressing matters at hand. 

“Poe, listen to me,” you began to speak quickly, “Nix has a recording of me calling you a traitor. He is going to use my reputation to bring you down. I thought it was the only way to keep you safe. We have to stop him from broadcasting that message. The coordinates,” you couldn’t seem to recall them, “it’s where Nix plans on sending the message.”

“I’ll stop him,” Poe promised, “our ship is smaller and faster than his. We’ll get to his base before he can send the message.”

“I’m going with you,” you said. Poe saw the expression on your face knew that he could not argue. This was personal, for the both of you. Poe recalled the conversation he had with Connix about her games of dejarik with you. 

“She took her time and she knew her opponent. Y/n won because she knew me. She knew how I would respond to certain situations.”

If anyone could take down Altross it was you. Poe could see it in your expression. You were out for blood just as much as he was.

PART 5

A/N: One more chapter to go! Thanks for following Poe on this journey. :) 

[antichristsxbox]

Knight in Shining Armor

Summary: You’re a princess— locked away in a tower, under a sleeping spell, waiting for a brave suitor to come rouse you from your slumber. Luckily, Sir Michael Langdon has come to the rescue. 

From the writer: Hey guys, I’m so excited about this! I think there’s going to be a few more parts to this, so stay tuned and let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list. Big shoutout to @jocelynscloset​​ for proofreading this for me! Also, if you like this, be sure to check out my masterlist here! <3 Update— here’s part two, here’s part three, and here’s part four + here’s my masterlist with more fics!

Word count: 2,404

Background knowledge in italics:

A princess blessed with the gift of the Light, as it is known. To be able to conjure up power from the good, almost like a wizard of the time. A scary gift, sure, but a gift nonetheless. It must be a recessive trait, as nobody else in the family has been touched by the Light thus far. As your powers grew with you, you turned from a whimsical girl to a seemingly omnipotent woman. Whispers became less hushed around the castle as doors would open with no servants, candles would light with no match, and books would become loose from top shelves with no ladder. The King and Queen, your parents, have decided it is best for you to wait for one of your own power to suit you. ‘Only the best, or better, for our princess,’ their words replayed in your mind. A tower was built with barriers only a skilled knight could make it through alive. It seems irrelevant, though, that you would have liked to stay awake. As you were lead to the tower, you were apprehensive, but excited for when you would soon be roused, if ever. 

Soft rays cascade through thin curtains to fall on bedsheets. A faint chirp! chirp! chirp! of the birds from outside can be heard. As you lift your head to see who has come, nobody more perfect could be thought of. This is not a figment of your imagination. Bright, blue eyes that energize you more the longer you look— soft, long, blonde hair that hangs a little past his shoulders, right above his silver, gleaming armor. 

How long it has been, you cannot tell. Your parents had you put up and locked away for your own safety. Your conjuring abilities had been far too much for them to handle. As powers grew, so did the desire to use them. Such a convenience to have, and a waste to not use, you thought. Now, that urge has subsided, all due to the happiness you were feeling that somebody had finally come to save you. A loving kiss was all it took to break the spell. Although it was a one-sided love for now, a warm feeling began again in your chest. The suitor must have made it through the traps and misleadings that lead up to your room— the highest room in the tallest tower. The tallest tower guarded by a moat full of fish, bigger than the great, big whale that swallowed Jonah, your father said. Top floors of the tower protected by a dog-beast of three heads and enormous size, and misleading staircases that would send the adventurer falling down thousands of feet if one wrong step was taken. 

“Are you here to save me?” you ask, sitting up and glancing at the mirror in your bedside table. A repressed memory tells you that you never looked like this before, not even entering the castle. A gold crown sits atop your head, three rubies, each in the middle of their own peak, the biggest gem sitting in the center. Red fabric falling from your arms as you reach up to touch the cold metal. 

“Yes, Princess,” he says, guiding your fingers from your crown into his warm grasp to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand. As you fully sit up, you swing your legs to the edge of your bed and stand. 

“Who is my suitor?” you ask, reaching for a gold pitcher and a crystal glass. Flowing from the top with ease is your first drink since probably five years. Clear liquid passes your lips and beads on your top lip, and you rub your lips together to rid them of the excess, then turn to the man behind you. 

He is now standing, at least six feet tall it seems. A very impressive, strong knight. A long sword hangs down from his belt, leading your eye to his gleaming, black boots. His hand makes its way to your shoulder, glistening in the sunlight. Wrist so reflective, it’s aggressive for a little clock. Diamonds glisten, light shining in through your arched window. 

“Sir Michael Langdon,” he says, kneeling before you and releasing his sword from its sheath, cling! The long strip of metal lies in his two hands as his head is bowed towards you. As you place your glass down, a finger of yours makes its way to the bottom of his chin, tipping his head up. Azure is all you can see, eyes almost as beaming as his armor in this sunlight. The warmth of his body being a now-familiar feeling, and a welcome reminder that you are, in fact, awake now. 

Sir Langdon stands again as you release your touch from his face. 

As you know, Michael is likely here to rescue, then marry you. He seems like a fine man, although you had only just met him. If he leaves without you, you are stuck here, now awake and with little water and food to sustain yourself with. The spell had been broken, and it seems nearly impossible for you to replicate it yourself. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, you toy with the idea or running off with Michael and never returning. How would your family know that you’ve been saved? Do they come to check up on you often? The barriers set seem near impossible to sneak past and still leave intact. 

“Come with me, Princess, your kingdom is so eager to meet you,” he says, offering an arm for you to grasp. 

“Do you not wish to know who it is you are leading?” you say, taking a small step back and offering a small smile.

“My apologies, Princess, what is your name?” he says, now holding his hands clasped behind his back, posture straightening up in anticipation of an answer. 

“Lady Abigail of Minnesott,” you say, softly reminiscing of your home before the tower. A river ran down behind your castle, and an open field before it. Wild deer, turkey, and mustangs all present in the temperate, deciduous forest around your home. Oh, how the leaves would turn in autumn. How sharks teeth and pottery fragments were readily available as the tide drew in, when you pursued the river bank searching for lost treasures. You could only hope for a place as beautiful, wherever Michael would take you. 

“A beautiful woman of a beautiful land,” he says, offering his arm again. Warm metal is a refreshing sensation across your fingertips, and Michael leads you down the staircase. With horror, you witness the scattered bones of at least ten men, splayed across the floor beneath you, piled up near where the dog-beast once resided. Dried-up blood stains and gore were on display across the walls, the only other artwork here besides the oil on panel of your family, safely tucked away in your room. 

Past the slain dog-beast, for it was not just a creature of your father’s dreams. Across the long bridge of the moat, above the murky waters. Shadows of large fish and glimmering of large scales suggest that one of those creatures may still hold Jonah captive.

Out on a post was a dark horse, secured with a rope skillfully tied. One pull, and the rope is free of its tangles. A firm hand grasps your waist as you mount the horse, but hands are careful to travel no further south. A true gentleman, you must remark in your mind. As Michael mounts the horse in the seat in front of you, one swift kick is all it takes before the four feet under you are trotting, then running. A small jingling noise is coming from the seams of your dress, and a quick investigation is needed before you determine that a compass is in the pocket of your dress. One small glance down, and you realize that the horse is taking you south rather than North.

“Should we not be headed toward Vandemere?” you ask, a somewhat urgent tone in your voice.

“My kingdom is south, Princess, near Havelock and towards the Croatan Forest,” he says, a stern look in his face as he scans the path ahead. As Michael seems to know where he is going, your worries are washed away. Your sense of direction may have been put on hold during your deep slumber, but it is back now, and perhaps stronger than it was before. 

The forgotten feeling of tiredness washes over you, and before long, your grasp on Michael loosens enough so you could relax, but you’re still steady while he’s riding horseback— you lean in to drift off on his shoulder, warm metal and all. When you wake, it is now dark outside, and the horse has stopped running, but it now simply slow-trotting through a forest. A few more minutes through the dark forest, and Michael beckons the horse to stop. He is now dismounting his ride and tying up on a tree branch.

“Stay here, Princess, I must go search for a landmark on our way,” he says, walking off. You pull out your compass once more, only to realize that the arrow will not point anywhere besides south, no matter where you turn. 

“Are we more towards Trent, or Pollocksville?” you ask, but Michael is already into the woods before you even began to speak.

Ears alert and ready to pick up on any cues as to where Michael is. Not a chirp! from a bird, not a crackle! from skimming the side of a bush, not a swoosh! as his feed passed over the ground. Only visual cues left to guide you towards him— if you choose to go and venture— even the stars being hard to see through the thick foliage. 

“Princess!”

Your heart skips a beat as Michael shouts. Your leg swings over the saddle so you’re sitting atop the horse, then you carefully slide down, using the stirrup as a guide as to where to place your feet. It is only then you realize how fatigued you are, running on barely any water and no food since years ago, probably. 

“Sir Langdon, I’m following your voice!” you shout, heading the direction his initial call came from. Step by step, you make your way on the dusty ground. There is no path, no landmark presenting itself yet. Only the memory of which way his voice had come from. It is now colder than you remember it being at night, although this could just be due to being farther inland— no body of water acting as a heat sink during the day, then releasing heat through the night. 

Leaves crunch! under your feet as you begin walking faster. The darkness tends to disorient you. Faint outlines of trees begin to grow and shrink as you walk further. Turn around and you’ll see nothing, only the night’s dark blanket, engulfing the sky and almost everything around you. 

“Are you alright?” a faint voice causes you to turn around, and you find Michael waiting for you by a strange stump, it seems like. As you walk closer, you realize it is a ring of mushrooms, leading down to what seems to be a small cavern, only there is no other demarcation other than the ring of mushrooms to warn any passerby of this dip in the road. Walking closer, you see it is actually a well, as the inside is even darker than the ground surrounding it, and the edges are a perfectly symmetrical circle. Very strange, you thought, but perhaps Michael would like to stop for the night and continue the long journey tomorrow. 

“Could we draw up some water?” you ask, looking towards the well, but not daring to step any closer than four feet. The last thing you would like is to be a victim in another situation where you would be in need of rescuing. 

“Of course, Princess,” Michael says, stepping closer towards you and taking your cold hand in his warm one. As his fingers travel up your arm and toward your jawline, you shudder at the sensation and move back. He begins to lean closer, with his still-warm armor grazing your front. He takes another step forward to move into you closer and brings his arms around you protectively. A small shuffle in your direction from him has his warm face nuzzled between your shoulder and neck. 

“I would never do anything to hurt you,” he says, voice muffled from his face being buried in your dress. You step back to look at his face, although you can barely see a thing in the overwhelming darkness of the night. It is very hard to trust a man you had only met earlier today, and you would only have to see with time if Michael could hold up to this. 

Creeping in from the back of your mind, a very fatiguing sensation begins to wash over you once more. You feel wobbly almost, and contemplate just falling asleep then and there, your dress is thick enough to keep you warm through the night, and it seems as if Michael wouldn’t let you lie down alone. Michael then removes his face from your shoulder, and the cold air is again exposed due to your low neckline. His thumb rests on your top lip before his hand is entirely pulled away, moving towards your chest. It doesn’t take much to move you, and you almost melt at his lively touch.

“Forgive me, Princess,” he says. Without any time for you to question what he is asking forgiveness for, your fatigue has gotten the better of you. In perfect timing for Michael, a small jostle is all it takes for him to send you down the well. Unbeknownst to you, Michael had you exactly where he wanted you, luring you towards the secret Hellmouth. 

Information on ring of mushrooms mentioned:

Fairy rings are acknowledged to have otherworldly powers or be connected with dark forces, according to various folklore tales. They have a mythical reputation of fairies or supernatural creatures being present around the rings— there are many warnings of the dangers of entering a fairy ring throughout different stories. Many sources warn of fairy rings being created by shooting stars, lightning strikes, or the work of witches. Some even say entering a fairy ring can lead to certain doom. 

///

Tag list: @langdonsoceaneyes​ @ms-mead​ @daydreamingofcody​ @psychobitchtess​ @swampwitchh13​

[intimidatingpuffinstudios]

November Public Commission

Hey, guys! Evil Chani has another commission that she wants to make public for you! Praise her name!😈😂 This one is an MS poly one, and it’s fluff believe it or not! SFW, no smut invoved, just pure sweetness! Enjoy! ~*~ To say that sparring with Morkai is not going according to plan would be an understatement. It’s not like you thought you’d get the upper hand on him—but you had at least hoped to make it somewhat a challenge!

Yet you have ended up on your back time and time again, his large body pinning you down as he straddles you, his green eyes alight with mischief. There’s always a sexual undercurrent to his every single action, but you can see that he’s genuinely enjoying himself this time, no ulterior motives.It’s not such a bad thing seeing him like this… or at least it wouldn’t be if Straasa hadn’t been watching! You called him over to observe, certain that you’d be able to hold your ground—you wanted to…

You’re not sure what you wanted. Maybe you just wanted his eyes on you. Maybe you wanted him to be proud of you, praise your progress, tell you how proud he is that you’re improving… No, of course not, that’s ridiculous! And it’s not like it matters now! Morkai is relentless! He’s not going to make it easy on you—not that you’d even want him to, you are no weakling that needs to be coddled—so any hopes you might have harbored regarding Straasa are a distant dream at this point.

The redhead slowly gets off and lets you get up, a cheeky grin curving his lips. His eyes scan you from top to bottom, probably checking for any accidental injuries—yet there is a considering gleam in those green depths, some obscure thought lurking within.And when he flicks his gaze between you and the smiling, dreadlocked man watching from the side… You have a bad feeling about this—Morkai cannot be trusted, especially if it has anything to do with Straasa.

He is not above using the gentler one in your relationship to tease you, damn him! He knows how flustered Straasa makes you, even now that you’ve all been together for a while. How his open, unreserved affection makes you go weak in the knees. And when he turns his blue eyes to you with desire pooling in them…

Oh, Gods—now is not the time to be thinking of this. Not when you’re trying to one-up Morkai! It will take all your concentration and focus to… The redhead’s smugness reaches critical levels as his voice rings loudly in the clearing, sealing your doom.

“Hey, Straasa? Why don’t you come and take over for a bit? I think she’d benefit from your… lessons,” your impossible lover beckons, and your eyes snap immediately to your right, your heart thumping a bit too strongly at the thought of Straasa sparring with you.

The man in question immediately gets up from his sitting perch and confidently strides towards you, a not-so-innocent smirk pulling at his full lips. It almost frightens you when he gets like this, playful and intent, his intensity different than Morkai’s but just as potent.

He walks up to you, and you’re frozen to the spot, staring at him, doe-eyed and breathless. The moment he’s close enough to touch, you’re swamped with his comforting scent, mixing in with Morkai’s on your other side to create the one situation in this world certain to drive you delirious with both affection and need. Boxed in between the men you love.

“Would you like that, Zhar? It’s been a while since we’ve sparred last,” your blue-eyed partner smiles gently at you, but there’s heat burning behind his gaze, his aura one of vibrating anticipation. You stare up at him, his smooth skin, his strong jaw, his long hair…

But what gets you the most is what you see lurking behind his clear blue gaze, the emotions lurking there. This was never a choice for you. From the moment you met these men, your fate has been sealed, whether you knew it or not. It’s a fate you embrace willingly.

You nod as confidently as you can manage, swallowing thickly to dispel the sudden lump of feelings lodged in your throat and shiver as Morkai leans seductively over you, his lips brushing your sensitive skin.

He chuckles deeply, darkly, the vibration of it running down your spine as he nips the tip of your ear—and cheekily taunts you like the bastard that he is.  He grabs one of your hips with one large hand and gives it a good squeeze, making you feel the pressure.

“Let’s see if you’ll do any better with the one that will go easier on you, hm?” His challenging tone makes the blood boil in your veins, and you ready yourself to launch at him, intent on taking him down no matter what it takes. But then his next words catch you by surprise.

“Or maybe it’s not lack of prowess that’s making you so clumsy, hmm? Maybe you’re distracted for some reason?” his deep voice taunts, and the desire to slap his butt hard rises up to the surface as viciously as the blush now covering your face and neck.

You swipe at him, aiming for the steely muscles of his arm knowing full well he’ll evade you—and he does, happily laughing and dancing away, leaving to get to it with Straasa. Twin mirrors of blue stare deeply into your own eyes, pinning you to the spot and making you shiver—then your partner smiles, and the game is on.

You would like to say that you fared better with Straasa—but the sad truth is that you do worse with him, already too distracted, every brush of his body against yours sending tingles of sensation throughout your nerves. Five minutes in and you’re already an ungraceful, stumbling mess, so different than your usual agile self.You see the feint he’s about to do, clear as day—but then the sun highlights his cheekbones just so—you evade too late and trip on your own damn feet. You brace yourself for it—but the painful impact you’re expecting never comes.

Strong arms wrap themselves around you, halting your fall and pulling you into a crushing hug, Morkai’s silken hair brushing your face as he holds you close, close, his hand tangling in your hair as he presses your head to his chest.

“Enough, no more for today, Zhar. You gave it your best, you did good, precious.” You’re still not used to honest praise from Morkai, so his words hit hard—you allow yourself to melt in his embrace, his warm hand scratching your scalp, this is nice…

“You’ve come so far, Zhara. I’m proud of your progress, how hard you’ve worked… Well done, my love.”

A second pair of arms wraps you up from the back, Straasa’s warm body sealing you in as his lips press to the crown of your head. A low, contended sound comes from deep inside his chest as he gives you the praise that you longed after. He trails kisses all over your hair while Morkai massages the back of your neck, Straasa’s fingers pushing gently into your flesh as he runs them up and down your arms. You’re trapped in a strange state between arousal and utter relaxation.

You stay like that for you don’t know how long, lost in their presence, the fatigue of a good work-out settling into your muscles and lulling you to sleep, Morkai’s heartbeat a drugging tempo in your ear.

But alas, nothing good lasts forever—Straasa reluctantly pulls back from your shared embrace—but he presses an apologetic kiss to your head and Morkai’s lips before he does. You make a sound of protest, the suddenly cold air at your back reminding how sweaty you are.

“I’m sorry, my heart, but we should wash off before Morkai manages to get a cold again. You don’t want to hear him whining about his sore bones all day long, do you?” your devious angel asks slyly, and you snort in amusement when Morkai scoffs with indignation.

“That only happened once,” he defends himself as if it will make any difference. You chuckle at the same time Straasa does, rubbing your face on the redhead’s shirt and placing a soft kiss right where his beloved heart rests.

Then you take a regretful step back, knowing that Straasa is right. You ignore Morkai’s weak attempts to hold onto you, and you certainly do not pay attention to his green puppy eyes. You love it when he’s so obviously trying to be manipulative—but you’ll never tell him that.

“Come on, Morkai. You can help me make sure that not a single inch of her is left unclean.”The words have the desired effect—on you and Morkai both. You freeze on the spot, your mind making up images of your lovers’ hands running over your wet skin, stroking and cleaning, ensuring that your hygiene is top-notch.

A possessive growl echoes in the clean air around you, making your knees wobble.

“I’ll make sure you’re both clean,” Morkai assures you all threateningly, his large hands wrapping around yours and Straasa’s wrists like a vice, pulling you after him as he sets your course with deadly determination.

You chance a glance at Straasa’s laughing face as your mirth overflows, the training yard ringing with your combined merriment. You take note of the man’s fond expression, the pure joy clear on his face. You take note of Morkai’s bouncing steps, his red hair gleaming in the sun as he chuckles with you without turning around, not trying to conceal his happiness.

And you know that everything you’ve been through, all the pain, and the loss, and the suffering… It all meant that you could be here with them, in this single, perfect moment in time. And you know…

It has all been worth it in the end.

[yougottalovekyloren]

Across the Stars (Part 14)

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! I hope you all are doing well and are staying healthy! This past week, I have been trying to decide what my new update schedule should be, and I think that I’m going to aim to update at least once a week.I’m thinking Fridays, but let me know what you all think!  I only have three weeks left in my semester, and then I’m free... for two weeks and then I begin a few summer courses to get ahead. BUT.... those two weeks will have quite a few uploads! Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, and I will try to have my new one part imagine up by the end of the week (no promises, though!)

-M <3

Y/N'S POV

My eyes fluttered opens lowly, sore and red with fatigue. I was still in Ben's arms, leaned against the wall. I glanced up at him. His head leaned back against it, his eyes closed and hair falling slightly over his eyes.  I let out a small sigh and leaned against his chest, closing my eyes as I soaked in the rare moment of peace.

 Unfortunately, it was not meant to last.

Only a few brief moments later, the door opened with a sharp woosh, and a familiar silver-plated figure stepped into the room. My hand instinctually grasped onto Ben’s arm.    

"Get up, girl." Phasma snapped, her hand wrapping around my arm and yanking me from where I sat. A new hand grabbed the other, pulling me back towards its source.

"She's not going anywhere." Ben’s voice was deadly, clearly awake now. The normally emotionless Captain let out a small snort. 

"Wake up, Ben. You are no longer my commander. Your words are empty. You are a prisoner of the First Order."

"Do not call me that." He hissed, not releasing his hold on me. She shook her head.

"I have to take her. She needs to be questioned."

"By who?"

"Garrik Turon, your new replacement. You may remember him from when you started training under Snoke." I could almost hear her amusement under her mask. I had no idea who that was, so I tried to believe that I had nothing to fear. But as soon as I saw Ben's face, my confidence shattered into a million pieces. As much as he tried to hide it, I could still see the fear glistening in his eyes. It quickly morphed into white hot rage.

"You can't take her to him."

"I can, and I will." Phasma grabbed me and pulled me up again. But as Ben rose to get me again, a dart of some sort shot out of Phasma's wrist and sunk into his neck.

"No!" I could only watch in horror as he dropped to the ground, his eyes open and body twitching.

"It only stunned him, you stupid girl." She growled, yanking me towards the door. "Let's go!"

"B-Ben." I cried, trying to pull away and go back to his side.  A familiar click of a gun sounded only mere inches from my ear, making me freeze.

"I suggest that you walk out of the cell before your beloved watches your blood coat the floor." Phasma spat icily. "He is not here to save you now." 

I looked down at him sadly, watching as the effects started to wear off slowly.  I had to do this, for Ben's sake. 

I walked slowly out of the room, terrified to go forward but not daring to go back.  My bottom lip caught between my teeth as I held back tears,  hearing the door shut quietly behind me. My life hung by a thread. 

"Let's go." The gun pressed against the small of my back, and I felt myself stumble forward. We walked through several long corridors before we reached our destination. "Go inside. He's waiting."

Trying to hide my fear, I entered the room. A dark figure sat in a chair, a simple hood covering his face.

"So... this is the girl who turned Kylo Ren soft." His voice sent a shiver down my spine. He rose and removed his hood.  My eyebrows rose a little in surprise. This man was only a handful of years older than myself, not too much younger than Ben.  He had soft wavy brown hair and a scar that ran directly across his right across his right eye. If his lips weren't twisted in a nasty sneer, I would’ve considered him somewhat handsome.

"I didn't make him weak." I swallowed, before continuing to speak. "I-"

A brilliant flash of pain cut me off, and a startled cry of pain escaped my lips as my body dropped to the floor. 

"I didn't ask you to speak." His voice was quiet, a slight twinge of amusement laced in with his calm demeanor, watching as I gasped for breath. My head was throbbing and something inside my chest was beginning to burn, like a growing fire. "Do you know who I am? You may speak now. “

"No." I managed to whimper.

"I'm Garrik Turon. But you can call me Lord Turon." He looked down at my darkly, disgust evident in his gaze. "I'm ten times stronger than your little boyfriend ever was, and will ever be. I do not give in when the first set of pretty Y/E/C eyes and long legs come along!"

I felt myself slowly begin to cry as I felt the fire continue to burn deeper in my chest, and the pounding in my head grow harder to bear. Who knew when it would be over? Or if I’d ever see Ben again?

---

Ben's POV

I slammed my fist into the wall for the fifth time since she was taken away. Blood began to soak through the dark fabric of my gloves, but I could not even begin to care in the slightest.  

They had taken Y/N away. 

They took her to him. 

The thought only made me angrier than I already was, my jaw tensing as my fist clenched again.

I had known Garrik for years. He was just as bad as I was, if not worse.  The friend I once knew knew nearly nothing of the Light. Snoke had made sure of that.

       (FLASHBACK TEN YEARS)

"Do you have family?" I asked after a particularly grueling duel, sitting next to him on the bench inside the training center. He wasn’t much younger than I was, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. 

"I do." His smile was bright, reaching his eyes.. "I'm hoping they'll be able to visit one day."

 I winced slightly, the painful images of my mother and father racing through my mind. And of course... my uncle.  But that didn’t matter anymore. The past was in the past. 

"Maybe. But for now, we have to concentrate on training."

"Absolutely." Garrik looked at me. "Will you help me?”

"Sure. Why not? Let’s get going.” 

   (FLASHBACK END)

Not even a week later,  Garrik received word that his family had been murdered. It did not take much sleuthing to know who had been behind the vicious attack. I expected nothing less from someone with that much hatred.

But after that moment in the training room, I never saw him smile again. I knew that whatever light, whatever inch of happiness was left inside him was gone. 

The Dark Side was all he had left.

After that, he trained hard. Just as hard as me. When Snoke appointed me as Commander, everything changed between us. Whatever friendship we had was destroyed. 

He became consumed by jealously, and I frankly didn't blame him at all.  But after that, I kept my distance and he kept his. All that remained was a growing tension. I hadn't seen him in a year or two. 

As I found myself lost in my thoughts, the door opened and my head snapped up. Phasma took a step into the room. "Where the hell is she?"

"She will be brought in in a few minutes." She hesitated,before continuing. "But first, Ren, I think we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about." I shrugged absentmindedly, pulling off my gloves and examining the damage my fists had taken only moments earlier..

"There is everything to talk about!" Phasma hissed. "You betrayed us!  You betrayed the First Order for a girl!"

"I know what I did." My gaze shifted to her once again, hard and cold. "And I have no regret for my actions." 

She knelt in front of me. 

"You came to us, remember? You felt the Calling and you left. You came to find a greater purpose, more potential."

"Shut up." I snapped. "You don't know anything."

"I do know something." She scoffed. "That girl will die, Ren. What then?"

"I won't let her die." I narrowed my eyes. "I will protect her, always."

“But it doesn’t seem that you can now, does it? Not even your love can save-”

I stretched my hand out, starting to choke her. "What would you know about love?”

"If you do not let me go in five seconds, you will never see Y/N again." Phasma choked out and I immediately released my hold on her. She slowly rose to her feet, and started walking to the door, pausing and looking back at me. “I loved you... more than you would ever know.”

I couldn’t comprehend which was more powerful, my disgust or my confusion. I gazed up at her, before speaking. “What of it now?” 

Even through her mask, I could tell she was torn in two. I did not feel anything remotely close to what she felt for me, but surely her loyalty to me could be manipulated to be stronger than to those for the First Order.

Phasma’s helmet tipped upwards. “It sure doesn’t matter now, does it?” 

The room fell silent. 

"Bring in the prisoner."

The door opened once again, and two Stormtroopers entered the room. In between them, was Y/N. 

She did not look well at all. Her eyes were wet with tears, rimmed red with exhaustion. Her hair was a mess, and I could see slight bruising around her arms. I immediately rose to my feet.

"What did he do to her?”

"Not my business nor my place to disclose anything related to the First Order’s interrogation procedures." Phasma’s voice hardened once more. "Ask him when you see him tomorrow."  

Without another word, she stormed out of the room, the troopers not far behind. The door shut not long after their departure. Y/N stood silently in the middle of the room, shaking slightly.

"What did he do to you?" I whispered, walking slowly and cautiously to her side.

"He..." Her voice cracked and she paused, as if she was praying for her tears to disappear. "He hurt me. In ways that I have never been hurt before. My body felt like it was on fire." I looked at her, and I instantly knew that she was leaving something out of her story. 

"What else?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me." I said firmly, taking her hand in mine. "I need to know."

 "He touched my head." Y/N whispered, her voice weak as she spoke further.   "And he put a vision inside." I squeezed her hand when she hesitated to continue.

"Please."

"You died." Y/N whimpered. "Over and over again. I was next to you, and couldn't do anything but watch as he killed you.”

"I'm not going to die." I pulled her closer to me. "Don't worry."

"I lost track of how many times he made me watch you die. It feels like it’s destined to happen." She softly, numbly.. "What if it’s what lays ahead of us?"

"No." I said firmly. "It won't. I'm not going to die and neither are you."

“It seems that are chances of surviving these days have been fairly small.”

"I'm seeing hint tomorrow. I will kill him myself, if or when it comes down to it.”

"You don't have your lightsaber."

 "No." I shook my head. "But I know how to without it."

 “How-”

 "Don't dwell on it anymore, my stars." I kissed her forehead softly. "Come, close your eyes and rest. That is something that we both need more than anything now.”

----

[split-n-splice]

Reminder that this is still a fairly young Shego, still technically a teenager and just a few years into superpowers, and as such, still learning how to cope. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (And she'll be younger in the next chapter. PFFT)

[Chapter Guide]

25. Welfare Check – 7

Dressed for bed with hair damp, Shilo had wasted her evening sitting up in front of the television, waiting for her family to show up to pester her, but they never did. Now it was bedtime, past bedtime, and she’d been lying awake with the blankets kicked off, the top of her pajamas flayed open to cool her burning skin as she lay sprawled out, breathing deep, eyes skewed shut.

Hot flash was literal in her case. She hoped the cotton of her pajamas wouldn’t burn as her skin glittered.

As if rest wasn’t hard enough to come by knowing her family was in town, she had cool blue eyes on the brain – and that was the last thing she needed haunting her to fan the flame.

Another cold shower didn’t exactly do the trick, but at least she was considerably safer under the water. She let the tub fill and lay in the bath long after she got pruney. Dozing off there was tempting, but as a kid, her mother had always warned her about falling asleep in the tub. It was probably just for the sake of not hogging the bathroom, she decided. Sleeping in shallow water was preferable to scorching her sheets for the fifth time this month.

If it weren’t for her brothers, she could self-medicate with the stash she’d stolen from the guest she’d evicted Halloween morning. She’d only just gotten the smell reasonably out of the apartment, and opening the tin now would spell trouble.

Her eyes were drawn to the medicine cabinet and the promise of sleep it held. The last time she’d seen the clock, it was nearing midnight. She didn’t want to think about the hour now.

Shilo clambered out of the tub in the dark, not bothering to grab a towel as the water steamed off her body, and she stood stark naked and on the verge of overheating all over again as she hunched over the bathroom sink. She couldn’t see what she reached for. Everything was blurry from hot tears welling up. She couldn’t keep her eyes squeezed shut forever.

She wanted to dump out the bottle and flush the pills down the toilet.

That was her intent anyway as she fumbled with the lid with trembling hands, but she damned herself as she tossed her head back to swallow one down dry and slammed the cabinet shut so hard the mirror broke. She pawed at her burning eyes and left the bathroom, shaking glass from her bare feet as she decided she’d deal with the mess in the morning.

The apartment was already beginning to feel frigid by the time she choked down a slice of bread to put something her stomach to chase the harsh pill.

Gravity came down on her, everything beginning to feel heavy in a hurry as the unheated studio sapped whatever heat was left on her skin. She told herself she was just tired. She wasn’t steaming anymore and licks of green flame had ceased flickering over her body, so she couldn’t complain.

Shilo exhaled an exhausted sigh as the relief drew her to bed. She was just a little too drowsy now to be upset anymore for giving in. She could hate herself tomorrow, she decided as she patted around her blankets in the dark. Her fingers curled into soft woven fabric bundled near the head of her bed as she straightened the pillows she’d discarded, and she didn’t think twice about pulling on the oversized sweater to replace the ruined pajamas she’d abandoned on the bathroom floor. She pulled off the bat brooch and collapsed, barely finding the energy to tug the disheveled blanket over her as she fell deeper under the pill’s spell.

If her glow wasn’t still dormant four hours later, she would have fired a shot at her alarm just to sleep in. Keeping the offending clock across the room on her dresser was incentive to pick herself up out of bed each morning, but today with a sedative drug in her system, it was a little less compelling.

Eventually though, she rolled out of bed and slumped over shut it off. And then she stood there at the vanity, staring at the miserable reflection looking back at her. Her hair was a mess and she had work to do to hide the shadows under her reddened eyes. A strange man’s sweater hanging off her body shouldn’t have been the only comfort she found in the frame, but she hugged herself and reminded herself it was hers now. She’d stolen it, fair and square.

A knock at the door made her jump and she hastily pulled on the first pair of jeans she grabbed off the floor.

“Hope you’re decent!” hollered Milo from the other side, and she was just spinning her back to the door to button her pants as he squeezed in through a crack and rose to his natural height inside her apartment.

She’d rag his ear off about home invasion and criminal trespass and the likes, but she knew he’d disregard it. They were family and he was a superhero, so he could get away with that kind of thing. She swore it would bite him in the ass one of these days.

“What do you want?” she groused over her shoulder, digging into her drawers and hoping that setting a bra on top would ward him off.

It didn’t. She regretted making him do the laundry since he was a tween, but she’d been stuck taking care of the twerps so it was the least he could have done to pull his own weight.

He put himself between her and the drawers, and she wanted to strike him, and maybe pack a little heat behind it, but when she clenched her fist she realized the heat of her glow was still extinguished. The fleeting fear crossed her mind of Global Justice changing the formula to lengthen her downtime.

Milo crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her, and said, “You lied.”

“Yeah?” she snorted. “I’m not under oath.” She didn’t care to ask about what. She’d lied that she’d go to the library yesterday, and she’d lied that she’d never take the damn worthless pills again, and she’d lied—

“He didn’t go to Mexico.”

She quirked her brow at him. And then it hit her – that lie – and she took a hasty step back away from her brother. Her heart started to thud. She almost felt warm, but it was nothing compared to the fire that would have burned her had she not swallowed the pill last night. Nonetheless, she suddenly saw her breath in the chilly apartment.

“Don’t worry,” said Milo nonchalantly, waving a hand flippantly and holding it out palm-up. He kept his voice down. “I’ll keep quiet about your weirdo boyfriend.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “He’s not my – augh! Fine.” Shilo spun around, dropping to her knees by her bed to pull out her go-bag, yet to be fully unpacked from the Las Vegas lark. She needed to grab some extra spending money for herself today anyway. She winced at the sound of beer cans knocking around under there and glared over her shoulder as she fished out a single bill. An even hundred dollars was enough for her spoiled little brother to give a content grunt and stuff it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“So you don’t live together, huh?” he wondered, eyeing the place. “Pretty shitty of him if he can’t—”

“Hey! You said you’d keep quiet,” Shilo seethed, bundling up the clothes off her dresser.

“And you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

Her lips had never zipped shut faster. Her face went pink – she could see it in the mirror – and she whipped around with an indignant huff to change in the bathroom.

She miserably remembered about the shattered glass strewn across the bathroom floor. She picked her way around it and decided she’d deal with it tonight, sweeping some of it aside with her scorched pajamas for now. If blue eyes hadn’t troubled her last night, she wouldn’t have to deal with the mess at all. Or at least, she wanted to blame the rising distress that had lead to her breaking point on the stupid fantasies. She wouldn’t have taken the pill at all if she hadn’t been flustered over stupid beads.

Once she was dressed and presentable enough for family, she stormed out, ready to shove her little brother away from the vanity so she could finish her routine. She narrowed her eyes on the trinket he held. She wasn’t sure where she’d displaced it last night, but he’d found it and was looking over each little pebble as if they held a clue.

“Too cheap to buy you gold, huh?” scoffed Milo as she yanked the bracelet from him.

Denying him an answer, she returned the trinket to her wrist – if only because it wasn’t a gift from the rogue doctor. Milo didn’t know that, but at least she did, and it helped Shilo hold her ground. “Are you done prying into my personal life?”

“Nope. How old is he?”

She grimaced. She didn’t want to admit that to Milo, much less to herself. It could be worse, but admitting the man in question was several years older than her wouldn’t help her case – not that the detail mattered. “How much do you know?” she asked, sparing him a cagey sidelong glance as she perched on her dresser before the vanity mirror.

“I know you went on a date last night.”

She nearly dropped her brush. Her nerves were harder to mask than the signs of fatigue stamped under her eyes. “No, I didn’t,” she snorted in a poor attempt to dismiss the accusation.

Milo cleared his throat. It was never a good thing when Milo cleared his throat, or opened his mouth at all for that matter. “Let’s elope to Alaska and go skiing,” he jeered, gripping the air as if miming skiing – until he made a suggestive motion that made Shilo painfully glad she’d taken the dreadful pill last night.

Mortified by his heckling, she stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed for a moment before her brow knit together in a glare. “If you tell anyone—”

“Cool it,” said her little brother, hands up. “I’m the only one who knows your dirty little secret. Promise.”

Her patience was worn thinner than tissue. “Get out!” she barked at him, and he actually jumped back.

Milo looked her over and shrugged as he turned around. “If you insist,” he said flippantly.

She wished she hadn’t told him off – because he opened the front door to allow an even bigger headache to barge in. She could only stifle a groan and rub her temples, on the verge of screaming as she stifled a distraught whimper.

They couldn’t keep this up forever, she decided, hastily finishing up in front of the mirror. She shouldered her purse, locked the door, and trotted down the staircase as she tied her hair back with a teal bandana to match her cardigan. Just shy of running from it, she ignored Hugo’s persistent complaints about not keeping to her routine yesterday.

The only good thing that came from him shadowing her was the information he divulged. She tried not to let her shoulders slump with relief at the news they were leaving soon – soon, soon – as in within the hour, because the boys had missed enough school. She couldn’t smile about it, but she was glad to hear it anyway.

“Ohh,” she crooned, looking back at her plaid-clad lumberjack of a brother looming just behind her. “Sorry we didn’t get to hang out much. Maybe next time.”

“Next month,” supplied Milo.

“We’ll work something out,” added Hugo. “The twins would’ve liked to spend more time with their sister, but—”

“I was busy,” Shilo sternly reminded. “My life doesn’t revolve around you guys or the twerps anymore.”

Milo coughed. “Yeah, so I’ve noticed.”

She shot a scowl to her lavender brother sauntering along on her other side. He was close to having his teeth knocked out. She didn’t need her glow for that. She balled her fists and set her jaw, picking up the pace.

A month. She had a month until she had to deal with her family again. A month to tear that reckless Drakken a new one. It wasn’t crucial, but if she could find a new guy to hide him behind by then, she might be set, as long as her family didn’t suspect the rogue to be anything more than a creep preying on young women. Nate had been a crappy alibi, but she’d been desperate, and he had a car, and was easily talked into being the getaway driver for her and Buckley’s girls – and then he didn’t want to leave. He had been convenient. She could do better.

A month was generous.

Shilo looked between her brothers shadowing her. If Milo had been lying – if the leader of Team Go really did know the man who’d spirited her away was in town – then Hugo would surely be wringing his hands and grumbling things like, “Just wait until I get my hands on him,” or interrogating her for his location. He wouldn’t be wasting his time with puppy-dog eyes trying to guilt-trip her, or whatever he was playing at. Town might even be crawling with Global Justice agents if he knew. But it wasn’t, and so far Hugo had only made a pathetic attempt to bring the family back together for the holiday and convince her to rejoin the team to live in the Go Tower alone, if she wanted her space that badly.

So she relaxed a little.

Halfway to Buckley’s, she crossed paths with her downtrodden father. He kept his eyes downcast and said nothing. Shilo looked to her younger brother, a little hopeful the center of attention would like to shed a little light, but he only grimaced slightly and shrugged. As she hugged the twerps goodbye, she couldn’t shake the sense that she’d been disowned on Halloween from the minute she’d slammed the door in the man’s face. That was fine by her. It was high time he got the hint he’d lost all grasp on her – on them. He was nothing more than a glorified babysitter now thanks to Lady Fate and Global Justice.

She squeezed the twerps once more – and kept her complaints to herself when Hugo stooped to engulf her in his huge embrace. If only to be included, Milo managed to wrap his spindly arms around them as well.

The hug lasted a little too long for comfort. She worried she was about to be hefted up and toted off while she was still next to helpless to defend herself. After a moment, she cleared her throat and shifted, spurring Hugo to release her. He did so reluctantly.

The twins turned tearful pleading eyes up at her.

She didn’t need that.

She didn’t need them begging her to come home with them.

Shilo kissed her index fingers and pressed them to their dimpled cheeks before the twerps could start bawling their little hearts out. A sweet lie that she’d send them some of Buckley’s special candy was enough to perk them up. They were still stubborn about releasing her legs. It took Hugo scruffing them by the straps of their overalls to hoist onto his shoulders before Shilo could put distance between herself and her family.

“Next month,” she said in lieu of a goodbye. She was still unsure what next month would entail, but she gave a small wave and a weak smile anyway as she retreated.

The group stood on the corner, watching her go. She turned her eyes straight ahead, determined not to glance back at them until she’d rounded a block herself, where she risked a peek over her shoulder just to be sure they weren’t following her. She heard the rumble of the jet shortly before reaching Buckley’s and saw it zip across the sky.

The next few hours proved to her that her family weren’t the only ones in a funk.

Shilo downed caffeine throughout the day in hopes of taking the edge off her fatigue. Every so often between customers, she slapped her own cheeks. She was off her game. It must have been painfully obvious and awfully annoying to her fellow barista when the stocky girl struck her in the shoulder just as Shilo raised her hands to pat her cheeks again.

“Need help slapping your face?” wondered the henchgirl-to-be with dry sarcasm.

“No, thanks. I’m good,” Shilo shot back, though she decided she might stick to the espressos.

She scrunched her face in a grimace at the bell jingling behind her back, and she drew a deep breath to prepare herself. She was composed and smiling and as awake and alert as she could be when she spun back around on her heel to face the customer and recite the usual greeting, “Welcome to Buckley’s Brew, what can I brew y— yo.”

She jerked back as she fixed her eyes on the customer, standing prim and proper and just about eye-blinding, dressed in shades of white and beige with hair as bright as the sun and eyes as dazzling as a clear July sky and—

And Shilo realized she was staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the radiant angel boy.

She blinked rapidly and shuddered as the warmth crept back over her skin and tingled across her clammy palms. Of course now the effects of the suppressant would wear off. Granted, she might have helped speed it along by downing more than the recommended allowance of espresso.

The boy cracked a smile of bleached-white teeth, quipping, “Yo, back at you.”

Shilo barely heard him. She gripped the counter. “Angel boy,” she blurted under her breath. She blinked again. Glanced back and gestured to the menu on the wall behind her – just about smacking her fellow barista Gail in doing so – and quickly sputtered, “W-well? What can I get ya? I haven’t got all day.” She winced at the crass words that flew out of her mouth.

The young man raised his brow at her and stepped aside to inspect the glass display loaded with fresh baked goods. “Just having a look around,” he said innocently. Shilo tried not to glance his way, setting her glower on the tip jar instead, but still caught his straight face crack again with a smile. “It all looks good. What do you suggest?”

When Shilo stood stock-still and mute, clutching the counter like a lifeline, Abigail knuckled her hip to shove her over to follow the customer to make a sale, but she didn’t budge. “I, uh. The daily special is…uh,” she floundered, realizing to her mortification that she couldn’t recall the special she’d only been suggesting robotically to each customer today.

“Pumpkin strudel,” answered Abigail impatiently.

Shilo caught a glimpse of angel boy’s eyes settling on the latest addition to Buck’s pastry showcase and she felt something twist in her stomach.

“Sounds good,” angel boy chimed, tapping the glass. “I’ll take one – oh, and a caramel latte. To go.”

“I-I’ll get right on that,” Shilo stuttered, prying her hands off the counter and willing away the heat. Severely lacking in the friendly department, she avoided eye contact as she fulfilled her duties otherwise.

“What is with you?” hissed Abigail, all but shoving the latte in Shilo’s hands.

“I – um – nothing,” she mumbled and quickly ducked away. If she could, the fellow barista might have swatted her upside the head. And if she had, Shilo might have spun to release some of the pent-up energy begging for an escape.

Shilo kept her eyes locked on the countertop as she slid the order across. In turn, angel boy slid over a bill. “Keep the change,” he said, as if the fifty cent difference was really all that generous. He took his order and left a little quickly, Shilo raising her brow at his back as he went.

As she made to put the cash in the till, she discovered a slip of paper beneath the bill – which Shilo snatched up and stuffed in her pocket, throwing a hasty glance to ill-tempered Abigail already whispering to Buckley through the window to the kitchen.

Westinger Grill, 6pm Friday

No name. No number. The Westinger rang a bell though.

Shilo found herself eyeing the slip of paper as she sat on the bus heading to the far end of town that evening. Her heart gave a lurch each time she glanced at it. Buckley had warned her, “Watch out for that one.” But Buckley couldn’t tell her why. Just that it was a gut feeling. But Shilo had a gut feeling too, and it had been fermenting all afternoon.

Whether a date or a prank, she knew where he worked. One way or another, she’d make him regret driving her to such desperate measures last night.

Angel boy was good as damned.

She tried not to walk with such a spring in her step, but jubilance made the trek up the hill go that much quicker. As usual, she found the gate chained and locked, but the barbed wire at the top had been removed after her mishap, making climbing it a second time a cinch.

As she entered the stuffy lab Dr. Drakken had himself safely holed up in – behaving himself finally now that it didn’t matter – she swore she caught a whiff of something sweet. It almost made the stale air pleasant to breathe.

“Ugh!” she groaned hugely as she strode across the cavern toward the man seated in a spare computer chair, hunched over his favorite work desk. He didn’t look up. She tried raising her voice, adding dryly, “I never thought I’d be so glad to be in a stuffy cave.”

The closer she came, the quicker his movements got, but there was no hope of finishing his task quick of enough to hide the project she fancied poking a little harmless fun at him for. He still seemed to be in a rush to connect cables like veins and arteries that connected an arm to a torso, too preoccupied to spare her more than a grunt.

“What’chu got there, Doc?” she jibbed, as if she didn’t already know. She perched on the armrest and leaned an elbow on his shoulder to stoop over and watch him tightening minuscule screws and tapping here and there with a soldering iron. He stiffened under her weight, and she let herself lean heavier against him as she pressed his buttons. “Trying to replace me already, huh? Man. Can’t believe you’re still working on these things. You’re such a nerd.” She tugged a lock of loose hair hanging by his ear for good measure. “You really got your heart set on these robo-girlfriends, huh?”

He fumbled with his screwdriver, dropping a tiny screw through the mess of connective cables. She could see his ears turning purple with his weird blush, and though he wore his awkward goggles, she knew he was glaring. His jaw was set, but he pried it open to gripe, “I’ll have you know, they’re more like my children at this point.”

Shilo – Shego scoffed. He’d yet to explain in full how they came about, and she wasn’t sure she could stay awake to listen to ancient history if he began the tale now. He had let on though that the Bebe sisters were a pet project of his since his teens and fresh out of high school – which must have been an awful long time to have his heart set on a single project he’d yet to perfect. It didn’t reflect well on his capability, by evil genius standards, and just thinking about the prototype robots made Shego quirk her mouth in doubt that this man would amount to more than a hermit scientist in a hole in the ground, making his living by building dangerous toys for others.

She wondered for a moment if she’d be alright with that – as long as he gave her something to do and took her out to stir a little mayhem now and then, of course.

Watching the twist and pull of his frown as he chewed on curses and grumbles, she stopped herself just short of reaching for the ponytail worn loose and low, and jerked away instead at the jolt of nerves flaring in her gut.

She shoved off from his shoulder before she could burn him by accident and found something else for her hands to do.

Hovering beside him instead, she lifted a limp robot leg to shamelessly inspect the carapace for female anatomy beyond the breastplate – which surprisingly served a function, allowing for extra room to store the cooling system and other vitals like the battery and what amounted to a complex synthetic nervous system.

Though her search came up empty, she mumbled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” and leaned forward to fold her arms on the table as she watched the man beside her continue to tinker and fumble with the inner workings of a shoulder, reaching into the gaping chest cavity on occasion to string something through.

Drakken must have reached a stopping point because suddenly he stood. Or maybe he just couldn’t focus any longer with her practically breathing down his neck. Either way, he snapped the breastplate shut, but otherwise clearly left the task unfinished as he hit the button under the desk to draw the privacy curtain shut and shut off the surgical light overhead. With his dorky magnifying goggles on, she couldn’t really see the glare he shot her way, but the curve of his mouth was enough to get the point across.

“I don’t need you criticizing me,” he declared, abandoning the pet project for now. He tore off the goggles, tossing them aside on the computer mainframe serving as a desk as he passed, and pulled his regular spectacles back on.

Tailing him, Shego clicked her tongue. “Contract never said I couldn’t,” she twittered.

He made a beeline for his kitchen, shedding his gloves and tossing his oil-stained jacket on the back of a barstool Shego set herself in a moment later to watch him roll up his sleeves and scrub down. “So,” he grumbled over his shoulder. “If you’re here, then I take it your family has gone home, yes?”

She couldn’t help the contented smile that stretched across her face. “Affirmative,” she answered blithely. “So far, so good. But you need to practice being sneaky. You’re lucky you weren’t busted.”

“Hmm, why’s that?”

“Milo saw us.”

Drakken threw an alarmed glance back at her, fumbling for a towel to dry off. “What? Who’s – the purple one?” he guessed, and she nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, I’m not worried about that one.”

“That one has a mouth on him, you know. He’s kind of a rat,” she warned gravely. She barely found the nerve to discuss the matter, especially after her brother’s crude take on their idle chitchat at Cow-n-Chow. “You need to be more careful. They’re coming back to check on me next month. Dunno when. Hope they give me a heads up first. But for now, they’re out of my hair.”

The man made a disgruntled kind of noise as he rummaged into the fridge. “That’s good to hear,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he thought so. “So you’re available again?”

Shego perked up at the implication in his tone, and couldn’t help a wry smile. “Depends. What’chu got in mind?” she shot eagerly.

“Oh, it’s that pesky Dementor again,” said Drakken, lip raised in disdain as he waved a large knife with a roll of his wrist. “Every time I think he’s out of the picture, he pops back up like that moldy spot in the corner.”

“Ew,” Shego muttered, and couldn’t help a glance around to figure out which corner he was referring to. In a room carved out of the earth, there were a lot of corners, nooks, and crannies.

Drakken cleared his throat to regain her attention and dropped a cutting board with a clatter at the end of the island. “Anyway. I hear he goes by Professor Dementor now. He’s reconstructed and upgraded his seismic generator, and now he’s planning to threaten the world with tsunamis for some ridiculous demonstration. We need to find it and get rid of it – for good, this time.”

Shego grimaced. “That’s hero work,” she complained, and bit her lip for sounding like such a petulant child. Nevermind that there was evidently a villain teaching a class on global threats—

“It’s a necessary evil – err, good,” Drakken answered grimly, slicing away at bell peppers. “I can’t have his plans succeeding before mine.”

She rolled her eyes and retorted, “What are your plans anyway?” She already knew the answer to that. “I haven’t seen you do anything super radical since I got here.” Granted, she hadn’t been with him long.

“We’re biding our time, Shego,” crooned the rogue doctor, and she could practically mouth it along with him. “By the time your pesky brothers accept you’ve given up the whole hero lifestyle and have moved on, I’ll have the resources to play in the big leagues. I’m almost there, dear. You’ll see. We don’t need some little city guardians tipping off big brother because they found out their little sissy is a criminal.”

Somehow, sissy bothered her more than dear. She grimaced. “Watch it,” she warned. Nonetheless, she was glad to still be included in his plans, and it was reassuring to know her brothers’ hovering wasn’t a deal-breaker – though it was all the proof she needed to believe he was out of his mind. And even if it was all sweet lies he fed her to serve his unclear agenda, she still smiled at the prospect of sticking around to see it.

She had an itch after all, and he knew just how to scratch it.

A/N:

This scene picks back up immediately in Ch27. Aura of Others! ;B

[boredroo]

A Messenger pt. 6

Summary: The Council has heard of the names that have reigned down London; the Frye twins have evidently brought upon a change for the better good against the Templar’s tyranny, but order must still be kept.

You have been sent by the Council to evaluate the two sibling assassins, report what is must and maintain control where it must be maintained.

Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

[][][][][][][][]

“Jacob Frye!”

It’s still rather early in the morning, the train is currently at a temporary stop in the peaceful yet awake station in the City of London—That is, until your fury abruptly tears through the quiet, your footsteps heavy as you march into the compartment where Jacob is resting in.

Sitting idly, almost sprawled over the sofa, Jacob looks up as you enter, ready to greet you with a beaming smile before-

“Oof!” He cries when something hits him right in his face.

“What’s the matter here?” Evie steps in just after you, eyes twinkling in amusement as Jacob dejectedly peels off the object you’ve hurled at him. 

“(Y/N), what the hell-” he starts, but you cut him off even more zealously.

“You’ve been reading through my notes! My reports!” You gesture angrily towards your book now held in-between his fingers. “Those are confidential, and are only for my use as well as the Council’s!” 

Jacob shakes his head, eyes fleeting away from you in what seems to be panic. “I have no idea what you’re going on about-”

“You drew a cat beside your name! Filthy liar!” You snatch the book out of his hand, only to smack it against his nose. He cries out in response and claps his hands to his nose, but to your irritation, you only hear a sheepish laugh afterwards.

Evie pipes up rather complacently behind you. “Oh, Jacob. How could you? See, (Y/N)? I keep telling you, he’s nothing but a walking disaster-”

“She helped me steal it,” Jacob blurts with a finger pointed towards her, and you whirl around instantly. Evie is quick to mirror the wry smile her twin brother wore just moments ago, struggling to ignore the raging fury in your eyes.

“Evie Frye...” you trail between gritted teeth, and she laughs weakly.

“I, well... I have something to attend to, actually!” Evie paces backwards, ready to sprint off into an escape from your wrath, but-

“Easy,” Jacob’s voice is gentle as you feel his hand around your wrist. He tugs it back, having you face him instead. Concern and... care are not quite what you expected to see in his narrowed eyes, not when you yourself can’t seem to feel anything but anger at this moment. They’ve wronged you by doing such a thing, to touch your personal affects like that, intruding your privacy, that now, they surely know.

“We had a reason,” he slowly explains, tapping onto the book now tightly clutched into your clenching fist. Fear, anxiousness render the bitter taste in your mouth, expecting what’s to come. 

“And that reason is?” you manage to ask without your voice breaking.

Jacob doesn’t hesitate the least before answering. “I was worried about you.”

“We both were,” Evie joins, now standing beside him. “We thought we could find something that would help us understand, as you refused to tell us what truly happened there in Southwark. At the factory.”

Where you dumbly lost complete control of yourself, your conscience never fails to remind you, of that upsetting event that took place just a few days ago. And as Evie said, you’ve neglected to explain yourself to them, and you’re more than determined to keep it that way.

Your lips purse ever tightly, foot one step back as you fully intend to leave. “I know I’ve blundered, and have regrettably cost your mission-”

“That’s not what this is about,” Jacob interrupts, but you quickly do the same.

“And I’ve decided to quarantine myself in the train from now on should I ever risk failing you again. I take responsibility over my mistake and am punishing myself for it, and I hope you can simply leave it at that.”

“But (Y/N)-” Evie tries, though you’re already turning away, hastening to drop this conversation for good.

However-

“Luther Hart,” Jacob mutters, quiet but enough to have you hear him, just barely. You halt in your steps, the name yet again sets tremors coursing down your limbs, to your trembling fingers.

You don’t turn around, you couldn’t, but he is adamant to continue. Every word spoken has your heart writhing harder and harder. “...That one same name, scrawled all over on a single page. All of them struck out.”

“...Bloodstains visible as well,” Evie adds under her breath. Slightly firmer, “The penmanship frantic, with blood staining the corners.

“Luther Hart was a target, wasn’t he?” she finally asks. 

Something shatters ever-so-violently inside you. Your body is immobilised, its mind washed away by the sea of memories, of those dark days that were once your very own life.

“(Y/N), who was he?” Jacob asks, and softer, quieter, “What did he do to you?”

Your silence only intensifies. But Jacob calls your name again, that just by that, by only his voice, the kindest way he says it...

You heave a long, fatigued sigh. The twins wait as you seemingly muster all that you need to finally face them, and in your hand, you reveal to them; your golden pen lay atop of your palm. A reverie upon it, it is when you feel a hand on your shoulder you break away albeit reluctantly from your suffocating thoughts, that when you meet Jacob’s gentle expression, the darkness fogging your mind clears up. Slowly it does, but it’s dissipating still. 

...Why is he always able to affect you in such a way? 

***

“...I came from a backwater village, just barely by the border of the country,” you begin.

The city and its people are moving along from outside the train, chattering of the few Rooks from the compartment aside than yours fit pleasantly into the backdrop. The usual, contented scene you’ve grown to seeing every day helps eases the weight in your chest.

...As well as the warmth permeating from Jacob, as his side rests gently against yours on the sofa, just as yours rest into him. Evie watches you with patient eyes from the armchair in front of you, though you didn’t miss the curious glance she had when, rather than sitting with the appropriate distance in the middle, Jacob chose to sit as close as he possibly could to you instead.

“After my mother died of illness, my father, my baby sister and I, we had to make do without her with us,” pain singes you now just as it did before, but it doesn’t last too long. You’ve grown past it, at least, this one you have.

“The loss affected my father most, it turned out. His business crumbled for his despair that never cured, and we were taken of everything we had in a single night,” You inhale a breath, and continue. “That was when my sister—Carolyn and I were taken away, to earn to survive. But I had the better end of it, I was a maid for some snob with too much money on her hands, not a child slave, too old for one I suppose.”

“Your sister was forced to work in a factory?” Evie asks, empathy dripping from her voice.

“And this Luther Hart did that to you? To your family?” Intense anger colours Jacob’s instead. You don’t answer, there’s more—more why the taint on your heart will remain black forever.

“...I tried to see my sister every chance I could, between the breaks. The estate I worked for was far, sometimes I barely made it before she would be whipped into working again. ...I distinctly remember how small and weak Carolyn was.”

Silence oozes, as if they’ve understood. They have. It didn’t take much in the first place, but they understand. They know that Carolyn, your younger, darling sister, is no longer of this world.

“We planned to escape, you see? I would take her away when no one’s watching, when the man with the whip wasn’t looking, when the mistress is too busy shagging her gardener behind her husband’s back. I was prepared. I was prepared,” now you’re clenching your teeth, your jaw tensing so tightly, it almost numbs you. Only when Jacob lightly touches your hand you realise, your fingers have tried clawing, digging into your palm, over your golden pen.

 “But I was-I got greedy,” your voice strains. “I tried to release the other children as well, I’d protect each and every one of them, with Carolyn, but-!” you’re quivering in pain, in mourn, in fear—fear that they’re about to catch you, they’re going to recapture the poor children, they’re going to kill them, kill your sister, then you-!

“(Y/N),” Evie’s voice snaps you awake. Her hand is comforting on your shoulder, relieving. She’s bent in front of you to meet your eyes, and when they do, she offers you a firm nod. You take this as a signal to continue, but you feel... calmer, just by a slight bit. You’re safe now, especially with the twins so close to you.

“Sorry,” you say, exhaling. “...As you can expect, I didn’t get far. Not at all. We barely made it out of the building before the guards overwhelmed us. It was an accident, but the building caught on fire, a stray bullet landing into explosives instead of us. Carolyn’s hand slipped out of mine, and I... No one else made it.”

You try to continue, but before your lips even lift, Jacob interrupts you readily. “It’s not.”

“What?”

“You were about to say it was all your fault, weren’t you?” He frowns hard. “It’s not. That’s that.”

Your lips purse, teeth then gnawing anxiously onto the bottom. It’s easy for him to say, but you understand that he’s trying to ease your pain, and that’s more than you could appreciate already, especially coming from him.

“And that bastard? Hart? Did you get back at him?” Evie asks. You can see sheer hatred in her eyes as the name slips past her lips.

You nod. “I did.” And lifting your pen towards them, “With this.

“My father gave this to me on my birthday, my last birthday we spent together. After Carolyn’s death, I was in a low place, and that was when my mentor came in. She trained me to be who I am now. I bound my life to the creed in return, my duties and responsibilities for the Brotherhood kept me sane, intact. But then I heard word of a new institution under Hart’s name, yet another slave-driving fate forced upon the weak.”

You twirl your pen between your fingers, the maelstrom of emotions inside you having alleviated. Peace resonates deeply when you recall the justice you’ve served with your own hands, the deserving death you’ve brought down.

“It was against my orders, as the higher-ups intended to track Hart to the bigger force he was working under and so spared him to live another day, but the thought of him continuing to breathe while my sister had suffocated and died in his smokes made me take up my blade despite it. When he overpowered me, I used this pen and stabbed him deep in the neck.”

You’re mimicking the motions without realising, your movement exact and precise just as the one in the past. The sun glints off on the pen when you raise it high.

“...And now I must come clear to you two, that due to my defiance,” you turn towards Evie and Jacob, both very attentively listening and watching you, seemingly reliving your story as if it was their own. “With acknowledging my value as an Assassin, rather than rid of me completely for my one mistake, the Council instead decided to send me here, in hopes that I would not engage in the field without supervision.”

“Wait, what?” Jacob looks at you in shock. “So what you’re saying is-”

You force a smile. “Yes. I wasn’t sent here because the Council expected the worst out of you two. In fact, you are the best assassins I’ve ever had the honour of meeting. It was, instead, to ensure that I’d be out of their hair.”

Standing up, brushing down your clothes, you’re desperate to not look at them in the eyes as you say, “And I will not let myself get into yours either. Just this morning I’ve sent a letter to the Council to ask to return to my own home.”

“What?!” Both of them are upright in no time, their loud exclaim startling you.

“Oh, please, don’t worry,” you quickly console. “I’ve put in a good word for the two of you so you should be fine-”

To your puzzlement, however, Jacob doesn’t at all listen, hastening past you like a man in a mission. “Frye? Where are you-”

“I’m not letting that letter leave this city,” he simply says, holding your gaze so firmly, before jumping out of the train. You’re left almost bewildered, agape.

Then, Evie is covering your hands with her own. Her smile is kind, yet her expression feels stern all the same, determined. “You better not move a single inch until we get back, do you understand?”

“U-Uh, okay...?” Is there any other option when she’s staring you down like that?

Evie traces Jacob’s steps, though she stops short just by the exit of the train. “Say, (Y/N)? Something still doesn’t add up.”

“Yes?”

“Where was your father when all of that happened to you?”

You stare at her, before occupying yourself by going through your notes. There are so many cats Jacob has drawn... And they’re much worse than yours.

“...My father? Busy expanding his business as Luther Hart I suppose.”

***

By the time the Frye twins return from their unannounced trip, you’re rousing awake from a nap, their voices echoing down the path to where you are. It couldn’t be helped much that you had fallen asleep right where they left you, especially after their claims; Evie with her not-at-all-a-threat coercing, and Jacob having planted a dire concern in you that perhaps he might have went on to assassinate an innocent mailboy.

“Here you are, (Y/N)!” Jacob chimes as soon as he steps into the compartment. His eyes light up, crinkling from the wide smile he can’t seem to help himself giving you at first sight. A white envelope stands out in the hold of his gloved hand.

“You actually retrieved my letter?” your voice nearly cracks, the incredulity of the idea, of what he’s literally done confuses you to the end of the world.

“Your welcome,” he says proudly, either not noticing or outright ignoring the mixture of both shock and flusteration on your face.

“I don’t understand-”

Evie approaches you rather briskly, taking you by surprise when her grip curls around your arm. “We have an idea. Come with us.”

“To where?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jacob takes you by your other arm, that before you know it, you might as well be carried off by them to... wherever it is they’re so insistent in taking you.

And that ‘surprise’ of a place is...

***

“A... fight club?”

Your words inevitably drown under the cheers, the howling, the yelps of pain and victory from the rowdy men encompassing the periphery, or rather, the fighting ring located on a circular roof. 

The city of Lambeth is spread out like a vast sea underneath your high ground, with eager men and women taking leverage of the stage to prove their strength and win rewards. This, for some reason, is the place Evie and Jacob really wanted to take you to.

Jacob spreads his arms wide in a grand gesture, as if showing off something invaluable to you. “What do you think? Thrilling, isn’t it?”

You glance towards the man in the middle of the ring, groaning almost obnoxiously, hands clutching onto his crotch. Oh dear lord, was he kicked in the-

“Jacob and I, you see,” Evie has her hands on your shoulders, perhaps wanting you to take in the scene with a more perceptive eye. “We’ve discussed, and speculated, that perhaps what you need is simply an... outlet. Just a way to relieve yourself of everything that is pent up.”

“Instead of abandoning us completely, that is,” Jacob adds, bitterness and a bit of mockery tinging his words.

Would they rather you don’t leave? Before you’re even able to voice the question, your heart thumping quicker than it’s supposed to, a man dressed rather colourfully steps up to the three of you. Evie tells you of his name before he reaches you; Robert Topping.

“Mr. Frye, Miss Frye!” he tips his hat with a dramatic bow. “It is always good to see you here. Fancy a round or two in the ring? You know how much the crowd loves watching you dear siblings in action.”

“...This is the sort of activity you two get up to at the side?” you murmur, to which the twins merely shrug in response, their eyes squinting in amusement, and none are meeting yours.

“Oh? How about you? You seem like a formidable fellow, yes?” Robert gestures towards you, his grin sly yet harmless, always on a look-out for opportunities. “A friend of the Fryes is surely a force to be reckoned with, that’s what I’ve learnt.”

You promptly fold your arms. “It’s (Y/N), but I’m hardly interested-”

Jacob slaps you in the back, and you quickly meet his smirk with a hard glare.

“Don’t be shy now, (Y/N),” he says, lifting his scarred eyebrow. “Go ahead and unleash the beast.”

He leans in almost conspiratorially as soon as you’re about to protest. “Or are you too scared you’ll humiliate yourself in front of everyone?”

That’s enough to snap something inside you.

Jacob lets out a small ‘oof’ when your coat splays over his face, that when he pulls it off him, his look of surprise turns into one of fixation as you’re vaulting over the fencing bars to position yourself in center of the now empty ring.

 You’re pulling your hair back as you turn to them, noting how Jacob is, unaware even to him, intently watching the way your fingers tread in between your locks. “Sir Topping, what would it take for me to go against him?”

While Jacob barks in laughter as you almost spit out mentioning him, Robert clasps his hands together in keen approval, eyes squinting. “Against the standing champion? Nine rounds, including a match against the runner-up herself-”

Evie thrusts her chin up, her pride evidently casting towards, against you. “He means me, of course.”

“Second place suits you, sister,” Jacob provokes, yet Evie is unfazed, simply rolling her eyes.

“The brains, remember?” she scoffs, then her smirk widening, “At least I have one instead of just punching my way through everything, everytime. No one else could ever compete with you on that one, can they?” A groan as his response, Jacob couldn’t restrain from grinning afterwards.

Amidst the already impatient crowd, you stand just by the boundary, still within the ring. You lean on your arms that rest over the steel bars, surprisingly, with excitement and adrenaline beginning to surge through you. The idea of facing the Frye twins in combat is rather terrifying, and yet, you’re nothing if not eager to potentially get yourself beaten up, perhaps even win—At least, you could dream.

“Eight matches then, before I take on Evie and Mr. Frye?” you reconfirm, no longer able to refrain from smiling in anticipation.

“If you even last that long,” Jacob says with a smug smirk before Robert could answer. “No one ever does.” His last words sound like a threat, yet almost... sultry, especially with that lingering way he looks at you. In return, your eyes narrow in a challenge, one that he seems more than evidently happy to take up.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” you walk backwards, back to the center of the spotlight, holding firmly onto Jacob’s eyes that trace every single motion you make. “We’ve burnt enough daylight already, haven’t we?”

Robert lets out a howl in a cheer’s stead, surely spurring the audience into wildness. Even Evie and Jacob don’t hesitate to join in the unparalleled energy, cheering and applauding with the crowd, though you send a playful glare when Jacob boos you at one point.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you’ll witness today will be one of the finest shows you’ve seen in history yet!” Robert calls upon the crowd as he circles you for dramatic flair. Then a pat on your shoulder, he whispers, like a secret to you;

“Shall we begin, my friend?”

And it all erupts. 

You don’t mind the roars of the people, the wind that does nothing to chill the heat kindling in your body, the excitement, the adrenaline—

“Hyargh!” Comes a cry from behind, and the fist that you dodge with ease with a mere spin of your body. Three men are to oppose you for the first round, all three now charging at you with strength surely pulsating through their aiming fists, and...

It’s all ending so quickly.

You’re sure you just finished the very first round, but now Robert is yanking your arm high up in the air, gloating, celebrating your already sixth win. 

“Look here, folks!” He cheers, so over the clouds he is he’s almost slurring his words from how fast he speaks. “Absolutely delightful, this one! Do you not want to see more?”

The people’s response is to scream and whistle louder, an obvious sign that the show must continue, and one that you’re more than willing to give.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you catch sight of Evie and Jacob at the side. Evie seems to have changed into an attire more appropriate for the ring, and you’re flattered that she’s preparing herself for you already, giving you an acknowledging wave of her hand. Then, there’s Jacob, who seems like he hasn’t been able to stop smiling for awhile now. He, as well, gives you a friendly wave, and, without thinking, you return it with a wink. Jacob’s jaw drops immediately, his cheeks turning just a bit red.

Oh God, did you just pull a Jacob on the man himself?

“Ready for the next round, fighter?” Robert snatches your attention away, fortunately, before you could ponder on what you’ve done. You nod at him, fixing the bandages swathing your slightly sore knuckles and fingers.

One more brawl before you face one of the glorified Fryes.

...And it honestly doesn’t take much, with the wave of opponents ending as the last brute falls to the ground, air completely knocked out of him after a precise shiner up his chin.

As Robert takes over the grand gestures, you’re already turning towards the spot the twins have been making themselves comfortable in. The corner of your lips quirk up as you watch Evie vaulting over the bars to join you in the ring.

“Finally,” you hear yourself saying, and she lets out a light laugh.

“Took the word right out my mouth, (Y/N),” she says, grinning amiably. And that sense of camaraderie vanishes within a second, quickly being replaced when her bright eyes narrow into a fierce, menacing glare. When she takes her impenetrable stance, you know you’re in for one hell of a time now. There’s no turning back.

“And... begin!”

Your cry and Evie’s meld as you lunge at the same time. The blow you take on your cheek whips your sight white for a good second before you reciprocate with just as much strength, right on her face as well.

Evie spits onto the ground after recoiling, and comes back ever-so-relentlessly, her movements fast, accurate, way too calculating for you to try and counter immediately. Your arms grow tired as they shield you from her onslaught, until you catch wind of her attempt to break through, and you take the opening to spin and land a kick into her stomach.

You think you’ve won the upper hand now, but judging from her animalistic growl, it seems you’ve just made her angrier... You’re not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

That’s when she suddenly sprints towards you, and you receive the answer right at that moment—Evie leaps onto you, her strong legs wrapping around your neck before she twists and drags you down onto the cold, hard ground. Pain inflames through your whole body as you look up to her, wincing and feeling too numb to go on. You’re tempted to admit defeat, when-

“Listen to me, (Y/N),” she speaks quietly, winding her arms around your throat. She’s... masking her conversation with you by holding you in a death grip? “I have no problem throwing this fight to see you go against my idiot brother.”

“Y-Yeah?” you manage through her slowly crushing down your windpipe.

She answers way too happily in response. “Sure! You’ve put on quite a show, if I do say so myself. Consider it a reward, or maybe even a welcome gift for bringing you here, yes?”

“That... does come with you not... killing me on the spot, right? Please?” you choke out, ready to plead when she chuckles.

“Of course. Make it seem like you’ve overpowered me,” she says, loosening her grip. “Don’t disappoint me,” she adds more quietly.

“Evie, wait, I have an idea,” you whisper back. Swiftly presenting your schemes, still hidden from the public, she nods immediately in an agreement, grinning back at you.

In an instance, you take the cue to break her restraint, bumping your head hard into hers. When she balks back, you waste no time in whirling around and kicking her flat in the stomach. She falls down with a surprised yelp, and lifts her hand for surrender. You suppress your smile as she offers you a secret one of her own.

“Unbelievable!” Robert’s voice echoes instantly. The audience mirrors his excitement, hollering with their fists pumping into the air, even going so far to chant your name.

You’re huffing puffs of growing fatigue behind the back of your hand when something emerges into sight just from the corner of your eye—Jacob has entered the ring, and for an embarrassing second, you’re transfixed over his attire, or rather the lack thereof, nothing but fighting bandages and pants. The tattoo covering his chest makes you stare, a dark raven that you’re suddenly desperate to know of its meaning, as well as the subtle cross inked into his left forearm.

“You’re making me blush, love, with such intense staring,” Jacob coos with a hand on his hip, snapping you into attention. You try to glare your blush away, but from the complacent grin he’s wearing, your efforts are paltry it seems.

You’re as if mesmerised as you watch his hand raking through his hair, a scarce sight to behold as Jacob is rarely seen without his hat to compliment the way he’s usually clad in. ...You’ve completely lost control of yourself with the ogling, and worse, he seems to notice from the very start.

“I won’t go easy on you as my sister have, you know,” he declares, standing idly with relaxed arms at his sides. Unlike Evie, Jacob doesn’t even try to take you seriously, which infuriates you more than ever. And by the mischievous twinkle crossing his eyes, you’ve successfully fallen into his trap.

“This is it, folks! Who will stand as victor in today’s battle? Will it be the defending champion, Mr. Frye, or will the newcomer, (Y/N) take his place?” Both your names ring throughout the perennially heated crowd, your blood pumping faster and faster as your eyes lock against Jacob’s, until Robert signifies the start of the fight with an ear-deafening whistle-

You make the first move, deciding that using your better speed is wiser than trying to par against the assassin’s immense strength. And for a moment, you seem to be having the leverage of the fight, with your fast and piercing movements, your punches and kicks nearly overwhelming him. Then, mid-kick, he suddenly grabs hold of your ankle, and throws you back and out of rhythm.

Breath knocked out of you when your back hits the ground, you roll over just in time before he reaches for you, your arms already up to block his next attack—But he’s much stronger, that he’s able to break through still, and your guard ends up completely shattering when he turns and locks you in his grasp, arms positioning around your head in a way that could break your neck if he chooses to.

“Looks like it’s my win this time, huh?” he still finds a chance to taunt you, lips too close to your ear. Seems like he’s just equaled himself against your win in that over-the-rooftop race from before. But, too soon-

“Evie, now!” you demand, and you hear a confused sound from Jacob before he whelps in shock. Forced to release you, you turn to see Evie having jumped onto his back, now trying to break him down. You lend her a helping hand, kicking him hard, and with the element of surprise, Jacob falls down onto the ground on his back.

Snapping out of the shock, he looks up at you in disbelief, and even more as Evie runs up to you and offers you a high-five. The ridiculous, priceless face he makes only has you laughing harder than you already are.

“Oh, what a turn of events!” Robert narrates, amusement pooling down his words. “Looks like our champion’s enemies have joined forces to take him down once and for all! Ingenious play of strategy right there!”

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Jacob complains once he’s found, still, a rather unstable footing. It seems you and Evie had done him in a bit too much.

Evie only laughs in return, sounding more like a sinister villain. You can’t help yourself either, pushing him away by the chest with a finger. “The brains, remember?”

Jacob stares at you wordlessly, an expression that you can’t quite discern playing on his face as he seemingly contemplates between to laugh or scream. As the crowd rouses in celebration, he chooses to laugh in the end.

You let him pull you into an half-embrace, smiling up to your eyes as he nearly meets you forehead-to-forehead. The sheer adoration glimmering in his eyes, towards you, towards your lips, then back to your eyes has you feeling a bit red in the cheeks. You bask in the overwhelming energy the people spill for you as well as for themselves, in Evie’s joyful hug and Jacob’s warm smiles and touches.

...The day goes by rather well, if you could be honest.

***

Night quilts over the city just as you and the Fryes are ready to return to the train. However, Jacob has suggested visiting one of the pubs he and Evie have invested in nearby, and so the party is now off on a carriage to make way.

Sitting next to Jacob on the coach box comes off as a rather surprisingly... calming, insightful experience when the man’s not too busy being chased to death. Your mind is still a bit too wrapped up over the exchange you had with Evie prior climbing on the coach—she had sent you a suggestive smirk as she deliberately pushes you away from joining her inside, and instead forced your way to sit with her brother—when Jacob’s voice, a question gone unheard brings you back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly say, turning to him apologetically. “What were you saying?”

He simply chuckles. “I asked if you were cold, love?”

You fidget over the casual nickname. He’s rarely used it with you, yet now he does it as if it’s routine. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for asking.”

A glance and a smile, Jacob continues reining the carriage in peaceful silence, apart from the times he’s coaxing the horses. You’ve noticed it from awhile back, but...

“You’re awfully sweet when talking to the horses,” you hear yourself blurt out. Such a contrast between his tough, brash demeanor slightly enlightens you.

“I’m generally a sweet person,” he jokes, and you shake your head in good humour.

“Don’t be so jealous,” he adds.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“I’m not!” you laugh when he goes to stroke under your chin just as one does to a pet, pushing him away. “Focus on driving!” You give him a light slap on the shoulder, and he finally retreats with an endearing laugh.

The ride falls a bit quieter then, but it is a quiet that you more than welcome, the night life sparking hope inside you, as if no Templars exist, no wars to wage. When Jacob briefly sets the rein aside to blow into the cold of his hands, it becomes almost romantic as well—He doesn’t take his wondering eyes off you when you bring his hands into yours to help warm them up.

...The bar, on another hand, is an entirely different story. Teeming with life, with music, with people, you and the twins have to push through the partners bouncing in dance just to get to the counter. Jacob then excuses himself to the side to greet a group of Rooks, leaving you in the hospitable hands of Evie as she orders your drink for you.

“Fun day, wasn’t it? You were able to let your hair down just as we hoped?” she urges you to take a sip from your cup after she does so with her own. The liquor washing down you is sweet, bubbly, warmer than you expect. From your smile, she seems pleased that you enjoy her taste.

“It was... entertaining,” you say. “And very much relieving. You were right.”

“I always am,” she returns. Eyes casting away for just a moment, she says a bit softer, “Though I can’t quite take all the credit, not when it was Jacob who wouldn’t shut up about finding a way to ease your pain.”

“Mr. Frye?” you inquire. The heat bubbling inside you makes you question whether if it’s the alcohol or... something else.

“That’s what I said. I’ve seen you two, your... interactions. It could be harmless, but I can’t say I’m not fairly concerned. Jacob is emotional enough as he is,” Evie looks at you almost critically. “I doubt having more interference would do him any more good.”

“Is that the sort of thinking that have made you and Mr. Green distant?” you ask before you could stop yourself. You know more than enough that it’s a sore spot to touch on, but you couldn’t help yourself—Being called an ‘interference’, as if you were that much of a burden to Jacob impacted something in you.

Evie’s eyes widen, words slowly stammering. “That is... That’s not-”

“(Y/N), Evie!”

Your lips thin just as you feel an arm lace around your shoulders. Jacob has scooted his way up to you and Evie, the wide smile on his face signifies his obliviousness to the conversation he had fortunately missed.

“Less talking, more drinking already,” he lilts, ordering two drinks. One for himself, the other he shoves to you. Your eyes meet with Evie’s above the cup, and you’re hardly able to bear your guilt as she sends you a puzzled, upset look before scampering away. Jacob steals her seat without noticing, though he does watch her leave in slight concern.

“Something happened?” he asks. You wait for the long, unending chug he takes of his pint before answering, shaking your head.

“It was nothing,” you convince. To distract him, you take a sip of his given drink next. The taste is strong, sharp and-

You cough madly after swallowing, slamming the cup down on the counter. “This is revolting!” you croak, then take another long sip—An abomination, but still addictive. Jacob bursts into laughter, clinking his glass with yours before you two match your next drink out of the cups.

Either the drink’s repulsiveness is slowly making you dizzy, or the alcohol itself is getting to you, you can’t exactly tell. Shaking your head, face twisting the unsavoury taste away, Jacob watches you in amusement. He’s already downing a couple more glasses with much more ease than you are.

“Easy now,” he coaxes, hand brushing on your shoulder as you cough. “There’s no need to force yourself, you know?”

“I’m not,” you drink again, then splutter the content out back into the cup. “Okay, nevermind. Enough of that.”

“Wise choice.”

A hand pressing onto the temple of your head, Jacob’s hand running up and down your back soothes the growing headache, the blurriness that is slowly yet surely taking over your sight. You feel... light. Careless. Free of shackles. You could punch someone right now and you still wouldn’t give a damn.

...Is this what being inebriated feels like?

“(Y/N),” you hear Jacob call, a bit muffled through your ear. “Are you still thinking of leaving London?”

“You’ve already taken my letter,” you say, louder than needed. Words are coming out a bit broken out of you. “Don’t see elsewhere I could go.”

“Not planning to write another letter then?” he asks teasingly and you send a playful glare in return.

“Jacob Frye, sir, are you trying to make me leave by force? How unkind.”

His hands lift in surrender. “Now, now, you know I’d never do such a thing. Not to you, love.” That again. Doesn’t he realise how warm he makes you feel from such a name?

“...I never wanted to leave in the first place,” you murmur. “Didn’t ever want to, even as I was writing that stupid letter to the stupid Council. Still don’t want to.” There’s no filter for you, none whatsoever. Self-control has gone right out the window for tonight.

Even Jacob looks surprised, though he wears a light smile alongside, seemingly enjoying the small rebellion you’re putting up. “Wow, someone’s drank a bit too much, haven’t they?”

You huff at his words, then whirl around to face him. “What of you, then?”

“What? Leave London?” he asks in confusion, and you shake your head with vigour, letting out an impatient whine.

“No! I’ve told you what happened to me, what I’ve been through,” you fish out your pen from your person, then tap the edge of it onto the shilling of his necklace resting on his chest. He blinks in surprise, not expecting you to get a bit too close. “What of this? Did you kill someone with this too?”

You see him refraining himself from laughter. “I know I’m good, but killing someone with nothing but a coin is a bit too much to expect from any assassin, don’t you think?”

“So no hidden meaning?”

“Just that it makes me look more desirable,” he simpers.

You nod seriously. “Understandable.” 

“What?”

“And this?” You tap a finger just by his brow, leaning in for a closer look of the scar right above his right eye. “Where did you get this from?”

He stutters for some reason, then you see his eyes wide, that they’re on you in awe.

“I don’t... remember exactly,” he finally says, voice a tad bit weak.

“Unfortunate. And this,” you reach to trace the scar down his jaw, just slightly grazing his stubble—He tenses immediately when you palm it as gently as you could against your hand. “This must’ve hurt a lot.”

Jacob stares at you in an almost speechless manner, but it lasts for only a brief moment before he visibly softens, eyes half-lidded in what seems to resemble an entrance. There’s something... different—Kind, affectionate in his eyes, something you’ve noticed from time to time, from the moments where he’s looked at you from afar, and sometimes even from when you’re so close to him as you are now, the thrumming of your heartbeat loud and clear for him to hear.

The tender smile he gives you makes you forget of everything, everyone else around you. He intends to say something, perhaps another of his uplifting jokes, one more of the endless row of his sassy remarks, but-

Your name out of his lips isn’t complete, not when you’re now slanting your own in between his. A light touch, a connection that is barely there, yet you feel it more than your body could harbour its weight—The sparks the short, delicate kiss release are enough to finally snap you out of the dreamlike haziness you were losing yourself in. Realisation sets in like cold, freezing water drenching onto you.

With a gasp, you push yourself away from him, dread tearing you down so intensely, you wouldn’t know where to begin to remedy this mess. Did you really just- with Jacob?

“I-” you start, struggling to avoid from looking at him directly, not even a bit if possible. “I’m so sorry-”

“I’m not,” you hear him, just before you feel yourself being pulled right back, into his arms. Whatever it is you try to say, it’s futile now, now when Jacob is relentlessly kissing you on the lips, compensating what you lacked in the one you gave him.

You’re much too bewildered to do anything else but simply stand there, though you do have to brace yourself against his chest when he presses you close, even closer into him. Melting isn’t enough to describe the disastrous state you’ve become, more like... swooning. And it only further intensifies when he hums sweetly against your lips, sounding pleased.

Jacob barely lets you go even after he pulls away. You’ve as if been struck by lightning, staring back at him in horror. It doesn’t help when he only chuckles at your reaction, then stealing just the quickest, softest kiss from your lips, smiling contently all the while, before he’s walking away—He’s completely leaving you, after all that.

A silhouette now fading into the crowd, you’re gaping on your own, never blinking from the spot he disappeared, through the people still dancing, spinning to the music. Everything’s so loud, it’s all ringing and throbbing inside your head, and Jacob’s little surprise only makes it worse, and still counting over the rest of the night.

Swallowing the nonexistent bile in your throat, you turn and sit back on your stool. Your attention fleets towards the bartender currently wiping a couple of glasses, feeling his eyes examining you. Once he’s sure you’re looking at him, he sends you what seems to be a congratulatory wink, signaling towards where Jacob once stood. ...Damn it, he saw all of that?

Beyond flustered, you yank your hood down your face for refuge, and take a sip of your long unattended drink—then spurt it back into the glass.

“...Absolutely disgusting.”

——

haahah a ha a ah this took me so long to finish oh god

Thanks so much for the lovely comments @multi-fandom-ficrecs @carolinecrazyangel @aikeia Gods you guys make it all so worth it 😭😭😭 Also let me know if you’d rather not be tagged like this, I could simply reply back on the post next time!

Thanks so much for reading! 💕💕💕

[pintofteaforthesoul]

can you do a wild west version of elorcan where lorcans at a bar and elides the waitress x asking for a friend x

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE MY LOVE XOXO I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

~~~

The town was quaint,but relatively clean as far as Lorcan could see as he rode his stallion down themain dirt road. There were a good amount of people milling about, going abouttheir daily business, but they paid him no mind. The sun was high in the sky,making sweat roll off Lorcan’s back and soak into the long sleeve white shirthe had pushed up to his elbows. At least his long-brimmed hat kept the majorityof the light out of his eyes. That is until he tilted his head up to glance atthe sign above the seemingly largest building in town. Saloon was painted in bright yellow letters over the porch, andLorcan could already hear the ruckus from inside.

There were alreadya couple horses tethered outside to the hitching rail, but Lorcan’s mountdwarfed them as he secured the stallion to the rail. Lorcan choked on a laughas the beast was already looking over at a gorgeous white mare that stoodhitched a ways down. Lorcan patted the stallion’s side before grabbing his vestout of the saddle bags and slinging it on. The old brown leather was acomfortable weight to his shoulders despite the stifling heat.

Lorcan knew toget the answers he needed, he’d have to make the effort to look presentable andnot like the ruffian outlaw he was. He grabbed his satchel next, slinging itover his head so it rested on the opposite hip to his gun. Looking presentableenough by his taste, Lorcan climbed the few steps and swung open the doors tothe bar.

The conversationin the room halted as the patrons all glanced his direction as if of one mind.Lorcan knew what they would see- his tall and broad frame that rippled withfinely honed muscle, his long dark hair falling around his shoulders, the tanface hidden beneath the shadow of the hat that hid most of his cruel features, andthe rugged beard that he hadn’t yet had a chance to trim in weeks. Lorcan knewthey would see the aura of danger that followed him wherever he went, like theshadows at his control.

But he had tofight the urge to bend the shadows to his will, to make him seem lesser toblend in. No, he needed to be seen if he was going to get the information hesought. It was barely a beat before the patron’s conversations continued, theband in the corner playing a soft tune to fill the empty background.

Boots clackingon the rough wood floor, Lorcan made his way to a corner table that wasgenerally out of the way. It would allow him to have his back to the wall andbe able to watch every patron in the bar. It was ideal. Lorcan lowered himselfinto the chair and nonchalantly put one leg up into another. His dark eyes followedevery moment in the room, mind recalling the strict instructions fromWhitethorn about who exactly he needed to talk to.

Elide Lochan,the niece of Vernon Lochan- mayor of this city of Perranth. According to Whitethorn,the little lady would know exactly where to find Aelin Galythnius. Lorcan onlyhoped she would reveal the information without much trouble. He and his Cadrehad a general rule against hurting women, Lorcan more than the others, whichmade it curious why Whitethorn picked him for this mission. But like the goodsoldier he used to be, Lorcan followed orders without complaint.

Then Lorcan’seyes caught on a figure, who was slowly meandering in his direction while stillwaiting on tables that demanded her attention. She was stunning, the kind ofbeauty that people wrote songs about and sung for hours around campfires. Thickdark hair was pulled half up, to get it out of her eyes- which were dark andknowing. The dress she wore was a simple blue and white, with the apron that signifiedher as a barmaid. Lorcan’s eyes narrowed to take in her frame, which was suppledespite being hidden by the lack luster dress. Yes, this girl was beautiful anddesperately trying not to look it.

Lorcan saw hershuffle and immediately frowned. There was a limp in her step, enough that ithad to be painful to even walk let alone be on her feet serving patrons forhours on end. But her face showed nothing, the delicate features painted in asmile that had Lorcan wanting to know more.

It was another coupleof minutes before she was able to fully approach him, that smile still on herface but the barest hint of fatigue coloring her cheeks. “What can I get foryou, sir?” Her voice was lyrical and strong, like what you’d expect a siren’svoice to sound like as she sang to you.

Lorcan tippedhis hat back to get a better look at her, and saw her eyes widen a fraction asshe got a clear look at his face. “Whiskey, darlin’, if you’d be so kind. Andsome information.”

The girl bit herlip, hands disappearing into that full skirt of hers. “Su-sure. What do you wantto know?”

But Lorcan shookhis head. “Whiskey first. I’ve been on the road too long.”

The girl merelystood there until another voice called her away. “Elle! What are you doing juststanding around? Get to it!” It was the head bartender, a man in his fiftieswith a slim face and handlebar mustache.

Elle didn’tmove, eyes still trained on Lorcan as if she were calculating something in herbrain. Lorcan cocked his head to the side and the small movement shook her outof whatever reverie she’d fallen in. Elle shuffled off and Lorcan’s eyesfollowed that limp with every step. When she got to the bar, the old barkeeppulled her in roughly and growled something at her that was too low for evenLorcan to hear. Elle’s face didn’t falter, only a small jump in her throat toreveal her fear. She let the man rage at her for another moment before noddingand giving him a dead expression with a wicked smile. Then she said somethingthat made the man’s face turn purple.

But Elle wasturning away and then she was walking away from the bar again, short tumbler inhand that she set before him. The man’s eyes trailed after her, anger flamingin their depths. Something roiled in Lorcan’s gut as he saw the man’s eyes fallover Elle’s body and the small flick of his tongue over his lips.

Elle paid Lorcanno mind, setting down the glass on the table before him then turning on a heelto leave. In a flash, Lorcan’s hand reached out to wrap around her wrist. Hefelt her pulse flutter as she turned back to stare at him. Those dark eyes wereas large as a doe’s and she looked just as skittish. “I’m looking for someone.”He said the words in a whisper that would be lost amongst the other noise inthe saloon.

In a breathlessanswer, she murmured, “I don’t know anything. I can’t help you.”

When she made nomove to rip out of his grasp or scream for help, Lorcan loosened his grip alittle. The grasp turned into a caress and he felt the small goosebumps raisealong her arm. Playing the role of flirty patron, Lorcan pulled her closer. “I’mlooking for a girl named Lady Elide Lochan. She has information I seek.”

Elle took in asharp breath. “There’s no one here by that name.” But there was a hesitant undertoneto her voice- a lie.

Lorcan loweredhis voice further. “I’m willing to make a deal if you’ll be honest and take meto Elide.” He drew her into her lap and was surprised when she didn’t falter.She even made a show of touching along his arms, furthering the role.

Elle hesitatedagain, one lip caught between her teeth as those gears in her head worked.Finally, she mumbled in a voice that was barely a breath, “Can you get me outof town? To somewhere safe?”

Lorcan drewback. He hadn’t been expecting that. He was used to traveling alone or with hisCadre, but never with a woman. Never with a crippled woman. She would slow himdown tremendously. But… if her information got him to Elide and then to Aelin.It may be worth the risk. Elle waited for his answer. Lorcan bit out, “I need aguarantee that your information is solid.”

Elle gave asharp nod. “As solid as you’re going to get. Meet me at the stables after dusk.”Then in a breath, she was up and strolling along the floor as if nothing hadhappened.

~~~

Elide couldbarely breathe. It was happening, finally she was going to escape this hell. Itwas almost impossible to believe. As she finished the rest of her shift, shecouldn’t help but wonder if it was a trap. A mysterious man that shows up andgives her the key to her salvation. Elide tried to desperately repress thatfeeling, acting as if nothing had happened between her and the man stillsitting at the corner table.

She’d gottenchewed out by Ralph, Vernon’s barkeep, for sitting on the lap of a patron, butElide didn’t give a damn. She was finally getting to leave- with a man who wasas handsome as the gods. That was the main reason she had a hard time believingit was a trap- the man was just too gorgeous to be a thug hired by Vernon. She’dseen countless of those thugs and none had come close to holding a candle to thisman.

Eventually theman slipped out of the saloon, to go about whatever business he had. Elide’s eyeswatched him leave, grateful that no one in the bar called her by her full name.If lying to him got him what she wanted then she’d do it.

The night passedin a bustle of activity, as Perranth usually did. It was one of the largestcities in the west of Terrasen. After the monarchy fell, most of the Lords hadbecome tyrants over their territories. It was almost impossible to move betweenthem freely, a different band of laws ruling each territory. And unfortunately,her Uncle Vernon ruled this one after usurping it from her father, meaningElide was the true ruler but as long as Vernon drew breath, she would see noneof that power.

So, Vernondelighted in hiding her among the people, forcing her to serve them and live insqualor. His men could do with her as they pleased and Elide was forced to fendfor herself. But now, with the chance to leave, she’d do whatever it took. Shewould tell him whatever he wanted to know.  

Elide watchedthe sun set through the crack on one of the shutters. She’d take her break at duskand Ralph would be none the wiser. Not like she had any belongings to take withher besides the clothes on her back.

Lighting thelast of the lanterns and still skirting around the large groups of people drinking,Elide made her way behind the busy bar. She shouted to Ralph until she caughthis attention and told him she was going on her break. Ralph made a sour facebut nodded, warning that if she wasn’t back before the next toll of the clockthat he would send the dogs after her. It was his usual threat and Elide couldonly make her fake, fearful expression before darting off.

Perranth hadgone quiet, the occasional lamppost guiding Elide’s way as she tracked acrossthe road. She’d picked the stables on purpose for how far they were- plus itwouldn’t be where Ralph looked first.

Her heartthundered in her ears, masking the sound of her shallow breaths. Would the manbe able to find her in time? They’d have to move quickly to avoid Vernon andhis goons.

Elide hastenedher steps as she drew closer and closer to the stables, able to smell them evenfrom half a mile off. When the structure came into view, Elide couldn’t helpher sigh of relief. She could see the silhouette of a large figure off to theside and began to make her way towards it. She’d told him the back, but this wouldwork well enough. But when she rounded the corner and the figure came intoview, Elide’s heart stopped.

Because the manbefore her wasn’t the same as the one in the saloon.

~~~

Lorcan cursedhimself for keeping Elle waiting, if the damn tailor had done his job it wouldn’thave been an issue. But the tailored shoulder harness was worth it, fitting thefit of his frame perfectly. Lorcan’s two new pistols fit perfectly in theirsheaths, a compliment to the larger one still slung around his belt. He was nowarmed to the teeth, just as Lorcan liked.

But it had madehim late, trailing down the road in the direction of the stables he’d stakedout earlier. That was when he heard it- her scream. Lorcan broke into a sprintbefore he could even think.

Dirt kicked uparound him as he rounded the corner, gun in hand. What he saw made shadowsdance around his feet and a growl to rip from his throat.

Elle was pushedup against the stable’s wall, a bulky man’s meaty hand around her throat. She graspedat it as she struggled to breathe. With barely a flick of his wrist, Lorcan wasfiring a shot that went through the man’s head.

Elle’s facebecame speckled with blood as she took in a deep breath, but Lorcan couldn’tfocus on her- not with three other men surrounding her. They all turned as onein his direction after their friend went down.

One had a weapondrawn and went to fire at Lorcan, who pistol-whipped the man closest and heldhis body in front of him like a shield. The man fired his weapon, hitting hisfriend dead in the chest before he realized what Lorcan had done. In only asecond, Lorcan had shot him between the eyes.

The last man fumbledfor his gun, but Lorcan tsked. He dropped the human shield, body thudding intothe dirt like a sack of potatoes. When the man caught sight of Lorcan’s guntrained on him, he took a healthy step back. Lorcan fixed himself in front ofElle, flicking a glance to find her mostly unharmed. She was still breathinghard, but otherwise unscathed.

Lorcan cockedhis head to the man. “And why exactly are you accosting a young lady in thedark?”

The man’s handswere up and he was practically shaking. “We were hired! To make sure she doesn’tleave town!”

Lorcan shook hishead. He was about to let the goon go, but Elle grabbed onto his other arm.With a hiss, she said, “If he gets away, he’ll just send more people. They’llcome after you for this.”

The man, who wasvisibly trembling now, let out, “No! No I won’t! Please, just let me go.”

Lorcan spared aglance at Elle, but her expression was set and the anger in her eyes shockedhim. At the saloon she’d seemed timid, delicate even. But this was a completelydifferent woman. Lorcan shrugged, easier just to kill him. And fired a shotthat landed right between the man’s eyes.

Lorcan turnedaround now, placing the gun back in its holster. “I have some questions, but weshould get going. The sheriff would’ve heard the shots and sent someone toinvestigate. Tell me where Elide is and I’ll get you out of town.” Lorcan beganto move and Elle followed. He’d paid the stablemaster for three days, but itwas no skin off his back. His flirting stallion nickered when he saw Lorcan, asif to say So soon, I was just getting introduced.

Lorcan snorted,unlocked the door and leading the stallion over to be saddled. Out of thecorner of his eyes, he watched Elle’s eyes go wide. “This is your horse?” Shemurmured in awe.

Lorcan adjusteda stirrup. “Indeed. Took him from a sheriff a couple years back and he’s beenmine ever since.” When Elle looked frightened, Lorcan scoffed. “He won’t bite.He’s more of a flirt than anything.”

Elle shook herhead. “That’s not what I’m scared of. Who exactly are you?”

Lorcan grabbedthe reins and began to lead the stallion to where Elle stood at the door. “LorcanSalvaterre, at your service.” He tipped his hat and gave her a grand bow thatwas guaranteed to make women swoon. “I’m a member of the Cadre.”

Elle choked,taking a step back. “You’re a member of the Cadre? THE Cadre?!”

Lorcan raised athick eyebrow. “Is there another Cadre?”

He watched Elle’schest rise and fall faster than before. “But you’re a band of outlaws! You’re…criminals!”

Lorcan onlyshrugged. “Do you want to get out of this town or not? Tell me how I can findElide and I’ll take to a safer territory.”

Elle went toshift between her feet but cringed a little putting weight on her injured foot.“I can’t tell you where to find her-”

Lorcan growled. “Thenwhy waste my time?”

Elle glared athim. “I can’t help you find her because I amher. Elle is just shortened for Elide.”

Lorcan froze andcouldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Why didn’t you just say from the start? Geton.” He lowered himself to heave Elide onto the horse.

Elide barkedright back at him. “Because there are ears everywhere in the saloon! Someonelooking for Elide would catch the notice of my Uncle. You’re lucky you didn’task anyone else. You would’ve been dead.”

Lorcan hauledhimself up behind her, so that her back was pressed into his chest. “I’d liketo see them try. So, Elide, where canI find Aelin Galythnius?”

Elide’s bodytensed as Lorcan directed the stallion out. “You came all the way here to askabout Aelin? I haven’t seen her since we were kids!”

Lorcan pushedthe stallion into a gallop so they were headed away from town. “Then you betterthink long and hard about where she might be or I’ll be depositing you rightback in that saloon.”

In a roughvoice, Elide said, “Then you’ll be depositing a corpse.”

Lorcan stopped,the stallion drawing to a halt just as they neared a line of trees. “What?” Helooked down at that determined expression and knew she’d spoken true. She woulddie before coming back here.

Elide glared inthe direction of the town. “My Uncle usurped my father’s power and has used meas a slave my entire life.”

The sentencemade a part of Lorcan’s demeanor crack. He tightened his arm around her waistand directed his stallion into the forest. “Then on my life, Elide, I willnever let him harm you again.”