#everything stays the same but it suddenly feels quiet and muted somehow

[invisiblecities1972]

i love the way the air smells right before a storm

[moonynaturesethetic]

Quiet...But Loyal (Teen Wolf X Mute!Reader) - Chapter 1

September 25th, 2013 Japan, The Yukimura Reserve

Y/n was now 16, but still as mute as ever, while her sister Kira was 17. The Yukimura family was in their home in Japan, when Ken suddenly yelled for the girls to come downstairs.

"Y/n! Kira! Come downstairs, we need to talk!"

Both of the said girls walked out of their rooms at the same time, their looks saying 'Oh God, what did we do?' and they both walked downstairs together. Their mother and father had been sitting on a couch in the living room, both waiting for the two girls.

"Come, sit." Noshiko said, gesturing to the empty couch in front of her and Ken. Kira and Y/n sat next to each other, glancing at each other before looking at their parents.

"What is it?" Kira asked curiously, while Y/n tilted her head curiously.

"We are moving soon, more likely in the next month." Noshiko said, being straight forward and bland.

'WHAT?!" Kira said, extremely shocked by this information, while Y/n just looked happy in general to be moving, she didn't really care much since she didn't have a lot of friends. Kira was the one who had at least some friends, Y/n would normally just skip school. Yet she somehow managed to have straight A's, and the only classes she didn't skip were English and Art. Her parents knew about it, but they didn't care much since she was still getting good grades, but they told her that by next year she needed to do better.

"Yes, your father got a new job opportunity and it was in Beacon Hills, California at their local high school. Since we are moving, we decided we would transfer you guys over there as well." Noshiko said.

"But what about all my old friends? And why do we have to leave Japan?" Kira asked, whining slightly.

"Come on now Kira, it won't be that bad, and plus you get to make some new friends, and you have a phone for a reason sweetheart." Ken said, smiling.

Y/n looked at her family, specifically Kira, and signed 'Besides, it's not like we had many friends, and I know you do but I don't. It would also be good to try exploring new places and meeting new people, this could be good for us, come on Kir.' Y/n signed, smiling.

"Yeah, what your sister said, and this time maybe you could try making some new friends too Y/n." Ken said. That made Y/n instantly start shaking her head no, smile dropping immediately.

"Yes sweetheart, and you better try making it to class. This is a new school sweetheart, and we cannot afford to let you skip as much as you did. I understand that you get picked on, but maybe this new school will be different, and you can actually make some friends. Give it a try, but if it still doesn't work then stay in with your father during break and lunch, so that way you don't have to face anyone." Noshiko said. This made Y/n think for a second. It was true, Y/n did get picked on quite frequently since she was mute, and her family knew it too.

They tried everything they could, talking to the office, switching schools, but nowhere seemed like a good fit for her. Kira, having a feeling that Y/n needed some comfort, reached her hand out towards Y/n, and smiled at her. This made Y/n feel just a slight bit better, but she was still anxious, she didn't know what Beacon Hills was like, and she hasn't stepped foot in America since she was adopted by the Yukimura's.

"Maybe mom and dad have a point, let's give it a try, and if things still don't work out, then we can try something else, but I will try to protect as much as I can Y/n/n." Kira said, putting her hand on Y/n's shoulder.

"Better yet, I'll be there too. Nothing will happen this time, and I will make sure of it." Ken said.

Y/n hesitated a bit more, and after some thinking, she finally nodded yes, deciding that maybe this was different. At least she hoped it was.

But oh boy did she hope, maybe a little too hard.

October 27th, 2013 Beacon Hills High School

Y/n and Kira were now at the high school, and they had been in Beacon Hills for about three weeks, but they haven't quite started school yet since the semester hadn't started, but now it had, and they had to go to their brand new school now. Kira was extremely nervous, since she knew she was most likely going to have to make some new friends. While Y/n, knew that she was most likely going to stick in her father's classroom during lunch, and keep to herself, no matter how much of a bubbly and bright person she was to those she knew, she understood that being at a new school was going to be hard, so she would wait to at least try and put herself out there.

The two girls were at the school now, and they were becoming Juniors, and going into the first semester. Normally Y/n would have been in Sophomore year, but she got bumped up a grade so she was with her sister. Yes, it meant more school work, but that didn't bother her, as she was used to doing a lot of work.

When the bell rang, the two girls were already in their fathers classroom, and then they took their seats in the back, Kira sitting in front of Y/n. Teens started filling up in the room, some chatting with their friends from the previous year, and some just sitting down.

"Hello class, my name is Mr. Yukimura and I will be your new History teacher this year. Some of you might know my two daughters, Kira and Y/n, or you might not since they never brought a friend home yet, or even socially interacted with anyone." Ken said.

Those words made Kira bang her head on the table, into her arms, while her sister who was behind looked up from her book, her face holding an awkward expression. Kira slowly lifted her head up with an awkward smile, while Y/n looked around at everyone with a shy look. She really wanted to dig herself a grave and put herself in it right now.

"Yep, that's them. Anyways, moving on with today's lesson...." As Mr. Yukimura kept talking, the class took their attention away from the two girls, except for this one boy, who had dark brown hair and brown eyes. He kept staring at Kira, sometimes glancing at Y/n, but mostly keeping his gaze on Kira, and Kira stared back awkwardly. Y/n looked between the two with curious eyes. Her gaze landed on the boy before returning back to her sister. After a moment it clicked, and Y/n immediately looked back down at her notebook. That boy was staring at her sister with doe eyes! Y/n took a note in her notebook, "Note to self, pretty brunette boy was staring at Kira with heart eyes."

The boy finally turned away after his friend in front of him tapped his desk with a pencil to get his attention. Kira returned to listening to her father teach, while Y/n sat there thinking, but she was also taking notes too. She was thinking about what this new school was like, and about that boy that was staring at her sister, she would have to get his name sometime. She has a feeling she was gonna see him again soon.

She had a gut feeling however. Why did she feel like something bad was going to happen soon? 

[manybcdthings]

What the hell was happening right now? This cramped, strange apartment felt like a world Felix had accidentally stumbled into, something far removed from the familiar chaos of The Wards. The usual hum of the streets, the distant sounds of arguments and traffic, all seemed muted here, like the place had swallowed everyone whole. Even the air felt different, thicker, slower but somehow brighter the second she walked in. Suddenly, it wasn't just any apartment. This was Astra's. And now, standing in her space, everything clicked. The disarray, the way the room seemed both lived-in and untouched. It all made sense the moment his eyes landed on her.

Her face was somehow caught between dream and reality. Her skin was this warm, dusky tone, flawless yet freckled with these tiny constellations that flickered under the dim light, making her look…fucking ethereal. What the fuck was in that spice? Her full lips were on the verge of a smile, light, almost playful but Felix saw how it was loaded with something heavier, like she knew a secret the world hadn't yet caught up to. Was that spice fucking spiked? Blink, Felix. But her eyes hooked him in. Big, dark, fringed with long lashes, they were the kind of eyes that seemed to see more than just the person standing in front of her. And then there was her hair, a wild tumble of dark curls that framed her face like a crown, each twist and spiral refusing to be tamed. She was chaos, and somehow, perfectly at peace with it.

The fabric she wore clung to her frame yet somehow drifted, as if caught in a breeze Felix couldn't feel. What the fuck is happening? He couldn't tear his gaze away. And when she beckoned without a word, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to follow. Almost like he wasn't in control anymore, not of his feet, not of his thoughts. And it wasn't even about the pills anymore. That gnawing craving had dulled, almost forgotten. Almost.

She led him through the kitchen, gliding between counters like they weren't even there. Felix trailed behind her, careful not to bump into anything, his eyes never leaving her. When she told him to close his eyes, he let out a dry, disbelieving chuckle. "Okay…" it was ridiculous, but he did it. Shut his eyes and felt his other senses sharpen, tuned to every tiny sound she made. The soft clink of her bracelets, the faint rustle of her necklaces. The way she laughed at nothing while opening a cupboard. Felix could almost see it, despite his eyes being closed, her delicate fingers moving with that same ethereal ease as before.

"I do want pain meds, yeah." he nodded, the words coming out softer than he'd expected. Why was he talking like that? How did she know what he wanted? And how long had he been standing here, eyes shut like a complete idiot? Time didn't feel real in this apartment. It bent, stretched, slowed. Maybe it was the haze of spice that had lulled him into this weird calm, or maybe it was Astra herself. He could even feel when she moved closer, the air shifting around her like she was made of something lighter than the rest of them.

He stayed quiet until she finally told him to open his eyes. A small bag was pressed into his palm, but Felix didn't even look at it at first. His thumb ran absently over the fabric, brushing the ribbon, while his eyes stayed on her. She watched him, and for a moment, it was like nothing else existed in that space. Then, finally, he looked down at the little purple bag and back up to her again. Suddenly, his brain caught up, and reality hit. Everything she said sank in, and disappointment flickered across his face. He had been too distracted by the tone of her voice, how soft yet confident it was. How sweet she sounded. "No, I, um-" he shook his head, the frustration creeping back in, that hunger that had momentarily been erased. "Not my thing." Hallucinogens? Fuck no. Felix was pretty sure he'd end up in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from if he touched that stuff.

"I just want..." he huffed, glancing at the door, then back to Astra. "I appreciate the offer, but…" he tossed the bag lightly upwards, catching it by the ribbon before handing it back to her. "Do you know anyone who's got pain meds? At this point, I'd even take a muscle relaxer." his grin was faint but evident, and a moment of silence followed as his eyes scanned between hers. Finally, it felt like himself was returning after however long of being...outside of himself? Felix's grin widened, a chuckle leaving him. "You're not drunk, you're high. How could you trip sit me if you're fucked up?" he pointed lightly to her face, the way he had finally now noticed her deep, endless eyes were even darker from dilated pupils. But, he schooled his expression and cleared his throat, even if the grin lingered over his lips. "Just anything that's sort of...down, you know? I have a feeling you're more...up."

Astra slips into her apartment, her laughter bubbling up as she exchanges playful comments with Indie and Nyla. She barely registers the people sprawled across her apartment or the low hum of conversation around her. It's always like this. People come and go, drifting in and out of her space like ghosts. Most of them barely stick around long enough to know, just faces in the haze of spice and time. Astra knows the rhythm, and without needing to look, she feels it, an energy that's different. But, not disruptive. Someone new. Someone.

As she moves deeper into the room, he catches at the edge of her awareness. A weight. But she doesn't bother turning her head, she's felt this sort of tension before. Desperation, sadness rolling off someone in waves, needing to use her apartment like an escape. They stay a while, melt into the cushions, and disappear. She assumes it's the same with him, the presence she feels off to the side, another transient energy passing through, searching for a moment of nothing.

But then someone breaks the flow. This guy wants some pills, Astra.

That makes her pause. Her eyes flick toward the newcomer, catching him fully for the first time. A subtle shift ripples through her as the universe taps her on the shoulder, stars whispering something only she can hear. You're meant to know him. Her breath stills for a second, the room's lazy atmosphere folding inward around the two of them. Suddenly, he's not just another shadow passing through her space. His presence is so much sharper now, more real.

Her gaze holds his for just a moment longer than usual, a small amusement at the way he's suddenly on his feet. But there'ss a sadness she recognizes, and it settles in her like a familiar melody, something she's heard before. She doesn't know what it is yet, but she understands. That knowing look dances across her face, a small, almost imperceptible smile lifting at the edges of her lips.

Without saying a word, she beckons him with a soft tilt of her head, her finger curling to make him follow, mischief in her eyes. And with that she's gone, knowing he'll not be far behind. The kitchen is a tight, cluttered mess, barely enough room to move without bumping into something. Shelves crammed with jars, plants, incense holders. The air smells of sandalwood, thick with the warmth of burning herbs. Astra moves through the space like it’s second nature, her fingers brushing past a row of tiny vials and glass bottles. "Close your eyes." she murmurs, the words floating out of her mouth as if they've been waiting for him all along. It's not a command, more like a suggestion, soft and sure, as though they've known each other for years.

She pulls aside an old tapestry that covers the back wall, revealing a hidden cupboard. The fabric rustles softly as she shifts some boxes out of the way, her bracelets chiming together with a light, musical sound. Astra giggles when she fumbles with the key dangling from one of her many necklaces, trying once or twice to fit it into the lock. "Ha, he-wait, I'm a little drunk." she admits with a soft laugh, before the cupboard finally creaks open.

Inside, bottles and vials are arranged in a chaotic fashion, like an alchemist's hoard. Lola's doing, probably. She rummages through them, her fingers brushing over various boxes, until she pulls out a small, delicate one. She turns to him, her eyes searching his face for a second longer. "You want pain pills, I'm guessing." she says quietly, as if she's reading his mind but she seems to know that he's searching for numbness. "Well, I don't do that. But this is better." Astra presses a small, lace bag into his palm, tied with a ribbon the color of amethyst.

His eyes are still closed, just as she told him. Her smile widens, a little amusement coloring her voice as she whispers. "Oh, you're a good listener but you can open your eyes now." she chuckles. "Lumen." she then says, dark eyes darting to the bag and back to his face. "Or, starstep. It's very strong, you won't feel a thing except...well..." she snickers. "Everything." it's a powerful hallucinogen that sends users into vivid, surreal mental landscapes. Astra knows it's the kind of experience that cracks you open, pulls you deeper into yourself. The kind of escape he might not know he needs. "Very safe. Very lovely, warm. Like a big hug. You look like you need one." her eyes are still on his face before another chuckle slips free. "Half a pill first, to be safe. You can take it here, we'll look after you."

[storiesofsvu]

Would've, Could've, Should've

No real pairing, just some platonic Barhoun being besties. Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, hurt/comfort.

There were plenty of things that Rafael felt completely and totally unsure about in life, from the struggle of whether he was making the right choices, to what cases he chose to prosecute, to the way he chose to fight them, to whether the cute girl in the bar was flirting or just being friendly. He generally knew his way around his relationships with the members of the squad, but even those could vary based on day to day interactions; the amount of caffeine any of them had consumed, their opinions on the case, the way they had handled the police work on said cases could lead to some very tense conversations where Rafael was suddenly unsure if they were actually friends or not.

But at the end of the day, there was one thing he was absolutely one hundred percent sure of, and that was Rita Calhoun. The two of them had been inseparable since their days at law school and through their first few years prosecuting together, even when she swapped to defence things stayed the same between them, albeit a little bit more sass and shaper bantering when it came to work conversations. He could pick up on things that no one else would even notice and despite Rita always appreciating it, she had somehow never clued in on how well her best friend could really read her.

He also knew more about her past than anyone else did, which is why when October thirteenth showed up on a trial date between the two of them he let out a heavy sigh. It was a date she normally booked off work, one that for the first ten years they new each other he never saw her. He was genuinely surprised when there was no rescheduling, when Rita showed up to court just as fiery and shark like as normal, if not more. She won the case that day, shooting him a smirk before she left the courtroom and he almost thought that things had changed, that she’d gotten over everything. But again, he knew Rita, and once he’d done a sweep of Forlini’s to find her not there he knew that she was still hurting, so he made a plan.

*

Rita’s apartment was relatively dark, a light glow coming from the light above the stove, a couple candles on the coffee table and the glimmer coming from the television. She had a glass of wine in her hand, paused nearly all the way to her lips as she attempted to savour it. She hadn’t realized it was the last one before she’d opened it and now it felt like she was letting go of the last piece of her past that she had. One of the last things that they’d created together, something she thought was going to become tradition, something to be theirs.

Funny how life works out sometimes.

She let out a soft sigh, her eyes gliding back up to the television as the old videos played on the screen. Sometimes she wondered if she was torturing herself by doing this, but it had become routine over the years, there weren’t usually tears anymore, just a dull empty ache in her gut, one that she knew she’d never be able to get rid of when today’s date rolled around. She took a sip of her wine, letting it swish around in her mouth so she could truly appreciate the flavour before swallowing it down, at least the warmth from the alcohol was helping the empty feeling in her bones.

The knock on her door was so soft she almost missed it. She had the television muted, but there was a soft playlist of their favourite songs floating through the air from a Bluetooth speaker, ones they’d danced to, ones Rita would play while watching them cook, ones that would dance through the quiet Sunday mornings while the coffee brewed. The second knock was a little louder and she glanced over the back of the couch in the direction of the door and let out another sigh, placing her wine glass down on the coffee table. Not many people could get past her doorman, especially on weekends so she knew it had to be someone she trusted, crossing through the space as she tugged her cardigan tighter around her before pulling the door open.

“Raf?”

“Hey.” He smiled warmly, “I hope I’m not intruding. I just came to drop these off.” He swung the arm that was behind his back, brown paper wrapped around a bundle and a small shopping bag. With a curious expression she took the packages from him, dropping the bag onto the entrance table before her fingers slid through the paper, peeling back the tape and she looked back up at him.

“You bought me flowers?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He shrugged and she let out a soft sigh, her shoulders sinking as she relaxed, a warm smile just big enough to let him know that he’d made the right decision, “I know today can be tough for you. I just thought I’d swing by.” He started to turn from her doorway, fully prepared to give her the privacy he thought she wanted when her hand grabbed his shoulder,

“Wait. Why don’t you come in?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Can’t get much more pitiful than sitting in the dark alone on what’s supposed to be your wedding anniversary, can you?”

Rafael let out a small chuckle at that, following her into her apartment and shutting the door behind him, making sure the lock was fastened. Rita had scooped up the bag of what she knew were her favourite chocolates from Bernard Callebaut, cutting through the kitchen to place the gifts down on the island and pluck another wine glass from the rack before leading Rafael to the living room and returning to her spot on the couch.

“If this is too melancholic for you we can turn on a movie or something.” Rita commented, “wine? It’s the last of the bottles so this is your last chance.”

“You don’t want to save it?”

“Already uncorked, it’ll be bad within a week. Besides, I should be able to share with my best man.”

“I’m not one to turn that down.” He smiled, accepting the freshly poured glass from her, watching as she let out a breath, picking up her glass and leaning back into the couch, elbow propped up on the back of it as her gaze settled on the television once again. “God you were so young.”

“We both were.” She murmured over the rim of her glass, a little huff of a laugh escaping her as the camera panned through the wedding reception and landed on Rafael.

“Look at how happy you are.”

“Shame it didn’t last.” She muttered with a soft sigh.

Rafael busied himself with the drink, giving Rita a moment as her eyes began to mist with tears, watching the screen. She leant forward, skipping the song that came on, satisfied with the next one she let out a hum, topping up her wine glass and getting cozy again. A somewhat comfortable silence took over the pair as they watched the memories played before them, the occasional remark about someone’s outfit, or an anecdote from the party itself, little laughs over silly stories and fond, even if they were far off, memories. The music overtook the room, the two of them letting out little sighs as they watched the video play on the screen, either reliving memories or wishing that things hadn’t changed as much as they had. Rafael sipped at his wine, letting Rita take as much time as she needed, as much silence as she needed to cope with things no matter how old they were.

“Do you think I’m being ridiculous?” She suddenly asked, her voice soft and his head rolled toward her on the back of the couch, a brow raised.

“About…?”

“This.” She gestured toward the television as her voice tried not to break, “or my complete aversion to ever want to get married again? Am I dragging out the pain by doing this shit every year? Or this some crazy way of healing?”

“Rita…” Rafael’s hand slid across the couch, grasping her own in his, squeezing ever so softly.

“We thought everything was going to be okay… thought that we’d be friends after the divorce.”

“And you were.” He assured her, “there was never any bad blood between you. You had no idea what was going to happen.”

“I didn’t even have time to fully fall out of love…” Her voice choked up, tears welling in her eyes as her hand squeezed at his harder than before.

“I know.” He whispered, his arm shifting to wrap around his friend, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “and that’s part of why you are you. You don’t want to move on because you can’t, you’re still in love with them, and there’s part of you that always will be. If it had just been black and white, the easy divorce, it would’ve made sense, but no one expected the car crash. The ink on the paper was barely dry when it happened, you of all people being called as emergency contact was never expected.”

“I wish I could have done more.”

“I know.”

His arm squeezed around her tighter, knowing the pain she felt, the responsibility she felt despite none of it being her fault. By the time she’d been called there was absolutely nothing they could have done medically, it was just a notification. He knew it had reopened a lot of old wounds, ones that were barely healed, ones that hadn’t even had time to suture themselves up yet. She was supposed to be putting her past behind her yet here her past was, thrusting itself into her life with no warning whatsoever. Ones that got poked and prodded at each and every year as she was reminded of the memories of her past, ones that she thought she would be able to let go of slowly as she let her love go, but instead they became ones that she hated. Ones filled with images of hospitals, doctors, blood, decisions that shouldn’t have even been hers in the first place. The pain of her divorce was made even worse every year by the pain of the person she still loved the most dying, despite her confliction over not supposed to be in love with them anymore. She never knew what to do on this day, so she turned the lights off, she lit a candle that reminded her of them, pulled out a homemade bottle of wine leftover from their wedding and watched videos from the best night of their lives. She tried to remember the good over the bad, tried to think about the love, ignoring the fights, ignoring the pain, trying to get to the point of being able to go to bed without crying.

What was supposed to have been the best day of her life had now become her worst.

Rita sniffled softly and Rafael’s hand rubbed up and down her arm, squeezing at her gently as the home movie came to and end in front of them. It was only a moment before Rita let out a sigh, pushing up to sitting properly, avoiding Rafael’s gaze.

“Thank you for coming. I’m gonna try to get some sleep now.”

“Okay.” He mustered up the best smile he could, his hand on her elbow as they moved through the apartment to the doorway. He stepped into his shoes and slipped on his coat before turning back to her and he was surprised when she pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you.” She murmured into the crook of his neck, “I love you. I know I don’t say it enough.”

“I love you too.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, “and you don’t need to say it, I know it already. You call me if you need anything, I’ll be here.”

“You’re too good to me.” She pulled back from the hug, squeezing at his hand.

“You’re my best friend. Too good doesn’t exist.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek softly before finally leaving, knowing she was watching him down the hallway before her door swung shut.

Rita would probably deny it if you ever asked her, but that was the first night of the anniversary that she didn’t cry herself to sleep, knowing that she had a friend out there who cared enough about her to check in. Knowing that she had someone who loved her.  

____________ @giftedchildturns40 @hbkpop @clarawatson @naturalxselection @mickey-gomez @red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl @svushots @wannabe-fic-reader @borg-queer @whimsicallymad @oliviaswifey @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @jamiethetrans @molllsss @wosoimagines @alexbllake @infernumlilith @australiancarisii @cerberus-spectree @emskisworld @lawandorderuswnt @ex-uallyactive @dead-of-niight @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @muscatmusic18 @ladysc @alexusonfire @drduckthief @dxtery @momlifebehard @swimmingstudentchaos891 @mmemalwa @holycrapraewth @poisonedcrowns @when-wolves-howl @a-little-bit-of-this-and-that @anya-casablanca @yesterdaysgone @godard-muse @itisdoctortoyousir @nobody-important1212 @softgamerking @httpjupiterbby @somethingimaginative17 @summergeezburr

[bakingandbooks3]

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

.

.

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AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

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[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 1

Lazy Mornings:  A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  2361

Warnings: Mentions of injuries.  (smut on series)

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself.  When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

A/N: Reader is a minor god.  Idea expanding on the one in my fic Lazy Sundays though it’s a completely different story (just same minor god x steve).

IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED IN THIS LET ME KNOW.

Chapter 1

Steve was on edge.  The Avengers had just come to the end of a very long, and very grueling mission.  With the lack of sleep, niggling injuries, and stress of battle, that would have been enough to have him anxious and exhausted just by itself, but Tony had insisted that they have a party to unwind while Steve still had government agencies to liaise with, paperwork to fill out, and people to question.  So instead of getting his work done so that he could sleep off his injuries and actually unwind, he had to be ‘on’ as the public figurehead of Captain America for a bunch of strangers while he was still running on less than four hours of sleep and had a cracked rib.

As he made his way through the large, open room, Steve became aware of a strange phenomenon.  The people around the door were in full party mood.  People were dancing, talking animatedly, and playing games of darts.  But as Steve moved through the room, the mood got more relaxed.  There was less dancing and more just talking and sharing drinks.  The level of the music dropped so it was more muted and even though the song never changed it somehow felt like it went from an upbeat dance number to a soothing ballad.  The light changed in the room too.  Closer to the elevator bright-colored disco lights cutting through the dark.  Whereas, by the windows, there was a soft diffused gold light, almost like early morning light coming through a gauze curtain.  By the time Steve reached the couches that were set up on a platform against the windows on the far side of the room, everyone was just lazing back on the couches, casually drinking in the soft light.

Thor, Bruce, Wanda, and Clint were all sitting together with you.  Steve didn’t recognize you, but the soft glow in the room seemed to both highlight you and make you seem like you were in soft focus. You had a slightly ruffled look like you’d woken up recently from a very good sleep.  Clint was practically curled up next to you like a cat.

“Steven!”  Thor boomed, making everyone near him jump in surprise.  “Come here, I have someone I wish for you to meet.”

Steve tried to hide the frustration that suddenly bubbled up inside him.  His friends had been trying to set him up with people for months and months now.  He’d been on countless blind dates with people he had nothing in common with, and even more dinners with surprise guests he was forced to be on with.  He hadn’t expected it from Thor and he resented the fact that even after such a grueling few weeks he needed to now play a round of the dating game.

Thor got up and approached Steve, clapping him on the shoulder as he gave your names.  He leaned in, bringing his lips to Steve’s ear.  “You may feel the urge to pull away.  Resist it - for me.”

Steve sighed and nodded as you looked up at Thor.  “You’re not staying?”  You asked.

“Not tonight,” Thor answered.  “I wish to celebrate.”

You gave him a small nod.  “Well, you know where I am if you need me.”

“I do.  Thank you,” Thor said, letting Steve go and heading back into the party where Tony was talking animatedly with Hill.

Steve took a seat near you.  Clint looked up at him with hooded eyes, like Steve had just disturbed his sleep, but not enough to properly wake him up.  There was an odd feeling of lethargy around the couches.  Not in a bad way exactly.  Just an overly relaxed sleepiness that made Steve wonder if they’d been partaking in marijuana before he’d gotten here.  Along with the sleepy-looking Clint, Wanda had her legs tucked up under her and was staring absently out the window, while Bruce was relaxed back with a goofy looking smile on his face.  It strangely had the effect of making him want to get up and leave in case he’d forgotten to do something.

“So what do you do?”  Steve asked as he resisted the urge to go back down to the office and get his work done.

You smiled and shook your head like you found the question funny.  “I like to paint,” you say.  “And I make a mean breakfast.”

Steve looked at you puzzled.  He’d never come across someone who answered that question with their hobbies rather than their job.  He wondered if you didn’t have one and were embarrassed or if you did something you didn’t think Steve would approve of.  The thought you were a HYDRA agent passed through his head and he looked over at Thor.  “How do you know Thor?”  Steve asked and Wanda started to giggle.

“We run in similar circles,” you say.  “Though I admit, I do not know him well.”

“She’s not HYDRA, Steve,” Wanda giggled.

That knowledge made Steve relax a little and you smiled at him.  “You’re holding a lot of tension, Captain Rogers.”

“Please, call me Steve,” he said.  “We’ve been on a mission for weeks now.  It takes a lot of me.  Everyone really.”

You placed your hand gently on his forearm.  He normally didn’t like when strangers invaded his personal space like that.  He’d had a fair amount of sexual harassment since becoming a supersoldier.  However, there was nothing even flirtatious about the moment.  It was genuine and kind and made him relax even more.  “It can be hard to let it go,” you said.  “But you are done, and now you can take the weight off your shoulders.  No need to carry it tonight.”

Steve tilted his head.  “Are you a therapist?”

You chuckled again.  “I guess - of a sort,” you said.

Steve was perplexed by the vague nature of your answers and couldn’t help thinking people were hiding something from him like this was some big trick.  Though he couldn’t see any reason why Thor of all people would be the instigator of such a trick.

“Will you relax, Steve?”  Wanda chided.  “She’s just a girl Thor thought you’d like.”

Steve tried to do as he was told.  He had to admit that it wasn’t easy though.  You definitely had a calming influence.  Despite the loud music and drinking happening in the rest of the room, at the couches, it was like a slumber party.  Bruce looked as relaxed as Steve had ever seen him, his whole body open and still as he talked calmly.  Clint dozed on and off, waking to join in on the conversation and then dropping back off to sleep again, while Wanda was giggly, and about an hour in she said she was going to go to bed and paint her toenails.

Whatever it was that was affecting the others, Steve could feel it too, but in the middle of what was a raging party, Steve was unwilling to completely relax.

“You don’t like it here much, do you?”  You asked.

Steve shrugged.  “I don’t mind a party sometimes, but no… not today.”

“I bet it’s been a long time since you’ve had a home-cooked meal,” you mused.  “Would you like to come back to my place?”

“No,” Clint whined as Steve balked.  “Don’t go.”

“I don’t… that’s probably not a good idea,”  Steve said.

“I meant for dinner, Steve,” you said.  “I promise, no funny business.”

Clint sat up and stretched.  “You should do it, Steve,” he said.  “Live a little.”

Steve looked at Clint and Bruce who were both nodding in approval.  He sighed and gave a small shrug.  “I guess I’m coming then.”

You got up and offered your hand.  “Come on, I won’t bite.”

He let you lead him out of the Tower and down into the street where you flagged down a cab.  “I don’t usually do this,” Steve said, as he sat in the back with you.

“I know,” you said.  “That’s why Thor set us up.”

“You’re not…” he stopped, not sure how to ask the question that was swirling in his mind right now and have it not come out as either offensive or judgmental.  “Are you a sex worker?”

You smiled and shook your head.  “No.  I like my bed though.”

“Why are you being so vague then?”  Steve asked.

“I can tell you if you really want to know,” you said.  “But Thor thought you might fight it more if you knew.”

Steve tensed up and shifted away from you a little.  “Do the others know?”

“Oh, yes,” you said.  “And I know you don’t know me well enough to trust me, but I promise what it is, won’t hurt you.  I’m not evil or malicious.  I am not here because I have to be or I’ve been paid to be.  You truly have just been set up with a woman.  And I am that.  I like you and I just want to take you somewhere you can relax and just enjoy a comforting meal.  That’s all.  If you don’t trust your friend on this, just say.  I’ll tell you.”

Steve looked you over, trying to see the lie or the trick.  All he could see was genuine kindness.  He gave a nod.  “Okay.  Will you tell me eventually?”

“Of course,” you said.  “When we’re both sure of how we feel about each other, I’ll tell you.”

The cab pulled up at a block of apartments on the upper west side.  It was a large pre-war building, the kind that has been romanticized in hundreds of films and costs more than most people could dream of earning to live in.

He followed you in and the two of you rode the elevator up to your floor quietly.  The tall ceilings and recessed walls of the hall brought him right back to his childhood.  You let him into your apartment and for a moment Steve felt like he’d stepped into a storybook.  The light was soft and diffused, filling the room with a hazy golden luminescence.  The furniture all looked inviting and cozy, the deep soft-looking couches all had cozy mink throws on them and a collection of fat plush cushions.  There were a few large bookshelves both filled with a mixture of books and board games.  Your TV was large but not obnoxiously so, and your coffee table was littered with candles, magazines, and books.

“Get comfortable,” you said as you headed into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the living room.

Steve took a moment to look around your apartment.  There was something about the room that reminded him of the way he and Bucky decorated.  You had a different taste to either man.  Steve was more into straight lines and dark wood, and Bucky like black and chrome, whereas you seemed to lean more into creams with splashes of color here and there.  However, like with him and Bucky, you had a mix of old and new.  Steve liked to keep things from his past whether they be actual things he had owned or just items that reminded him of his mother or times with Bucky.  The things you owned seemed to go back further than what he owned, but there was a lot that seemed to center around the nineteen-twenties.  Though they didn’t stop there.  There were items representative of various decades littering your apartment.  From depression-glass bowls to porcelain animals from the sixties to a lava lamp and a small collection of Pez Dispensers.

Steve noticed a copy of the Hobbit that looked remarkably like the copy he got when it came out.  Picking up several books he noticed that many were first editions.

He went and sat down more confused about who you were than he had been before.  You came out with a tray and placed it on the coffee table in front of him.  Each was laden with pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and fresh fruit.

“It’s a little late for breakfast,” Steve said, looking at you with his eyebrow raised.

You shrugged.  “I’m good at a few things, but this is the one that’s quickest,” you explained.  “Otherwise we’d be up for a few more hours while I cooked.”

“Breakfast food it is,” he said and started to eat.  You took your plate and sat back, crossing your legs under you and balancing your plate in your lap.  “You have an interesting collection,” Steve said, gesturing to one of your bookshelves.

“Thank you.  I try not to get too sentimental about what I keep and let go,” you said.  “I know it’s a little eclectic but there are some things I just can’t let go of.”

“How long have you lived here?”  Steve asked.

“A long time. Practically forever,” you answered

Steve wanted to ask you what you did for you to be able to afford living here but knew that would meet the same vague answer - so he let it drop and ate.  The food was good.  Warm and sweet and full of fat.  It wasn’t long until Steve began to feel sleepy and content.  You took the plates back away and when you returned to the living room, Steve was practically asleep on the couch.  You came over and gently touched his arm.

“It would be more comfortable in bed,” you whispered.

“I don’t… I never sleep with women on the first date,” he replied, sheepishly trying to fight the drowsiness pulling him down.

“I have a spare room if you want it,” you said gently.   “Though I just mean sleep.”

Steve stood slowly and followed you down the hall.  You opened the spare bedroom.  “This is my guest room.”

“And your bedroom?”  He asked, part of him wondering if you’d drugged him.

“The end of the hall,” you replied, taking a few steps toward it.  He followed you down and as he stripped down to his undershirt you changed into a soft pair of pajamas.

He climbed into the bed with you and you wrapped him in your arms.  As he drifted off to sleep, he thought how strange it was that he felt as comfortable as he did right now.

// NEXT

[let-love-run-red]

Back to you

Female reader

Ao3 link

He had stopped in Hateno village to speak with Purah about upgrading his Sheikah slate. It was busy, with children running around, no doubt laughing jouously. He wished he could hear it. That was what he missed the most. The sound of laughter, the sounds of joy. But the shrine had to take something in exchange for the life he was given.

He was riding the large black horse from the Taobab Grasslands through town, he still hadn't thought of a name to register him under at the stables. It wasn't a problem, there was only one like him in Hyrule. Secretly Link had named him Fritter. He was looking to the side at the general store when a pair of children darted between the horses large hooves. The horse jumped backwards, and before Link could react he felt the back of his head connect with somehting hard before he tumbled from the horses back.

It was fuzzy for awhile after that, but the first thing he remembered clearly after that was your face. Your beautiful face, your shining (h/c) hair and your (e/c) eyes looking at him with concern. Your lips were moving but you were speaking too fast, he hadn't mastered lip reading fully yet. He looked at you in confusion, shaking his head. You paused, sitting back on your knees and signing to him.

You signed to him!

Can you hear me? You had asked, in perfect Hylian sign! And you had spoken the words slowly so he could read your lips too. He quickly sat up, signing back in response.

You sign? He signed with excitement, the movements were sloppy and imperfect, he was shocked that someone besides he and the rest of the Sheikah spoke Hylian sign. You had nodded with a grin.

Are you mute? You had asked, speaking the words again, he assumed it was because he hadn't confirmed he was deaf yet.

No, He made the motion. It was one of the first phrases Purah had taught him when she realized. I'm deaf. He touched the base of his ear, then just below his lips. You had nodded, signing back to him.

I'm sorry I didn't realize. You paused, as if thinking about the next signs. Are you ok? You asked him, concern still painting your features. He smiled and nodded. You stood from the ground, offering him your hand. Link took it and you pulled him to his feet.

That's how it had started. He made sure to stop by in Hateno village more often. He told Purah it was because Hateno was the best place to get fresh milk, but she wasn't naïve. She had connected the dots. The innkeepers daughter comes back from traveling the lands, and suddenly the hero of Hyrule spent more and more time in town.

The two of you would have long conversations in sign, signing so fast your hands were a blur and the words bounced off trees and across the fields, he would sit with you all day, watching you speak. He would tell you stories, and oh he had so many! Purah had heard them all, so had Robbie, but you hadn't and he wanted to tell you everything you could physically remember.

He had bought the old house across the bridge. He remembered you saying you didn't want it torn down, so he bought it, and worked to fix it up, and he had to admit it was nice to have a bed of his own. There was even a stable for his horse! It was a little small, but you had helped him fix the stable so it didn't matter.

He had shown you the house proudly when it was finished. You had looked in awe at the house, the paintings, the displays on the walls, the little window upstairs where you could see the big black horse from, reaching over the fence to sneak apples off the tree. You had turned to hug him. He was startled at first. Yes the two of you had hugged each other before, but this somehow felt different. He wrapped his arms around you as you leaned into him, burying your face in his blue shirt. He rested his head against yours, taking in the scent of your shampoo. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest when you pulled away, but why?

Are you staying? You asked him. His face fell. He pursed his lips and cleared his throat, trying to push past the lump that had formed at your question.

I can't. He had signed. Your face fell in response and he signed quickly, trying hopelessly to cheer you up.

But I promise I'll be back! He signed rapidly, large motions that your had to whip your head to follow.

I'll stay when I finish, I promise. He signed again. He tried to continue, but you had gently taken his hands and held them in front of you. He knew this moment was quiet, intimate, looking in your eyes he could feel that.

"Promise?" He read your lips. He nodded intensely. He didn't think there was a force in Hyrule that could keep him from you, not even the calamity.

And he had come back. After the Calamity was defeated he returned to Hateno village, bruised and bloodied on the black horse, crossing the bridge to see you sweeping out the small house. You dropped the broom when you saw him, running towards him with a smile on your face.

That was the moment he knew he loved you. He had felt it before, the twinge in his chest when he saw you, but the moment he slid from the horses back to catch you in his arms, sweeping you off the ground as you jumped for him, was the moment he knew he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life.

It had been ten years since that day. A fact he was painfully reminded of when someone rather small jumped on his back with all 90 pounds of their weight. He let out a huff and a groan, feeling his daughter sit on his back to shove at his shoulder. She reached down and brushed his hair away from his face, signing about three inches in front of his face. He smirked before reaching behind him, placing his hand on her back before rolling over and pulling her into a hug. He felt her small form shake with laughter when he released her.

mom told me to wake you up for breakfast she signed, still a little clumsy with the finer movements. Link nodded, signing back.

So you had to attack me? He signed, with mock hurt on his face. His daughter smiled widely as she nodded, displaying her missing front tooth she'd been so proud of. She lost it when she fell down the hill outside the field. Link smiled back at her, signing again.

Well now I get to attack you too He said, sitting up quickly and pulling her in for another hug, growling playfully as he ruffled her hair. She pushed against his chest before he let her go and she tumbled back on the bed. She looked at him and laughed before jumping off the bed and running back down the stairs to the kitchen.

Link swung his legs over the bed and stretched, letting out a yawn before he stood. He felt his back ache in that familiar, thrown-by-a-lynel-one-too-many-times way and winced. He looked over the railing to the kitchen below, watching you wrangle your daughter into her seat with a laugh. You signed to her as you spoke, as you always did, to teach her the language and so he could understand.

He made his way down the stairs, approaching you from behind and wrapping his arms around your middle. He felt your chest rumble with a light chuckle as he kissed your cheek before sitting in his chair, between you and his daughter. His little family.

Did you sleep well? You signed to him, speaking it for your daughter before taking your own plate and scooping a spoonful of simmered fruits onto it. He nodded with a smile.

Breakfast looks good, thank you. He signed back. He reached to take a few slices of boar bacon and his daughter tapped his arm. Her hand was tiny against his large forearm, and he felt his protective instincts surge when he saw it, the way they usually did around his family. He looked to her to see her signing the same phrase she always did.

Dad can we ride Fritter today? She signed, finger spelling the horse's name. Link smiled, setting his plate down in front of him before signing back.

Did you do your school work? He asked with a raised eyebrow. She rolled her eyes and her body drooped in disappointment. She signed without looking up

Not all of it. The signs were slow, and Link could tell she was disappointed. Link reached over, using his hand to gently lift her face and signing for her,

Ask mom. Her face broke into a grin as she turned to you, mouth moving as she spoke. Link shook his head with a smile. She forgot to sign it sometimes, when speaking to you, but he could usually figure out what she was saying. He didn't have to know what was being said at all times, but, it was nice to understand his family.

If you promise to do it after you're done. You said, mouth moving as you signed. Her little face scrunched up in glee as she swung her feet. Link smiled, taking a bite of the omelet you had made. You tapped the table to get your daughters attention, and signed one more thing.

And don't forget your signs. You said. You daughter nodded, placing her fist against her chest and making two clockwise circles.

Sorry. She signed. Link licked his thumb, reaching over and wiping a smudge from her cheek. She pushed him away with a scowl before signing.

Dad! Her movements were exaggerated to convey her annoyance. Link held his hands up in surrender before taking another bite of his breakfast.

Once everyone was finished eating, your daughter stood from her seat and cleared her plate. She ran to the space under the stairs where the tack was stored, grabbing the large bridle for Fritter. It was all she could lift, it weighed almost half of what she did. She struggled to sign with one hand to Link as she ran out the door.

I'm going to catch him! Before Link could sign back, she was out the door and out to the field. He let out a chuckle, feeling it move through his chest before turning to you. You smiled softly, placing your hands on his shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss. It was soft and tender.

Be careful with her. You signed when you pulled away. He smiled, signing as he walked up the stairs.

I'm always careful with her. He finished the last sign as he reached the top step and glanced out the window to see her standing on the fence, the large horse standing next to the wooden posts with a mouthful of grass and flowers. Link hummed to himself as she laid across his back, taking a fistful of the red mane as she struggled to swing her leg over his back.

Link shook his head as he changed out of his pajama pants and put on an old shirt. Not the champions tunic, the day for that had come and passed. The comfortable tunic you had bought him as a gift for your anniversary. The fabric was soft and light, perfect for the calm weather in Hateno village. He sat on the bed, reaching under the side table and pulling his boots on. When he'd finished lacing them he stood, looking out the window again. Fritter was standing still in the field, no matter how much his daughter tried to get her to move.

Link thanked his stars for that horse, one he could trust his family on, that had brought him back to you safely. He walked down the stairs, kissing your forehead quickly before grabbing the large saddle from under the stairs and walking out the door, into the field to spend time with his daughter.

[drowningbydegrees]

This started as a pwp praise kink idea. The praise stayed, but the pwp did not. Perhaps I will give it another go, but in the meantime, have 4,000 words of emotional hurt/comfort instead I guess. 😅

Read on AO3

Geralt is what Jaskier cheerfully describes as "forever years old" when he discovers that okay, maybe he is just the littlest bit affected by… actually he’s not sure what one would call this. He’s not even sure if it’s specifically what was said or just the act of being spoken to like a person in a vulnerable moment. Either way, it’s more than a little unexpected, but that’s not actually the problem. After all, everyone finds themselves unraveled by something a little unorthodox now and again, and in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t really all that weird.

No. The problem is that he learns it at exactly the same time Jaskier does, and it would be embarrassing enough if the bard were just some accidental bystander. But no, Geralt couldn’t get that lucky either. It’s very definitely in response to Jaskier and that is nothing short of mortifying. Whatever longing Geralt might privately harbor, Jaskier has never given any indication that it might be a mutual feeling, and so their companionship is very definitely not Like That.

It's a perfect storm that leads to this discovery.

The contract is a disaster in every sense of the word. Somehow, after all these years, there’s still some tiny part of him that allows for optimism, that remembers a time when he thought he could be a hero. There’s no room to be an idealist in his line of work, but the opportunity was right there. The monster was just an unfortunate curse to break. There were people who might be still alive to save. Stupidly, he let himself believe that this is the kind of contract he always hopes for, where just this once no one has to die.

But of course, that isn’t how it goes. The creature is worse for his meddling, leaving the man underneath tortured by a few seconds of horrified lucidity before the curse consumes him again. The creature dies by Geralt’s sword and as its blood drips from the blade, the witcher takes in his surroundings. It’s dark, but Geralt does not need to see to recognize a graveyard made up of all the people he failed.

Even Jaskier is subdued, largely silent on the walk back to the village. He’d had the good sense to stay out of the cave, or else maybe it was just too dark. Whatever the reason, if Geralt is granted any small mercy in this whole debacle, it’s that Jaskier is not in there among the dead, that he did not become another life the witcher couldn’t preserve.

The villagers are understandably as dismayed as Geralt is, and he makes for an easy target. He tolerates the shouting and cruel accusations. He stays Jaskier’s hand when the bard tries to come to his defense. They’re grieving people, desperate to shed the weight of their loss, and he can bear it.

The innkeeper does not turn him away at least, though Geralt suspects it has something to do with the very pointed look Jaskier is giving the man. It matters little if it means he can bathe in peace and fall into a miserable sleep and just… start over again tomorrow.

Death clings to Geralt like a film he can never quite wash from his skin, but oh how he tries. There’s an echo of blood and ichor that he just can’t shake, and by the time Jaskier comes to bring him clean clothes, he’s rubbed his forearms red.

Whatever scene he’s expecting, whatever reproach he anticipates, it never comes. He’s too strung out to put up much of a fight when Jaskier eases the washrag from his clenched fist. Jaskier gives him an uncomfortable smile that would be hilarious in some other context, waving awkwardly at Geralt’s head. “I’m just going to, ehm, your hair is sort of-”

“Covered in blood. I know,” Geralt fills in the gap in that sentence tersely. It’s not pity, not from Jaskier, but it drifts too close for comfort and the witcher doesn’t know what else to do but lash out. That’s not fair either though, and once Geralt has taken a breath he relents. “Get on with it.”

Jaskier does. Quietly even, which would seem suspicious or worrisome under normal circumstances. Geralt just happens to be too worn down to do anything but count his blessings and appreciate the silence as Jaskier works the tangles (and who knows what else) from his hair. He tries to close his eyes, but every time he does, it plays out behind his eyelids, forcing him to wrench them back open again.

“It’s not your fault. You do know that, right?” Jaskier’s voice is soft, and really, Geralt must look truly miserable for him to forgo their usual playfully scathing banter. “You did everything they asked of you and then some. There was nothing else left.”

Geralt doesn’t reply because what can he say? What could possibly wipe the memory of this colossal failure from his mind? It’s a gift of some sort that Jaskier doesn’t press Geralt to respond. He just hums a quiet tune while he painstakingly washes the mess out of the witcher’s hair.

“It wasn’t enough,” Geralt says very softly when he dredges up the will to speak. Jaskier’s thumbs rub down the nape of his neck, and he bows his head to it in silent surrender. The comfort is unearned, but he’s blank enough to crave it anyway.

“That’s not on you, Geralt. It’s like you genuinely don’t have a clue how... good you are. I mean, you’re a grumpy pain in the ass for sure, but still. You were good to the villagers even if they didn’t do a damned thing to earn it. You’re sweet to children and pets and...to me.” Jaskier suddenly seems very close, so near that when he speaks, his warm breath flits along the shell of Geralt’s ear. “I know I get on your every last nerve, and you haven’t turned me away. You might do it with a lot of scowling and insults, but you… are still very good to me.”

Geralt’s breath catches on what is definitely not a whimper, but what he’d probably classify as one if literally anyone else had made that sound. He’s been brought so low and Jaskier sounds so honest. He could have maybe gotten by without notice, but in the bath with Jaskier's hands in his hair and on his skin, there’s really no passing off the sound he makes as anything other than the desperate, needy thing it is.

“I punched you the first time we met,” Geralt points out, because he’s right on the precipice of something and urgently needs to back away from the edge. He tries glowering at Jaskier over his shoulder, but it turns out to be a grave mistake. Geralt is used to weariness and disappointment in the muted way he feels them. But this is a fragility he doesn’t know how to contend with, the brittle surface cracking when Jaskier gazes back at him like he’s anything other than a monster.

“I… probably had that coming,” Jaskier mumbles. Though Geralt has stopped looking, he can feel the shift in Jaskier’s posture suggesting that he’s sheepishly ducking his head. It’s an out of the ordinary thing, Jaskier owning his foibles, but Geralt doesn’t even get the opportunity to wrap his head around that before the bard swings a hammer at whatever defenses the witcher has left. “You’re good to me when it counts.”

Geralt doesn’t believe a word of it, but here and now he wishes quite desperately that he could. He longs to trust the warmth that slides like honey down his spine and settles at the base of it. He wants so badly to be what Jaskier names him as.

In retrospect, it’d probably be less humiliating if it were a sex thing. Jaskier has a penchant for oversharing and probably wouldn’t bat an eye. But it’s not as straightforward as that, even if the praise Jaskier wraps Geralt up in leaves him wanting. This is more, a bone deep sort of yearning that sits like a brick behind his breastbone, heavy and terribly misplaced.

The notion sneaks in that Jaskier just might see through him. He might recognize that despite the veneer of indifference Geralt puts out into the world, tonight the witcher is one stray thought away from a breakdown. He protects himself the only way he knows how, shrugging out from under where Jaskier’s hands have come to rest on his shoulders. “I don’t need help. Get out.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s brows furrow with concern. Frustratingly, the bard’s hand smooths over Geralt’s hair. Even more frustratingly, it’s a fight not to lean into the touch despite everything.

He snarls because it’s safer than the shaky thing in his chest, the thing that clings to the idea that there’s a version of the world where he is worthwhile. “Get. Out.”

Jaskier holds his hands up in surrender, but he doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised and that’s all the more maddening.

Jaskier gives him space, to bathe in peace and then to irritably crawl into bed. It’s only when Jaskier must think he’s fallen asleep that the bard curls up around his back, nose pressed to the nape of his neck. He hasn’t earned the comfort he’s being offered, but cannot help himself taking it anyway.

They do not speak of that night again.

*****

They do not speak of it, but Jaskier thinks about it an amount that is probably just a bit inappropriate. He recounts the punched out sound Geralt made at something so simple as a little well deserved absolution. He commits the little shudder of Geralt’s shoulders under his hands to memory. But most of all, Jaskier aches at the way Geralt had snarled about it, so convinced of his own unworthiness. This bridge isn’t Jaskier’s to cross though, so he secrets away the desire to do so and satisfies himself with whatever small kindnesses Geralt will tolerate.

But tragedy is rarely a one time occurence, even in an easy life. And Geralt’s life is anything but easy. It’s only a matter of time before everything comes down around his ears again.

It’s not even a hunt this time, not a monster but a mage. It’s just a spell gone wrong, and there was nothing Geralt could’ve done to contain it. They were too close, and Jaskier is pretty sure the only reason he even made it out in one piece was that Geralt shielded him with some sign that protected him from the worst of the blast.

Now, spotting Geralt’s still form among the rubble, it’s clear to Jaskier what his safety cost the witcher. He picks his way across the rubble as quickly as he dares, fighting to keep the fear from his voice. “Geralt?”

“Ngh.” It’s a reply, if not much of one, but it’s only Geralt when blinks blearily at him a couple of times and scowls that the terror Jaskier feels begins to settle.

He doesn’t know what to say. Jaskier is tempted to crack a joke and make light of the situation. It’s how he copes. It’s just that, they weren’t alone in this building, and judging from the quietly defeated look on Geralt’s face, the witcher is already thinking about that.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal.” Jaskier holds out a hand to Geralt, but he ignores it as he staggers to his feet. “But it’s not all hopeless. Because of you, they can’t ever harm anyone else again.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.” Geralt’s expression shutters, but Jaskier doesn’t need to be able to read the witcher’s emotions to know he’s thinking about all the people that outcome isn’t good enough for. As hyper sensitive as Geralt’s senses are, Jaskier can’t help but suspect that the rocks aren’t enough to hide what’s buried within the ruins, so he tries to steer Geralt back towards their camp. There’s nothing else they can do in this place but mourn.

“Are you okay to walk?” Jaskier doesn’t like the idea of leaving Geralt here to get help, but he also doesn’t want to inadvertently make things worse.

“I’m fine.” Geralt takes a step and then another. They’re wobbly, but he does manage to stay upright.

“You sure? A building exploded with you, you know, in it.” Jaskier is sort of sorry for pressing even before Geralt glowers at him.

“I said I’m fine.” Geralt repeats himself, and there’s no progress to be made pressing any further about it.

Jaskier knows better than to offer his support despite the fact that Geralt is limping at his side. If the witcher is not actively falling over, his attempts to help are likely to be ill received. He tries very hard to ignore it, even if it makes his heart twist up in his chest, but that all flies out the window when they finally come to a stop at camp, where the ground beneath them is dry dirt rather than grass and leaves, and there’s no missing the blood sluggishly pooling at Geralt’s feet.

“Geralt. For the love of- You’re bleeding. Sit down.” Jaskier grouses, more irritated at himself for not noticing than anything else.

To his shock, Geralt sits without complaint, though Jaskier suspects that is more out of exhaustion than any sudden desire to be cooperative. With a pained hiss, Geralt works to rid himself of his armor while Jaskier gathers supplies, so maybe he means to cooperate after all. That’s either very good or very bad.

Very bad, Jaskier decides, grimacing at the deep gash in Geralt’s side beneath where his rib cage ends. It’s not a clean cut the way a claw or a blade might be, probably a product of part of a building dropping on him.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes out, kneeling to try and staunch the bleeding enough to properly stitch it back up.

“I’m okay Jaskier,” Geralt insists. That he’s gritting his teeth on a low moan when Jaskier presses on his wounded flank is… not really helping his case.

“Great. You can continue to be okay while you sit there and let me stitch this up.” It comes out a little more tartly than Jaskier had meant, but Geralt doesn’t even seem to notice.

He does, however, sit still. That Geralt is quiet while Jaskier threads a needle isn’t out of the ordinary. But Jaskier looks at the witcher’s face and finds a great deal more than weariness there.

Jaskier lets it go at first, the task at hand more pressing. It’s only when he’s on his third stitch and Geralt is still staring miserably out towards the trees that he gently chastises the witcher. The expression isn’t an unfamiliar one, and Jaskier hates it every time. “Stop it.”

Geralt’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t look at Jaskier. “Stop what?”

“Insisting on taking on burdens that aren’t yours to carry.” There’s a needle in one hand and blood on both of them, so the tactile methods he’d usually use to soothe are no good. Jaskier tries words instead, already knowing they’ll be rejected. “It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was a great deal less awful than it might have been because of you.”

On the bright side, Geralt doesn’t immediately snap at him. It might have something to do with the fact that he’s actively stitching the witcher up. Geralt doesn’t even look at Jaskier, but his expression is stormy and tense. Jaskier bites his tongue for another couple of stitches before he decides this is a sort of misery he can’t leave alone. So, he tries again. “When we first met, you really didn’t like me. And I know you’re making a face. Stop it. Just because I ignored the fact that you found me aggravating doesn’t mean I didn’t recognize it.”

“I’m making a face because you said that all past tense.” There’s a note of what might be humor there, and Jaskier doesn’t even care if the joke is at his expense under the circumstances.

Jaskier huffs out a fondly exasperated breath. “That’s very rude, but I’m going to let it go this time because you’re bleeding all over my hands. My point is that you gave me - someone you actively disliked - coin you didn’t have to spare.”

Geralt is quiet for so long that Jaskier thinks he might actually be listening. He probably is even, but his reply is too close to their usual banter, like he can’t stomach the idea of having a conversation that matters. “With songs like that, it seemed like you could use all the help you could get.”

“Oh, haha. Very funny. I realize it wasn’t my best work.” He’s trying, really, and it’s hard not to deflate in the face of Geralt’s resistance. Jaskier stares down at his current task and that could be the end of it. But the last time they went down this road still haunts him, and Jaskier is determined to try again, hopefully without being run off this time around. “Okay, if you’re going to be like that. In the last village, you let a little girl hire you to check her closet for monsters.”

There’s a clear sense of suspicion in the way Geralt narrows his eyes at Jaskier, but all the witcher says is, “Why would I turn down a paying contract?”

“Geralt.” Despite everything, Jaskier is pretty certain he’s never loved anyone in his life as much as he does Geralt right now. “She paid you in rocks.”

“They had value to her.” It’s endearingly defensive, but Geralt is justifying himself rather than running Jaskier off, so the bard counts it as an improvement.

Regardless, it’s not the message Jaskier is trying to get across. “I know. But you can’t exactly get provisions or a room at an inn with a pocketful of pebbles. And then there was Goose Hollow. You snuck that woman’s payment back into her kitchen.”

The witcher’s nose crinkles in distaste. Jaskier knows why he did it, but Geralt seems to feel the need to remind him anyway. “She’d just lost her husband to that kikimore and she had a baby on the way. I could make do without. Not sure she could’ve.”

“Right. You’re absolutely right, and that’s what I’m getting at,” Jaskier says, giving up on the idea that Geralt might have at least enough sense of self worth to reach this conclusion on his own. That’s clearly not the case, so Jaskier opts to connect the dots. “These are things you acknowledge, things you act on, because you are kind.”

Annnnnnnd there it is, the point at which Geralt can’t pretend he doesn’t understand what Jaskier is trying to communicate. He growls, shifting like he means to get up. “Fuck off.”

Jaskier pinches Geralt’s hip, well below where the bruising from the wound stops. “Do. Not. I have a needle literally stuck through you. You’re a good person whether you acknowledge it or not, so stop being dramatic and trying to flounce off just because someone said something that clashes with your self loathing.”

The scowl doesn’t leave Geralt’s face, but by some miracle, he does settle. “Oh, I’m dramatic?”

Bowing his head to hide a smile, Jaskier goes back to work. He wishes he could stay made for even a moment, but there’s just nothing for it. “What with the growling and glaring and stalking needlessly off into the trees or whatever nonsense you were planning? As someone who is personally very well versed in dramatics, yes.”

There’s no scathing or witty retort so it would be easy to assume Geralt is ignoring him when Jaskier is met with silence, but the bard knows better. It’s subtle things, an evening out of Geralt’s breathing, a shift in his posture, and though the seconds drag out, stretched like taffy, he’s not surprised when the witcher says very softly. “I didn’t know you’d noticed.”

And oh, that hurts. Not for the sake of Jaskier’s own feelings, but for the fact that Geralt could share shitty tavern food and too small inn beds and miles of open road for so long and still not recognize that he matters. “Of course I noticed. I always notice you.”

“I don’t think the rocks are going to make for a very interesting song,” Geralt says, and while his tone is clearly meant to convey sarcasm, his gaze is soft and searching, and oh to hell with it all.

“For fuck’s sake. It’s not for a song. I notice because I love you, you absolute twit.” There’s that strange, wounded sound again. The one that makes Jaskier want to wind his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and draw him close. Last time, that had been the preface to Geralt shutting him out entirely, but it doesn’t happen this time. Geralt hardly seems to notice when Jaskier rises after tying off the thread. His whole body goes stiff when Jaskier succumbs to the urge to embrace him, but somehow this time Geralt doesn’t immediately pull away.

With bated breath, Jaskier waits for the awkward stiffness to become a full blown retreat, because surely Geralt does not want his feelings, but the demand to be let go of never comes. Surrender is a quieter, subtler thing than any resistance Geralt put up. It’s a gradual release of the tension holding him bow string taut in Jaskier’s arms, a furtive embrace as Geralt’s hands find their way to curl loosely in the back of Jaskier’s chemise. With a sigh Geralt’s head drops to rest against Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier is prepared, he thinks, for that to be the end of it. There are no strings attached, no conditions riding the tails of his affection. That Geralt didn’t immediately turn him away, that the witcher relents enough to let Jaskier be a source of comfort is enough. Geralt sags a little bit against him and Jaskier commits the feeling to memory, idly smoothing his hand over Geralt’s hair.

It’s still there when Geralt pulls back to look at him, eyes wide with something Jaskier might describe as wonderment.

“What?” Jaskier doesn’t give himself permission to hope because that’s not what this is about, but his heart takes off anyway, hammering away in his chest.

“You weren’t afraid of me, even though the only point of reference you had was the stories.” There’s a question in the quiet words Geralt speaks. And Jaskier does know what he means. Rumors of the Butcher of Blaviken were far reaching, and Jaskier had no way of knowing the accuracy of them. So why?

“Well, you’re not nearly as scary as you think you are,” Jaskier says lightly, and then, because the question is there, but Geralt looks afraid of the answer, he adds with a sheepish smile. “Also, you were the one person not throwing food at me, so that was a point in your favor automatically.”

Geralt says nothing at first, but his mouth turns unhappily downward. Jaskier expects annoyance or anger, is used to those things, but this is more akin to grief and he doesn’t know what to do with it. In the wake of it, Jaskier is almost relieved when Geralt speaks again.

“You learned how to do this because we travel together.” Geralt gingerly pries one of Jaskier’s hands from his back, laying it delicately over his wounded side, and no. No, that last point was definitely easier to address. They should go back to things he can make jokes about.

“So what?” Jaskier says, though it comes out more like a croak. And his chest might as well be split open on the faint smile that coaxes from Geralt.

Curious. Jaskier can feel Geralt’s thumb sweep back and forth across his chemise, almost like the witcher is nervous. “You hate blood.”

He’s already said the most terrifying part, and he doesn’t know what Geralt thinks, but the witcher hasn’t left. So really, Jaskier wonders, what is there to be frightened of? “It would be very unfortunate for the both of us if something happened to you.”

“That’s not… I don’t think you’re hearing me,” Geralt mutters, mouth slanted off to the side.

It won’t do. Jaskier has no wish to be a source of frustration when he’s trying to be a comfort, so he lets himself smile and brushes Geralt’s cheek with his knuckles. “I’m sorry. Would you tell me again?”

Jaskier barely gets the words out before Geralt’s lips are brushing, feather light, against his. It’s over as abruptly as it started though Geralt lingers with his forehead pressed to Jaskier’s and his hand cradling the bard’s cheek. “I notice you, too.”

He could live in this moment, Jaskier thinks, just sat here knowing he’s not alone in the things he wants. The circle of Geralt’s arms is a lovely place to linger, so Jaskier lets himself have it even as he says, “In case you missed it, I’m done if you’re still feeling the need to go stomping off in the woods to fume.”

Geralt rarely laughs at anything, but the amused snort Jaskier gets for his trouble is close enough. Even better is the kiss that follows, slow and sweet and full of promise. “Well, someone very obnoxious and very... dear told me it was dramatic, so I thought I’d maybe stay here with you instead.”

You can find the rest of my Witcher fanworks here. <3

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 30: Slipping Through My Fingers

Summary: Jamie grasps at straws for a way to ease Claire

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Read chp 30 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 30

***

Jamie didn’t remember dozing off, but he must have, because he was dragged out of sleep so abruptly it was like cold water had been dumped over his head, shooting adrenaline into his system. It wasn’t apparent at first what had woken him until Claire made a sound that clearly wasn’t the first time she’d cried out. 

It was a whimper, weak but plaintive, piercing to Jamie’s soul. He shot into wakefulness as it tore from her throat again, and he pushed himself up on his elbow, blinking sleep away so he could see her. 

She was still asleep. Her eyes were clenched tightly closed while her head jerked back and forth in an unconscious mimicry of shaking her head no. Before Jamie could even reach out to bring her out of the dream, she was shooting up in bed, eyes open and wild with panic. 

Her frantic gaze met his eyes, and her chest heaved as she drew in a sharp breath that was halfway between a gasp and a sob. 

Jamie was crushing her to his chest without a second more of hesitation. 

“It was jes’ a dream, a nighean,” he said as he held her fiercely, “it’s alright. It wasna real. I’m here.” 

He tucked her head under her chin and made shushing sounds. The puir lass butted her forehead into his chest, but instead of bringing her arms around him— which she likely lacked the strength to do— she simply leaned her whole body into him. 

“It’s alright now, my fair one,” Jamie hushed, “it wasna real. Was jes’ a nightmare.” 

She gave a tiny tilt of the head that may have been a nod, but Jamie still felt her trembling against him. His heart broke for her. Clearly whatever she had dreamt had shaken her to the core. It had been a while since she’d had a reaction with this much energy to anything, and now her body was alight with fear. 

Jamie nudged his chin down to kiss her hair and softly asked, “what were ye dreamin’, lass?” 

Her swallow was audible and her breath shuddered before she answered. 

“It was dark. Pitch black, but somehow I could see the darkness swirling. And I was ripped apart— over and over. And I—“ she inhaled sharply, “I was alone.” 

“It wasna real, mo nighean donn. Ye arena alone. I’m right here. And I’m no’ goin’ anywhere.”

Jamie hated not being able to see her face and meet her eyes when he said that, so he carefully laid her back flat on the bed. She complied, boneless and allowing him to maneuver her, but he spotted a flash of distress in her eyes. 

“Dinna fash,” he quickly soothed. He laid down next to her, bracing his head up on his elbow so he could stare down at her, but he brought his other hand to stroke her arm. “I’m here, aye?” He met her eyes this time, trying to impart the solemnity of his words, “We’re together. And that’s all that matters.” 

She let out a breath that was as much of an agreement as she could muster. 

“Just…” she said suddenly, surprising Jamie, “don’t leave my side.” 

In another show of vigor, she reached up to twine her arms around his neck and cling to him. He knew what she wanted without being told. Sliding a hand underneath her back, Jamie gently lifted her into a sitting position, careful not to put much distance between them that would upset her. When there was inevitably a bit of space between their midsections, Claire scooted closer to press herself to him. 

“Sassenach?” When she didn’t respond, he said again, “Claire? Is this alright?”

She laid her head on his shoulder, “I just want you to hold me for a bit.”

His stomach twisted, and he withdrew his hands from where they were flat on her back so that he could wrap his arms tightly around her instead. He pressed his lips to her forehead and then tucked her head underneath his chin. Tears burned at his eyes. 

“I ken ye’re scared,” he murmured into her hair, kissing it softly, “but we’ll face it together, mo ghraidh, always.” 

A shuddering breath against him was the only response. 

He wished he had more words for her— something more to say that would ease her— but even language seemed to fail him. He could only say the same thing over and over, promising to be with her. Finding himself at the end of the power of words, he relied on touch. 

Bringing a hand up, he began to stroke her hair gently. It occurred him how she seemed impossibly small. There was no trace of his vibrant, curious, and even mischievous faerie. She just clung to him, quiet, and allowed him to hold her. 

She was somehow muted. Everything about her seemed almost… serene, only in all the wrong ways. She simply didn’t have the energy to do anything more than listlessly be. 

Jamie found himself missing her, even though she was there with him at that very moment. 

Adso was meowing insistently outside, demanding that his morning meal be served, but Jamie wouldn’t dream of letting Claire go. He patiently rocked her, swaying slightly as she rested in his arms. 

“When I was young,” Jamie began to speak, not sure exactly why this story came to his head, “my older brother Willie and I wanted tae build a treehouse sae badly.” Claire nestled her head further onto his shoulder, settling in, and Jamie took that as a sign to continue. “A treehouse is jes’ a tiny room made of wood that you put high up in a tree and have tae climb up to even get into it.” The usual Claire would have definitely had something to say about that, some snarky remark about the oddities of humanity, but she was too fatigued to do anything but listen and breathe against him. “My da didna trust us wi’ the tools, and he was workin’ full time and tryin’ tae keep up wi’ the farm. We begged and pleaded for him tae jes’ let us do it ourselves, but he said it’d have tae wait until the summer. But then Murtagh showed up in our backyard one day without a word, hauling pieces of wood and his tools, and Willie and I couldna believe our eyes. We worked every afternoon for weeks. When it was finally done, Murtagh, Willie, and my Da spent a night up there— cuddled up in blankets side by side, looking out the windae at the stars and listenin’ to Da and Murtagh tell stories. I remember Willie and I fell asleep huddled together for warmth, listenin’ to the soothing sound of their voices. It was the best night.”

Jamie swallowed the lump in his throat. What he had left out was the fact that it was after Willie’s cancer diagnosis. As they’d built the treehouse, he’d watched Willie grow more and more fatigued. That night in the treehouse was one of the last perfect memories he had with his brother. 

He realized suddenly that it’d been foolish to tell such an emotional story to Claire at that moment, and as lungs clenched, he wished he could take his words back inside. Sensing his grief, she whispered, “you miss him.” 

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement— an acknowledgement of his sorrow and longing for his brother. 

“I’m sorry, I didna mean…” 

“You can’t help what you feel, Jamie, don’t apologize,” she said softly. When Jamie tilted his head down to look at her, he saw she’d lifted her face from his shoulder and there were tears glistening in her eyes. 

“My sweet lass—” he croaked. 

The reason for his telling the story— the reason why it had come to his head in the first place— hung in the air, heavy and unspoken between them. 

“I’m okay, Jamie,” she said, straightening up and blinking her brimming eyes at him, “really. I’m just… tired. I’ll be alright. I don’t want you to worry like this.” 

So she could feel that too. 

“Of course I worry for ye, mo nighean donn,” he whispered.

There was a flash of panic inside him, sudden and sharp. Jamie had lost much in his life. He’d lost his brother to cancer, his mother and newborn brother to a traumatic birth, and he’d watched his father die of a stroke. He wasn’t sure he could bear to watch Claire fade away.  

But he couldn't jump to conclusions yet— he told himself firmly as he shoved all of that as far down inside himself as he possibly could. 

“I don’t want you to worry,” Claire argued, laying her head back down on his shoulder. Stubborn as ever. Her lips brushed over it in the slightest, the barest hint of a kiss. 

“I’ll try no’ to,” he promised. 

“Let’s go down and get the cheetie his breakfast,” Claire said abruptly as another urgent meow came from outside the door, although she made no move. 

“Are ye sure?” Jamie wanted to argue, at least insist that she stay in bed, but he knew deep inside him that there was no way she’d part from him even for a moment, so he offered instead, “we can stay a while longer.” He squeezed his arms more tightly around her, holding her close. 

“As long as we go together,” she said. 

As they got up from the bed, Jamie was careful to keep an arm secured firmly around her. He abided by her residual clinginess and indulged her desire to stay pressed close to him. It was no real task; he would have her in his arms every minute of every day if he could. The length of her body pressed down his arm as she leaned slightly against him. 

The moment they made it downstairs, she sat on the couch, curling her knees to her chest under the fluffy throw blanket as Jamie went in the kitchen to grab some breakfast. 

When he returned, she was antsy for his presence. He settled down on the couch next to her, holding a simple granola bar in his hand (he didn’t want to spend time preparing anything else when she was like this). Nearly instantly, he had a lapful of faerie. She climbed up, straddling his legs, and hugged her arms around his neck so their fronts were pressed together. Nearly every inch of her was touching him, and he thought if she was physically capable, she would have made the rest of her body touch too. 

It broke his heart damn near in two to see her suffering like this. 

To be helpless to do anything. 

“Want tae watch another movie, lass?” he asked gently. He had no idea what else to suggest. She needed rest and recuperation, and he ached for her to be distracted, even if just for a short while. 

She gave a little murmur of assent but didn’t raise her head from where it was burrowed into the crook of his neck.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying to get her attention. When he didn’t receive anything in reply, he smoothed his hand up her back to gently cradle the nape of her neck. He suddenly felt the need to reassure her— or, if he was being honest, for her to reassure him. “Hey, mo ghraidh. I willna let anything happen, aye?”

“I know,” she said quietly. 

But that was a lie. Both of them knew it was. 

There was no telling what was happening, no assurance that it would pass. He was making promises he couldn’t keep. But everything inside of him had been screaming the words until he had to say them. 

“What should we watch?” Jamie changed the subject before his brain could dwell on his fears long enough for Claire to sense them. 

“You pick, Jamie,” she said. 

The way she said his name... It made his heart clench terribly. She said it like it was an endearment, only his name meant the same as “love” to her. 

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jamie grabbed the remote and turned on Aristocats, knowing that cat movies and shows tended to be her favorites. His faerie had a bit of an obsession now. How different from when she’d first cowered in his arms at the sight of Adso. 

But she didn’t turn around to watch the movie. She stayed facing away from it, curled into Jamie. As the movie played, he simply held her and didn’t say a word. He would do whatever she needed for the rest of his life if only it could help her feel the slightest bit better. 

As the movie went on, Claire gradually began to melt. The paradoxical mix of listlessness and clinginess seemed to dampen, and she shifted off of him so she could curl underneath a blanket with her head in his lap instead. 

His hands settled into a rhythmic stroking of her hair. In the worst type of deja vu, Jamie realized this was just like the previous day. Claire had no energy even for the simplest of demands on her body.

She needed rest— he reminded himself. There was need to fash. He’d wanted her to sleep more, hadn’t he? 

Then why was there such a pang in his chest? 

***

Claire woke feeling disoriented. Weariness had settled deep in her bones. It was like she was underwater with a hand clutching at her ankle and dragging her downward while she constantly tried to battle toward the surface. For a second, she couldn’t figure out where she was. There was something soft underneath her cheek, comfortable, and she didn’t feel a sense of panic. Only vague unease. 

The weight on her chest didn’t abate as she sat up. She hadn’t even managed to open her eyes yet, but the dizziness that struck her full force would have been debilitating if not for the darkness encasing her. She sank back down to lay on her side. 

“Claire?” 

The voice of her beloved tore her from the swirling that was taking place in her brain. Her heart skipped a beat at his voice— the first thing she felt acutely since she’d woken. She clung to that with all her might and opened her eyes. 

Jamie was hovering over her, his eyes swimming with concern and his expression so boyish in the way he looked at her. She felt the slight ease of relief looking up at him. Seeing his face always seemed to anchor her to the ground, to the solid reassurance of his strength. 

“Any better this morning?” he asked, but there was little hope in his voice. He already knew the answer. 

It broke her heart to say it to him. She hated to make him worry, but she didn’t have the strength anymore to hide from him. 

“No,” she answered, finding her voice breathy even to her own ears. 

She closed her eyes again and was surprised to feel the heat of a tear leak from one corner. 

Jamie sighed— a heartbreaking sound— and then his big hands came up to stroke her hair. His touch was comforting; it made her feel like she could breathe, even if only for a second before the waves crashed over her again and drove her head beneath the water. 

“I dinna ken what tae do,” Jamie said softly, helplessness straining his voice in a way that tore her open.

That was enough to force her into wakefulness again. 

Jamie looked haunted. His eyes were swimming with concern, the features of his beautiful face tight with anxiety. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep himself in check. Claire was too weak to sense how distraught he was, but she didn’t need to. It was painted loud and clear over every inch of his body. It killed her to see his distress and not be able to do anything about it, but she was just too tired even to try to pretend she was alright enough to reassure him. 

“I don’t know either,” her hoarse voice answered. 

His hands were moving again, coming to cradle her face between them. So warm and strong, so gentle when he touched her. Her eyes must have fallen closed again because her world narrowed down to the single point of his thumb smoothing over her cheeks. 

“Rest, mo ghraidh,” Jamie said softly. 

Her forehead tingled as he kissed it with the barest brush of lips, and then his hands disappeared from her face. 

Her eyes popped open enough to see Jamie rising from the bed to his feet. 

“What—?” she asked foggily, finding her mouth filled with fuzz, “where are you going?”

“I’ll leave ye to yer peace, sweet one,” Jamie said tenderly, returning to her side to run his hand down her face, over her shoulder, and then down the length of her body until it rested on her hip, “go back to sleep.” 

“Please don’t go,” she found herself pleading, voice airy, “please stay, just for a little while longer?” 

A whine tore from his throat as if she had struck him with a blow. He hadn’t meant to let it out, but she knew he was so pained by seeing her like this. She nearly regretted asking him until he slipped back into bed, eager, and gathered her again into his arms. He was so big, his broad chest like a wall behind her and his arms like trees that wrapped around her body. His solidness, his strength— they gave her a sense of security. Comfort like nothing else could. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, repressing a shiver that tried to wrack her body. She hated hurting him like this. She knew he was hurting because of her. But she needed him so badly it frightened her. 

“No,” he sounded devastated again, and it was killing her to keep hearing him like that, “no, mo ghraidh. Dinna say ye’re sorry. It became my job the second I decided to love ye wi’ my whole heart. I’ll always be here for ye, as ye are for me. We take turns, aye? Now it’s yer turn.” 

Jamie always knew exactly what needed to be said to assuage her guilt. The tightness in her chest eased and she relaxed back into him, feeling more grounded. His words were a reminder that this wouldn’t last forever. She would be okay— with him— and until she was better, he’d be there to hold her. 

“Go back to sleep, mo nighean donn,” Jamie said gently, “I willna leave yer side.” 

Safe in the knowledge that Jamie would keep her afloat, she let herself drift back into the murky grey depths. 

*** 

Jamie rubbed his face wearily as placed his dishes in the sink. After she’d woken up, Claire had told him to go make himself a real meal and not just throw something together as he’d been doing recently. As much as he didn’t like leaving her, he indulged his love of cooking and made an extensive chicken parmesan for himself. Before Claire, cooking used to be one of the ways he relieved stress, but he hadn’t had any time for it as of late. He certainly was stressed with watching Claire suffer from whatever was dragging her down, but of course cooking was powerless in the face of that worry. 

The thoughts consumed him, circling him like vultures. He tried to beat them back as best as he could. It had only been a few days— it was foolish to go to extremes so early. But after google searches turned up nothing helpful about sick faeries, and Claire herself had been at a loss, Jamie was left with only the theories that his own brain could come up with. Maybe she had caught a cold or some human disease that her body didn’t know how to handle? Maybe with some time and rest she would be back to her usual self. Since a doctor's visit was out of the question, Jamie had to wait and pray. 

Pray that this was nothing like watching his family get sick. 

Pray that it would pass soon. 

And try not to lose himself to the gnawing of worry inside of him. 

Once he was done cleaning up, having barely managed to eat much at all, he walked into the living room looking for Claire. 

“Mo ghraidh?” he called. 

There was no answer. Figuring she went up to the bedroom, Jamie climbed the stairs with eager energy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand being away from her for an hour, but… well… he didn't like being away from her for an hour. 

His face was just beginning to break into a smile at the thought of holding her again as he swung into their bedroom. 

The sight inside stole it instantly, and he froze, looking at the scene in front of him with a feeling that somehow took endearment and twisted it into anguish and sympathy. 

Claire was lying on the floor, curled up on her side under her fluffy throw blanket from downstairs. 

Jamie’s heart clenched as affection warred with soft worry. He could see her chest rising and falling in an even rhythm where her hand was clutching a fold of the blanket to her chest. She wasn’t asleep— he could tell— but she laid curled up on the floor and didn’t seem to even notice him. 

“What are ye doin’ on the floor, sweet one?” he asked quietly as he knelt down next to her. He brushed a bit of her hair back from her face as her eyes opened. 

She blinked up at him slowly for a second and allowed him to gently stroke her hair before answering. 

“I’m tired,” she breathed. 

“I ken,” he said, his heart breaking and the bubble in his chest expanding painfully, “but why no’ on the bed?” 

“‘S more comfortable here,” she answered, sounding foggy. 

Jamie was perplexed for a moment before he came to the realization. She had slept on the ground her whole life. On mossy beds and leafy piles, if not just plain grass. 

A choked sound escaped him as he thought about her laying down on the ground, seeking comfort from a more familiar surface. 

“Can I lay wi’ ye a moment?” he asked through the sympathy coating his throat. 

She nodded, just a small movement of her head sliding back and forth over the carpet. As soon as he got permission, Jamie slid behind her so he could curl up against her back. At the feeling of him pressing up behind her, Claire straightened her legs a bit so Jamie could slot his own into the curve behind her knees. He draped an arm over her middle and held her close. 

“Is this alright, mo ghraidh?” he asked softly. 

“Yes,” she breathed in barely a whisper. 

So Jamie laid there on the ground with her, holding her. He wished fervently that she could find the slightest comfort— anything to ease her suffering. He more than wished. 

“God,” he prayed silently, “dinna let her slip away from me. Please. Please.” 

It took most of his willpower to keep himself from shaking under the pressure of worry. There was already enough trembling between the two of them— Claire’s body was nearly vibrating in its distress— she didn’t need him adding to that. 

“Sleep now,” he whispered in her ear, “and dinna fash. I’m here.” 

He was there. Only he was completely powerless to do anything but lay on the floor beside her and offer what little he could in the face of… Jamie didn’t even know what to call it other than suffering. 

An idea suddenly popped into his head. 

“Hold on, mo nighean donn,” Jamie said quietly into his hair. He pressed a kiss to her temple, watching her eyelashes flutter in response, and then tore himself away before he could regret leaving her. 

He all but ran down the stairs, nearly tripping in his haste, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like there was something he could do. It was small, maybe it would be insignificant, but perhaps it could ease her. And that was something. When he had grabbed the item in question, he returned upstairs. Even as he plugged it into the wall, Claire remained motionless on the ground with her eyes closed. 

The moment he turned on the space heater, however, those beautiful golds popped open to regard it with a wide gaze. It wasn’t excitement— the puir lass was too muted to look excited— but the gravity and regard that she held for the device was present. 

Jamie made sure it was pointed right at her before he made his way back over so he could take her in his arms again, positioning her in the cocoon of his body. 

“I promised ye an hour in front of the space heater, did I no’?” he said softly, trying to keep his tone light even as he felt like his heart was being thrown into a blender.

She didn’t have a witty jab about her victory nor an attempt to swindle him for more time. Instead, she was quiet for a moment before she added, “with you.”

“Aye. With me. I wouldna forget that part of the bargain, lass. It was my favorite part.” 

He felt like he was choking. This wasn’t at all how either of them had imagined the spoils of her game. She was supposed to tug him downstairs with a smirk on those lovely lips. She was supposed to force him to hold up his end of the deal as he playfully refused to turn it on. She was supposed to turn around in his arms and kiss him only a few minutes into the offered hour. 

It was supposed to be anything but this. Anything but lying quietly on the floor while Jamie scraped the bottom of the barrel for anything he could do to help her. 

“Can ye feel it, Claire?” he couldn’t help but ask, “does it feel alright?” 

She let out a shaky breath and nodded against the carpet. “Yes,” she breathed, “Thank you, Jamie.” 

That was it. Quiet and empty, her words rattled around in Jamie’s heart until they lodged like a sprinter in the beating flesh. 

“Anything else, lass? What else can I do?” he couldn’t help but ask. Beg. Plead. 

“This is nice,” she replied quietly. 

Jamie expected some sort of gesture to go with the words. A rub of his arm. A tilt of the head behind her to smile at him. Even just a shift of her body. Claire always expressed herself so physically. Only now she was still, and nothing accompanied her words except silence. 

And Jamie was left in his helplessness. 

“Alright, a leannan. Go back to yer rest now. I willna leave until ye wake again. I promise.” 

And when the second hour passed, the space heater still buzzing in front of Claire and Jamie’s back aching, he was still there with her on the floor, praying over her in whispers.

***

a/n: Please also accept my apology that this particular chapter was the gift I had for World Outlander Day. I am offering lots of hug gifs over on my twitter (@jamiemackfraser) and here if anyone needs one. Much love to you all!

Also, next chapter will be following very shortly!

Next

[honeypiehotchner]

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part one

I know, I know. I just finished a story and I started another one and now I’m posting a different one...I’m insane. But I’ve had this idea for a while, just never wrote it down until last night! Enjoy xx.

Also! It’s Bucky x Reader, but it might read as Steve x Reader. I promise it’s platonic!Steve x Reader, though. Steve has no intentions of stealing Bucky’s girl. He knows Bucky would haunt his ass if he did (this is set in The Winter Soldier movie, so Steve still thinks Buck is dead).

Warnings: just some general sadness and angst, mentions of depression, it’s angst city honestly it made me cry

You watch as the old footage replays of Bucky’s wide grin. The only kind of smile that his best friend, Steve Rogers, could draw out of him with one single look or gesture. The only kind of expression that knocks the wind out of your lungs and sends chills down your spine.

“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable both on schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.”

You hastily wipe a tear away. It’s been months since you put the pieces together. Months since your parents told you that they had known for years. Months since they told you they didn’t want to tell you because they didn’t want to see you hurt. 

Months since you’ve realized the man you keep seeing in your dreams is Bucky Barnes.

At first, you thought you were crazy. People dream of faces they’ve never seen all the time, right? 

Soulmates are said to be rare, but not nonexistent. You’ve always thought they were real, just that the world was so cynical to really talk about them. The idea that there is one person out there whose soul is connected to yours is exactly the kind of thing that would send this generation walking the other direction with their middle fingers raised and eyes rolling in disbelief.

Then you started remembering your dreams. You started to see his face more clearly. Granted, you had no idea it was Bucky that you were seeing. 

You came to the Smithsonian almost half a year ago now with your best friend. She realized you both had never been before, and she basically said fuck it one day and took you with her. Her exact words were, “How have we gone to college here for a year and a half and we’ve never been to the damn Smithsonian?”

You weren’t expecting to meet your soulmate that day. 

Of course, you use the word “meet” very loosely. Your soulmate isn’t alive, which explains the emptiness you feel on a daily. It’s been said that soulmates can feel what the other is feeling. Often times it’s muted, but recognizable. 

You got to see his face, to finally realize that it’s Bucky. The Bucky Barnes. 

It sounds ridiculous — and God, you love your best friend for not calling you pathetic that day — but when you walked up to the very exhibit you’re standing at right now and saw Bucky’s smile...you knew. Instantly, you knew. And it moved you to tears.

It was like your soul had finally found her counterpart, here, grinning like a madman next to his best friend, all the way back in the 1940s. 

Your parents knew simply because of things you would say, offhandedly, without even realizing it. 

Your interest in WWII caught their attention, but it surprisingly didn’t last long -- only from about the time that you turned thirteen to a few months before your fourteenth birthday. You would’ve found Bucky a lot sooner had your interest in the war itself lasted much longer, but it didn’t. You wonder now if you subconsciously knew it was Bucky, but steered yourself away from it in an attempt to save yourself the heartache at such a young age. 

Your taste in music has been the constant that they didn’t quite understand at first. You listen to modern tunes, sure, but you’re a sucker for the music of the 40s. Even clothes. You sometimes found yourself leaning toward the styles of the 40s in subtle ways, not realizing it. 

The true confirmation of their suspicions came, though, when your mom said she heard you say Bucky’s name. The first time was on a road trip. You had fallen asleep in the car. You were sixteen at the time. You were dreaming and you have no recollection of ever saying his name. You weren’t even aware that you said his name while you were dreaming until she confessed that day.

You haven’t told anyone about it. Your best friend doesn’t even know. She still believes you got too excited about seeing Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, that’s all. She doesn’t know the real reason, the real aching pain that you feel every day. 

The only thing that eases the ache is this. Hogging this exhibit. Watching the footage over and over again. Watching Bucky’s smile and being unable to hold back your own, despite your tears.

You know the staff must think you’re delusional. Somehow you haven’t cared enough to entertain the thought. But you have seen the security guard give you strange looks when you walk in almost every other day.

It used to not be this bad. You came every day for a few weeks, but then you were able to calm down to once a week, sometimes twice a month, if you were too busy with school to think about Bucky much.

But lately, something has changed. You don’t know what it is. You still feel the emptiness, but something is different. It’s...troubled. That’s all your mind can come up with.

It makes no sense, though. How can Bucky be troubled? He’s dead. You believe in ghosts and all -- you’ve never been given a reason not to -- but you’ve heard more stories than you can count from people whose soulmate has died. They all say the same thing. They felt it when it happened. Because it was like a switch was flipped. They were feeling everything one moment, and the next, it was all gone. Empty.

Empty. How you’ve felt since the day you were born. You’ve been to therapists and they all told you the same thing. It’s just your thinking. Change your thinking processes. You’ve never slipped or spiraled far enough for it to be classified as a depressive disorder or anything else, just...empty.

When you found out about having a soulmate, and even more so when you found out it was Bucky, you still felt empty, but not as much. It was like everything suddenly made perfect sense. The emptiness had a purpose, a reason for existing.

When you see him smile, everything makes perfect sense. You feel like you have a reason to exist.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You slowly drag your eyes away from Bucky, preparing yourself to deal with a disgruntled museum-goer or staff member complaining about how long you’ve been standing here. But that’s not who you see.

He’s wearing a hat, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

Quickly, you glance at the video before looking back to the person beside you. That’s him. Steve Rogers.

“Hi,” you say hesitantly, quietly. He’s obviously hiding, which he is right to do. If anyone got wind of Steve Rogers walking around here, there would be mass chaos.

“Hey,” he replies just as quiet. “Um...Wanna get a coffee?”

You have no idea why he’s asking, but you nod anyway. Who would say no to coffee with Captain America?

Outside the Smithsonian and down the block, you bring Steve to your favorite spot to get coffee. Your best friend turned you onto it when you first got here for college, and you’ve gone here weekly ever since.

After grabbing your coffees, you pick a table far enough away from everyone else on the patio to talk without anyone listening in.

“So, uh…” Steve exhales, shifting in his seat. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug, holding onto your cup with both hands. “Why did you ask me to get coffee?”

“You looked familiar,” Steve says, slowly. “What’s your full name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Y/N L/N. Why?”

“Y/N…” Steve mutters under his breath, a crooked smile crossing his face. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Huh?”

“Bucky used to talk to me about you,” Steve continues, and you swear your heart stops. “He had me draw pictures of you. He couldn’t draw for crap, but he kept describing you to me from his dreams. I’ve drawn so many I’d recognize your face anywhere.”

“He dreamt about me?” You whisper. “Really?”

“All the time,” Steve nods, smiling sadly. “So you’re his soulmate?”

“I guess,” you say. “My mom says I used to say his name in my sleep all the time. I dreamt of his face, too, but I never knew it was him. Until my friend took me to the exhibit a few months ago.” You pause. “It sounds stupid. But seeing him there makes me feel...better.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says suddenly. “It can’t be easy being born in a completely different generation.”

You smile softly. “Thank you. I’m sorry, too. I can’t imagine how hard it is to still be here after all this time. And without your best friend, too.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been easy,” Steve admits. “But thanks. I appreciate it.”

“If it’s not too much to ask,” you begin, pausing to think about if you’re going to regret this. “Would you tell me about him? Just anything. It doesn’t have to be anything profound, just...anything you want to talk about. But if it’s too hard, don’t worry about it.” You wave your hands in front of your face, already preparing yourself for Steve to politely turn you down.

But he doesn’t.

“Bucky, he…” Steve pauses, shaking his head. “He was a lot wealthier than me back in the 40s. I had no business acting the way I did, picking fights with people three times my size, but I still did it. And Bucky was always there to pick me up off the ground and give me a ride back home.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle. “You used to be super skinny, right?”

“I was really sick, actually. Bucky had every reason to treat me like anyone else, but he never did. We grew up together -- though I used to joke that he grew up. I stayed the same size. But he never made fun of me for it.”

You can’t help but grin. “That video in the museum -- his smile. I see it in my dreams all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah that was Bucky’s signature grin. He could give any woman that smile and they were his.”

“I can see why,” you admit quietly, averting your eyes when Steve raises his eyebrows. You change subjects, not wanting to talk about how attractive you find Steve’s dead best friend -- despite him being your soulmate. “What was his favorite thing to eat for breakfast?”

Steve takes the bait, and for the next four hours, the two of you sit on the patio, talking about Bucky Barnes. 

His favorite color? Your eyes. Which you think is a little ridiculous, but Steve swears it’s the truth.

His favorite thing to do? Go dancing. Hands down.

His favorite thing to talk about? You. Again, you give Steve a stern look, and again, he swears it’s true. But when he wasn’t talking about you, Steve says Bucky talked a lot about the future. He was an optimist. Steve has no idea how, but Bucky always saw the brightest side.

Bucky was kind. Kinder than a lot of men his age, at the time. He had that blinding smile and instead of hiding it and going for the mysterious, brooding attitude, he chose to smile as much as he could, to anyone who looked like they needed it.

Realizing that the sun is beginning to go down, Steve decides to get you home.

“It’s alright, I can walk,” you tell him, feeling high on everything Bucky. “It’s just up here. I go to college here.”

“At least let me walk you to the campus,” Steve offers.

You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Bucky would kill me if I let his girl walk home alone. Especially when it’s getting dark.”

“Fine,” you cave. Hearing Steve refer to you as “Bucky’s girl” sends chills down your spine -- the good kind of chills. The kind that makes you wish it was the 1940s. The kind that makes you wish Bucky was here, holding your hand, walking you home.

Once you reach campus (you decide to let Steve walk you all the way to your dorm building), you ask Steve the question you’ve been wondering about ever since you first saw Bucky in the museum.

“Hey Steve?”

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Steve turns his head toward you. “Yeah?”

“If this was the 40s...do you-- Do you think I’m the kind of girl Bucky would want?”

Steve’s steps falter. You slow your pace to match his until you’re both stopped, looking at one another.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Yes,” Steve says simply. “Yeah. I do. I know for a fact he would’ve torn down every building until he found you. Because he tried.”

Your breath hitches. Deep down, you had convinced yourself that you weren’t the kind of girl Bucky would want. Not that it’s your fault because you were born this side of the millennium. But to hear Steve tell you otherwise makes you freeze.

“What?”

“Bucky didn’t have me sketch you because he wanted me to practice my drawing. He did it because he wanted to see a picture of you. Something he could keep in his wallet and look at every night. He was a ladies man, yeah, but every single one...he wanted them to be you. But they never were.” Steve shakes his head. “It really tore him up, that he never found you. He still held out hope, though. Until the very last second.”

Tears have sprung to your eyes before you even realize it. 

“Before he fell, he--” Steve pauses. “He told me to promise that I’d find you. I guess I kept my promise after all.”

He looks up to see the tears in your eyes, streaming down your cheeks. Without a single word, Steve pulls you into his chest, and without hesitation, you let yourself cry.

He’s not Bucky. And you’ll never find your Bucky, but he’s close enough. Steve promised Bucky that he’d find you, and he kept that promise. Now he’s going to do everything in his power to keep you safe.

Because he knows for a fact Bucky would’ve wanted that, too.

[ardett]

White Monsters and White Claws

New Karlnap fic dropping!

Description: Karl drinks energy drinks. So does Sapnap (but only when Karl does).

or somehow the feeling of having an energy drink is like the feeling of meeting someone for the first time is like the feeling of having a crush

Current word count: 2251

Of course you can always check it out on Ao3!

Sapnap knows he’s being too quiet when he visits Karl. 

It starts at the airport. He texts Karl as he’s walking outside but when he looks up, glimpsing the North Carolina landscape properly for the first time, Karl is already rushing towards him.

Karl practically tackles him, yelling his name. Sapnap fumbles with his suitcase handle. Eventually he ends up dropping it in favor of bringing a hand up to the small of Karl’s back. He curls his fingers into the back of Karl’s sweater, too gently for Karl to even feel it.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Karl whispers, absolutely giddy.

Words suddenly escape Sapnap. He just nods into Karl’s shoulder. A bubble forms in his chest, iridescent and buoyant. He can’t quite describe the feeling but it’s something excited and soft and nervous.

Fragile.

Karl makes him feel so fragile.

“Okay, let me get you to my house. I’m sure you’re tired.” Karl grins at him, bright and blinding. Sapnap opens his mouth to respond but only manages an affirmative hum, barely a sound at all.

He grabs his suitcase and lets Karl drag him along with a hand on the sleeve of his hoodie. It’s not holding hands but it’s close.

His mouth tastes like soap. The bubble grows.

Sapnap does manage a few words during the ride. Thankfully Karl does most of the talking, jumping from general excitement that Sapnap is there to their schedule for filming to what he wants them to do while streaming. It’s overwhelming but only in the best way.

Maybe this is a bad thing but Karl makes Sapnap feel young.

There’s only a couple years between them but it’s less the years and more the experience. Karl may be a college drop out but Sapnap’s never left home, not until he moved in with Dream, and he knows it’s not the same. It’s not the awkward trying-to-find-friends freshman year and the deafening frat parties and the shared study sessions in the library while the sun rises. Half of what would have been his college experience was spent in a pandemic anyway. Obviously things have changed in the last year with the radiating effect of Dream’s success but in so many ways, he still feels like he’s the same person he was in high school. Karl, on the other, seems fully realized in a way Sapnap never could.

All those things and the cans of White Claw Sapnap finds in the fridge next to Karl’s Monster energy drinks do nothing to help his anxiety. That’s the other difference between 20 and 22, isn't it?

Sapnap knows Karl just wants him here to film and have fun. There’s not a lot of expectations except a couple of streams Karl wants to do and even those are still a bit up in the air. But those aren’t the expectations Sapnap is worried about.

Maybe he’s setting himself up for failure by worrying about this, by putting so much pressure on it, but it’s the first time they’re ever meeting in person. Does their friendship change? Does it stay the same? Can it?

Sapnap’s pretty sure it can’t, is the thing, as much as he wants it to be exactly the same. It’s not even Karl’s fault. It’s undeniably Sapnap’s and his sudden inability to properly form words. Sapnap and the stupid fragile bubble pressing against his lungs.

(It’s a secret, isn’t it? The bubble is a secret.)

There’s a tap on the already open door. “Hey, you done unpacking yet?” Sapnap glances up to where Karl is waiting. Both their gazes trail down to Sapnap’s still zipped suitcase.

The corner of Karl’s mouth tips up at the corner, teasing. “Dude, you’ve been in here for like 30 minutes. You’re not even on your phone.”

Sapnap stands.“Shut up. I’m just gonna live out of my suitcase anyway,” he mumbles.

“Okay, okay.” Karl holds up his hands, taking a step back. “Come down then. I’m gonna order some dinner and then we can stream, yeah?” He turns on his heel and heads down the stairs, not waiting for Sapnap.

Not that it matters. They both know Sapnap will follow.

-

Sapnap lets Karl order them delivery. He tries to offer to pay but Karl refuses to take it, “I have a real job, man. Save it for college.”

“It’s community college. It’s not that much,” Sapnap protests.

“Still though. I spent all that money on college and didn’t even graduate. You are gonna graduate, right?”

“That’s the plan.” Sapnap scratches at the table top. It’s not even the flimsy portable kind of table that he and Dream still have, despite living in their rental house for a couple months now. It’s a real wooden table.

There’s something so permanent about Karl’s life. 

His photos on the walls are in frames, not hung up by bits of tape or command strips. He has enough bowls and plates for guests. All his kitchen chairs match.

It makes Sapnap feel like a fraud.

What does he know, after all? He’s so new to all of this. He never even seriously thought about a career in streaming or YouTube but suddenly it became a reality before he could even process it. He was invited here because he was supposed to add something of value to these videos but it seems that everything that fell into his lap was partially by luck.

And he thinks about how hard it is to say a single word to Karl and wonders if he’s worth this. If he’s ready for this.

But those are two different questions, aren’t they?

Even if he is worth it, even if he deserves this, he knows he’s not ready. He just knows it. Dream wanted this so badly, to have a career in content creation, worked so hard for it, and then dragged them all along in his wake. 

And Sapnap is grateful for that, so so grateful, but now he’s here in fucking North Carolina without Dream or George or his parents or anyone he knows except Karl who’s older than him and can drink and has a real job and doesn’t need to ask his parents permission to go to another state and god—

He doesn’t even know what he is to Karl.

Are they friends? Are they pretend lovers? Are they even acquaintances? 

Sapnap’s no stranger to internet friends but he knew Dream before he knew the name of his first crush. He hasn’t even known Karl for a year. He doesn’t deny that what he feels is… intense but it feels like it shouldn’t be. Shouldn’t it take longer to feel like this? For someone to make you feel this lost?

Sapnap can’t help the rush of relief when food arrives and he can substitute eating for talking.

“Alright, you good to stream soon?” Karl asks, gathering up the trash on the table to throw away.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Sapnap clears his throat. “What… What are we doing again?”

“Eh, I figured we would just go on SMP for a bit. This is just the first stream, so I don’t have a real plan yet.” Sapnap watches Karl mill around the kitchen. 

Sapnap checks his phone, seeing a message from Dream.

Dream: excited to see you guys stream soon don’t forget to have fun with your mans :)

Sapnap swallows. His hand curls into a fist on the table. The food they just ate curdles in his stomach.

Why is it so different with Karl than with Dream? Sapnap doesn’t remember feeling like this when he met Dream. It was an exciting moment of course but they settled into a rhythm so much easier than he can find one here.

But maybe the sick feeling is also because he feels like Dream is teasing him.

Dream loves to joke that Sapnap is engaged to Karl. And it’s all fun and games until Sapnap sees all the rings that Karl wears in person and he feels like… like… he almost wants a matching set.

He just wants them to be close. In whatever way he can get. It’s a desperate kind of want and need.

It’s not like he really wants to be engaged to Karl in real life but the thought of a physical token to remind him that Karl cares, Karl values him, this isn’t just a weird fling that Karl couldn’t avoid, it sounds so comforting. He wants to know Karl. He wants Karl to know him. He wants to understand what it means to be close with Karl.

It’s like missing Karl even though he’s right here.

He’s right here.

He’s right here.

He’s—

“Sapnap? Come on, I’m gonna leave you behind if you don’t hurry,” Karl giggles.

Sapnap hurries.

-

It feels like they’ve only been streaming for a few minutes when Karl is already getting up again.

“I’m gonna grab a Monster cause my head hurts.” Karl sends a light grin Sapnap’s way. It makes him feel a little less abandoned.

Sapnap’s fiddles with Karl’s game settings while the other is gone, staying a little too quiet for being live but not quite knowing what else to say.

He startles as his phone rings, flipping it over to see Dream is calling him.

“I’m live, I’m live,” he says into the mic as he picks up the call.

“Yeah, I know, dude.” He can practically hear Dream’s smirk through the phone. “Don’t put me on speaker yet though. What are you even doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Sapnap squirms and after a second, he mutes himself to the stream. He glances at the door. Karl still isn’t back.

“Come on, you’re like, so timid. Karl’s a nice guy. I don’t even know why you’ve been so nervous.”

“Shut up,” Sapnap hisses. The bubble in his chest aches. He hates feeling so out of his depth. He’s painfully aware of the camera trained on his face. “You know why. Besides I’m not—”

“You totally are,” Dream laughs before his voice sobers just a bit. “He’s not being mean to you or something, is he? I mean, not mean mean but you know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to for those Mr. Beast videos or whatever, right?”

“I know, Dream, relax. Honestly, it’s been fine.” Sapnap hunches in on himself a bit, curls around his phone and the sound of Dream’s voice.

“Okay, okay,” Dream placates. “I know you’re fine and I shouldn’t worry. So what have you been up to then?”

“You know I’m actually streaming right now, right?” Sapnap smiles. His eyes flick back to the screen, to the chat racing along the side asking what he’s saying.

“Sure, you just want to ditch me, I get it,” Dream teases.

“I don’t—” Sapnap snickers. Then he pauses. “He has a real wooden table,” he says suddenly before immediately flushing. He can feel it on his cheeks, see it on the monitor, the bit of red dotting the high parts of his cheeks.

“What?”

“Um—” Sapnap stumbles over his words. “I don’t know why I said—”

“Hey, I’m back!” Karl calls, throwing the door open. Sapnap’s eyes dart over to him.

“Bye, Dream,” Sapnap rushes, hanging up the call before Dream can say another word.

Karl taps his Monster down on the table, slipping over to the other side of Sapnap. “Was that Dream?”

“Mm,” Sapnap hums. He grabs the drink automatically, joking, “Thank you for the drink.”

“Oh, you want it?”

Words fail Sapnap (again, he can’t keep doing this) so he just nods instead even though he never has energy drinks, he doesn’t even like coffee, caffeine has always done weird things to him, but now he’s dug himself into an even deeper hole.

“I’ll grab another one. You can have that one.”

And then Karl’s gone again.

Sapnap’s phone dings. 

Dream: U r such an idiot

Sapnap scowls and rips the tab off the Monster. He downs half of it before Karl is even back.

And he regrets it as soon as Karl walks into the room again.

The caffeine hits him immediately. It sends his heart fluttering, pushes his words up his throat, starts his hands twitching.

Everything becomes ten times harder than it already was because god, every single emotion that made his heart beat before is now making his heart pound.

It’s absolutely impossible to ignore, especially when Karl collapses against Sapnap laughing at a funny thing on the screen. He feels the way Karl shakes against him, the way he buries his face in Sapnap’s shoulder and curls a hand around his bicep. His own heartbeat is deafening in his ears, a frantic escalating drumbeat.

“I can feel your heart beating,” Karl murmurs, too low for the mic to pick up. “Relax. You don’t like the facecam?”

Sapnap shakes his head almost imperceptibly. 

Karl’s face tilts towards him. “Something else?” he asks.

“Um,” Sapnap’s hand tightens on the mouse. He clicks something he didn’t mean to. “Let’s not worry about it now.”

“Sorry,” Karl apologizes, pushing himself off Sapnap. 

Sapnap is sure that Karl misinterpreted what he meant. He’s sure Karl thinks that Sapnap wasn’t comfortable with how close they suddenly got, but maybe he wasn’t. It’s hard to know with Karl. Nothing’s comfortable but it’s more about boundaries being pushed rather than boundaries being crossed. 

And Sapnap knows that some of those boundaries are there because of fear.

Either way, the energy drink isn’t helping.

Part 1/3, next chapters coming soon!

[fannishcodex]

So I really thought Jamack and Boom Boom and co. were gonna be like: “JFC getting caged up and prodded and the needles and Emilia were awful”

And Hugo/Scarlemagne would overhear and was gonna be like, flat and bitter: “Oh wow, never heard that before.”

And Jamack and Boom Boom and the captured co. would just suddenly go “oh” and fully realize key parts of Hugo/Scarlemagne’s backstory and have a way better understanding of where the hell he was coming from, and feel more sympathy for him and bond with him and get him to talk more about what he went through and help him process it better, and be willing to help him. And Jamack and co. are like super horrified that Hugo/Scarlemagne endured what they went through way longer and endured it since he was born, as a child, that was his childhood; and they would be like, “ohwow no wonder you got so messed up.” It was bad enough for them, and they’re all adults (maybe K-Pop narwhal is a teen?); they can’t fathom enduring it as a child, and from since you were born. They’re super horrified Hugo went through what they just experienced but no one ever came for him, no one ever saved him like they got saved. It would particularly eat at Jamack because he kept the others’ spirits up by telling them that Kipo would come for them, and she did--but no one came for Hugo. And they would be even more horrified that Hugo went through what they suffered through all alone, he had zero other fellow mute lab subjects to even lean on for some support. Jamack and Boom Boom and co. would know it would’ve been worse if they didn’t have each other and had been experimented on in isolation.

And while Hugo/Scarl would be initially kinda overwhelmed by Boom Boom’s new fear of needles because it’s Hitting Very Close to Home, he becomes very sympathetic to them because it Hits Very Close to Home and he’s terrified of needles too, he gets it, so he tries to help Boom Boom, and Boom Boom tries to help him, and they both help each other.

Imagine one side of mutes being like uncomfortable with Hugo/Scarlemagne and wanting his apology and wanting him to make up for what he did, and another side of mutes with Jamack and Boom Boom and co. being like “he had every reason to freak out” and being more positively supportive of Hugo/Scarlemagne and trying to directly help him with his trauma over being Emilia/DNA Burrow’s lab experiment, and they’re like the first ones to ever do that for him.

Imagine a callback to Hugo/Scarlemagne’s public apology with Jamack like cornering Zane. (Thanks to @lemonadesoda for some inspiration on this.)

Jamack: Hey, if you’re sticking around, go the f*ck to the great hall place thing and apologize to Hugo for helping Emilia experiment on him.

Zane: ...Um, I was only following orders--

Jamack: GO APOLOGIZE.

More under the cut:

And later just like:

Jamack: Wait, Zane, shut up, before you say anything else-- *passes Hugo/Scarlemagne a plate of pancakes and fruit*

Hugo/Scarlemagne: Jamack, I’m actively having a stupid panic attack over being in the same room as Zane, I have zero appetite, you do realize I only ever saw him when Emilia was around or for some other horrible thing like sticking needles into me or when they were harvesting my pheromones, he’s not even as worse as Emilia and I’m still stupidly freaking out--

Jamack: It’s not for eating, it’s for throwing. The others threw junk at you before, you should get to do the same with Zane too.

Hugo/Scarlemagne: *is overcome with emotion and just drops the plate and hugs Jamack*

Jamack: *is keenly reminded of Kipo and it really hits him that Hugo and Kipo are siblings, and he awkwardly hugs back because he’s doing better but still unused to stuff like this and didn’t expect Hugo/Scarl to break down like this* O-okay how about Boom Boom and the others throw food at Zane for you, would that be okay--?

Hugo/Scarlemagne: That’sfinethankyousomuch.

Jamack: You bet. You guys ready?

Zane: What the f-- *gets covered in pancakes and such after Boom Boom and co. start enthusiastically and angrily throwing food at him*

Jamack: Okay Zane, go ahead. Apologize to Hugo now.

Omfg imagine Jamack and co. trying that with Lio and Song.

Jamack: Hey Song, happy for you and Kipo--well, mostly Kipo--but have you talked to your son since you got all un-megafied? You know, after he tried helping you communicate with the others andthat’sbecauseyouturnedyourselfintoamegabutthat’sawholeotherdiscussion.

Song: ...Not yet, it’s been a lot right now, things have been happening so fast--

Jamack: Haha okay so I’ve learned by now that’s not a phrase you should ever use with Hugo again, so don’t. C’mon, you need to apologize to him.

Kipo: Um, Jamack--

Jamack: It’s fine, burrow girl. You had Hugo apologize to the others, but he needs some apologies too.

Kipo: But Mom--

Jamack: And your dad.

Kipo: Well, Dad apologized already...kinda....

Jamack: Well Hugo’s apologized, and he’s kept apologizing, and he keeps actively doing something to make up for what he did, it’s been a process for him. Your dad could stand to do a little more too as an ongoing process.

Kipo: But why Mom--

Jamack: Look, Kipo, your parents meant well...I guess...but they still experimented on Hugo before. Like even after Hugo’s apologies and him trying to be better, the others still get to be somewhat bothered by what he did before. It’s kinda the same thing--Hugo can still be upset with your parents experimenting on him even if they’ve changed orsothey’vesaid.

Kipo: When you put it that way....

Jamack: And if I’m understanding this right--sorry burrow girl, but your family history’s just screwed up on multiple levels--your parents could’ve tried immediately escaping with Hugo right after the formula mutated him, right? Like Emilia didn’t suspect a thing. They had just realized they couldn’t continue with the “regress mutes” project. But they stayed to try to find another way for humans to live on the surface--as opposed to just going up there and actually trying and talking to us like you did--and that led to them just mutating you too, right? And they kept Hugo confined and told him to be quiet and that must’ve screwed with his mind, even if they meant well. But again, maybe that could’ve been avoided if they had left with him as soon as they decided they were done with trying to revert mutes.... Anyway after everything, they never got him out of the shitty situation that they were complicit in, for all their promises and “epiphanies.” They never made up for what they did to Hugo.

Kipo: ...I’ll get Dad.

Jamack: Thanks Kipo, that’d be great, I’ve been meaning to get ahold of him too--hey, Lio, you still haven’t visited Hugo at all, have you?

Lio: ...No....

Jamack: And we had a few slow months of just searching for Emilia and IdunnowhywehadtwomegamutesdoityouthinkthatwouldmakeiteasyforEmiliatoseethemcomingandgivehertimetorunbutthat’sagainanotherdiscussion so you could’ve--you know--ha ha, I wouldn’t say things were happening too fast that time, and you were the one to save him after all. Like, that must’ve been so confusing for him; you finally saved him, but then you just don’t see him for months afterward and kinda just leave him in a cage again--

Ahhh Later Later

Jamack: Hey so Hugo’s recovering but he’s well enough to take some visitors now, so Greta, come here, we’re gonna throw some pancakes and junk at you in front of Hugo--might cheer him up a little--and then you’re gonna apologize to him for helping Emilia with--

Greta: I like pancakes!

Jamack: Boom Boom, give the pancakes to Troy and Benson, we’re just gonna use apples this time.

And later later later

Jamack: Kipo, please tell me you didn’t get Emilia too.

Kipo: Fun-Gus took her...pretty sure she’s not gonna last long...either Fun-Gus is gonna suffocate her by accident or something or she’s gonna...off herself somehow, I don’t think she’d want to handle Fun-Gus for long...

Jamack: Ohthankgods Boom Boom and the gang were just gonna throw nectar bombs at her and be done with it if it came to that.

Just Jamack and Boom Boom and Hugo/Scarlemagne and the others should’ve bonded and become the “Humans Experimented on Us and It Sucked” support group, and most of them should’ve come together to help the guy most harmed by Emilia and also become the “Hugo/Scarlemagne Defense Squad.”

And of course Hugo/Scarl should’ve been saved in every way.

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 6/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: won't say much but i will say that i love tits and cats but i love reblogs, screaming in the tags and asks a whole lot more babes. if u like this i would love any of the former, but mostly the latter xo hope u all enjoy this chapter!!! cw for smut fam (hwfg!!)

last chapter: February- Valentine's Day saw Tayce and A'whora's cover blown as they were interrupted by Ellie and Lawrence.

this chapter: April- a lot has happened since last month, and at Lawrence’s friend’s flat party A’whora struggles with her feelings for Tayce. The trouble is, neither of them have ever been any good at sticking to the rules.

***

In front of the wooden tenement door with the music and voices muffled behind it, A’whora watches as Ellie frowns, tugs at the hemline of her green snakeskin-patterned skirt.

“Is this too short?”

“ No , Ellie,” A’whora, Tayce and Tia all groan at her in sync before giggling at the absurdity of their unison. She catches Tayce’s eye for a second before smiling bashfully and looking at the floor, electing to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She wordlessly orders her heart to calm down, to stop doing backflips the way it’s doing right now. A reaction like that is much too selfish, against everything they said they would be going forward.

“Ain’t short enough,” Bimini shrugs blithely, hitching the top of their own hotpants up as if to make a point but only succeeding to rip their fishnets on one of their chunky rings. “Shit.”

“Were they new?” Tayce asks.

“Yeah. A whole two quid out of Primark.”

“How is your bank account ever gonny recover?” Lawrence dramatises, clutching at her heart as Bimini sticks their tongue out at her good-humouredly. As the others snort at Lawrence’s joke, Lawrence herself turns to Ellie and pats her arm. “It’s not too anything, you look great.”

A’whora doesn’t miss the way Ellie flushes red as she thanks her friend, and in spite of herself she finds herself trying to hide a smile. If she can’t be happy, at least one of her friends looks like she’s on her way to figuring her own feelings out soon enough. A’whora just hopes it’ll all have a better ending than her own love story seems to have had.

“Have we definitely got the right flat, Lawrence? You’ve not just brought us to some randomer’s party by accident?” Tia agonises as she rubs her arms, self-conscious and cold. April’s blessed them with some sporadic day-long heatwaves but tonight hasn’t been as kind; the walk over to Lawrence’s friend’s flat party had been chilly, and they’d all needed their jackets.

A’whora supposes the temperature suits her situation.

Embittered by the cold and her self-pity, A’whora rolls her eyes. “It’s not 2010 anymore, Tia, nobody says randomers .”

“Well I do,” Tia shrugs lightly, and before A’whora can begin to bicker with her Lawrence huffs a sigh of exasperation.

“It’s the right flat, awrite?! I have been here before, you know. She’ll answer any second. Could yous all just stop the arguing and pretend to be normal human beings for once in your lives?”

A’whora raises her eyebrows pointedly. “A feat that’s going to be harder for some of us than others…”

As both Lawrence and Tia whip their heads round to scold her, the front door opens to reveal a tall girl with full lips, striking hazel eyes and a thick head of candyfloss pink hair that tumbles down over her shoulders and the straps of the tight black bodysuit she’s wearing. She’s gorgeous, and A’whora is immediately intimidated. Her eyes dart to Tayce in a small panic, trying to gauge her reaction, but she’s distracted by Lawrence’s “WAHEY!” and the girl’s excited squeal as they pull each other into a hug.

“Lads, this is Rosé, Rosé, lads!” Lawrence gestures at her flatmates flippantly, and A’whora waves a hand in an awkward hello much like the rest of the others. Lawrence turns her attention back to her friend with an apologetic grimace. “Hope you don’t mind me bringing them, babes. I know you said bring people if they’re cool, but I don’t actually know any cool people, so…”

A’whora holds back a snort as she watches Tayce’s face screw up in involuntary offence. Rosé, for her part, just laughs and ushers them all in warmly.

“Don’t be silly, of course it’s fine! Come in, baby, let’s get you and your friends sat down and you can introduce me properly, m’kay?”

Once they’ve hung up their jackets Rosé leads the six of them through a crowded hallway, forgoes the thump of the bass and the packed space of bodies all crammed together in the kitchen and instead chooses a quieter room. The multiple sofas, stained coffee table and mismatched chairs suggest it’s a living room of sorts. There’s already people on the couches but Rosé simply bats them away as if they’re flies, irritation on her face.

“Move, my friends are sitting here,” she says simply, before the others grunt and slink off like foxes, tails between their legs. Rosé pats the now-empty seats, pulling a face. “Sorry about them. They’re just girls we hung out with last year before we realised what they were actually like. Freshers friendships, y’know? Nobody really wants them to be here, but Jan insisted we had to invite them so things weren’t awkward.”

“Ever the diplomat, oor Janette,” Lawrence smiles with understanding, throwing herself down beside her friend comfortably. Ellie quickly sits beside her on the other spare space, prompting A’whora to take the other sofa that’s left.

(To her surprise, Tayce sits beside her. Not close, though. A’whora doesn’t know what she expected.)

It leaves Tia and Bimini to take the other smaller couch, and as they sit Rosé stays true to her word and introduces herself to everyone, making an effort to learn their names and appearing genuinely pleased to meet them all (although that could just be a result of the bottle she’s drinking from). When she gets to Ellie her face grows scheming, and A’whora doesn’t miss the way she digs Lawrence in the ribs.

“So you’re Ellie! I’ve heard so much about you from Lawrence,” Rosé purrs, earning a glare from her friend and a laugh from Ellie.

“Fuck’s sake, I bet you have. All horror stories, I’m sure.”

“Oh no, quite the opposite,” Rosé smiles smugly, then flinches suddenly with a hiss. It doesn’t take Poirot to figure out that Lawrence is the cause.

“SO, Rosé! Where the fuck is your girlfriend anyway? Don’t tell me she’s left you,” Lawrence says, too-quickly and too-loudly.

“Shut up. Last time I saw her she was in the kitchen talking to one of her graduate friends,” Rosé pouts faux-dejectedly. “Think it’s a girl who studied fashion design so they were in the same faculty and knew each other for a bit.”

A’whora perks up. “Oh, we’d get on then, I think. I’m studying fashion design too, and Ellie does costume.”

“I’ll get Jan to introduce you!” Rosé smiles enthusiastically, before continuing with the conversation. “Plus I totally didn’t realise she was flatmates with Nina, who was in the MT society with us last year! Small world, huh?”

“Oh my God! You guys did MT?” Tia squeals excitedly. A’whora presses her lips together to stop herself from saying anything; trust Tia to be completely unable to play things cool. “I’m in it this year! How come we haven’t met before?”

Rosé giggles, covers her mouth with her hand. “We didn’t audition this year. Not to be rude, but we wanted to give everyone else a fighting chance, you know? We’ve got a slot in the Jazz Bar with our friend every Tuesday now instead.”

Tia’s face drops like she’s been slapped, and A’whora can’t help the way her eyebrows fly up her forehead. As she looks to Tayce, though, she’s disheartened. Usually Tayce would chime in with a little whoop in response to the shady comment, throw herself right into the conversation, be the complete life and soul of the party. Instead she’s muted, quiet, practically a wallflower in comparison. A’whora knows this isn’t like her. The guilt eats her up as she knows it’s somehow her fault, but still she can’t work out exactly why.

“Kandace!” Rosé suddenly yells out into the hall, startling A’whora somewhat. “Where’s my girlfriend, mama?”

Just then a girl enters the room, her dark hair in thick braids which she flips over her shoulder dramatically. “Well damn, bitch, I never took her! Would know better than to do so, you would come at me with a big...pizza cutter or some shit. She prolly in the kitchen drinking all the punch.”

“There’s punch?” Ellie pipes up, Tia’s wide eyes and anticipative smile matching her excitement.

“Damn right there’s punch, what sort of party d’you think this is? Amateurs. C’mon, I’ll show you both. You can introduce yourselves on the way,” the girl shrugs with the efficient energy of an infant teacher.

“Oh, I like you already,” Ellie smiles as she springs up from the sofa, and A’whora doesn’t miss the crestfallen look that takes over Lawrence’s face in response to Ellie's departure.

“Rosé, if I find Jan I’ll send her through,” the girl yells from over her shoulder, as the three of them leave the room. Rosé immediately turns to Lawrence as Ellie leaves, whispers something like ‘ so when are you gonna tell her?’ before she’s hastily shushed by her friend.

A’whora always has to remind herself she’s not meant to know about Lawrence’s crush on Ellie. She only knows because Tayce told her. Tayce doesn’t really tell her things these days, not in the same way she used to. Their chats used to be deep and meaningful, shared over a glass of wine in a dimly-lit bar or in bed pressed close together and wrapped around each other like vines. Now it’s flippant inquiries into how each others’ day was that neither of them care about the answer to, the question only serving as a box-ticking exercise to maintain the illusion of friendship.

That’s what they said they’d be. So why does this friendship feel so different to the one they had before?

Well. A’whora knows why.

She’d thought this situation would be perfect- Lawrence had been invited to Rosé’s pre-exam-season flat party, and of course had in turn invited the whole flat too- and A’whora had assumed that it would be the perfect opportunity to get everything back on track with Tayce, a little bit of alcohol giving them the gentle nudge in the right direction that they needed to mend whatever had snapped between them. But as Tayce sips one of the cans of cider she’s brought with her, she only smiles at Rosé politely and laughs half-heartedly at Lawrence’s jokes.

It’s been weeks since that day in March and A’whora’s still trying to figure out what exactly happened. It’s strange for something to be over before it ever really had a chance to begin.

Her thoughts are ruptured by the arrival of two more people: a boy with black hair, an earring and a black denim jacket and a girl with tumbling straight blonde hair and warm brown eyes. She’s got a pink sash that’s squint and falling off her shoulder, and a huge pink birthday badge pinned to her purple dress. When she walks in, Rosé’s whole face lights up.

A’whora tries to remember if Tayce’s face ever did that when she came into a room.

“There’s my baby!” Rosé beams, holds out her arms for a hug. The girl instead elects to tumble down onto her lap, and the two of them giggle like Care Bears.

Fleetingly, A’whora hates them.

“Oh, fuck me, right?” the boy fakes offence, before Rosé rolls her eyes and pats the space beside her where Lawrence has scooted up.

“You know damn well I was referring to you,” she addresses him, before turning to her girlfriend once more. “Jan, Mik, these are Lawrence’s flatmates!”

“Oh my God, adorbs! Lil’ fresher babies,” the boy says, with a vocal fry to rival that of a Valley girl. A’whora knows he doesn’t mean to be patronising, but her back’s put up all the same.

She’s probably just in a bad mood over Tayce.

“I hope it’s okay I brought them,” Lawrence says, apologising for their very presence for the second time that evening.

“Hey, the more people here to get drunk and forget about the overwhelming stress of deadline season, the better,” the girl shrugs cheerfully, then waves to nobody in particular. “Nice to meet you all! I’m Jan, that’s Mik. Can I learn names? Pronouns if you want to as well?”

Lawrence slaps her thigh decisively. “Crackin’ idea, I’ll start. I’m Lawrence and my pronouns are she/her, or fat/bastard.”

The room is filled with hysterical laughter that immediately breaks any ice that had been present between the freshers and the second year students. As they all introduce themselves politely, A’whora doesn’t fail to notice the way Mik’s eyes light up when Bimini introduces themself.

“Hey, do you know if they’re single?” Mik asks Lawrence, tipsy and sloppy and in a whisper that isn’t really a whisper. A’whora can’t help but laugh as she watches Bimini blush from their position on the sofa and smile over at Mik, flattered.

“Sorry to disappoint, babes, but I’m taken.”

It’s with Bimini’s words that Lawrence gives a yell of surprise and A’whora’s jaw drops open in shock. She can’t help the way she immediately looks wide-eyed at Tayce, and her heart jumps a hurdle when she sees her looking in her direction with much the same expression. Tayce’s shock at the secret Bimini’s kept from them prompts her to lurch forward on the sofa and give a cry of surprise.

“Ex-squeeze me, Bimini Bon Boulash?! Since bloody when ?!”

Bimini shrugs, clearly bashful. “Made things official with Asttina late on last month. Ain’t a big deal.”

“And when were you going to tell us this exactly? Were you gonna leave it in your last will and testament or something?!” A’whora cries, heart jarring at the laugh her words earn from Tayce.

Bimini stretches in their own catlike way, unbothered and laid back to an almost horizontal extent. “Well, you never asked.”

“What the hell?! This is big. C’mon Rory,” Tayce suddenly turns to A’whora and clutches at her hand frantically, and in doing so sends a thousand sparks flying between them. As A’whora’s pulse leaps, Tayce does the same off the sofa. “We need to go find the others. You ain’t getting away with just the three of us on this interrogation squad, Mx Bimini!”

“Alright, Line of effin’ Duty,” Bimini chuckles good-naturedly, and A’whora allows Tayce to drag her up off the sofa and through to the hall.

Tayce is giggling as she’s weaving them both through the crowd, and for a moment it’s like nothing has ever changed between them. A’whora’s not been keeping track of how many cans Tayce has had so far but she herself has only had three (two at pres, one here so far), so she’s not attributing that to the sudden personality transplant. She’s trying not to overthink it too much but this is the most authentic interaction she’s had with Tayce for a while, and it’s silly, but it’s hard to believe it’s not too good to be true.

For a moment, she’s almost glad Bimini didn’t tell them about Asttina if it meant she and Tayce could bond like this.

“Can you bloody believe it?!” Tayce squeaks at her as they reach the kitchen and, in turn, the punch bowl. Tayce wrenches two red cups from the stack beside it and fills them up with the ambiguous orange liquid that’s inside, pouring it sloppily and messily from the ladle. “I mean they’re meant to be our bloody friend! And then they don’t even tell us about the breaking news in their own love life! What goes on!”

“To be fair…” A’whora begins without thinking, then snaps her mouth closed as her heart shudders in her chest. She’d been about to say we kept us a secret from them too but she can’t bring that up now, send them crashing back down to earth and into the broken, uncomfortable bed they’ve somehow made. So she smiles tightly at Tayce who’s looking at her expectantly, takes the cup she’s holding out to her as she finishes her sentence. “...Bim’s always been a pretty private person.”

Tayce shrugs and holds the cup to her lips before she raises her eyebrows, takes it away and holds it out in the middle between them. “Cheers, slag.”

Silly and overeager, A’whora crashes their cups together then takes a too-big swig. The punch fills her mouth like poison and she feels her eyes grow wide as she swallows and then gags, Tayce doubling over laughing at her reaction.

“What the fuck is in that?!” she cries with horror, looking at the cup with incredulity as Tayce continues to laugh at her expense.

“It’s called punch for a reason, girl! It ain’t some fruity dilutey Slug and Lettuce pornstar martini tree we’re talking about here!”

“Punch is right. Feel like I’ve been punched in the fucking stomach,” A’whora screws her face up. Tayce’s face lights up and her hand rests on A’whora’s arm as she launches into a story excitedly.

“Oh my God. D’you remember that time we made punch back near freshers week and Lawrence added that thing to it...fuck, what was it called?! She kept calling it ‘wreck the hoose juice’.”

“Buckfast!” A’whora remembers with glee, trying not to grow too animated because if she moves she might scare Tayce away like she’s some sort of rare bird. This is the closest she’s been to Tayce in every sense for quite a while, and the moment is so magical that she’s determined not to let it slip away.

“That was it! And then the next day we were all so ill we were like...convinced we’d been spiked! But it was just that bloody Buckfast!”

As the pair of them giggle, A’whora starts laughing harder as she remembers what Tayce had said.

“Sorry, but hearing the words ‘wreck the hoose juice’ in a Welsh accent is probably the funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

Tayce removes her hand from her arm only to slap her on it. “Oh, because the same thing in a Worksop accent is so much better!”

“We should get Ellie to say it. She's Scottish, it'll sound the same as when Lawrence says it,” A’whora says, then scans her gaze around the room and narrows her eyes. “Where the hell is she, anyway? We still need to tell her and Tia about Bim.”

The roar of a countdown from ten down to one on the other side of the kitchen prompts both her and Tayce’s gazes to wrench in its direction, only for their eyes to fall on Tia glugging a horrific-looking brown concoction out of a pint glass and Ellie yelling descending numbers at her, along with Rosé’s flatmate they’d disappeared with and a crowd of strangers.

“Of course,” Tayce deadpans, earning a snort from A’whora. Just then, A'whora remembers some chat Ellie had told her while they were getting ready, and she turns to tell Tayce without thinking. It's just natural to tell Tayce these sorts of things by now, and she's missed doing so.

“You know Ellie told me earlier she’s gonna like...see what happens with Lawrence tonight?” A’whora relays to Tayce eagerly, before she forgets that Tayce had sworn her to secrecy about the whole thing and her mouth snaps shut. It’s too late though, because Tayce is fixing her with a single raised eyebrow and a smirk which shouldn’t make A’whora’s stomach flip over like it does.

Friends, friends, friends.

“God, wonder how come Ellie’s suddenly over Tia and open to Lawrence?” she teases her, and A’whora groans apologetically.

“Look, I know you said not to tell anyone but it was the day they had that row in the flat,” she explains, belatedly and awkwardly realising that it had been the same day that she and Tayce had had that conversation and everything had changed between them. A’whora tries to shake the feeling of regret as she carries on. “Ellie was saying how Lawrence didn’t care about her and all that and it...well, it just came out. I had to shut her up somehow.”

Tayce shakes her head and laughs, toeing the line between long-suffering and affectionate. When she takes A’whora’s hand and squeezes it the line is crossed, and a thousand fireworks go off in her bloodstream. Tayce's eyes are soft as she looks at her and it only makes A’whora’s heart hurt.

“My fault, really. Should’ve known you can’t keep a secret to save yourself.”

“Kept us a secret for long enough,” A’whora says before she can stop herself. She feels like slapping a hand over her mouth, a flimsy gesture illustrating her mistake, and from the way Tayce lets go of her hand and looks to the floor it seems she regrets it just as much as A’whora does.

Fuck.

When Tayce snaps her head back up there’s a smile on her face that A’whora knows is fake, and she sets her cup down on the counter as she looks back over at Ellie and Tia. “Right! You wait here and guard the punch. I’ll drag those two hounds over and we can give them the goss.”

A’whora nods as she takes her turn to look to the floor, and suddenly Tayce is off in the direction of their other flatmates and all she can do is sit and stew in her embarrassment and regret at having said the wrong thing yet-a-fucking-gain.

Ellie has told A’whora countless times to just talk to her! and that if you just sit and chat things through everything will be fixed! but it’s been things A’whora’s said that’s somehow got them into this mess, even though she still doesn’t really know what specifically it was that made Tayce make the decision to stop it all, to stop falling asleep together and waking up together and going on dates (because they were dates, and that’s the hill A’whora will die on) and talking to each other like they’d known each other for eight years and not eight months.

When she thinks about the ways she misses Tayce, the sex isn’t even the first thing that comes to mind. That’s how she knows she was in deep. Well, still is. But A’whora would be lying if she said she didn’t still think about Tayce when her hands are between her thighs, has to stop the memories that flood her head when she's in the shower, moans just that little bit too loudly when she uses her vibrator in the pathetic hope that Tayce will hear her through the wall.

She supposes there’s a ridiculous part of her that misses the intimacy and the closeness most of all.

“Aurora!”

A’whora’s dragged out of her thoughts and turns around to see Jan standing beside a tall blonde in a tight red dress. Even though her mind is still entirely preoccupied by Tayce, her mouth goes a little dry and her heart skips a beat because...well, she still knows an attractive girl when she sees one. She fixes the two girls with a polite smile as Jan gestures at the girl beside her.

“This is Brooke Lynn! She’s my friend from the design faculty that did fashion? Rosé was saying you wanted introduced.”

A’whora feels her cheeks flush red as Brooke cocks an eyebrow at her and smirks. “Truthfully, I’m flattered. Always happy to meet a fan.”

A’whora shakes her head and gives an embarrassed laugh. “That’s not...I mean-”

“I’m just fucking with you. Nice to meet you,” Brooke smiles lazily, leaning against the countertop as Jan slips away. “So Jan was saying you’re studying design too?”

“Yeah! I mean, it’s hell on earth just now, especially with deadline season coming up. But I do actually really enjoy it most of the time,” A’whora replies politely.

Brooke laughs in fond recollection. “God, I don’t miss that. Portfolios were a bitch.”

“Right!” A’whora agrees enthusiastically. “It’s quite nice, though, because lots of my flatmates are at the art school as well, so we kind of all have that shared bond of going through the shit together. Lawrence does textiles, Ellie does costume and Tayce does fine art. In fact, that’s Ellie and Tayce over there.”

A’whora turns to point to where Tayce has found Ellie, although she’s perturbed to see the two of them already looking their way. Ellie’s eyes widen as she gives them an awkward wave and Tayce immediately looks elsewhere, her entire body language shifty as if she’s been caught out.

A’whora’s pulse starts to race all over again. Is she…? No.

But then she thinks about that night in December when they first kissed, how A’whora had been driven so crazy by Tayce talking to so many other girls that she was basically forced to show her hand and her feelings. She knows they said they’d be friends, but this situation is being handed to her on a plate and she’d be an idiot to turn it down.

So A’whora flips some of her hair over her shoulder and exposes her neck as she tilts her head with interest. “So, Rosé was saying you graduated last year?”

She and Brooke Lynn talk for a while; A’whora doesn’t know if it’s five minutes or twenty, but with every passing minute she steps up the flirting just a little tiny bit more, so that it’s nearly imperceptible to any onlookers. Tayce is different though, because she’s not just any onlooker. To anyone else it just looks like two strangers getting to know each other at a party, but A’whora knows Tayce sees every time she tucks her hair behind her ears, every time she giggles behind her hands, every time she nods eagerly at whatever Brooke is saying.

She can feel Tayce’s eyes on her, and A’whora would be lying if she said it didn’t make her stomach flip over all the more.

She’s not getting much from Brooke, though: not much of a reaction, not much reciprocation, not much anything. So the moment she steps things up a bit and touches her lightly on the arm as she laughs at a joke she’s made, A’whora’s sure it’ll get her somewhere. Only Brooke pulls a face, moves her arm away and apologises.

“God, I’m sorry...you’re sweet, but I’ve actually got a girlfriend,” she explains, and A’whora feels herself blush, embarrassed at having been spurned but also that it was all in full view of Tayce. It’s made even worse by the way Brooke’s face lights up as her eyes fall on someone over A’whora’s shoulder. “In fact, here she is now! Hey, baby.”

Another girl appears from behind her and moves to stand beside Brooke, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. She’s small and pretty and hostile, and A’whora is suddenly regretting the entire making-Tayce-jealous endeavour if she’s about to get grief from Brooke’s girlfriend.

“And who the fuck is this bitch?” the girl says by way of an introduction, not so much a question but a demand.

“Vanessa…” Brooke looks at her warningly, but the girl continues regardless.

“Nah, I just wanna know what business she thinks she has comin’ onto my girl like this?” she narrows her eyes at A’whora. A’whora, for her part, has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow her more.

This never happened to Tayce in December, that’s for fucking sure.

“Honestly, babes, we were just talking. She’s just told me she’s taken, I would never have tried anything if I’d known,” she tries to explain, but judging from how the girl reacts she’s only made the situation worse.

“Babes? I ain’t your babe, Milkybar-Kid-lookin’ ass!” she cries, and A’whora feels her eyes darting to the punch bowl beside her, suddenly terrified that the liquid inside it could be used as a potential weapon. “Bet your damn life she’s taken, bitch!”

A’whora’s weighing up the options of apologising more or escalating this into a full-scale brawl (because really, who the fuck does this girl think she’s talking to?) when she feels a hand slip into the crook of her elbow and tug her away from the kitchen, the pint-pot Conor McGregor still yelling at her as she leaves.

“Okay, home time,” Tayce’s voice says, amusement coating her words and only serving to make A’whora feel worse. As she turns to look at her she sees Ellie on her other side, who ducks into the living room as Tayce picks up their jackets from the hooks in the hall.

“Tia wants to stay and keep drinking, think she’s found some of her MT friends here,” Tayce explains, handing A’whora her coat with a little smile. “Ellie’s gone to get Lawrence and Bim. What the bloody hell was that, girl?”

A’whora rolls her eyes petulantly, annoyed that her plan hadn’t exactly been as successful as she’d hoped. “Well, you know what they say. The hot ones are always taken.”

“Not always,” Tayce shrugs at her, a little twinkle in her eye as Ellie reappears with Lawrence on her arm.

“Bim’s gonny stay and look after Tia. They’re staying at Asttina’s tonight, anyway, so they can drop Tia off at ours or Veronica's depending on what she wants to do,” Lawrence explains, only a little unsteady on her feet. “Anyway, what’s this I’m hearing about A’whora being a homewrecker?”

As they leave the party, A’whora reluctantly tells the story and the three of them all laugh and joke in response. If she’s being honest, Tayce finding the whole thing funny isn’t the worst thing to come out of the whole situation. She’s not annoyed or ignoring her, and at least that’s some form of progress, as ridiculous as it seems.

The four of them walk home full of tipsy, carefree joy, Lawrence’s voice bouncing off the buildings in the streets as she sings Rain On Me and the others all join in with Ariana’s whistle tones. They fill the air with their horrendous, off-key yelling and no doubt awaken everyone who’s unfortunate enough to own a flat on the main road, but none of them care.

Lawrence and Ellie’s arms are still linked, the pair of them leaning into each other as they walk, but Tayce hasn’t afforded A’whora the same affection. Which is fine. They’re not what they were now, whatever the hell they had been. They’re friends, but A’whora isn’t sure that label is meant to make it feel as if a broken shard of glass is getting jammed through her heart every time she uses it.

It’s fine.

Their hands still brush against each other every so often as they walk, though, ghosts of moments when they’d hold hands in bed and Tayce would trace around her fingers silently and intimately. The sporadic contact only seems to amplify the electricity that’s already so present in the atmosphere. A’whora thinks back to the party, talking in the kitchen with the girl who was Tayce’s opposite in every way. She doesn’t know if she’s being deluded when she thinks about Tayce being jealous. She hopes she was, though. Really it’s not like she has any right to be; A’whora can do what she wants with who she wants, and if Tayce wanted her to herself then she should have…

Well. A’whora knows what she should’ve done.

If it hadn’t been for Brooke’s tiny pitbull girlfriend coming in and yelling the place down, A’whora would’ve probably tried to kiss her. Not that she wanted to kiss her. Not that she was even really hugely attracted to her like she is to Tayce. But she’s intoxicated by the idea of Tayce watching her kiss someone else and burning up with regret and hurt, wishing it was her in Brooke’s place. But Tayce clearly hasn’t been bothered by the whole thing, A’whora thinks, as they laugh and quote lines from Tracey Beaker at each other while they walk. She’s not acting as if she’s annoyed at A’whora. She’s acting as if...well, as if they’re friends.

Which is what they agreed. A’whora doesn’t know why she expected anything different.

It takes the four of them five goes at inputting the code on the door to their block, yelling in delight when A’whora manages it and then frantically shushing each other as they ascend the echoey stairwell. It’s Tayce who unlocks the door to their flat and they all stumble in, still giggly and laughing.

“Kitchen afterparty?” Tayce suggests as soon as she’s over the threshold. A’whora’s ready to agree. Pathetically, after everything that’s happened, she’d still always agree to more time with Tayce.

Ellie shakes her head though, and as she pushes the door to her own bedroom open Lawrence moves to linger in its doorway too. “Nah. Too tired. You two have fun though.”

“Speaking of you two having fun,” A’whora jokes, pointing her finger at the two girls and wiggling her eyebrows. She dissolves into giggles as Ellie rolls her eyes and Lawrence’s face turns bright pink, happy she’s managed to get her own back for the endless teasing she and Tayce had to go through at the hands of their flatmates.

“Shut up. We’re gonna watch High School Musical 3, Lawrence hasn’t seen it,” Ellie explains, a look passing between the two girls that A’whora’s endlessly suspicious of.

“Oh, I haven’t seen that either! Can I join?” Tayce says lightly, A’whora smirking at her and seeing the twinkle in her eyes as she realises exactly what she’s trying to do. The question gets the desired reaction: Ellie’s eyes shoot wide open and Lawrence’s jaw drops as she tries to think of an explanation as to why Tayce can’t join in their impromptu, cosy movie night.

Tayce puts them out of their misery a second later. “You know what actually, I think I’ll just head to bed too after all.”

The visible relief on the two girls’ faces makes A’whora stifle a laugh, and as they all say goodnight she catches sight of Ellie taking Lawrence’s hand as the door closes. A’whora’s eyes meet Tayce’s as they’re left on their own, both girls laughing softly at the situation.

“Cute. Good for them,” Tayce smiles gently, before looking at the floor bashfully. “You down, then? Kitchen afterparty?”

A’whora’s stomach twists awkwardly. As tempted as she is and as much as she wants to, she feels as if more alcohol would make the current situation worse, and if they’re going to try to be friends then they need to commit to it. So she shakes her head, watches as something shuts down behind Tayce’s eyes. “I’m gonna get some water and then head to bed. Sorry.”

“Water seems like a good idea,” Tayce shrugs, and as A’whora peels off down the corridor towards their kitchen Tayce follows behind her.

Neither of them bother to turn the light on when they get to the kitchen- filling up a glass and taking a few quick sips doesn’t take a long time- and the light from the hall paired with the glow through the window from the streetlamps outside is just enough to ensure A’whora can see what she’s doing as she takes a glass out of the cupboard overhead and fills it up, glugging at it quickly. She can feel Tayce waiting at the sink behind her, but doesn’t turn to make eye contact. The silence is tense and deafening and awkward. Friendship no longer suits them.

So when A’whora turns around from the sink and Tayce is closer to her than she thought with a sparkle in her eyes, she is immediately struck down with all the feelings she’s tried to suppress. Tayce boxes her in, one hand on the edge of the countertop at either side of her, and as she leans in she’s got a little smirk on her face.

“Tayce, wh-”

“Shhh,” Tayce whispers, before leaning in and kissing her, slow and gentle but with an underlying intensity that makes a heat pool in the pit of A’whora’s stomach. She becomes so caught up in the moment that she almost forgets about everything they’d said, everything they vowed they’d stop doing.

So A’whora pulls away, but the needy whine Tayce gives and the way she moves her hands to rest at her waist makes her have second thoughts. She smiles a little, cocks her head to mock her just a tiny bit. “We said we weren’t doing this again.”

Tayce gives another whine, pushes one of her hands a little higher to rest at A’whora’s ribcage. “I know, it’s a really bad idea.”

Tayce drops her head to rest on A’whora’s shoulder, presses light kisses to her neck that are too much and not enough all at once. A’whora hears herself gasp into the kitchen, already equal parts frustrated and desperate.

“You should probably stop kissing my neck, then,” she breathes out, hissing as Tayce’s lips hit a sensitive spot that doesn’t make the situation any better at all.

“You should probably stop acting like you like it so much,” Tayce smiles against her skin, punctuating her sentence with another kiss before adding, “Or else I wouldn’t do it.”

“Yeah, it’s all my fault, isn’t it?" A’whora giggles, looking to the ceiling in exasperation as she already knows how this is going to end.

It’s fun to let Tayce work for it a little, though.

“All your fault, you bad girl,” Tayce murmurs, pulling away from A’whora’s neck and instead keeping her eyes trained on her as she runs her hands up the sides of her thighs and under her skirt. If Tayce is looking for a reaction then she’s got one, because the feeling of Tayce’s fingers against her skin is filling A’whora’s head with all sorts of memories that’re making it even harder to stick to the rules they both set.

“You looked so good tonight,” Tayce murmurs, her eyes cast down to the floor. The praise makes A’whora’s heart race twenty times harder than it already is. She pouts, brings her own hands to rest at Tayce’s hips.

“I was so pretty, wasn’t I?" she teases, not missing the way Tayce’s eyes flutter closed at her words. She decides to twist the knife a little. “Bet you’re so gutted I wasn’t picking my whole outfit out thinking about you. You can’t stand to see me talking to other girls, that’s why you need to corner me in the kitchen to get a reaction, right?”

“Worked though, didn't it?” Tayce smirks, running one finger along the edge of her underwear and sending a shiver down A’whora’s spine. She’s so determined not to let Tayce win whatever game they’re playing though so she takes one hand off her waist, reaches behind her for the glass of water she’d poured that’s still half full.

“Hasn’t worked yet, we’re just talking,” A’whora smiles smugly, sipping from the glass whilst looking Tayce dead in the eye. She gets met with an equally challenging look, one that makes her squeeze her thighs together.

“Yeah, we didn’t make rules against talking,” Tayce says, bringing one of her hands up to brush a little piece of hair out of A’whora’s face and tuck it behind her ear. The contact makes A’whora’s whole body tingle as Tayce continues speaking. “Didn’t make rules against me telling you how much I want to fuck you against this counter and watch you have to try and be quiet.”

“Tayce!” A’whora laughs in shock, at once annoyed and turned on by the smirk that appears on Tayce’s face. She brings her arms up to circle around Tayce’s neck, pulls her a little closer so they’re pressed up against each other.

“Didn’t make rules against me telling you how all night I’ve been thinking about flipping that skirt up and touching you and feeling how wet you are,” Tayce mutters darkly, pushing her knee in between A’whora’s thighs as if to make her point. A’whora can only bite her lip to stop herself from giving a whimper of a response, because Tayce is busy reducing her to a puddle right in the middle of the kitchen and she can’t give her the satisfaction of appearing needier than she already is.

“Or how much I want to tell you exactly what a perfect angel you are while you’re riding my fingers and begging me for it-”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” A’whora sighs before Tayce’s lips cut her off and they’re kissing again, messy and hot and desperate and everything A’whora’s wanted for weeks. They can’t be friends when they’re so good like this, when they know just what the other likes and wants and needs, and A’whora needs Tayce so much.

Tayce pulls away only to murmur against A’whora’s lips. “Tell me what you want, babe.”

A’whora pulls back a little, taking a little breath of composure as she tries to form her words. “Want you to do all that. Everything you said.”

She can see she’s said the right thing from the way Tayce paws at her waist and slides a hand up the side of one of her thighs. She gives her a funny sort of smile. “Might need to beg me for it a little bit.”

A’whora pouts involuntarily at her words, moves a hand to cup Tayce’s jaw. “Shouldn’t have to beg when I know how much you want me.”

“Hmm. Sounds like something a spoiled brat would say,” Tayce smirks, leaning against her and pushing her thigh a little higher so that A’whora is pressed right up against it. When A’whora grinds down and Tayce’s eyes grow dark it sends a little thrill of delight down every single nerve ending in her body.

Tayce runs her tongue over her bottom lip before she whispers again. “If I didn’t want you like this so badly I’d take you over to those sofas and spank all this bad behaviour out of you.”

“Yeah, you want to watch me put my pretty little ass in the air for you, don’t you?” A’whora murmurs, squirming against Tayce’s thigh again. She can feel herself throb against her and it feels so good, fucking insanely good, but she hopes Tayce is going to give her what she wants sooner rather than later because she doesn’t want to end up coming just from this.

Tayce pulls her in for a kiss again, more frantic than the last, and as their lips crash together A’whora pushes her hands into Tayce’s hair, tugs on it in the hopes it’ll get a reaction out of her. Tayce gasps against her and it elicits a reaction in A’whora that’s so visceral that she bucks her hips again, the friction making her whine.

“Think you need to start begging or else you’re gonna come and I’m not even gonna get to touch you,” Tayce says as she pulls away, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows triumphantly when A’whora hisses out a fuck .

“Please, Tayce,” she swallows her pride and begs, her fingers playing lightly with the straps of Tayce’s top as she hears her hum in consideration.

“Not sure that’s quite enough begging for making me stand and watch you flirt with another girl at that party. Maybe I could just walk away and watch how you react to having nothing to fuck yourself against at all,” Tayce whispers as A’whora rides her thigh needily, but the tone to her voice tells A’whora she’s not anywhere near serious.

“You like watching me get all wound up way too much to do that.”

“I do,” Tayce leans in, rests her forehead against A’whora’s as she tugs her top up from where it’s tucked into the waistband of her skirt and skims her fingers against her bare skin. “I love watching you get exactly what you want, you look so pretty when you want to come. Hair all messed up and biting your lip like such a perfect little mess.”

A’whora feels her stomach flip over and the heat grow between her legs as she begins to get worn down. Her hands drop down to grab Tayce’s ass through her jeans, tries to pull her closer even though there's already hardly any distance between them. “Please, Tayce, want you so much.”

“Just wanna make my princess feel so good,” Tayce pouts mockingly, and it’s almost sinful enough to make A’whora disregard the “my” that Tayce drops in the middle of her sentence. It hurts A’whora’s feelings more than she’d care to admit, so as revenge she gives a self-indulgent shudder against Tayce’s thigh, lets out a moan that’s too loud and makes Tayce’s eyes grow wide.

“The girls are gonna hear,” Tayce warns her, leaning in for three short kisses which she clearly delights in pulling away from each time.

At this point A’whora thinks she’s being driven slowly insane and so she finally lets her pride crumble to the ground, well and truly demolished as she gives a desperate whine. “Fuck, please , baby, please, please, please, need you so much, please.”

Tayce smirks at her triumphantly and tilts her head. “There. That wasn't hard, was it?”

It’s then that A’whora breaks. As she loops her finger around the velvet choker Tayce is wearing and crashes their lips together again she only breaks the kiss to hop up onto the counter, spreading her legs wide and feeling a flutter of anticipation between them as Tayce immediately gets to work, gently trailing her fingers up the inside of her thighs and making A’whora’s mouth drop open. She tugs her lace underwear down so it’s sitting at her knees, rips her top and her bra off and brushes her fingers over her nipples, presses hot, wet open-mouthed kisses over what feels like every inch of bare skin. A’whora is such a panting, incoherent mess that she almost doesn’t notice that Tayce has stepped back a little. When she opens her eyes she can see her sweeping a long, slow glance down her body, her pupils blown and her jaw slack.

“You are a fucking miracle ,” she gasps in awe, and A’whora immediately feels herself growing shy, Tayce’s words making her feel more naked than the fact she’s sitting on their kitchen counter half-dressed. Tayce seems to grow a little reserved as well, maybe picking up on the reaction A’whora’s given her, and when she leans in to kiss her again it’s slow and languid in the same way that honey falls from a spoon.

There’s a pause in the kiss where Tayce hooks her fingers over the waistband of A’whora’s underwear and pulls it off of her completely, leaving her free to trail her fingers up the soft skin on the inside of A’whora’s thigh and make her buck against thin air helplessly. Tayce fans her fingers against her thigh and lazily swipes a thumb over A’whora’s slit, the moan of relief A’whora lets out and the little gasp Tayce gives piercing through the quiet of the kitchen.

“So wet for me,” Tayce breathes out all at once, dropping her lips to her neck and kissing her. There’s a second where she bites and sucks at her skin, making A’whora gasp and giggle guiltily and squirm against her touch. Tayce’s lips are hot against her skin as she continues. “I would be on my fucking knees if I didn’t want to look at your gorgeous face the whole time.”

“Tayce, please,” A’whora begs, bouncing a little on the countertop as she desperately and wordlessly tries to get Tayce’s thumb to circle her clit. She suspects Tayce is being deliberate with the contact; she knows if she holds back then A’whora will just start begging her desperately like she did before.

The little smirk that appears on her face confirms her suspicions. “What is it, baby?”

A’whora grinds down but Tayce only flicks her thumb away, the frustration she feels and the way she’s practically aching in response turning Tayce’s little playful smile into a shit-eating grin. A’whora feels her bottom lip stick itself out and she whines needily. “You know what.”

“Aww. You not able to use your words any more, princess?” Tayce pouts mockingly back at her, and in response A’whora brings her hands up under the hem of Tayce’s top and skates her nails down her back. It seems to have the desired reaction as Tayce pulls her hand away for a second, A’whora subsequently drawing in a deep, shaky breath as she feels Tayce’s fingers slide deep inside her, her thumb rubbing gentle circles against her clit and leaving her feeling so overwhelmed that she tips her head forward to rest on Tayce’s shoulder.

“Fuck, so good,” she whispers, shuddery and breathy against Tayce's neck as she rides her fingers. Going from minimal teasing to having her every need met all at once is rendering her almost speechless but as she straightens up she finds she wants to keep talking if only to see the way Tayce blinks slowly and heavily as she collects herself, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she watches A’whora become more and more wound up. “So perfect, keep going...fuck…”

“God, I wish you could see what you look like right now,” Tayce hisses, curling her fingers and managing to hit a spot that makes A’whora squeeze her eyes shut and bite down hard on her lip to stop herself from squealing in ecstasy. She keeps her eyes closed as Tayce keeps talking to her, every word making her melt and only intensifying the waves of bliss that are racking her body. “You’re so beautiful, Aurora, oh my God, so, so, so gorgeous...perfect fucking angel…”

A’whora presses a frantic hand to Tayce’s jaw and pulls her in to kiss her again, but they’re unable to make it last all that long when they’re both breathing so heavily and A’whora is rocking so much against Tayce’s fingers it makes her momentarily wonder about how sturdy the countertops in their shithole of a flat actually are. It’s at the point now where A’whora is feeling so soaking wet and overstimulated that she can’t even form a single thought apart from just fuck , so how she manages to form a sentence Christ only knows.

“Missed getting me like this?”

“Like what, baby, a dripping wet desperate mess?” Tayce’s free hand grips her thigh just that little bit tighter in response. “Missed it so fucking much.”

Her words make A’whora shiver with lust, and something inside her curls like a tightly wound spring. She can feel her orgasm building with every passing second but there’s something different about how it usually feels; it’s all far more intense and all-consuming than normal as if every single one of her nerve endings are buzzing in anticipation. She’s completely incapable of speech now, only breathy little moans and needy whines as Tayce keeps whispering into her ear about how perfect she is, how pretty and gorgeous and beautiful, all the while fucking her gently and pulsing her fingers against that spot deep inside her and teasing her clit.

It’s because of her lack of words that A’whora can’t give Tayce much of a warning when suddenly her body seems to leap two levels at once and she’s so dangerously close that all she can do is urgently whisper Tayce’s name before her moans get increasingly louder and louder, her orgasm rips through her, and she swears she comes harder than she’s ever done before in her life. Everything is throbbing so violently that all A’whora can do is let out broken cries into the silent kitchen, completely unable to care about who could hear her. Her orgasm seems to last a few seconds longer than usual and it takes her by surprise, and her body is so racked from it that she needs a couple of seconds to compose herself. She breathes raggedly with her forehead against Tayce’s shoulder, and she can feel the other girl rubbing her back gently with her free hand.

It’s Tayce who speaks first, her voice humoured as she whispers quietly into the silence and slides her fingers out of her slowly and carefully. “Fuckin’ hell, girl. I could feel that.”

A’whora has to take two little breaths before she lifts her head off Tayce’s shoulder and replies with the only word she can form. “Shit.”

Tayce giggles, and it’s so endearing that A’whora feels her heart swell with affection and maybe a little something deeper. She’s barely got time to dwell on it before Tayce locks eyes with her, a little sparkle in them as she takes the same two fingers she’d fucked A’whora with seconds ago and wraps her lips around them, sucking them into her mouth before drawing them out and letting her eyes flutter closed. “You taste so good, fuck.”

At that point, A’whora could've just stayed silent. Or responded with something else. Or just pulled Tayce in for another kiss before returning the favour. But no- she has to ruin it by opening her mouth and saying the first thing that comes into her head, a stupid joke that’s only going to hurt her instead of make her laugh.

“I don’t think that’s something that friends do.”

Tayce’s expression falters and her palms come to rest on A’whora’s thighs. Her gaze is fixed on the floor and there's a small pause before she replies quietly. “Well maybe I don’t want to be friends.”

Every cell in A’whora’s body freezes up and she’s rendered almost motionless at Tayce’s response. She doesn’t even care about how desperate she comes across as she replies almost breathlessly. “What do you want, then?”

Tayce doesn’t meet her eyes. The seconds tick by. Her palms slip off A’whora’s thighs and come to rest at her sides.

“Tayce?”

Tayce takes a step back, casts her gaze to the ceiling this time. She seems to be looking everywhere but at her. A’whora watches her press her lips together, bring her arms up to wrap herself in a hug. The silence grows longer and more ominous, storm clouds hanging over the two of them that are heavy with rain.

And then it dawns on A’whora that what Tayce must be feeling is all-encompassing regret. She regrets it all. Everything she said, everything they just did. She’s dug herself into a hole that she can’t escape from.

So A’whora helps her out of it. The tears flood her eyes as she hops down from the kitchen counter, snatches up her clothes with her face burning from embarrassment, and her hot tears run down her face almost as fast as she dashes back to her room. She’s completely humiliated, and she’s not going to stick around to talk things out.

Tayce doesn’t yell after her, doesn’t come back down the corridor for her, doesn’t stand at her door and knock and ask to be let in. Instead there is only silence and darkness, and all A’whora can do is lie down on her bed and sob into her pillow, trying her hardest not to make a sound but wondering if she's failing even at that.

[kombatea]

You´re safe with me / Sub-Zero (1)

Warning: Yandere

Note: Based on request. It was so hard to imagine him being anything but a gentleman to any woman. Especially the one he loves.

***

„That was amazing! I have never thought that I am capable of something like that.“ You say to your friends after the lesson impressed by your abilities. You have come a long way since you arrived at the temple.

„Maybe you should try it like this next time.“ Your friend says as he grabs you by the waist and lifts you to demonstrate a new technique that you just learned.

„No! Put me down!“ You laugh.

„Love to see you all in such a good mood. I am satisfied with your performance.“ Says Kuai.

„Grandmaster! I didn´t even see you coming.“ One of the students from your group gasps.

„Well, I hope so. Isn´t that one of the abilities of a good warrior?“ He smiles.

Your friends nod, say goodbye, and slowly disappear to leave you alone with Kuai.

"I am proud of you." Smiles Kuai.

You turn around to check the room. When you are both sure that you are alone, you hug as tightly as possible.

"You are probably tired, but what would you say about a short walk?"

"I would love to go. Spend some time alone with you? Anytime." You smile and press a kiss on his cheek.

When you get to the main entrance, he stops.

"Please, dress up. I do not want you to get cold."

"It is fine. I am slowly getting used to it."

"I am serious."

"Well... Ok." You frown and take your heavy coat.

Kuai helps you to dress up and heads outside. He is silent the whole time until you are far from everyone.

"I love it when it is snowing." You say to break the silence.

"Like one of your friends."

"I am sorry?" You stop surprised.

"Do not play dumb. I see how close you are."

"He is my best friend. I do not see anything bad about it."

"Of course you do not." He chuckles arrogantly.

"Kuai! I do not understand..."

But before you can finish, he grabs you by your arm.

"Then let me tell you when you want to act innocent."

He is so close that you can feel his cold breath right in your face. He wants to continue but suddenly freezes. You know that he heard something. Someone is coming.

"Grandmaster!" The distant voice of a young student is quickly getting closer as she runs towards you.

"I... I am so sorry to bother..."

"That is ok. Try to catch some breath." Kuai smiles politely.

"I finally got the answer!" The student almost jumps because of how happy she is.

"From your family?"

"Yes! Yes! Thank you so much for encouraging me to contact them. They want me to visit."

"You see? I have told you that they will be more than happy." He says and frowns. "About that visit... I think that I do not need you here next week."

"Really?! I do not know what to say. Grandmaster! You are the best."

Before she runs away, she turns and thank him a couple more times. When she is out of your sight, Kuai's bright smile fades right as he lays his eyes on you.

„I think that we should come back. It is almost time for dinner.“ You say to end this weird and unpleasant conversation. You know that he is not done with you yet.

„Yes, that is right.“ He answers almost silently with his eyes on you.

But before you can make even two steps, Kuai grabs you again.

„I do want nothing but the best for you. I hope that you know that.“

You are confused, unable to react. You have never seen Kuai act like this. But his grip tightens, and you know that he wants his answer.

„Of course.“ You smile.

„Good.“

With that, he lets go and slowly walks by your side. Your hands are shaking, and your mind screams for you to run to be far from him. But you know that there is no chance to be able to outrun him. Thankfully it takes just a moment, and you meet other students that are gathering in the hallways for dinner. Everyone looks so happy and calm. You immediately feel safer. Kuai stops by every group to have a chat with everyone. He looks so graceful. You can see how everyone admires him. Suddenly you are full of doubts. There is no way that he would be like that. Abusive? Never.

„Hey. What is going on?“ Asks one of your friends when you sit down.

„Nothing. Why?“ You put on your brightest smile.

„Just checking.“

Time goes by, and you loosen up with all the people around. The muted chatter and smell of a freshly cooked meal is like a balm for your soul. You laugh at something when sudden chills go through your spine. Instinctively you look at Kuai only to realize that he is watching you. You smile at him, but his glance is without any reaction until someone came to him and his face instantly brightens up. When you finish your dinner, you head straight into your room, full of confusion.

„Hey! Gloomy face!“ someone shout at you from another side of the hallway.

„Really? Nicknames?“ you smile at your friend.

„Sorry. Wanted to catch your attention.“ He winks at you.

„I am tired, so can we get straight to the point?“

„I know that I have already asked you, but... Is everything alright? You look off.“

„As I said, just tired. But thank you for your concern.“ You hug your friend as a way to say goodnight, and you get in your room.

A deep sight leaves your lungs after you close the door. You feel that you need to ease your mind, and there is no better place than the baths. It is such a glamorous name for a small room with one big tub. No one uses it because no one has time for such an activity. Not even you, but even though you need to wake up early, you are still willing to sacrifice an hour of sleep.

„They know better.“ You say to yourself. Hallways are empty. Everyone is probably already sleeping. The schedule is crazy, and it took you a long time to adapt to almost nonexistent sleep.

After you come into the place, you get your water ready. Right as it starts to boil, you combine it with the cold water in the tub and make the perfect blend for your bath. With a few drops of vanilla essential oil that you cherish like a treasure, you immediately feel at home. You almost moan when the warm water hugs your exhausted and cold body. Everything is so calm and quiet. You feel the same. With every slow movement, water plays a melody that makes your eyes feel heavy. With each blink you make, you are closer and closer to fall asleep. But after a moment, you suddenly wake up because you hear something. Slow, quiet, and confident walk coming to you. You know it is him. He is so close that you can feel his presence. Usually, you would be excited to spend some time alone with him, but after tonight, you are not so sure anymore.

„I should stay in my room.“ Cross your mind the second you spot his facial expression. He always looks angry, but now he really was. In some sad way, you already knew that you are the reason for his bad mood.

Kuai comes to you and silently studies your face and body. After a long moment, he gently starts to pick stray hair from your forehead.

„I would risk everything for you...“ He whispers right in your ear.

„And I would never ask you for something like that.“

„You made me feel like no one else before. All I want is your full attention.“

„And you have it.“ Your voice trembles.

„Stop... lying.“ He growls as he lays his hand on the back of your neck and slowly starts to massage it with the thumb. The coldness of his hand sharply contrasts with the warmth of the water.

The fear growing in your stomach is traveling through the veins into your whole body and paralyzes you.

„I saw you... How you smile at him. Shamelessly hugging him in front of me.“

„What´s wrong with being close to your friends? Especially in a place like this. In the middle of nowhere.“ You say while trying to stay calm.

„Really? That is interesting. What type of story will you tell about this?“ Kuai takes out a small detailed glass pendant.

„You were in my room?“ You jump and spill half of the water out of the tub.

"I saw him when he brought it in."

You are speechless. You can not even tell if you tremble because of anger or cold.

„Answer me!“ He insists as he hides your necklace in his hand.

„It is a family necklace. Mother sent it in the nearby city, and he was kind enough to bring it to me as he picked out something for himself.“

Kuai looks at you with a disgusted gaze and throws the necklace against the wall. You see it break into small pieces. The tears fill your eyes. Full of frustration, you try to escape, but his hands are tightly holding yours by the wrists.

"Why did you do that?!" You scream.

You fight him with all of your strength. When he finally let go, you slip on the water and fall. Sharp pain goes through your body like a wave. You hit your head so hard that you lost consciousness for a while.

"Can you hear me?" Kuai´s voice is full of impatience and worries. He is sitting on the ground with you in his arms. Somehow he already managed to wrap you in the towel.

"My head..." You mumble and try to reach the wound on your head that is pulsating with pain.

He pulls your hand down and stands up with you still in his embrace. You try to fight him again and break free.

"Calm down, please. I do not want you to hurt yourself even more."

As he carefully walks down the hallway towards your room, you start to lose consciousness again.

"You can not sleep right now, my beautiful." He smiles at you as he opens the door and lays you on the bed. "You scared me. You know?"

"I am sorry." You smile back at him.

"I do not know what I would do without you." He sighs. "I have never wanted to let anyone in my life and especially in my heart. I was so scared that I will somehow hurt the person that I care about the most. But I have never expected that it will go another way.“

„What are you talking about? I love you. You should trust me."

"I definitely can try." Kuai smiles.

"I am so thankful that you helped me, but you should go." You kiss his hand.

"No. I will not let you alone. Not in this state."

"It is ok. But what about you? We should not risk your reputation. Just imagine if someone would saw you here."

"You are right. But promise me that you will stay in bed. I will send someone to check on you."

"Thank you so much. But now go, please." You look at him with your sweetest smile.

Kuai looks at you one last time and leaves. You wait for a while, and when you are sure that he is not coming back, you jump out of bed. You want to lock the door because there is a long night ahead of you. What should you do? Is it safe to stay? You love it here, but what if he will get worse? You reach for the handle, and the door almost hits you right in the face. Panic starts to fill your body when you see him standing in front of you, and his beautiful smile slowly fades into an angry gaze.

[hacked-by-jake]

Jake x MC 93. Living for angst!

Are you fucking serious?

A/n: Hi @jellyfishdodraw  and thank you for your request. I really hope you like it and please forgive the mistakes🙏🏻 Uhm yes, have fun..😅😊

Prompt: “We should break up”

Words: 1,8k

Warning: Angst, swearing, discussion /argument, no happy end, (Maybe a spoiler from the movie V for Vendetta?)

You didn’t have much to do today, which is why you were looking forward to it.

--

"MC?" Jake appears in the door of his office, you’re sitting in the living room with a drawing you’ve been planning on doing for a long time.

"I want to talk to you," Jake speaks with his soft voice, but somehow seems nervous.

"Sure" you answer, "what’s going on? You look worried".

He comes to you and sits next to you on the sofa and you put your pen aside to give him your full attention.

"Okay, listen," he starts reaching for your hands, "please don’t interrupt me".

All the alarm bells are ringing in your head, "Jake tell me. You’re scaring me".

He takes a deep breath before he starts.

"I got an offer, an offer for a pretty big deal. A group of great Hackers who have joined forces to expose a huge corruption within the government. However, they still lack someone with my skills and knowledge. I know them and know that they have only good things in mind. However, I would like to inform you beforehand as this will also be quite dangerous if something goes wrong"

For a moment, you just look at him speechless to see if he could really be serious.

"If you just asked me seriously if you could hack the government, to uncover anything, then no! Sorry", a little incredulous you shake your head as you want to go back to your drawing.

"How no?" he looks at you irritated.

"What No?" you laugh bitterly, still hoping that this is just a bad joke.

"Why?" Jake asks and tries to keep his voice at a neutral volume.

"That you’re really even asking me about this," you grumble.

"Okay, and why not?"

Vigorously, you turn to him again, "Why not? Why don’t I want you to put yourself and me in danger? Have you forgotten the beginning of our relationship?"

Actually, you don’t want to be like that, but you don’t know how to react. You feel shocked and almost a little amused about it. And that he’s seriously asking if that’s okay, hurts you. What  does he think? That you’re jumping happy around and cheering? Does he want the Nobel Peace Prize?

"No, I didn’t forget but-"

You interrupt him, "but what, Jake? But what? But your plan isn’t so bad?"

His gaze turns into angry and he gets up from the sofa.

"Okay, well, the country we live in, has a bunch of corrupt politicians who are empowered to make enormously important decisions about this country. I can do something about it and make sure we don’t get into trouble in a few months, but you say no?"

He seems totally horrified.

"You’re serious, aren’t you? You really don’t understand what my problem is?"

"No, MC, I’m sorry, honestly, not"

You pull up your eyebrows and tilt your head.

"What exactly, can’t you understand? You put yourself in the greatest danger, and me too! What happens if they catch you Jake? What happens then? You go to jail your whole fucking life when that happens, and me? I’ll stay here alone. And then we play happy family every two months? If I may visit you? If I may at all, because you want to interfere in something that they do not like at all! We have already played through that. Even I’ve been through this before, and that with you! Isn’t that reason enough?" during your speech, you stood up and walked into the kitchen to grab a drink.

"No, not reason enough" he answers and leans with his arms folded in the door frame.

"Wait, wait, our relationship and I are not reason enough?" you look disturbed at him.

"MC, you know I would never put you in danger".

His sentence sounds like an accusation.

"Wouldn’t you? But you do it! What happens if it goes wrong? Do you want to escape? Should I come with you then?"

"Nobody knows if it will go wrong!"

"Yes, but nobody knows if it’s going well," you hiss and slaps on the table, "Now you ask me if you can hack the government, what’s next? You blow up Parliament like Vendetta? Jake just because you both wear the same mask, you are still far from being him. If you leave out the fact that it’s a movie. Maybe you’ve been watching the movie too much." you mock and regret it in the next moment. That might have been a little harsh.

Jake also looks astonished and then slowly nods his head, "All right, thank you" he mumbles and turns around.

"Nothing is okay" you lean down against the countertop.

"I could save a country from bad things MC." Okay, now he’s blaming you.

"Now you want me to feel bad?"

"No"

You snort outraged and looking out the window.

"You know what? Call me selfish! Call me cold! Call me inhuman or whatever you want. But I certainly don’t see you putting yourself in danger again! Jake, back then, you were alone. That’s what you decided when we didn’t know each other.

But now  we’ve been a couple! We’ve been together for two years. Do you remember, that in the beginning, we couldn’t leave each other alone for two hours without fear for the other or just because we didn’t want to be alone? And now? Do you want to put us both in danger of being hunted by the government? Once again? I don’t give a shit if you can save a country or what could happen later. I care about you and I don’t want you to put yourself in danger! I remember when the agents tried to hack me and you suddenly texted me again! There was nothing worse than that I was in danger, and now you want to accept that danger? Risk that it goes wrong and we have to split up? So sorry, but for me it comes across as if it’s not bad for you anymore. I don’t really want to say it, but it just seems to me like it doesn’t matter to you, that you put me in danger too."

"But maybe nothing happens, if I don’t, we’ll never know!"

"Yeah, I know, Jake, but that’s like jumping from a height of five meters. Maybe I just break a few of my bones, maybe all of them, I don’t know, and it would be stupid to try. And I’m not taking the risk of losing you. I know you always want to save everyone and do something good for everyone, but Jake, someday it’s your turn, someday it’s all about you. And before you jeopardize your entire life, Me, as your girlfriend, am obligated to stop you!"

You just keep talking because you feel like if you stop, is everything over. It's hurting that he’s suddenly so weird and angry, that he wants to jeopardize everything.

"I can’t put my well-being above that of a whole country. I can’t do that, MC. It’s too important for me," he shouts. He can’t put it above other people’s but above yours...?

You look at him mute.

As he stands there, the hair slightly confused, his blue eyes that otherwise glow so full of love, now look rather dark and angry.

The way he folded his arms. His facial features are tense.  And it hurts. It hurts a lot. That Jake is suddenly so different than usual.

"So you want to endanger us all? All of us? Hannah, Lilly, your father, Me, and even the others. What you’re up to, is not a small thing, and they’re going to involve every single one of us because anyone who knows you, could have something to do with it" the first tear flows out of your eye. Whether by your suppressed anger or because it’s really sad what he wants from you.

Somewhere, you can unfortunately understand him but you just don’t want to risk your almost perfect, quiet and harmonious life. Above all, who knows what they came across? What are they talking about?

Besides, there’s certainly another hacker somewhere who has the same skills as Jake, and can work with them.

But then the realization hits you like a slap in the face.

"You’re already in on this, aren’t you? It’s already happened or not?" you ask with a trembling voice.

Guiltily he turns his gaze to the ground and says nothing.

"You’re not fucking serious, are you?" you scream.

"Did something go wrong? Something happened ago and that’s why you’re telling me about it now?"

"MC I-"

You interrupt him stunned, "Oh, my God, Jake!" you slap your hands in front of your face. Your feelings collide and seem to eat you from the inside.

All of a sudden, you feel like you’re on a time trip to the beginning of everything. Fear and insecurity are breaking down over you and you realize that everything will start all over again if it goes wrong.

"MC, listen to me -"

"No! No, I don’t want to know, no, you know what you just did?" you ask and wipe away the tears that grow stronger and stronger.

"Oh, God, I have to get out of here," you mumble.

You rush past him to the front door.

You grab your jacket and your shoes, you open the door without putting them on.

"Where do you want to go now?" he asks desperately.

"Go, Jake, I have to go now, to Jessy or something," you sniffed while you were in a hurry putting your shoes coarsely on.

"MC, you can’t tell anyone about this! No one! You know that".

Stunned you laugh, "You’re not serious. I’m not supposed to tell NO ONE that YOU put us all in danger? Jake, what’s wrong with you? Don’t you realize what you’re doing?"

"So what I do is shit? That I want to save people? All of us?"

"Is it worth it to put your family in danger, Jake? Is it worth it to you to lose everyone? Oh God, I can’t do this, Jake. I can’t go through this again. I can’t live in fear for months, that I’ll be woken up by the FBI, breaking down our front door and suddenly standing in our bedroom to take you. Jake, I can’t do this," you cry desperately.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he almost whispers and stares at you, "What do you mean, you can’t?"

You swallow your tears and the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, "That means I can’t stay by your side when this starts over. I - I think it’s better if we should break up.. I can’t do it, not again!"

"You’re leaving me?" in his face it’s horrified. To see this, breaks your heart. You really, really love him more than anything else in the world but all that stress again? Months of uncertainty? Months of sorrow and uncertainty?

"I am so sorry"

You turn around and storm down the stairs. What the fuck just happened?

-----

🌹

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Magic of Winter

AN: This is my first fic for @star-spangled-bingo​. I'm starting a taglist specifically for this bingo, so if you want a tag, just shoot me an ask. It's betaed by the lovely @stiles-o-dylan24​, thanks a million, hun.  

 Pairing: Bucky x Reader Warnings: None. Pure fluff. Wordcount: 1383 Square Filled: Huddling for warmth.

Summary: You and Bucky take a few days away at your family’s cabin.

It was early in the morning, barely past six, but you just couldn't sleep anymore. Bringing Bucky to your family’s cabin had been a good idea, away from the hustle and bustle at the compound, just the two of you, unplugging from the world for a couple of days. It was so peaceful out here. During the summer months you loved waking up at the crack of dawn to listen to the birds sing as they woke up, but in the winter months, it was just quiet. There was a roofed patio at the back of the cabin with a view of the forest and through an opening in the trees, you could see the lake where you’d go swimming in the summer. The nearest neighbour was two miles away, but they rarely came up here during the winter. It was no secret that the weather could get pretty unforgiving up here. 

It was mornings like this that you longed for though, when after a long night of snowfall the world had kind of transformed and the blanket of white gave it a new look. It was muted in a way, even though it was always quiet here, and everything looked so clean. There was a tranquility that came with the undisturbed snow, and you figured you could sit for hours and just watch it. 

Even Bucky slept through the night here, something he rarely did at the compound. His sleep was often plagued with nightmares, but not up here. Here he had slept like a baby for three night's straight, and all of a sudden you saw a different kind of Bucky. Maybe it was the sleep, or maybe it was the fact that the two of you were finally alone, but since you got here, he hadn't been able to keep his hands off you. Not in a sexual way, although that was part of it, but you felt more like it was a need to have you close to him, that he always needed to be touching you to know you were there. When you cooked dinner, he would wrap his arms around you from behind and kiss your neck, and when you sat down to read a book, he pulled your legs over his lap and asked you to read for him. He’d pull you into him as you sat in front of the fireplace, stroking your hair and just enjoying the feel of having you close. 

Yes, this trip had been a good idea. It gave the two of you the freedom to explore a world where it was just the two of you, and to be honest, you wished every day could be like this. 

So there you sat, on the patio, a knitted sweater and padded leggings with a blanket wrapped around you, clutching a mug of hot chocolate between your frosty hands. It was the most peaceful you had felt in your entire life. This feeling of serenity was so great that you didn't even mind being cold. 

Bucky saw you through the giant windows, and he couldn't help but stop and look at you for a moment. It was like a picture taken straight from some dream he thought would never come true. This place is magical, you had said to him when you pulled up a few days ago, and it was one hundred percent true. It felt as though he was healing a little more for every second he spent here with you, and for the first time in his life he was at a place where he dared to dream of a future with someone, one filled with days like these. 

When he opened the sliding door to the patio, you jumped a little, but when you looked up at him it was with a warm and loving smile. To have someone look at him like you did now, warmed his soul, and he hoped with all that he had that that smile would never falter from your face when you looked up at him. 

“Good morning,” he said softly. 

The smile on your face turned into a wide grin as you looked back onto the forest. “It snowed,” you said excitedly. 

He took a seat next to you on the bench and pulled you into him, draping your legs over his as you adjusted the blanket to encompass the both of you. “It sure did,” he said, an amused look on his face. 

You held up the mug in a quiet question and then watched him as he took a sip. “It's good isn't it?” 

“Very good,” he agreed. “I woke up alone.”

“I'm sorry,” you said, cupping his cheek. He had let his beard grow out and you absolutely loved running your fingers through it. “You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you up.” 

Closing his eyes, he leaned into your touch. Your hands were freezing cold, but somehow your touch still warmed on his skin. “It's alright,” he assured. He took your hand in his in an attempt to warm it up a little. “Aren't you cold?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Freezing. But I want to sit for a while longer,” you said. “When the sun rises over the lake over there… I can't describe it.” 

“Alright,” he dragged with laughter in his voice. “I'll go get us some more blankets then,” he offered, starting to get to his feet. 

“You don't have to stay here with me. Not if you’re cold.” 

“It's worth it,” he said with a wink before he disappeared through the door again. 

The two of you sat there in silence and watched the sky change colors as the sun slowly rose behind the mountains. Bucky rested his back against the armrest and you were seated between his legs with his arms around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. This morning couldn't be more perfect. The picturesque scenery, the man you loved wrapped around you to keep warm, the feeling of being the only two people on earth. No, this couldn't be more perfect, and you hoped that this memory, this feeling, would stay with you forever. 

“The snow is beautiful, isn't it?” you asked as the first rays of the sun reflected off the snow, making it look like it was filled with glitter. 

“I'm gonna remind you of that later when we have to dig the car out,” he teased.

You threw your head back against his shoulder and groaned, making him chuckle. “Can we stay one more night?” you pleaded. 

“I’d stay here forever with you,” he said honestly. He was in no rush to get back to real life. Up here he could have you to himself and not feel like he had to dial down the PDA because there was always someone walking in on you. Here he could have you all to himself, and be near you, holding you, and kissing you whenever he wanted. Like last night when you had shared a bottle of wine and danced in front of the fireplace, or earlier when you had dinner on the floor in front of that same fire. 

Suddenly you sat up and turned to look at him. “Do you like living at the compound?” you asked, looking deep into his bright blue eyes. 

“I don't know,” he said thoughtfully. “Why do you ask?” 

“What if we found a place for ourselves? I like the compound, don't get me wrong, but there's always people there and we hardly have any privacy… not even in our own rooms,” you added that last part, thinking back to when Sam had barged into Bucky’s room when you two were about to get your groove on. 

Bucky chuckled at the memory. “You’re right,” he said. “And I would love to live with you. Just you and me.” 

The smile that spread on your lips was brighter than the sun, and Bucky was powerless not to return it. “We’ll start looking then,” you said excitedly. “Tomorrow, when we get back.” 

“Tomorrow when we get back,” he repeated as if it was a vow. Then he kissed you to seal the deal. “Can we go back inside now? Before I turn into an ice sculpture?” 

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Everything tags: @campingmonkey​