#finished this a bit ago but i wanted to finish th other drawing befor posting it. bc i wanted to post them together

[didderd]

he kiss you this time :>

(this was inspired by the tags in this reblog from @robobbin :3)

[elysiadjarin]

Sword and Shield 6

Tags: Bad Batch x reader (you), fem!coded, poly!relationship, multi-part series, nonhuman!reader, Echo later on

Part 5: https://elysiadjarin.tumblr.com/post/655170472428830720/sword-and-shield-5

Warnings: none really. 

Without further ado, I present to you the moment you’ve all been waiting for. *bows deeply* *backs away*

6: Confessions

You snorted to yourself. Not act on it, that’s for kriffing sure. You sighed, shaking your head. Even if someone wanted to get into a relationship with you — already dangerous territory — why would they even consider accepting you harboring feelings for others? Ridiculous. Everyone you’d ever known besides your Vod’ika had been fiercely possessive of what they viewed as their own — and besides, even the 501st had been super protective and jealous of you in most aspects.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to suffering in silence as always. They would never know, and you’d simply continue to work with them. Hopefully, best case, your crush would pass and fade away in time. After all, maybe this really was just a reaction to the kindness the Bad Batch had shown you after you’d been neglected for so much of your life.

You staunchly decided that you didn’t want to look further into it than that. Best not fan flames of false hope, after all.

Having made a decision, you refocused on humming and popping the finished three pans into the oven. You moved onto the icing you’d decided to put on the cupcakes. The team ate a lot, after all, and it’s not like you got sweets a lot on missions. The sugar might be a nice pick-me-up or reward for their hard work. Plus, you decided, the ship smelled nice now.

Whisking away at the icing in the chilled bowl, you let the contentment settle over you. Humming to the music, you started to sway a little and step lightly in time to the beat. The ship was warm; you felt content for the time being; and you were where you wanted to be.

“Whoa, what’s that smell?”

You almost started, turning around to see Wrecker in the doorway, staring at you with wide eyes. You felt your face burn as you realized that Crosshair, Hunter, and Wrecker had caught you dancing as you baked. Setting the bowl down, you gave them an embarrassed smile.

“Welcome back. I figured I’d make you some cupcakes-?” You offered, tugging at your hair that you’d put up and out of the way. “I just put them in the oven: I’m making frosting right now.” You picked the bowl back up.

Wrecker blundered into the kitchen, clearly a bit tipsy. His eyes lit up. “Whoa, seriously Shiv?” he exclaimed giddily. “Cupcakes? You’re making them? For us?”

You had to laugh at his flushed cheeks and childish grin of excitement as he plopped himself down on the floor and watched you. “Yes, I know we don’t really get sweets or anything on missions usually, so I figured I’d just... you know. I mean, you all work really hard, you deserve something for it. Plus, I owe you a snack, remember?”

Hunter nodded at you from the door. “Appreciate it, Shiv. I’m going to go back to my quarters for a while,” he mumbled, clearly on sensory overload.

You nodded back. “I’ll leave some for you in the cooler whenever you want some,” you promised. “Please get some rest.”

He nodded, trudging off.

You hesitated, glancing at Crosshair. “Would you... would you like to join, or... or should I just save you some?” you asked tentatively, unsure if the quiet and usually sullen sniper would want to be around.

He glanced at you, and you couldn’t tell if he’d even drunk anything or not. Then he grunted. “Too warm in here. I’ll be in the common room. Thanks for the... stuff.” With a curt nod, he headed off.

You blinked, then took it as a sort of thanks. Crosshair had always been short with everyone, so you took no offense to it; but you’d also realized over time working with him that the fact that he was never outright rude to you was his way of being personable. And the fact that he even sat in the same room as you for periods of time was another silent proof that he, at the very least, didn’t hate you. He normally never complained about working with you either, only making constructive suggestions that, while sometimes terse, weren’t overtly or purposely vitriolic.

You shook yourself and refocused to see Wrecker staring up at you with a sort of stupid grin.

“Are the cupcakes almost done?” he asked eagerly, turning to look at the oven.

You laughed. “Not quite, I just put them in a few minutes ago, so it’ll be another fifteen minutes or so.” You offered him the mixing bowl. “My arm is getting a little tired, can you help? I just need to mix this a little more.”

He took the bowl and started to whisk, still careful even in his tipsy state not to spill too much. Well, he tried, you had to note with some amusement. He still splashed a little, but you weren’t really bothered by it. You’d purposely put extra in there anyway, just to be safe.

“Did you have a good time?” you decided to ask, turning the music down and going to check the timer.

“Yeah! The drinks weren’t too bad, and I got to see a couple of familiar faces,” Wrecker said, still diligently stirring away at the icing. “I mean, I was a little sad when you left, but I knew why, you know? I kinda hoped you’d have fun, not have a bad time.”

You almost froze, desperately trying to calm your heartbeat that had picked up. Straightening, you sent him a jittery smile. “Th-Thanks, Wrecker. You were there, so it wasn’t all bad. It was just one guy.”

He notably cheered up at that. “Good, good,” he said with a decisive nod.

“Oh, can I see the icing? I think it should be done,” you said, trying to change the topic. Your newly-discovered feelings could absolutely not handle any sort of encouragement.

He held it out, glancing into it. “Is it supposed to look like that?”

You peered into the bowl, noting with satisfaction the peaks of the icing. “Yep. Could you put it in the cooler please? Once the cupcakes are out and cooled enough, I can put the icing on.”

He nodded and got up, carefully putting it away in the cooler. He rather gingerly sat down on a chair, then accepted the glass of water you offered.

“Thanks. I think I maybe had one too many,” he said, gulping down the glass.

You gave him a sympathetic smile. “Well, the water should help,” you encouraged.

“Do you drink, Shiv?” Wrecker asked curiously, peering at you.

You blinked, then shook your head. “Never really started in the first place,” you admitted. “I mean, I understand the draw, but I never was allowed to before, and then it just sort of... I don’t know, I figured that after all this time, why start? Caf is my poison of choice, and I don’t fancy the hangovers, not after taking care of the 501st with Kix too many times.” You rolled your eyes fondly at the memory.

“Huh. Makes sense,” he conceded with a nod.

The timer went off just then, so you grabbed the oven mitts and opened the oven. The toothpick came out clean, so you grabbed the trays and set them on the cooling racks, turning off the oven.

“Are they done?”

You hummed and nodded, poking at one. “Yep, they’ve baked all the way through and the top is spongy,” you said in satisfaction. “I knew it would be a good batch.”

“What flavor are they?” Wrecker tilted his head at the trays curiously.

“I made one flavored Nabooian chocolate, the second vanilla, and the third mint,” you answered.

“Whoa, Nabooian chocolate? Isn’t that pretty expensive?” Wrecker looked surprised.

You shrugged. “Yeah, usually, but the GAR usually gets things a little cheaper in bulk and I decided it was worth it this time around. Sometimes you just... need to indulge while you have the opportunity, you know?” You gave him a smile.

He smiled back and nodded. “Yeah... makes sense.”

Once the cupcakes had cooled enough, you carefully lifted them out of the tins and set them on the racks. Grabbing the bowl of icing from the cooler, you started applying it in neat swirls. Wrecker shuffled up behind you, peering over your shoulder at the process.

“They look nice,” he remarked encouragingly.

You glanced up at him with a smile. “I’m glad. I chose a buttercream icing so it would pair well with the flavors.” Once you were finished, you licked your fingers clean of the icing that had gotten smeared in the process. Cleaning out the bowl, you set everything away and began placing the cupcakes in containers. Grabbing a few, you took three plates and placed a few on them to go take to the others. Turning, you smiled up at Wrecker.

“Help me carry these?”

He grabbed two plates, letting you get the other one for Hunter. He followed you down the hall, and you stopped briefly at Hunter’s room. You knocked lightly on the door.

“It’s open,” a voice came from within.

You slipped through the door, then placed the plate on his bunk. “Here you go,” you whispered, trying not to agitate his senses.

He glanced from you to the plate, then nodded. “Thank you, Shiv.”

You just nodded back, then slipped back out and closed the door. Following Wrecker down the hall, you went into the common room to find Tech and Crosshair still there.

“Yo, Cross, Tech, Shiv made us some snacks!” Wrecker said, putting the plates down.

“Oh- the one with more on it is for Tech and Crosshair,” you said quickly, “and the other plate is for you, Wrecker.” Everyone knew that Wrecker ate more than the rest of you, due to his size and genetic mutation.

He grabbed his and sat down, gleefully beginning to tuck into his cupcakes.

“There’s Nabooian chocolate, vanilla, and mint,” you repeated for Crosshair and Tech’s benefit, twisting your fingers in your sleeves. “I hope they’re okay....”

“They’re so good,” Wrecker all but groaned around his mouthful.

You noticed that Tech was still engrossed in his work, so you decided to go and gently tap on his shoulder. He started slightly and looked up at you owlishly.

“Oh, Shiv.”

You gave him a gentle smile. “I know you’re doing good things, but please take a little break? You haven’t eaten or drank anything in a while.” You offered him water and a cupcake.

He blinked down at it, then seemed to automatically reach out and take it. “Oh. Uh... th-thanks, Shiv,” he said hesitantly, looking up at you with a sort of surprise buried in his eyes.

Impulsively, something in you drawn to his wistful expression, you reached out and brushed your fingers briefly through his mussed hair, smoothing the wild strands. “I thought you might be a mint type of person,” you said, giving him a smile.

He took a bite of the cupcake, chewing it thoughtfully. “I do like mint,” he confirmed, then began tucking into the cupcake, almost wolfing it down. He didn’t remark on your gesture, so you decided not to address it and instead turn around.

Crosshair was already halfway through a chocolate one. Glancing up, he lifted the cupcake in a sort of half-salute of acknowledgement.

You smiled back, glad that the sullen trooper seemed to enjoy the treat.

“Hey Shiv, come sit!” Wrecker motioned next to him. He offered you a cupcake once you sat beside him, but you shook your head.

“Oh, I’m okay, thanks. I sort of scraped the batter bowls when I was making them, so I’ve already had a taste.” You shrugged, picking up your datapad. “You enjoy them.”

“Boy am I,” Wrecker enthused, grinning. He polished off the others on his plate, smacking his lips. “These are super good.”

You briefly glanced up at Tech, noting that he’d absently begun on another cupcake while tapping away again at his screen.

“Do you think they’re going to put us through a battle simulation soon?” you asked warily, frowning down at your datapad.

“Statistically, probably,” Tech answered. “It’s been a while since our last one, and they do tend to keep up with us as a modified unit.”

You sighed, shoulders hunching on yourself. “And now I’ve been added to the force,” you concluded glumly.

“Is somethin’ wrong, Shiv? I like the simulations, they’re fun.” Wrecker glanced down at you curiously.

You sighed. “Well, I’m... I’m a weird factor in the whole mess. I’m usually either told to sit out on a simulation because they’re testing the functionality of the troopers, not me; or I’m limited to stun-only weaponry, which is really difficult to hold as a form. I’m made to be a lethal weapon, so my default is to use live ammunition, not training weapons. I can, of course, but it’s an extra thing for me to remember when I’m utilized in a simulator. The Kaminoans really don’t like it when I mess up and damage either their training units or their equipment.”

Tech tilted his head, brushing crumbs off of his lap. “I hadn’t realized it before, Shiv, but what relationship exactly do you have with the Kaminoans? You never really said how you came to be a weapon for a clone unit. Why wouldn’t you have been assigned to a Jedi or an officer?”

You grimaced, tucking your legs up to your chest. “That’s... a long story, Tech. Not that I wouldn’t tell you, but... I don’t think right now is the best time. Besides, I think Sergeant Hunter should be here to hear it, too, as my leader. But for now, I think it’s safe to say that the Kaminoans are interested in replicating my DNA, so using me with a clone force to see how I would react to and mesh with their clones is a convenient experiment for them.”

Tech conceded. “I suppose that’s fair,” he said with a nod. “But we will most likely be asked to participate in a training regimen soon.”

You reached up and brushed hair out of your eyes, feeling the exhaustion creep up on you. “I think I’m going to go to bed.” Standing, you sent everyone a tired smile. “Get some sleep, if you can.”

“Thanks for the cupcakes, Shiv. I’m gonna eat more tomorrow,” Wrecker declared, waving at you.

You nodded and stepped out, shuffling down the hall to your small room. You might have to spend the next couple of nights in the GAR barracks, considering the probable training regimen you’d be called in for tomorrow plus the report you’d have to give to Commander Rex.

You quickly fell asleep, exhausted at the mere thought.

~

Commander Rex raised an eyebrow in vague amusement as he faced you. “You didn’t have to send me an entire comprehensive report, as much as I’m sure the command base will appreciate it.”

You shuffled your feet sheepishly. “Sorry, Commander,” you laughed self-deprecatingly. “You know me.”

He nodded. “I think I do, which is how I also knew that giving you time to compile a report would result in me being able to see data for myself.” Standing, he sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. “I personally see your integration as a success, Shiv. You seem to be integrating into the team very well, and the team seems to accept you. But you also know that my report of success will have a natural repercussion.”

You looked down at your feet. “Tipoca,” you said resignedly.

“Yes,” Rex confirmed with a nod. “Tipoca. The Kaminoans have already requested the presence of Force 99 for checkups, especially since your integration has been considered a success.”

“I figured, Commander,” you said quietly. “I also mentioned it to the team last night. I might have to... tell them.”

“If you think it’s prudent.” Rex left it up to you. Then he sighed, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. “It was good to see you again, Shiv. You seem to be thriving in the Bad Batch. But I do have a word of warning.”

You blinked up at him, a little surprised. “Y-Yes?”

“You know that most Regs don’t look on defective clones very... positively. And you already know your own reputation on Tipoca. Keep your head up.”

You nodded. “That’s another reason I’m going to tell them, sir,” you admitted. “They’re probably going to say something, but...” You shrugged your shoulder.

Rex nodded. “General Skywalker asked about you the other day. He seemed pleased to hear that you had found a place with the Bad Batch.”

You had to smile at that, grateful that he’d remembered you. “If you see him again, tell him thank you for thinking of me. I didn’t think he’d remember me.”

“Will do. Go on, Shiv. You probably have to leave soon to get to Kamino on time.”

You nodded. “Have a good day, Commander. And-“ you paused before you headed back out, turning briefly to glance at him. “I hope to the Maker that you see nothing but success on your missions.”

He nodded. “Same to you, Shiv. Take care of yourself and your team out there.”

You left, letting the door slide shut behind you. Walking down the hallways and corridors, you sighed heavily and tried to think about how to tell the Bad Batch about your past. They deserved to know, not only as your teammates but also considering they wouldn’t otherwise understand the routine you’d have to go through once you arrived on Tipoca.

As soon as you got back to the ship, Hunter found you. “Good, you’re back, Shiv. We’ve gotten commands to go to Kamino again.”

You nodded resignedly. “I know. Um, Sergeant, would it be possible to talk to the whole team? I have to explain a few things before we arrive at Kamino. It has to do with why we’re being called there.”

He paused and stared at you for a moment, then nodded. “Gather in the common room once we’re up in the air.”

You nodded, heading off to the common room and trying to think of the best way to go about it. Everything felt... distant, in a strange way. You had to figure out how to distance yourself, at least enough to explain the standard procedure you were always subjected to on Kamino, not to mention what they’d have to look forward to.

Everyone shuffled in once the ship was in hyperspace to find you curled up on one of the seats, staring blankly at the floor. Wrecker plopped himself next to you, while Tech took his usual seat and Crosshair and Hunter sat opposite the three of you.

“So what’s all this about, Shiv?” Hunter asked evenly, opening the floor.

You sighed, uncurling enough to not hide your face. “I know I haven’t said that much about my past, or how I even started working among clone troopers. And now that we’re being called to Kamino, I figured this is probably the best time to tell you about it, since... it’s going to be important.”

You grimaced, reaching up to pull a hand through your hair. “I’ve already said that I’m a weapon, and that there aren’t many of us throughout the galaxy. I’m not the only one, but... definitely one of the few left. I... Since I can remember, my earliest memories start with me being a slave.” You didn’t even flinch, used to the memories. “I was bought, sold, traded off, moved hands throughout my earlier years, until I fell into the hands of a well-known Separatist leader who bought me to be trained as a personal bodyguard and weapon.”

Wrecker grunted, clearly displeased as he frowned thunderously.

Leaning back, you wrapped your hands around your knees pulled up to your chest. “I was... well, there wasn’t that much known about my kind or species, still isn’t. So naturally, I was... poked and prodded at for a long while until I was about... ten? That’s when my formal training began.” You rolled your eyes. “As if I hadn’t been forced to kill since I was six,” you said tiredly, shaking your head. “All that was different was that I was forced into a grueling regimen for three years.”

“You were forced to kill when you were six?” Hunter frowned, eyebrows furrowing as he stared at you intently.

You nodded. “Yes, that’s the earliest kill I can remember. I don’t even know what might have happened before that. My memory has been proven to be faulty concerning anything before seven.” Glancing around, you felt the familiar knot twist in your stomach. “Anyway, those three years were not just for combat training but also for etiquette training. I was groomed to be not just a weapon but an ornament for a rich, upper class noble that liked to flaunt his money and... eccentricity. After all, I was a rare commodity.”

“A very clinical outlook,” Tech remarked, tilting his head at you.

You glanced at him. “It was the only way I knew to view myself. I’d been taught since I could remember that I was a slave, that I lived solely to be a slave to someone else, whoever that may be. I was to be bought and sold freely at my master’s whim, passed from hand to hand. After all, I was just a weapon, right?” You shrugged, the bitterness twisting your lips. “It was all I’d known for most of my life. I was to stand still and look pretty staring at the ground unless my current master decided to use me to either protect himself or... reaffirm... his power.”

Wrecker cracked his knuckles. “Let’s go find him,” he suggested darkly, glaring.

You smiled at him slightly, patting his arm. “Thank you, but unnecessary. The War broke out, and after another three years serving as a weapon for the Separatists, my former Master was unfortunate enough to run into General Skywalker and his squadron, the 501st.” You shook your head. “Once my Master was defeated, I was freed from his control. I didn’t know what to do except offer myself to Commander Rex, since he’d basically won me in combat. One Master for another. Their confusion turned to horror once they managed to access the surviving information about me and figured out what and who I was.”

Despite yourself, you had to smile down at your knees at the memory. “Looking back... it’s almost funny,” you sighed, shaking your head. “The way they lost their minds trying to figure out what to do with me and how to interact with me. Long story short, General Skywalker decided that for the time being I should stay with the 501st and Commander Rex, since I’d latched onto him instinctively and refused to leave his side. It was my conditioning, so it was all I really knew. I’ve spent the past... four or so years with them until now. But there was a long process for me in those years.”

You winced. “This is where Kamino comes in. Not knowing what else to do with me at the time, Commander Rex and General Skywalker decided to send me to Kamino in order to figure out more about my biology and my mental conditioning. I’d been fitted with several inhibitor chips at the time, including a microchip that reinforced my obedience to whatever master held the other half of the microchip. Since my former Master had been incapacitated, the chip damaged, I’d reverted to the other inhibitors and latched onto Commander Rex. Kamino... was very excited to discover me.”

Crosshair snorted. “Of course they were,” he sneered.

You just nodded. “Of course they were,” you sighed. “I was another opportunity to look into for their scientific experiments. After removing my inhibitor chips, they put me through a long reconditioning process that re-taught me a sense of individuality and being. Since I had nowhere else to go, I decided to make myself useful and pay back my debt to the 501st by agreeing to subject myself to Kaminoan jurisdiction just like the clones. Clones became... my new identity.”

You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment. Bracing yourself, you continued.

“I chose to allow the Kaminoans to continue experimentations on me as long as I could stay under the command of Commander Rex unless he decided otherwise. Commander Rex was kind enough to take responsibility for me, and I was reconditioned to learn to work with clone troopers. The Kaminoans are interested in studying me in order to decide if it’s worth using me as a new DNA template for cloning.”

“An endless supply of versatile weapons,” Crosshair deduced cynically. He had his arms crossed, toothpick clenched between his teeth.

You nodded. “Yes. Once Commander Rex decided that I would work better with a smaller group... well, I’m here now. But that also means that as soon as he reported that my integration into the Bad Batch had been successful...”

“We’re going to be going through tests in order to test us now that you’ve been added,” Tech concluded. He nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Makes sense. After all, this could be the proof that they’re looking for that one of you in a group of four enhanced is worth an investment.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry. I did mean to tell you, I just... didn’t know when would be the best time, and...” you sighed. “Commander Rex did warn me that I’d have to tell you, especially since I’m not... I’m not very well favored among the Regs, especially on Tipoca.” You uncomfortably shifted, looking away.

Hunter sighed. “Well, that won’t really be a problem. We’re not well accepted among the Regs either.” He shook his head. “As long as you’re one of us, you’ll never be accepted.”

“I guess they’re right when they talk about being in good company,” you said with a weak smile. You already felt exhausted just trying to sum up the weirdness your life had been in general.

“Well, while it’s interesting and valuable data, it doesn’t really change much,” Tech said, looking down at his datapad. “It’s not like we weren’t an unusual unit in the first place. It’s just another added member and test.”

“Yeah! Don’t worry, Shiv, we’ll take care of ya,” Wrecker cheered, patting your shoulder. “Anyone talks bad about ya and we’ll take care of it.” He cracked his knuckles again.

You had to breathe a laugh. “Thank you, I appreciate that. But I am used to it, so please don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Wrecker’s always looking for a fight anyway,” Tech said, the eye roll clear in his tone.

Hunter stood with a nod to you. “Good to know, Shiv. We’ll just have to keep it in mind once we’re there, but I don’t think it really changes all that much when it comes to procedure. We’ve always been put through training anyway every time we go back.”

You nodded, relieved that the talk had gone well. “Thank you. I’ll... continue to do my best.”

“You’re going to need to if you’re coming in with us, this time,” Crosshair remarked, standing. He just glanced at you. “Wrecker, come with me to the cockpit.”

Wrecker patted your shoulder again, then stood and headed toward Crosshair. “What? Why? Did Hunter need us again for something?” His voice trailed off as he went off down the hallway after the sniper.

You blew out a breath, letting your forehead rest against your knees. The knot in your stomach had loosened, relief spreading through you in a sudden rush. You had, in the back of your mind, worried that the team might resent the added scrutiny your presence would bring. But it seemed as though they’d just accepted it as inevitable. Sometimes, it was still hard to accept the kindness and acceptance you’d been shown.

“Are you alright, Shiv?” Tech spoke up from his seat.

You looked up at him, feeling the shadows pool under your eyes. “Oh... I’m fine, Tech, thanks. Just...” You shrugged. “Telling that story is kinda exhausting for me. Always has been. Plus, I always feel tired whenever I try to remember anything that happened before I was seven.”

He tilted his head. “Did the Kaminoans figure out why?”

You shook your head. “They couldn’t tell if the damage to that part of my memories was a natural biological reaction to some trauma or an after effect of the myriad of inhibitor chips that had been implanted in me. Thanks to their conflicting effects at times, the Kaminoans decided that using an inhibitor chip in me was an unnecessary risk. Besides, I’d been so willing to stay that there was no point except for conditioning to reinforce my... loyalty, I guess.”

“I understand.” Tech nodded. “Do the questions bother you?”

“No.” You shifted, turning to better face him. “Besides, you guys deserve to know. I mean, I’m basically in your head most of the time anyway. I’d say we’ve passed the point of being afraid to ask personal questions.”

Tech glanced down at his datapad. “I know that our inhibitor chips are mostly disabled because of our mutations. You say that you don’t have one?” he asked curiously.

You subconsciously reached up and rubbed your head. “No, all of the older ones were removed. And the Kaminoans didn’t put one in. Too much risk without enough data. All I have right now is a high-grade birth control implant,” you said thoughtfully. “I’d been outfitted with one during my time as a slave, though I could never figure out why.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “I mean, they never intended to use me in that sense. I was strictly an ornament and a weapon; and besides, they’d conditioned me thoroughly with the implants to never seek out any sort of physicality in that sense, so why put the implant in?” you puzzled wonderingly.

“Perhaps as just an added measure of protection? A sort of security of the purity of a possession?” Tech suggested without malice.

You shrugged. “I’m not sure, though that might be a good guess,” you agreed. “The Kaminoans asked if I just wanted it removed, but I figured I’d just ask for a safer and better replacement just in case,” you said dismissively. “It was offered, why not. Besides,” you said with a dark sense of amusement, “I don’t plan to procreate, but I did have to sacrifice my virginity for a mission.” You rolled your eyes at the memory. “Kix and Fives almost lost their minds over that one.” You snorted.

Tech looked a little flushed, the tips of his ears stained with color as he shifted.

“Sorry, Tech,” you had to laugh a little. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He glanced at you. “It’s alright. But, uh, why were they upset?”

“Oh, not at me,” you said, shaking your head. “They’ve always been my brothers, so they’ve been protective of me. I guess I worried them when I told them about it because they thought I’d maybe been forced into it.” You shook your head with a sigh. “I just... I’ve never really been allowed to make any of my own choices, you know? It was one of my first big decisions I made, albeit kind of stupidly. Anyway, it’s not like anyone would want a relationship with me.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair.

“Why not?” Tech sounded surprised, staring at you. “I mean, I’d think that choosing a weapon as a partner might be beneficial. Not that you’re just a weapon,” he added.

You smiled at him. “Thanks, Tech. But I mean... I am a weapon,” you pointed out. “I’m meant to be used as one, and... I mean, even now, I’m the weapon of a team. I don’t know that anyone would want all the baggage I come with, or even be able to handle sharing me with four other people — it’s just. A lot to ask.” You fiddled with your shirt. “Besides, I don’t know who’d be interested in me anyway.”

Tech seemed to open his mouth, then closed it. Then he opened it again as though he couldn’t help himself. “Wrecker is.” He jerked a little as though cringing.

You blinked, looking up at him. Telling your brain to shut up, it’s not what it sounds like, you tilted your head. “What? I mean, I’m glad he likes me, but-“

But Tech shook his head. “We’ve all noticed it. Wrecker definitely likes you. He pays a lot of attention to you, and he’s super protective. I probably shouldn’t tell you his feelings, but I...” He fiddled almost nervously with his gadgets. “It sort of just came out before I could stop it,” he admitted.

Your mind fairly spun. “I- I don’t-“ your entire brain short-circuited. Wrecker liked you? No, no, that had to be wrong. “What?” you choked out, feeling your hands start to tremble a little.

Tech grimaced. “Sorry, Shiv, I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t worry about it-“ ”How could I not worry about it, Tech?” you exclaimed, your chest tightening. “I’m always in you guys’ heads, and- it’s not fair for me to know that when he’s been so kind to me and protected me so much that I-“ you choked on your own words, tears welling in your eyes. You rocked back and forth with a little whimper, reaching up to dig at your eyes. “It’s not fair.”

Tech looked like he didn’t know what to do, face pinched. “Shiv- I’m sorry, I... I don’t know what to do. I-“ He looked toward the door. “I should go get-“ “No, please-“ you blurted, trying to gasp for breath. “It’s not- not your fault, I just-“ You shivered, swiping tears away. “I’m sorry, I’m not being fair to you either.” You drew in a rasping breath. “I- I really- I just...”

“What can I do to help you?” Tech asked, his hands nervously moving as though trying to figure out what to do.

“I... it’s not fair,” you whimpered, not looking up at him. “I... I’ve grown so close to all of you, and... and I’m being stupid.” A hiccup wrenched out of you. “I- I realized last night, at the 79s... I realized that I- that you all have been so kind to me and it- it’s made me so selfish, Tech,” you half-sobbed. “I just want to do everything I can to be- to be a good teammate, a good friend, a- a useful weapon to you all, but I- it’s just that- I’ve been stupid and allowed- allowed myself to- to wish for more than I should.”

Tech sucked in a breath, straightening. “Shiv-“ ”I’m sorry!” You flinched, sure that he would be upset that you’d allowed yourself to blurt out the feelings you’d promised yourself would stay hidden. Sure that he’d remind you that you’re just a teammate. Sure that he’d tell you that Wrecker shouldn’t have formed... something.

“No, Shiv-“ Tech reached up and ran his hand through his hair. He abruptly stood, then placed a hand on your knee. “Wait right here for a minute. I’ll be back.”

You didn’t have the strength or presence of mind to stop him, the anxiety starting to seize you with a force that left you gasping. Hands shaking, you clutched at your chest with tears dripping down your face and tried to just breathe. This had to be it. They would find out, they would be upset about it, they’d decide that they didn’t want you as part of the team because what mad person is shown basic kindness and latches onto it to the extent of forming feelings for not just one but four people-

“Shiv!? Maker, Tech, what happened?” Hunter’s voice curled through the air, washing over you. A warm hand landed on your knee, making you flinch with a gasp.

“Shiv!” Wrecker’s voice made you feel even worse. Two giant hands landed on your waist, and you gasped as he lifted you up and sat down, setting you in his lap. “Shiv, what’s wrong?”

Despite yourself, you had to curl into him for the warmth he radiated through his blacks, desperate for some kind of grounding strength. Anything to help you calm down.

“I... I may have made a mistake,” Tech admitted, his voice laced with distress. He relayed the conversation as you let out a sob, shoulders shaking.

The way Wrecker stiffened made you abruptly try to push away, almost launching yourself off of him. Only his firm grasp on your hips stopped you.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- please-“ it wrenched out of you, leaving you raw and shaking. “Please, I-“

“Why are you apologizing?” Wrecker’s voice asked, sounding confused. “Shiv, don’t apologize.”

You looked up at him through watering eyes. “But I-“

He tilted his head at you, still keeping a tight hold on your hips. “Tech is right. I do like you.”

But it only made you feel worse. “Wrecker, I don’t- I- I’m always in your head through the Bonds,” you pleaded, trying to explain. “I- your kindness toward me- I- I don’t want to take advantage of that. It’s not fair for me to- to ask you to return my feelings just because- because I’m with you all the time or anything, I- I shouldn’t have even said anything, I told myself I wouldn’t-“

“Why not?” Wrecker demanded, a frown curling his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut, burying your face in your hands. “Because I’m in love with all of you!”

A silence fell in the room, only broken by your hiccuping sobs. Everything was wrong. You’d never meant to say it, never meant to do this.

“Say it again.” Hunter’s voice was low, demanding in a way that made you instinctually obey.

“I’m- I have feelings for all of you,” you whimpered, curling in on yourself in absolute misery. The truth of it resonated through you, a blessed sting of lovely pain.

“I guess that’s good for us, then,” Crosshair drawled, a smirk tilting his lips up.

Wrecker let out an excited whoop. “Did you hear that, Hunter? She said she likes all of us!”

Nothing was making sense. You looked up, trying to understand. Why weren’t they upset?

Wrecker grinned down at you, squeezing your hips in a way that made your stomach flip. “We all like you, Shiv.”

You gaped up at him, mind spinning. What?

Hunter reached out, using a finger to tilt your head to him. “Shiv, all of us have feelings for you, too. We had to discuss it because... normally partners aren’t comfortable with being shared. We Clones are used to sharing things, especially with each other. We didn’t think you’d want to be with all of us, so we decided to step back and let Wrecker have a chance, since you seemed to accept his attention. Not to mention, we’re not normal in any sense.”

You swallowed thickly, breath hitching as Wrecker’s hand came up to brush tears away from your cheeks. Your lashes felt heavy with them, and you sniffled, fingers unconsciously curling in his sleeves.

“You’re- you’re not angry with me?” you asked tremulously, peering through your eyelashes up at Wrecker.

“Course not, Shiv.” Wrecker’s ever-present grin had softened at the corners, his one good eye focused on you unwaveringly. “We’re super glad that you like all of us.”

Lips parting, you turned to look at the others, hope starting to bloom in your chest. You could feel heat starting to creep up into your cheeks as you realized. You’d confessed. They’d actually accepted and... returned it?

The corner of Hunter’s lips tilted up, dark eyes focusing on you. “You’ve taken care of us ever since you joined, Shiv. You’ve tried your best to acclimate to us, worked with us without complaining about anything, took responsibilities you didn’t have to, made food for us, even on the very first mission took damage for Tech and I. Why wouldn’t we appreciate that at the very least? We want to take care of you, too.”

This time, the tears that welled up weren’t because you were upset. Reaching up, you brushed them away shakily. “You... you like me?” you repeated, almost dazed. Surely you’d been hearing wrong. All of them? Liked you? Liked you?

Hunter chuckled. “Yes, Shiv. We do.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to grasp it. “I...” Your mouth seemed to insist on betraying you. “No one has ever liked me before.” You flushed. “Sorry, I-“

“Better for us, then!” Wrecker cheered. He practically crushed you to his chest, laughing. “So does this mean we get to call you ours now? Oh, does that mean I can kiss you, Shiv?”

“Wrecker,” Tech spoke up, sounding a bit alarmed.

But you stared up at Wrecker with a blink. “You... you want to kiss me?” you asked, surprised. The one fling you’d told Tech about had been just that— a stupid, hasty fling with no feeling to it, done to keep cover on a mission.

“Yeah.” Wrecker sobered. “But only if you want it, too, Shiv.” His honest brown eyes gazed down into yours.

You swallowed, fingers clenching against his chest. “If... If all of you... if you like me, then... then what does that mean for us?” you asked quietly.

“It means we all want to be part of a relationship with you, Shiv,” Hunter said firmly. “But only if that’s also what you want.”

You looked up at him. “I am your teammate and your weapon,” you said honestly, feeling a little lost. “I... I don’t want to be hurt more than I already have. If you- if you’re serious, then— then I’ll give you whatever I have,” you said, looking down at your hands. You closed your eyes, swallowing. “I’ll give all of you my all, equally, wholly. I’ll be a teammate, a partner, a weapon for all of you, as much as I can. But you have to know,” your voice cracked, “that if I do... you’ll have the power to completely break me. And I- I’m willing to take that risk. But you have the right to know that, before you— before you decide that you want—“

“We want you.” Hunter spoke lowly, confident.

“We love you, Shiv,” Wrecker pitched in.

“We don’t want to break you or leave you,” Tech said, shaking his head.

Crosshair met your eyes and nodded slightly, gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

You decided to continue to trust them. “Then... I’m yours,” you said shyly, suddenly very aware of how closely Wrecker had pulled you.

Wrecker grinned widely. “Can I kiss you, Shiv?”

You flushed but nodded, giving him a shy smile. Your eyes fluttered closed as he bent forward.

Wrecker’s kiss was... so distinctly him. His mouth burned, breath hot against your own lips. He tasted like the buttercream of the icing you’d made for the cupcakes, and his hands clenched eagerly around your hips. Still, it was gentle in his own way, and you found yourself dizzy from the heat when he finally let go.

“You okay, Shiv?” Wrecker asked, hand sliding up to your lower back to support you.

You took in a breath, leaning against his chest. “Y-yeah- s-sorry,” you stuttered, “it’s just— your breath is so warm.” You swallowed, closing your eyes.

“Is it?” Wrecker quizzically looked down at himself, breathing on his hand. “Huh.”

“Can-“ you sucked in a steadying breath. “I-“ The Bonds, usually passive in the back of your awareness, were lighting up with emotion. Wrecker’s pure elation was coursing through you, making you lean your forehead against his chest for a moment. You let out a soft whine. “Wrecker, you- you’re broadcasting so much-“

“Huh?” Wrecker paused, then let out an “Oh!” The elation quelled a little after a moment. “Sorry Shiv. Is that better?” he asked sheepishly.

You looked up at him, still feeling a little punch-drunk from the overflow. “You- you’re happy?” you asked, tilting your head at him. He grinned, a wave of adoration crashing over you. You shivered, collapsing against him and burying your face into his shoulder with a soft cry.

Hunter let out a quiet, husky chuckle. “I think you’re overwhelming her, Wrecker.”

“Sorry Hunter,” Wrecker said sheepishly. “Can’t help it.”

You felt yourself being moved, and the flow of emotion slightly slaked off, enough for you to try to look up. You found yourself gazing up at Hunter, who had pulled you into his lap instead. He reached up, brushing his thumb under your eye.

“A little better?”

You stared up into his eyes, noting hazily how much darker brown they were compared to Wrecker’s. While Wrecker’s Bond had stopped being so overwhelmingly loud, it was still present. Instead, you started feeling a new trickle of emotion from Hunter’s Bond. A muted sense of pride, of fondness that ran deep in its strength.

Your hands braced you against his arms, wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. “I-“ your eyes fluttered as you lost yourself to the emotion, lips parting with quick breaths. It was so clearly directed at you, meant wholly for you to feel. It washed over you with a warmth in its strength that you had no defense against.

Hunter bent, his mouth briefly pressing against your shoulder. “Can I kiss you, Shiv?” he asked lowly.

You just nodded, barely registering the question, completely pliant. Wrecker’s kiss still burned against your lips, only the feeling of Hunter’s arms holding you grounding you still.

Hunter’s kiss, you thought fuzzily, was as sure as he was. The care was there, certainly, but the way his mouth slanted against yours and the way his tongue brushed against your lower lip held a confidence that Wrecker’s hadn’t. His kiss gave as much as it took, a soothing coolness trickling between your lips in exchange for stealing your breath.

Your fingers tangled in his sleeves, and once he let go, you had to helplessly collapse against his chest and gasp for breath. Your mind whirled, simultaneously drowning in the projected emotions as well as your own. This was really happening. They really— they really cared for you. Accepted and returned your feelings.

The Bonds didn’t lie; and they refused to allow you to doubt the reality of it all as they continued to pour affirmation into your starved soul.

“Please-“ your voice was a weak cry, tears hovering on your lashes. “I— it’s so much-“

“Do you believe us, Shiv?” Hunter murmured into your ear. “Can you see how much we care about you?”

You looked up at him through blurred vision and sticky eyelashes. “Hunter,” you whimpered, desperately trying to focus. He bent and simply pressed a brief kiss to your parted lips.

“I think Cross wants some attention.” He smirked at you briefly, then turned you around.

Crosshair’s fingers grasped your chin, tilting your head up to him. A single emotion crossed your Bond with the sniper before he bent.

Crosshair’s kiss was possessive. Far from cold, the brief flash of fierce want underscored the fiery way his lips caught yours. He demanded entrance, quickly staking a claim on your mouth as soon as your lips obediently parted without question. It was the least distant he’d ever been toward you, and he pulled away to leave you almost cold.

The corner of his lips curled up in a smirk as he observed you with dark eyes, the pad of his thumb briefly brushing across your lower lip. “I think I’ll find a way to bruise you a little more, Shiv.” The promise made you realize that your lips had swollen, bruised by his kiss. He let go, turning to walk back to his seat.

You reached up to rub at your eye, still dazed and flushed. Everything felt so... surreal, yet not. Taking a moment to try to gather yourself, you swallowed and turned. Hunter helped you up, and you teetered your way to Tech’s chair.

Tech caught you, easing you into his lap. “Are you alright, Shiv?” he asked.

You nodded. “I’m okay,” you murmured, almost dreamily. You reached down, touching his hand that rested on your waist gingerly. “Do you— do you want something? I always feel like-“ your eyelashes fluttered as you started to feel his emotions bleed over your Bond. “Like you keep wanting to ask me something.”

He swallowed. “I—“ He glanced nervously at you, then down to his hands.

You tilted your head. “You can tell me, Tech. Tell me through the Bond,” you murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek.

He shuddered, eyes closing. A hesitant thought slunk over the Bond. Can I... can you please... A non-verbal image bloomed.

You smiled a little, then reached up and pulled Tech’s head down to your chest as you leaned back a little. You brushed your fingers through his hair, gently letting your nails drag across his scalp.

He shivered with a quiet groan, his hands unconsciously clenching around your waist.

Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Is this what you want?”

His head moved jerkily in a nod. “Please,” he groaned.

You let your hands move down his neck, dragging your nails across his shoulders, sweeping back up to bury in his hair. “Thank you, Tech,” you whispered softly, gratefully.

He looked up at you. “What? Why?” He sounded genuinely confused.

Your hands rested against his shoulders. “For always being honest with me. And being kind.” You offered him a shy smile.

He stared at you for a minute, seeming to drink in your face. “Do you- are you happy? I mean, with me?” His eyebrows furrowed uncertainly. “I did sort of... blurt-“

“Tech.” You closed your eyes, then, and reached out to all of the Bonds. “This is how I feel. About all of you.” You let your own feelings pour into all of them, returning the flow of emotion.

You bared yourself, showing them. How deeply you trusted them. How much you respected them, looked up to them. The things that you admired about them: their strength, their acceptance of you, their uniqueness. How much you wanted their attention, how much you loved their kindness. How deeply they’d managed to crawl into your very soul, how much you belonged to them already.

Tech shuddered, almost collapsing into you, head leaning against your shoulder. Wrecker sighed from somewhere behind you. You could hear Crosshair let out a quiet huff of breath, and Hunter grunted.

Your fingers gently cupped Tech’s head against your shoulder, assuring yourself that he was okay. It took you by surprise when his head abruptly tilted up, his lips finding yours. You let out a little noise of surprise, hands still cupping his cheeks. The desperation that colored Tech’s kiss had your heart fluttering as you hummed softly with contentment.

“Shiv,” Tech mumbled against your lips, his nose brushing yours.

“I’m here,” you murmured back.

His eyes closed, and he tilted his head to kiss you again. His kiss was hungry, needy, full of a soft sort of desperation that made you want more. His mouth begged you for attention, opening against yours in a way that pleaded for you. He almost whined into the kiss, and you had to brush your fingers against his cheeks as you answered.

“You’ll stay with us, Shiv?” Tech asked thinly, as though making sure before he surrendered.

You nodded. “As long as you want me... I’ll stay,” you promised.

“Forever, then,” Wrecker piped up, clearly pleased.

You fell asleep against Tech, lulled by the lingering emotions.

Forever.

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[mytwinklelights]

A Reunion - Part 1 | Peter Parker x Stark! GN Reader

A/N: Remember over a month ago when I wrote this preview and didn’t post again? Oops sorry, I had to take a little break from tumblr because I was reading way too much fanfic. But now I’m back, just to post, still no reading for a while! Umm but yeah, here’s the first part! I can’t guarantee when part 2 will be posted but it’ll definitely be within the next 2 weeks! I hope you like it, please let message me with any feedback because I need validation to stay motivated lol

Summary: Y/N is an Avenger, the youngest Avenger. Then, Peter Parker comes along and they’re happy to finally have someone their age to hang out with, even if it was the boy they spent their senior year of high school crushing over.

Content Warnings: I don’t think there are any - let me know if I missed any though!

Genres: Friends to lovers, Stark! Reader, Frequent cameos from Avengers and them being cute, Slow burn, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 2019

                                                             ----

“Alright gang.” Tony begins, standing in front of all the Avengers at the end of a large oval table in the conference room.

“I’m sure you’ve seen these ‘viral videos’ of this Spider-Boy kid swinging around the city and being a friendly neighbourhood vigilante. Well, Happy and I have managed to track him down and he’s agreed to join the team”

“Viral videos of superheroes?” Steve exclaims, looking at Tony whilst tilting his head and looking genuinely exhausted. “I’m still catching up on these keyboard cats and kids biting fingers”.

I giggle. Having Steve around was just the same as having an uncle you saw once the year who lived of the grid. He was extremely sweet, but utterly clueless to anything other than his job. But I mean, that job does include fighting evil aliens.

“Anyway…” Tony continues as the other Avengers chuckles die down after Steve’s outcry “he arrived not too long ago. Happy is next door giving him all the T&Qs and they should be done now. Let me just check and I’ll introduce you all.” Tony then leaves the room, and the other Avengers start to talk among themselves.

I pull out my phone and type ‘NYC spider boy’ into YouTube clicking on the second search result with 20 million views. I have seen this video before as my friend Michael sent it to me around a week ago.

“Do you think there are many other super kids wandering around the city?” Sam asks, whilst looking at the video of my shoulder. Currently the hero is stopping a city bus from off-roading into some confused tourists by building up a wall with his web.

“I doubt it, I mean I guess he’s the only one going viral” I answer, moving the angle of my phone so the others who have gathered around me can see “but it would be cool to be able to meet some people my age who do what I do, no offence guys”

They all laugh. Being the youngest Avenger and hanging out with 30+ year olds all the time can be kind of isolating, but it’s like having a super close family. A family who also happen to be in life and death situations regularly together. But that’s a great bonding experience I would say.

“Guys, this is Peter, the Spider-Boy” Tony draws our attention away from my phone to the door where he has just entered.

“Spider-Man” Peter mutters as a lame attempt to correct him.

“Peter?” I question and the boy stood in front of me was not who I expected. I didn’t expect the masked vigilante swinging through New York to be someone that I knew.

“Y/N?” He responds, looking even more confused than I am “What are you doing here?”

-

“So Tony Stark is your dad?” Peter asks.

After seeing a guy from your school who you shared a chemistry class with last year, walking into a super-secret meeting for superheroes where he will be now joining your team. It is understandable that Peter and I were now talking this out to figure out how this state could be so small.

“Yep” I answer. We were sat next to each other on bar stools at the kitchen island. Wanda made some of her famous fruit smoothies for us and we were both stirring them around with our straws whilst conversing alone in the main living space.

“But your last name isn’t Stark, or Potts?” He continues, genuinely really confused about this whole situation.

“Yeah, well you can’t have the daughter of a billionaire and superhero couple walking around New York City alone, going to a normal school, having normal hobbies. It’s like asking for me to be taken hostage. So, I don’t have either of their last names and the general public doesn’t know I exist. It’s for my safety” I continue, reciting this memorised answer I’ve had to say to multiple people once they find out my existence.

Peter nodded as if he was understanding everything, he probably was, but I guess this wasn’t the conversation he planned to have today.

“And you’re the great Spider-Man” I continued, wanting the change the subject from me to him. “How did that happen? Wait… were you Spider-Man when you sat behind me in Chem last year?”

He began to explain to me the story, it happened to him on our school trip to OSCORP we took last year for our Chem class that happened just before the end of the semester. Something about a radioactive spider. It was strange, kind of the weirdest superhero transformation story I’ve heard. And I’ve heard quite a few.

My story was nowhere near as interesting. I guess having superhero parents who were always around weird alien technology and contaminated substances led to some weird epigenetic alterations of their reproductive cells and then when they had me, I could turn invisible.

They didn’t know at first, I was seemingly a normal baby. Then at my 2nd birthday party when they surprised me with a freaky clown, I was so scared that my body just decided to turn invisible. They weren’t expecting it, the clown definitely wasn’t expecting it and they had to cover up with a very convincing lie.

From then, whenever I was embarrassed, scared or essentially in a situation where I wanted to disappear. I did. Literally. It wasn’t entirely effective though as even though my body tuned invisible, the clothes I was wearing didn’t. I spent the majority of my preteen years of being a walking hoodie and jeans with no head or hands protruding from the gaps. For my 13th birthday Bruce and I got to work on a suit which responds to the activity of my skin cells, when I was invisible, my suit was invisible. It made it a lot more effective for me to actually be invisible when I turned but it also meant my dad let me start training to become an Avenger.

Training was fun, I worked with Nat a lot in our gym in order to become an efficient fighter. ‘Just because people couldn’t see me, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know how to serve a mean right hook’ she always said. I also spent a lot of time with Wanda, trying to manage my powers. Now I am able to actually turn invisible and visible again on demand. And it only takes extreme embarrassment now to turn me invisible against my will, which is great because mum and dad finally let me, after my years of begging, attend Midtown High and stop being home school. This is where I met Peter last year and now I’m at Columbia studying genetics and engineering. A double major, I know but when you’re around the top geniuses in the world everyday, there is no such thing as too much learning.

“So, I guess we’re the only Midtown Alumni to have these crazy powers huh?” Peter finishes. After a long ramble about his becoming a superhero story. I guess he wanted to ease the tension after I couldn’t really think of what to say after “that’s super cool”. It wasn’t like I wasn’t interested, I really was, but when I wanted to have another person my age to hang out with, I didn’t expect it to be the boy I spent my senior year of high school obsessing over. I had turned shy, like really shy, like my normal levels of shy times 50. I couldn’t think of what to say.

“Sorry, if that story was too long and boring, I’ve only gotten to tell it to one person before, my best friend Ned so I was kind of excited to be able to tell it again.”

“No, it wasn’t boring, it was genuinely really cool!” I say a little too loudly and enthusiastically. I cringe at my tone of voice and speak normally again as I continue “It’s just I didn’t really expect the new Avengers recruit to be you, you know, like someone I know. It’s just kind of weird, but nice? I don’t know, now I’m rambling”

Peter chuckles.

“Umm, so are you going to be staying with us whilst you train or are you going back to Queens?” I ask, hoping this new question will miraculously erase Peter’s memory of what I last said.

“A bit of both, my Aunt is back in queens and I don’t want to leave her completely alone, but this upstate facility is a little too far for an everyday commute. I’m here just for today but once I start training on Monday, I think I might stay for the whole week.”

“Well, I can give you the tour! Since you’ll be staying with us soon, I guess you’ll want to know where everything is!” I say whilst jumping of my bar stool and putting my half full smoothie cup in the fridge. I noticed peter has just finished his, so I grab the glass and put it in the dishwasher for him. He thanks me as I do so.

“So this is the kitchen, where we make our food, different from the kitchen where the chefs make our food for occasions, charity events blah blah blah. And also, this seating area here is kind of the main seating area where we’ll sit throughout the day. Lots of sofas because there are lots of us and this is Bucky’s armchair. Don’t ever sit in Bucky’s armchair.” I say, stopping behind the chair and resting my hand on the headrest.

“Bucky, scary guy with the metal arm right?” Peter questions whilst following me at a slight distance around the room as I show him around. I nod. “Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t be sitting in his chair” he laughs.

I continue to show him the rest of the complex, the gym, the labs and finish up on the floor with all our rooms.

“I’m not sure which one of these rooms will be yours because we have a couple spare ones, but they all have the same layout. Look I’ll show you mine” I walk into my room, then hold the door open for Peter so he can follow me in.

“Uh, so this is my room. Obviously, yours won’t be decorated like mine but It’ll be the same size and have an en-suite attached with a full shower and tub and stuff. You know, the basics” I say, whilst sitting on the edge of my bed.

“I like your room, it’s cosy” he adds whilst looking around and then heading for the bookshelf as soon as he spots it.

“Ah thanks, I mean it’s cool, bigger than when we were in the tower in the city so I can’t complain” I say whilst also looking around. What is it about someone else being in your room that makes you see it with fresh eyes and make you super self-conscious that there is going to be a rogue piece of underwear on the floor? Even though I know I tidied my room this morning.

“Holy crap, Vision you scared the life out of me” I say on an exhale whilst holding my hand to my chest after the large gasp I just made as he enters the room, through the wall.

“Sorry, but your door is open” He continues, “Mr. Stark has told me that your car is here to take you back home Mr. Parker. If you would just follow me, I can lead you there” Vision continues, as if him just floating through my bedroom wall and speaking to the boy from my chemistry class now turned superhero was a normal thing to happen on a Thursday evening.

“Oh… thanks Vision” Peter says with some hesitancy, you can see that this is a weird circumstance for him too. “Well, I’ll see you on Monday then” he says smiling at me and walking towards the door. Which vision doesn’t use to exit.

“Yeah, see you then” I smile as he closes the door and I’m left in my room listening to him shuffling down the corridor.

Part 2

[mrsseverussnape]

Love Is You - chapter 4

 a/n: Finally i am posting this in a normal hour😂 Re-editing the chapters are taking way more time than i expected but i think it’s worth it. If you have any questions about the characters or the storyline, don’t hesitate to ask me!

Ps: are we wondering when we will get lighter and happy themed moodboards😂

    Couple of days have passed since the divorce suit. As expected, everyone in the Ministry has found out what happened between Scarlett, Sirius and Arabelle. Because Arabelle couldn't stop talking about it like it was her victory. But her victory didn’t live long; since she was just a secretary at Auror's Department and Sirius was being the head of the department, he fired her without a second thought. Nobody could disrespect his Scarlett the way Arabelle did. Though Arabelle didn’t seem very upset by this act which made Sirius even more annoyed with her. Already Sirius has become very furious at work after the divorce and he was making it hell for everybody around him. It was very unlikely of him though; he was the funniest around, but now he was just shouting and cursing at everyone.

    Scarlett was in the other hand. She was diagnosed with depression at St. Mungo’s, she was not doing very well but she was harming herself rather than the people around her. Leo had to turn back to New York for work after his one week leave even he didn’t want to leave his mother, so Carina took Scarlett with her to Hogwarts. Because when she was alone, she was not taking her pills but having alcohol almost every day which actually she shouldn’t have. Because of that someone had to keep a close watch on her for her own safety and health. Staying Hogwarts seemed like a good idea to the twins because when Carina was too busy, Remus was taking care of Scarlett since he was working at Hogwarts too. This whole cheating and divorce situation was really hard for Remus as well because he was close friends with both Scarlett and Sirius for years and he has never seen them like that before.

"Mum after the dinner i and Professor Snape will work, we need to make some potions and rearrange the shelves. Come and help us huh?"

"He won't want me there, i will stay here."

"I asked him earlier, he accepted. And mum you can't stay in the room forever, it is not helping you."

"Apparently we changed the roles, you are the mum now Carina."

"I am trying to help mum..."

Scarlett nodded unwillingly; she didn’t want to upset Carina. "Okay fine i will come but if I feel uncomfortable, I will leave."

Carina smiled happily. "Deal! But first we should eat dinner, you passed the lunch but you have to eat now."

    Half an hour later they were heading to the potion’s classroom in the dungeons. Scarlett was quite nervous but trying to keep it cool. Carina opened the door for her and invited Scarlett in then followed her.

"Hello professor." Carina smiled to the black-haired man who was already making a potion.

"Hi." He said looking up at them while stirring the potion.

Severus was nervous as well. He hasn't seen Scarlett for almost 30 years except that one time, like a week ago, when she has come to see Carina. They have made a good job about avoiding each other for so long.

"You two didn't meet properly yet. That's my mum Scarlett and th-"

Scarlett cut her off before she could finish her sentence. "We know each other Carina."

Carina was confused, she has always talked about Professor Snape and her mum hasn’t said a word. "From where? You haven't told me that."

"We were… We were classmates." She mumbled, all the memories were coming back slowly and she wasn’t ready for them.

Severus Snape nodded without giving any further information and put a chair next to his desk for Scarlett to sit since she was trying to lean onto the desk tiredly.

"Thanks." Scarlett sat down and started to watch the two potioneers.

"Okay then, that's cool. Was mum good at potions class, Professor?" Carina asked while preparing ingredients for the potion that she was about to make.

"She was good, she was a very good student overall. She was one of the bests of our time."

"Potions wasn't my brightest class but i had Severus as my partner." Scarlett smiled ever so slightly for the first time in weeks, she has remembered the class where she has turned his hair rainbow colours in an accident.

Carina was very happy to see that tiniest smile on her face. "We learnt that you are good at potions mum, you can stir the potion while i am cutting those herbs."

Scarlett stood up to stir it but her hands were shaky and she got quite dizzy after she stood up which Carina noticed.

"Mum did you take your pills? You were supposed to take them after the dinner, I have handed them to you…"

"No... I will go and take them before you scold me." She walked out of the classroom before Carina could say anything.

Carina sighed at her mother’s behaviour.

"Is she alright…?" Snape asked trying to hide the worried tone of his voice.

"Not really. Actually, in the worst condition i have ever seen her... But i think seeing an old friend was good to her, she talked a little bit even i saw a glimpse of a smile. Maybe you can spend some time together?"

Snape paused for a moment, he wasn’t expecting a question like this at all.

"It was just an idea; you don't have to do it..."

"I... I would like to help." Snape mumbled unsurely; he would like to spend some time with Scarlett but he was also very nervous about it.

"Thank you so much professor, I really appreciate it." Carina was smiling happily when Scarlett came back silently and sat on the chair once again.

"Took the pills?"

Scarlett nodded as yes and started to look around. The classroom hasn’t changed much, only there were many more shelves now. Then a candle tin caught her eyes on Snape's desk. She took the red tin that has a rose drawing on it. Snape has noticed what she was doing and kept watching her carefully. Scarlett took the lid off and saw the fully burnt candle. That moment they caught each other’s eyes for the first time in years and had the same flashback.

~

"Sev, i made this candle for you! There are rose petals in it and i added couple drops of my perfume. Whenever you are away and miss me just burn the candle; it will smell just like me." 20 years old Scarlett giggled cutely.

"Thanks love. You've even drawn a rose on the lid, a scarlet rose." Severus said while hugging her tightly and inhaled her rosy scent in, how much he loved that scent.

"My first thought was putting my own photo on it but then ended up with the rose so it wouldn’t be as creepy." She laughed.

"I'd love your photo too." He kissed her lips softly. "I hope I will never have to burn this candle, ever."

~

"Why are you still keeping this?" Scarlett asked suddenly.

Carina was surprised by her mother's bold question; she was not the kind of woman who likes to involve things that are none of her business so that question was very unlikely of her. Also Carina was afraid of her professor’s reaction, he truly hated when someone touches his stuff without asking but she hoped her mum could get the friend pass.

"It has a memory that I would like to keep." Snape answered casually and walked to the potion shelves while trying to ignore her eyes.

Scarlett didn't say anything else and put the tin back on his desk. She was surprised that he still had it, why would he want to keep that yet alone burnt it even though he didn’t want her in his life. While she was thinking about these, Severus was lost in his own thoughts. Scarlett's presence had brought all the emotions that he was craving for years. And here she was sitting right there but he was scared to talk or even look at her. He kept arranging the shelves to distract himself from her while Carina made some potions to renew the old ones for a while.

"Professor i finished the potions you asked for, do you need any help there?"

Carina's voice brought him back to reality from his mind. "No, no thank you. If you are all done, you can leave. That’s all for tonight."

"Okay professor, have a good night." Carina smiled and packed her stuff.

"Good night." Severus said silently while still avoiding Scarlett’s gaze.

 Carina and Scarlett went back to their room and started to get ready for the bed.

"Mummy why did you ask him that question about the candle? It was so random."

Scarlett just shrugged her shoulders while brushing her copper coloured locks.

"It made him, i dunno, kind of sad? Probably it was a gift from a loved one. But to be honest it always caught my eye too because the look of it screams -you-."

Scarlett didn't answer to that as well and just laid down on the bed.

"Mum you are so talkative tonight..." Carina sighed while getting into the bed with her.

"I have a headache Carrie, i just want to sleep." Scarlett lied, she was not in the mood of talking about this at all.

"Okay, sweet dreams mama." Carina kissed her cheek.

"Sweet dreams baby."

Scarlett closed her eyes but the memories didn't let her to fall asleep, it would be a long night.

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[cowardtranslation]

An Evening with th Phantom

A Worse Cooper!Phantom/Christine Oneshot Written in second person so you can put yourself in Christine’s place if you want to :)

-----

You were torn between these two men in your life, even though one was a murderer, and the other was, well, Raoul. Both their love for you felt equally strong. But you knew in your heart of hearts who you belonged to.

You had well and truly fallen for him when during the ball mask, he strutted into the room with the confidence of an inebriated giraffe and held aloft his masterpiece. His miraculous disappearing act afterwards was equally impressive as the score he had written, to you at least. No one else saw his genius.

Now you waited in your dressing room, preparing for rehearsals of his Don Juang, and through your mild fear, you could feel his eyes upon you.

You heard from the wall the sound like a whisper of a cloak, then the clomping of boots, then a loud shoving sound. With your back to the mirror you could only guess what was happening. There were further shuffling noises, then the clattering like metal cans being knocked over, a muted expletive, then a thumping like someone had tripped, then a cat yowling, then, silence for a few moments.

From behind you you could hear the devastatingly loud creak of hinges. Slowly, you turned. You gasped in surprise, for there stood the phantom, in all his glory.

His cloak was uneven on his shoulders, his hands on his hips as he breathed heavily. “My Christine!” he said.

“Oh Erik!” you cry. He had come for you!

He held out his hand, and you were compelled to take it just as you had all those months ago. Closer now, you could see the determination in his eyes, the patchy, uneven stubble smattering his chin, and even the line where he was carrying his gondola pole in his trousers. You bit your lip at his thoughtfulness.

He guided you once more down the moist, dark path further to his sequestered lair two floors below the opera house. He led you around to a landing just before you would begin to descend, and you brought your hands to your mouth in further amazement. A white horse stood before you, pawing the stone with its hoof.

“Surprised?” the Phantom remarked. You were surprised.

He attempted to lift you onto the stallion's back, but though you weighed only a small amount, he trembled and struggled trying to raise you high enough, finally relenting and standing back. He gestured towards the horse, huffing. You climbed into the saddle.

The Phantom nodded approvingly, then moved to the animal's right to lead it by the reins. The horse took several steps, then you arrived at the edge where the magical steps began. As the Phantom tried to lead down the steps, the horse balked and refused to move forward. He tugged the reins again, and the horse stamped its foot. The Phantom looked at the stairway, then back at the horse. He cleared his throat, shifting nervously.

“We’re here.”

You dismounted, and the whimsical journey continued, the Phantom's hand in yours. The phantom had brought you a horse! How romantic! So much more romantic than that useless Raoul, who only talked you out of leaping from the roof.

The phantom lead you to the boat, where he pulled free the pole from the side of the gondola where it was wedged. How smart, that he had a spare pole near the boat to use!

You leaned over the edge, looking through the lantern light towards where you knew his home lay. The five whole feet of lake was quickly  traversed by his strong, capable arms and you stepped open mouthed into his cavernous home. It was just as inspiring as the first time you'd arrived.

“Ah Christine,” he sang, and his prepubescent voice instantly brought a tingling to your loins. “Shall we sing together tonight?”

You wanted nothing more than to continue your voice lessons, just as you had before he violently hanged bouquet to death.

As he stalked to his organ, bumping his foot on the side of it as he went, you walked backwards to find a seat on his exquisite palate of sleeping.

“I wish to marry you, Christine, and all that comes with it,” he said blandly, fingering his organ. Fingering the keys on his organ. You wished to do the same. How could you ever compare that atrocious Raoul to this glorious beast of a man?

“I shall marry you post-haste!” you shout gleefully. The Phantom began to sing happily, though with every voice crack you found yourself flinching.

He finished his short song, rising then to stalk towards you. “Our wedding night will be splendid,” he whispered, rubbing his stubbled cheek against yours, “I find myself almost too impatient to view your unstockinged feet.”

You wanted so desperately to feel his palm tree. It looked very pretty behind the organ but you wanted to know what it was made of.

Suddenly then, you heard a sound you didn’t expect, echoing from the far distance:

“CHRISTINE!” the distant voice screamed.

The phantom didn’t notice, staring at you blankly-but-trying-to-be-lovingly at you as he was.

“CHRISTINE!” the voice screeeched again, closer this time, and now the phantom heard it too. He whirled around, his cloak billowing majestically as he did so.

“CHRISTINE!” the voice was closer now, but still not really that close. The Phantom stood dramatically, waiting for the arrival of his foe. Another shout of your name, and the Phantom looked from the portcullis to you and back in indignant confusion.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, another hoarse shout echoed, followed by the sound of sloshing water. Yes, he was very close now. “CHRISTINE!” OH THERE YOU ARE, CHRISTINE!” Raoul screamed, clutching the portcullis.

Oh, that persistent Raoul just had to come ruin your day!

“LET HER GO! FREE HER FROM YOUR MONSTROUS HANDS!”

“She will never be free from my monstrous hands!” your loving soon to be phantom husband shouted back to him. The Phantom pulled off his cloak, throwing it at the aristocrat at the gate. It hit the bars and plopped to the floor in a heap.

“LET ME IN!” Raoul shouted, attempting to shake the portcullis. “LET ME IN!”

“Fine!” the Phantom said. “But she has already decided who she will marry.” In truth, now you were becoming torn between them again. The phantom had been so romantic to you, threatening and killing your coworkers, but Raoul had a scarf. The decision was beyond impossible.

The Phantom raised the gate, and Raoul rushed in, gripping your shoulders and looking you over. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT, CHRISTINE?” he shouted in your face.

“Yes, Raoul, I'm fine.” You spoke softly. “How did you know I was here?”

Raoul held up a piece of paper no larger than a post-it note. “HE WROTE DOWN HIS DASTARDLY PLAN, WALKED INTO MY OFFICE AND HANDED IT TO ME!” He gave you the note, and you struggled to read the chicken scratch beside a childish drawing of Raoul being crushed by the chandelier.

Raoul then turned on the Phantom, who was standing in profile at the two, leaning forward slightly to accent his plump buttocks. “Christine knows who she will choose.”

“IT WILL NOT BE YOU!” Cried Raoul, and he leapt towards the phantom, fists raised. The phantom began slapping at Raoul when he came near, and Raoul was quickly forced to do the same, both pulling their heads back and away to avoid being struck in the face. The fight swiftly ended as the two pulled back, the phantom resettling his messy forelock.

Now you believed you knew who you wished to choose. “Oh Raoul, come rescue me!”

“OH CHRISTINE!”

The phantom looked between the two of you in shock, before snarling and kicking the music box in the ground. “I am your angel of music!” he shouted in a monotone drove. You shook your head. “Well fine!” He shouted. “I didn’t even want you anyway! I was so nice to you this whole time, and then you just turn your back on me? You prostitute!”

You wanted very much to leave now. Raoul took some of the phantom's music from the stand and threw it at him, at which point the phantom quickly stopped his ranting to collect it from the ground, sniffling.

Raoul lifted you up and began to carry you out of the lair. From behind you, you heard the phantom whisper that he loved you. You looked and he was holding a musical score entitled “Christine.”

Although you had made your choice, you knew you would always remember your strange angel, with his screechy melodic voice and beard burn. He would always return to you in your dreams. <3

[ak47stylegirl]

Sick Days: Chapter 12

Sick days is back people! Poor Alan 😅😂 

This chapter was going to be longer but then I realised that it was probably getting too long, so I cut it short. But yeah, the following chapters are already sort of written but ain’t edited yet, but hopefully soon I can post those as well!😄

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 

Rest of the chapters can be found here. 

---

Scott pov

His eyes widened as Alan burst into tears, starting to cry like he hadn’t seen him cry in a long time. ���Alan!” He cried, launching forward, swooping Alan up into his arms.“What’s wrong?!” He questioned in alarm, sitting down on the bed. 

Alan didn’t answer him. Instead, the kid cried harder, wrapping his arms around his neck, sobbing hysterically. 

He grimaced, biting his bottom lip, feeling so overwhelmingly worried and scared for his baby brother. “Shhh, shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright…” He whispered, his voice shaking slightly as he started to rub Alan's back. “I’m here, shhh, I’m here…” 

Alan choked on a sob, and started to cough and sputter between each sob. Alan needed to calm down, or the poor kid was going to make himself sick, he thought worriedly, his blue eyes filled with concern. 

He gently made Alan look at him, his hand caressing Alan's cheek, “Baby, what’s the matter?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumb soothingly up and down Alan’s cheek, his hand getting soaked from tears. “Why are you so upset?”

Alan’s bottom lip trembled, his face all scrunched up and flushed pink, “I..I couldn’t s-” Alan sobbed, more tears falling down his face. “-S-Sleep! I...I've been up-up all night, everything is hurting!” Alan wailed loudly, burying his face back into the base of his neck. 

He felt himself gasp slightly, horror colouring his face as he looked down at his crying baby brother. “Oh baby…” He cradled the back of Alan’s head, hugging his baby brother close as he started to rock him gently. “Your medicine must have worn off…”  

He pressed his eyes shut, feeling like the worst guardian possible. “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry…” He whispered, his voice filled with sorrow and guilt. 

He had just assumed that Alan would sleep through the night, partly because the last time he had checked on Alan, the kid had been sleeping soundly (or as soundly as you can get with a bad cold), but he should have known better.

He should have known better! He thought with a grimace, looking down at his sobbing baby brother. “Shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright...shhh..” He whispered softly, rubbing his hand up and down Alan’s back “I’m here baby, Shhh, it’s alright, I’m here...” 

He had been doing this parenting thing for years, and he was still messing it up, he thought with a sigh, feeling incredibly mad at himself. Alan was the child he had raised single-handedly (well almost single-handedly, he wasn’t deny his brothers did pitch in at times, which he was ever grateful for) since toddlerhood, and in turn, Alan had become the closest thing he had to a child of his own. 

And it hurt, oh it hurt, to see his baby like this, he thought as he lightly kissed Alan’s feverishly hot temple, his eyes stinging ever so slightly. It was true parental torture…

“Scott?”

He looked up, finding Virgil standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with concern as he regarded them. “What’s going on here? Is Allie okay?” Virgil asked, stepping into the bedroom. 

He shook his head. No, Allie wasn’t okay.

“He had a really bad night, Virg...” He explained sadly as he gently stroked Alan's hair, his baby brother’s cries starting to soften. “Poor thing didn’t even get a wink of sleep…” 

Virgil’s eyes filled with sorrow at the news, “The poor kid…” Virgil sighed softly, making his way over to them and sitting down on the bed next to him. “I’m guessing his medicine wore off sometime last night?” 

He nodded, closing his eyes briefly as the guilt and self-loathing washed over him again. Why hasn’t he checked on Alan? He has been doing this for long enough that he should know better-

“Scott…” Virgil was looking at him with that familiar look, knowing exactly what he was thinking and wasn’t liking it one bit. The look clearly said, ‘Do I have to have this conversation with you? Again?’

He shook his head, gesturing down at Alan, silently saying ‘Not now, Later...’  

Virgil’s eyes narrowed at him before softening as they looked at Alan, who had lifted his head slightly and was watching them with teary, feverish eyes. “Hey, Allie…” 

Alan only groaned and coughed weakly in response, tears cascading down his cheeks. The kid was truly unwell, he thought with a pained frown, starting to gently rock Alan in his arms again. 

“He looks worse than he did yesterday...” Virgil spoke softly to him, his voice coloured with horror as he laid the back of his hand against Alan’s cheek. “And his fever has definitely gone up…” 

“I know…” He whimpered sadly, his hand resting against the back of Alan’s head as he rocked him. “Speaking of that, would you be able to measure out his medicine for me?” 

Alan snuffled a sneeze into his shoulder, starting to cry harder, “It’s on the bedside table…” He finished with a grimace, pulling his sick brother closer, whispering sweet comforts into Alan's ear. “shhh, I’m here baby, shhh...”

“Sure, no problem...” Virgil stood up, brown eyes soft with worry for their littlest brother. “It’s normally 4.5 ml, isn’t it?” Virgil double-checked as he picked up the medicine bottle, looking over at him.

“Yeah, that's what I worked out...” He nodded, continuing to rock Alan in his arms. 

Alan was way too tiny to have the recommended dose that a seven-year-old would typically have, so they had to figure out the dosage using his weight instead. 

It was a lot tricker, but they had a doctor for a Grandma growing up, so they knew the basics…At least he, John and Virgil did, Gordon and Alan not so much, they were too young when she died.

He watched as Virgil meticulously measured the medicine out into the small cup, holding it up to the light to make sure he measured right. None of them wanted to accidentally give Alan too much…

Virgil handed him the small cup, filled with the pink syrup-like liquid. 

“Thanks..” He nodded as he took the cup, turning his attention to Alan, rubbing soothing circles into Alan’s back. “Sweetie, It’s time for your medicine, baby…” He gently shifted Alan, supporting his baby brother with his arm. 

Alan blinked up at him with a sniffle, his blue eyes bloodshot and teary. 

The lines around his eyes increased as he took a proper look at his baby brother, bringing the medicine cup up to Alan’s cracked lips. Alan’s nose was looking even more inflamed than it had yesterday, glistening with moisture; his lips starting to follow, becoming sore and dry. 

And to top it all off, Alan had deep shadows under his eyes, a true testament to what a horrible night he had endured. 

Virgil was right; Alan did look so much sicker now, he thought sadly as he gently tilted the cup up as Alan weakly drank his medicine, barely reacting to the foul taste. 

He shared a concerned look with Virgil. It wasn’t like Alan not to complain that his medicine tasted terrible, he thought as he lowered the cup and handed it back to Virgil, wrapping his other arm around his still upset baby brother. 

“You did good, sweetie…” He whispered, gently stroking Alan’s fringe to the side, letting his fingers linger for a moment. “I know your medicine doesn’t taste good, but I’m proud of you for drinking it like a champ..” He gave Alan’s forehead a little kiss, smiling softly down at his baby brother. 

Alan looked up at him with a wet sniffle, eyes glazed over with fever, his head resting lightly against his shoulder. Alan’s nose was a mess, snot dripping all the way down to Alan’s bottom lip. And it didn’t seem to want to stop, he thought with a slight grimace. 

“Hey Virgil, can you pass me a tissue?” He asked, his hand stretched out for said tissue, starting to rock Alan in his arms again, keeping his attention on Alan. “Allie’s nose is all gunky…” 

“Sure- ur… um, small problem with that, Scott,” Virgil replied, sounding unhappy and displeased, “Or well, more of an empty problem…” 

He turned his head around to see what Virgil was going on about, only to see Virgil holding an empty tissue box. “Oh...” He winced, realising the same thing Virgil had.

Alan had been out of clean tissue for who knows how long...

“I...I ran out of..of tissues a while ago…” A small spoke up weakly, drawing their attention. “I...I didn’t know where-” Alan hitched slightly, his red nose starting to flare. 

“-W-Where th-the other tissues were, and...and I was just so t-tired that I just been using the...the dirty tis-tis-” Alan sneezed, wet and messily. “-tissues, ugh...” Alan groaned weakly, shivering. “My n-nose hurts!”

“Oh, baby…” He pulled Alan close with a deep sigh, a pained expression on his face as he leaned his cheek lightly against Alan’s head. “Shhhh, I know...I know…” 

No wonder Alan’s nose was even more irritated this morning, using those dirty tissues must have been like using wet sandpaper. Not an experience he would ever wish on his brothers, let alone his baby brother. 

“I’ll get another tissue box...” Virgil sighed, making his way out of the room, calling softly behind him, “I’ll be right back!” 

He nodded as he cradled Alan in his arms, watching Virgil disappear into the hallway, out of sight. 

He looked down at his baby brother and sighed. “Allie, why didn’t you wake one of us up?” He asked, stroking Alan’s cheek with the back of his hand. “We wouldn’t have been mad, sweetie…”

Alan blinked up at him, skin horribly washed out, “I...I don’t know..” Alan sniffled, rubbing at his eyes weakly, “I...It didn’t cross my mind, I just felt so, s-sick..” Alan groaned, pressing deeper to his side. “I...I’m sorry?” 

The vice around his heart squeezed painfully at those two words. 

“Oh sweetheart, don’t be…” He ran his fingers through Alan’s hair; his voice soft and tender. “I should have checked on you, and I’m truly sorry that I didn't…” He whispered, nuzzling his nose against Alan's hair.  

Alan coughed, “It’s o-okay, S-Scotty..” 

He smiled bittersweetly, knowing it wasn’t okay but touched that his baby brother was so quick to forgive him, he didn’t deserve it…

Virgil chose that moment to return. 

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 5

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3777

Author’s Note: Eternal thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. Decided to give Wednesday posting a try and also get a chapter up a little earlier to make up for lack of posting. Be prepared to brush your teeth after this one. The fluff morphed into cotton candy when I wasn’t looking. Also, be prepared, the next chapter is short, but...intense? Yes. Let’s say intense. 

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 5

Kimber drifts gradually back to consciousness, feeling warmer and safer than she has in decades. She draws in a deep breath, stretching luxuriously, and then stilling suddenly. This bed is not her bed. This blanket is not her blanket. She has a brief moment of panic before she opens her eyes to find Dean’s face inches from hers, smooth and relaxed with sleep.

She’d only been able to let him go last night long enough for him to grab his own quick shower and change into sleep clothes. Then, in wordless agreement, they’d settled under the covers of her bed. They’d woven limbs together, pressed close without a word of discussion or thought of awkwardness. 

Just as she was falling asleep, she felt his cheek press against the top of her head, and he’d murmured a single question. She nodded her consent, and his lips met her forehead, just as soft and warm as she remembered. Then sleep asserted its claim.

Kimber lies still in Dean’s arms now, afraid to move and wake him. She’s never seen him this peaceful and relaxed, even back before life took more of a toll on him. With his guard down, she can finally see all the fine lines etched by a hard life spread over his features, adding depth and detail to his face. 

In the early morning light filtering through the threadbare curtains, she can just make out a sparse sprinkling of gray in his hair, and she smiles. Time may be catching up with Dean Winchester, but he is definitely not worse for wear. 

She shifts a little, freeing a hand, and he grumbles in his sleep, his arms tightening for a second before relaxing again. She strokes his hair back gently, combing her nails lightly across his scalp, and he shivers against her. 

She’s never seen him this vulnerable, this soft, even when they were younger. She has to strangle down the urge to trace his facial features with her fingertips. Whatever this is between them is strained by absence and misunderstanding but has somehow managed to survive the years. Touching him so intimately without his knowledge or consent…

No, she thinks. I want to ask him, I want him to hear him say yes. I want him to ask me to touch him.

Instead, she snuggles closer, closing her eyes and resting her face on his chest again, basking in the safety and warmth of his embrace for as long as she can. She is mortified when, five minutes later, her stomach lets out a growl so loud that it actually rouses Dean from his sleep. His arms tense as he stretches and frowns, eyebrows lowering with concern.

“You hungry or just really happy to see me?” he rumbles, his eyes closing again. She giggles, embarrassment abated. Then she becomes acutely aware of the rat’s nest that is her hair and what tastes like a truly horrific case of morning breath. She disentagles herself from his legs and rolls from his grasp, smiling to herself at his muttered protests. Snatching her previous day’s clothes, Kimber slips into the bathroom to perform whatever damage control she can manage under the circumstances. 

Thirty minutes later finds them at the diner across the parking lot, downing coffee with mutual, silent appreciation. Dean’s brother Sam is expected imminently, and Kimber has no classes or office hours today, so they are mostly ready to begin the investigation.

“We need to sweep your office and house for hex bags,” Dean says, between sips of his second cup of coffee. “Your house will take a while, so why don’t we start with your office to get it out of the way?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kimber agrees, frowning. “I’ll know if anything is missing, out of place, or new. Maybe you and Sam could check out the spots of the other accidents?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, then his eyes focus on something over her shoulder, and he nods a greeting. She turns to see a ridiculously tall man in a suit headed in their direction. It takes her longer than she’s proud to admit to reconcile this giant stranger with the slumped, defeated boy she last saw in the backseat of the Winchester’s car.

“Sam?”

His smile is warm, if a little hesitant, and she stands. They fumble between a hug and a handshake, finally settling on the former before seating themselves. A waitress drops off another mug for Sam, along with coffee refills all around, and they waste no time filling Sam in on the little they know and what they have planned.

“Actually, Sam,” Dean adds, glancing askance at the egg white omelette the waitress places in front of his brother, “I was thinking you could interview the victims at the hospital, see if they noticed anyone out of the ordinary or had contact with anyone that sounds like our stalker.” 

Sam nods, his mouth full, and turns questioning eyes on Kimber. She closes her eyes, pushing as much distraction from her mind as possible.

“He was...on the shorter side. I’d say I probably have an inch or so on him. Younger than me, but I don’t know by how much. I’m really bad at judging age, I’m sorry. Unshaven but not a full beard, kind of rough-looking. Really pale. He never looked me in the eyes, so I didn’t see his eye color. Dark, shaggy hair.”

She shrugs, spreading her hands in apology. “I don’t remember much else. Dark blue windbreaker? It’s been a few weeks, and I didn’t think I’d have to point him out in a line-up or anything.”

Sam shakes his head quickly, swallowing. “No, Kimber, it’s fine. That’s more to go on than we usually have. I’ll talk to the victims, see if anyone stands out in their minds. You two have a solid plan. I’ll give you a call after I visit the hospital, see what I can find out.”

He hesitates, his eyebrows knitted together. “Kimber, I know you’re under a lot of strain, but could you go over the incidents one more time so I have the basics before I go talk to them? I wouldn’t ask, but I need to know what to expect.”

She can’t repress the shudder than runs through her stomach, but she shakes it off and rolls her shoulders. This is just an information exchange. She can handle that. She may need a drink or two afterwards, but she can get through it one more time.

Sam listens attentively, his forehead wrinkled, mouth set in a thin-lipped frown as she recounts the series of accidents plaguing her department. He exchanges some sort of troubled, wordless communication with Dean before glancing down at his folded hands. After considering for a long moment, he speaks, his words measured and careful.

“It definitely sounds like someone has a grudge against your department, at least, if not you specifically. All the victims are friends or work closely with you. We don’t know if any of the other victims got a doll like yours. That’s something for my list. You sure you can’t think of any reason, anything at all, that might make someone target all of you?”

She shoves down her mounting frustration, feeling impotent and slow. If she could think of anything at all helpful, she would have shared it by now. 

“I really can’t, I’m sorry. I just don’t interact with that many people outside of the department, and we all get along fine, as far as I know. No special treatment, no recent honors anyone could be jealous of. I checked in with my hunter contacts that I’d helped out with witch cases in the last few years, even a few non-witch cases that were still open, and I got nowhere with that. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Sam sighs, nodding before finishing the last of his coffee. “Figured it was worth asking. Okay, I’m heading out. Dean, I’ll give you a call in a few hours.”

Dean nods to Sam, and the younger Winchester excuses himself, crossing the crowded restaurant with a few long strides before disappearing out the door.

Kimber turns back to Dean, her eyes wide with shock she’s barely managed to suppress until just now. He frowns, taking in her expression, looks down to inspect his shirt, then back up, his face comically confused.

“What? Do I have food on my face?”

“What did you feed him after you left town?!” Kimber keeps her volume low but can’t keep the wonder from her voice. “Growth hormones? Steroids? Jesus, he’s over a foot taller than the last time I saw you both, and he was already thirteen then!”

Dean barks out a loud, sharp laugh that earns him a reproving glance from a passing waitress. He bites his lip, covering his mouth with his hand, only partially successful at smothering his snort. She can’t help but smile, a little embarrassed at her outburst, but still…

“No, just lots of fast food. Good, healthy, all-American diet. Almost had to get a full-time job, just keepin’ him fed and clothed. Kid grew out of shoes and jeans like nothin’ I’ve ever seen.”

There’s no mistaking the fondness in Dean’s voice, almost more paternal than brotherly. And the off-hand comment about keeping Sam clothed and fed...Kimber’s heart twinges, but she carefully keeps her face as relaxed and amused as she can.

“Ready to go?” she asks. He nods and stands, lifting the check from the table to take up to the register. He offers her a hand, an inviting smile curling one corner of his mouth, and she does her best to smother the butterflies in her stomach as her fingers slide into his.

…

“I promised Sam I’d go to opening night,” Dean said, something like an apology in his voice. “He’s only working tech, but he’s really excited. It’s been a while since we’ve stayed anywhere long enough that he could get involved like this.”

Kimber squeezed his fingers, pulling her coat closed with her other hand. The temperature had dropped over the last few days, and the evening was brisk as they walked hand-in-hand to the high school.

“Dean, are you kidding? You’re taking me to a play, dinner, and meeting your family all at once. Three birds with one date!” She skipped a little, swinging his hand with hers, flashing him her most exaggerated grin as she let her eyes go wide and kooky. He snorted, glancing away to hide his smile.

He stopped suddenly, tugging gently until she stepped closer, her expression relaxing. His knuckles slid gently down her cheekbone and under her jaw, lifting her chin. He kissed her, a sweet, chaste brush of his lips over hers that sent her pulse dancing. Her cheeks warmed under his attention, and he pressed his lips a fraction more firmly against hers before straightening.

His eyes sparkled in the light from the streetlamp overhead. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” 

She popped up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, marveling at her own bravery as her hands clasped the sides of his face, locking him in place. Before he could recover, she grabbed his hand, tugging him into a run down the sidewalk, and they arrived at the school, breathless and laughing. 

The performance of Oklahoma! was pretty standard for high school. Simple dance sequences, fair to decent singing (for the most part), and about forty minutes longer than Kimber preferred. They waited afterwards for Sam to make his way from the lighting board, and he shyly offered his hand to Kimber, who accepted, smiling and squeezing his fingers just a little.

The three of them arrived at the diner, relieved to see most families were celebrating at the more expensive restaurants across town. Sam looked over the menu, his eyes as hungry as the growl that escaped his stomach. Kimber didn’t miss the sad look he shot Dean before closing the menu and setting it down. 

When he ordered an ice water and peanut butter sandwich, Kimber’s heart cracked. 

“Sam, it’s my treat tonight. You did a great job; Mrs. Hasker never lets eighth graders work the soundboard, so go nuts. Order whatever you want. It’s your night.” 

Sam, eyes wide with hope, glanced at Dean, who looked torn between shame and relief. Dean cleared his throat, shot a grateful smile at Kimber, then nodded at Sam. 

“You did good, kid. Go for it.”

Sam’s face brightened, and Kimber couldn’t help but mirror his expression as he ordered a strawberry milkshake, double cheeseburger, and cheese fries. Kimber discreetly jabbed Dean in his ribs, and he side-glared at her, suppressing what was very definitely not a manly squeak of surprise. 

“You, too, big brother,” she said, her eyes narrowing pointedly. His lips thinned, his expression pinched. She knew she was hitting a nerve for him; it was fine to accept dinner invitations at home, and fine for her to treat his little brother, but paying for him on a date was an entirely different matter. He visibly wrestled with the simple decision, frustration and pride warring with want.

She softened her expression, placing her hand over his clenched fist. “Please?” She mouthed. “It’s okay.” He glanced at Sam, who was happily chatting with the smiling waitress about the performance, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Dean’s face. 

“Double-bacon cheeseburger, and chili fries, please.”

Dinner with the Winchester boys was a delight that Kimber never forgot. Though Dean teased his younger brother mercilessly, liberally sprinkling descriptors like “geek” and “nerd” in his comments, she saw the way his eyes would linger on Sam as the younger boy inhaled his meal between answering questions about his classes and the performance.

“Are you going to take AP classes, Sam?” Kimber asked. He seemed so keen and motivated, she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t want to.

“I want to, but we move so much, I don’t think I could keep up with the curriculum,” he admitted, his expression falling. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Kimber lowered her voice conspiratorially. Sam leaned a little closer, intrigued, and she smiled at his eagerness. It was like looking at a mirror of herself just a few years ago.

“Most AP classes follow the same guidelines across the country, almost week by week. Mr. Schaeffer is the AP coordinator at our school, and he’s pretty cool for a teacher. If you talk to him, explain your situation, I’ll bet he could get you copies of most of the AP curriculum, maybe even some spare textbooks, so you could keep up with it as you guys move around.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Dean for confirmation. Dean shrugged, affecting disinterest as he leaned back to drape an arm around Kimber’s shoulder. 

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean drawled, “but Kimber’s the top of our class, so she’s probably got some idea what she’s talking about.” He let out an exaggerated huff of air as Kimber’s elbow connected with his side, doubling over as he pretended to fall out of the booth. 

Sam peppered Kimber and Dean with questions about their classes for the rest of the night and didn’t even have to be convinced to have an extra large slice of celebratory pie to finish the meal off.

The three of them stayed late enough at the diner that Kimber was obliged to call her parents on the pay phone in the corner to assure them that she had not, in fact, been kidnapped and left in a ditch on the side of the road. The temperature had dropped considerably, so when Kimber’s mother offered to give all three of them a ride home, Kimber accepted without thinking.

“My mom will be here in about ten minutes,” she announced as she slid back into the booth. “She’s going to give you two a lift back to the motel on our way home.”

Dean’s expression fell sharply, and Kimber’s heart sank. 

“You didn’t-”

“Thanks!” Sam said, unintentionally speaking over Dean. “It got so cold out all of a sudden. Say, do you think I should talk to Mr. Schaeffer tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better,” she said, shrugging on her coat. Sam nodded, slurping down the last of his drink and loping off to the bathroom. She glanced over at Dean, who was sitting stone-faced, a muscle twinging above his jaw.

“I didn’t mean to...I mean, I should have asked, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes closed, his jaw clenching as his lips pinched tight. Kimber waited, feeling the sting of tears prick at the back of her eyes. She’d crossed some unspoken line between them, and she didn’t know what to do to fix the moment. It had been such a good night, up til then.

“I...I’m not mad...at you,” Dean finally ground out. “Just...just gimme a second.”

He scrubbed his face with both hands, then glanced back towards the bathroom before speaking. He kept his eyes on the table-top, his hands clenching and unclenching on the cheap formica.

“I’m not...used to accepting hand-outs. I can take care of Sam, Kimber, I don’t need...you didn’t...you didn’t have to.”

She opened her mouth, fully ready to defend herself, but he held up a hand. 

“I know. I know what you’re going to say. I get that it’s not a hand-out. I know you don’t...I know you aren’t lookin’ down at us. I’m not used to…”

He cleared his throat, then reached out to her, his eyes still firmly on the table-top. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick, his words measured. 

“I promise, I’m not mad at you. Can we leave it at that for now?” He turned pleading eyes in her direction, his hand palm-up on the table. Her fingers were in his before she realized she’d moved. Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded and allowed herself to be pulled up from the booth.

Sam came barreling back from the restroom then, saving them from further awkward conversation, and they bundled up against the chill. By the time Kimber’s mother arrived, Dean had relaxed enough to greet Mrs. Harper pleasantly, and when they reached the motel, he leaned up to kiss Kimber’s cheek before climbing out of the backseat with Sam in tow.

The next day at school, Dean was a little distracted, almost distant. He walked her home that afternoon in almost complete silence. They were a block from her house when she couldn’t take the tension anymore. She stopped short, biting her lip as tears stung her eyes. To her shame, her throat started to clench, choking any attempt at words. 

Dean looked back at her, concern and confusion clear on his face at her sudden stop. 

She swiped the heel of her hand across her cheeks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry about last night,” she managed, less coherently than she would have liked. “I didn’t mean to...I didn’t...I’m sorry I ruined the evening.”

Dean was in front of her in an instant, thumbs wiping the tears from her face, lips pressed fiercely against her forehead. 

“No, sweetheart.” His tone was rough and resolute. “I told you I’m not mad at you. Last night was...Last night was wonderful. I haven't seen Sam that happy in a long time. It’s been a rough few months. Sam and Dad have started fighting. Dad expects a lot from him, but not the usual good grades kind of ‘a lot.’ And when Dad pushes, Sam pushes back, and I…”

He dropped his forehead to hers, and Kimber pulled in a shaking breath.

“I didn’t want to drag you into our mess. You are perfect, and Sam and I both had a great time last night. Thank you. For dinner. For making Sam so happy. For everything.” He pulled back a few inches, catching her gaze. “Please don’t apologize again.”

She nodded, unable to answer aloud. He searched her eyes until he was satisfied, then nodded.

“ ‘M gonna kiss you now, so Imma need you to hold back on the tears for a minute. People will think I’m a terrible kisser if you cry through the whole thing.”

She laughed, and he caught her off guard, pressing his lips to hers before deepening the kiss. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head until he found an angle to please them both. His tongue swept, feather-light, across her lower lip, and she melted.

They came back to Earth a few moments later, jolted from their universe by enthusiastic honking and shouting from a passing car full of guys from one of their classes. Kimber hid her blazing face against Dean’s neck as he nodded, grinning and waving at the other boys.

Instead of pulling away, Kimber linked her arms around his neck, shivering against a biting breeze that swept past. Dean’s arms constricted, pulling her close enough that she felt his heartbeat against her chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean whispered, his words nearly lost in the breeze. Then he pulled away, linked his fingers through hers, and walked her home. He kissed her once more on her doorstep, holding her face between his warm, calloused palms, eyes closed. 

He rested his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back. He tried to deliver that smooth, carefree grin from their first study session and failed miserably.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said. Then he turned, flipping up the collar of his jacket, and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he headed down the walkway. She watched him go, wanting nothing more than to run after him. The set of his shoulders, the tense bend of his neck, told her to hold her ground, though. 

Something else was eating at Dean, and she knew him well enough to know that needling him wouldn’t get him to open up. He needed space and understanding, and she would just have to sit on her frustration. He asked for so very little, the least she could do was give him some time to work through whatever was going on. She just hoped it wouldn’t take too much time for him to open up. She hated seeing him so distant and miserable. 

When Dean finally turned up that evening, he was thirty minutes late for dinner. His father glowered at the pair of them from the driver’s seat of a sleek, black muscle car, while Sam slumped, miserable, in the back. Kimber realized with cold, painful clarity that they had, in fact, no time left at all.

…

Chapter 6

[darkesttimelinestuff]

7,713 words

Mature

Men make houses. Women build homes. –Proverb.  

Come come, come out tonight. Come come, come out tonight. –Sherry, The Four Seasons  

***

Oh, Halloween. How it coaxes all from their shells, a come-hither seduction of ghouls and their admirers. Whether one chooses to be a witch or a princess, a criminal or a cowboy – to paint their face and knock on doors, to drink until they are but pumpkins, mouths filled with their pumpkin guts – it is all done under the otherworldly spell of the undead, the souls that ascend from their place in the basement to play marionette games with the dolls who inhabit the first floor.

Fox Mulder has, over the years, made an exceptional doll. Spock, then Captain Kirk, then Spock again. Several years of him doing nothing but sitting alone and staring out the window, ignoring the pull of a fairy costume resting in a trunk in the attic. Even then he had been a prime target; Halloween souls feed on elation, but will take misery in a pinch. His misery tasted sweet like a tootsie pop. The saints love tootsie pops, all the waiting and the work. The sinners prefer Reeses.

There were others when the memories began to fade. Han Solo. Han Solo. Paul Stanley from KISS, though his first girlfriend ended up wearing most of the makeup. Han Solo. Doctor John Watson, although years later he would grit his teeth and mutter I should have been Holmes. Serpico at a Hoover party, the last one he went to. No one got it. Then Han Solo every year he chose to celebrate after, and by then he finally had Princess Leia at his side.

The halloween of 2016, he slips into his finest costume yet.

Fox Mulder. Hopeless romantic.

On one arm, he carries a bag that is filled with good wine, cheap wine glasses, and assorted fruits, cheeses, and fancy chocolate. He has convinced his partner that the actual contents are a P.K.E. meter (a psychokinetic energy meter, for those who have not seen the documentary Ghostbusters), a thermographic camera, an audio recorder, sage, a lighter, his gun.

On the other arm, or underneath it, is his partner. Who is unsure about such open gestures of affection while they are technically on the clock, even after all the years of steaming up their steakouts, but is not stopping him, and is possibly even snuggling back as the October chill descends.

“This is not a love story, Scully,” he warns, pulling her closer as they follow the long, winding pathway up their destination. Her body heat is his favorite temperature, even when it’s ice cold. “It is a story of lies, obsession, betrayal, and murder.”

“I think I’ve heard this one.” She bumps his arm with her shoulder and smiles up at him, her lips wine deep under the bright moon.

Their shoes are silent on the stone and disappear under the layers of fog that curl and cozy around them like amorous smoke. He tugs her closer still, filling his nose with the woodsy scent of her shampoo.

“The early 1960s, Scully. Free love was just a storm a’brewin in the air, and sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll were waiting on the doorsteps  of American counterculture, waiting to be invited in. Doo-wop was still a prominent feature on family radio stations. The Beatles had yet to write their own songs, and Paul McCartney wouldn’t smoke his first joint until 1964. It was a wholesome time, Scully. You would’ve loved it.”

“I loved Rubber Soul,” she argues.

He rubs her shoulder. “But it wasn’t all sock hops and sweet Jackie Kennedy. We were fighting a war with Russia, a war of discovery, and losing to the success of Sputnik. The U.S. invaded Cuba, got their asses kicked, and were the laughing stock of the world. In the veins of America, in the buses and lunch counters, the streets and in the schools, thrummed the blood of a movement. The Civil Rights movement. The early 1960s was a time of immense change.”

They were getting closer and closer to the scene where it all took place: a sprawling, overly-windowed ranch style home, its angular roof sloping into flatlands. In the quiet darkness, the cars and the rest of the world all celebrating miles behind them, the house appears white, almost bleached. But when the sun comes out it will reveal its truth: baby pink painted wood.

“And situated in all of this madness, this time between tumult and revolution, hatred and love, was a woman named Sherry Battersea.” She hmm’s. That means Mulder, I love your stories. Keep going.

He does.

They arrive at the front door – solid mahogany, undistressed. The steps leading up to the porch are made from brick, unhassled by the years of disuse. With the moon hanging overhead, vines creeping onto the roof, and the glare of (assumed) white bathed in midnight blue and the shadows of trees rustling above, it looks absolutely– “Isn’t she beautiful?” Mulder whispers, moving his hand to Scully’s waist.

Precisely.

***

It’s all a bunch of phooey, if you ask him.

Didn’t expect that, did you?

He spent weeks finding the right place. The runner ups were all either too far away, too haunted, or not haunted enough. He wanted something with history, something still alive in the hearts of believers – but nothing verifiable, and nothing with a real reputation.

He wanted a pretty lie. Most ghost stories, he will begrudgingly admit, are indeed pretty lies.

He found the Battersea house on a subreddit dedicated to paranormal encounters, and this one hadn’t even managed to get twenty upvotes. He was number twenty. The Battersea home is in Virginia, which heavily swayed his opinion in its favor, and from the pictures posted the years of abandonment had not left it dangerous, which put it above two other options off his list. Making love to Scully while the roof collapses over their heads is a fantasy he put to rest many moons ago, about the time he realized they could just do it on a bed.

They roam the house with their flashlights, Mulder’s low voice playing in her ear as he finishes his story. “Sherry’s husband returned from war, but he never returned to her. She made this home for him and he wouldn’t even grant her the decency of staying the night.”

The biggest draw of the place had been its pristine condition. No graffiti stains the wood-paneled walls; the rooms were all intact. The interior design is a certified blast from the past, from the richly carpeted floors and textured rugs to the lucite furniture, pops of neon that splash under their flashlights. It is colorfully but rather tastefully decorated. It reminds him a bit of a movie set, which is another place he has been thoroughly laid by this woman.

As they move through the house, however, he realizes with mild disappointment the utter lack of haunting thrill. Nothing shifts in the night to give them pause. No dirt or dust to brush away, no holes in the walls or rot in the furniture. It doesn’t even smell old. It all feels more like a vacation home, some sort of themed romantic getaway, and they’re wading behind the scenes with the power turned off.

It’s not what he planned, but he’ll take it.

“Miss Battersea was a fashionable lady, keeping up with the times faster than they could come to her. She had a leopard skin pill-box hat before Jackie O had a leopard skin pill-box hat, and was dead by the time Bob Dylan could think to write a song about it.” Oh, that long, mid-century sectional couch. It might be white or a gawdy turquoise color. Whatever it is, he’s going to have her there. “She was a smart woman, too. The head of all of her many bookclubs. All of the books you see in here are hers.” His runs his beam over behind the couch, where the entire back wall is lined with books, and they move along. “And there are more in the den.

“She did everything she could to make her husband love her. She danced to his favorite records. She cooked for him and did his laundry. She cut her skirt an inch shorter with each passing trend.” They stand side by side, halted in the kitchen doorway. He turns his head and lets his eyes dip into her blouse. “I’ve been very appreciative of your new work wardrobe, by the the way.”

“Mulder,” she chastises, pulling her shirt down for better access. He laughs loudly at that, places his hand on the small of her back and leads her through the kitchen.

“She was driving herself crazy, trying to make him love her the way she loved him. And oh, did she love him, her sweet Maximus Battersea.” More wood paneling, and modular, pastel appliances that appear as if they haven’t aged a day since their prime. In the middle is a solid island with a geometric vase of dead flowers. This is where he’ll lay out all the food. Should’ve gotten flowers, he mopes to himself, but remembers that Scully doesn’t have a lot of patience for them. “They were high school sweethearts, and when he was 18 he was drafted off in the Korean War.

“Something was wrong when he came back. He got a job at some juicing plant working the machines, but showed a savvy for bossing people around that made itself known to the owners. He moved up quickly to supervisor and then warden. He and his little wife then bought this house, and Sherry made it her life’s work to take good care of it. Not a speck of dirt to be found.” Even to this day. They both marvel at the cleanliness.  “Dishes were done as soon as they were used. Food was on the table for when he got home, still hot enough to serve. But he never got home to her at night. He would spend his nights at the bar, and then he became a favored customer at the Grand Major Hotel.”

“Oooooh. I would’ve killed the bastard,” Scully whistles, opening up a cabinet and standing on her tiptoes to peer in. He steps in behind her and lifts her up, chuckling when she screams and elbows him in the chest.

“Hmm, I know you would,” he mumbles in her ear, smacking a little kiss underneath it. All the glassware in the cabinet, chipless and clean as a whistle, clinks and jingles while she moves her hand through it. “You’re a jealous monster. So was Sherry Battersea.”

He’s making some of this shit up. He doesn’t know if she liked to read or if she was all that beautiful a woman, but the details make the story. “I’m not jealous,” Scully snorts, and he bites her neck as punishment for her blatant lie while dropping her back on her feet.

He wonders, as he pins her against the counter, if she’s caught on to his plans. He sets the flashlight down in front of her and snakes his arms around her from behind. “One night, he did come back to this big old house. But he was with someone else.”

“Oh, I would’ve killed him,” she repeats, tilting her head to get his lips on her neck. His nose brushes her cheek and he grins; she definitely knows. “I would’ve killed her.”

“And that’s what she did,” he says, kneading her hips. “They were on the couch, still mostly in their clothes. She snuck up from behind, and with all the power of her rage, she pushed one of her many bookcases right on top of them, crushing them to death.”

“I would’ve waited until they were naked. More humiliating.”

“Jealous. Monster.” Mulder says fondly, breaking away to grab her arm. “Now they say that Sherry Battersea remains in this house, long after she was convicted and put to death. She gave her life to building a home. It’s fitting that she give it her death as well.”

“And that’s what we’re here to investigate?” She says, narrowing her eyes.

“We’re here to say hi to old Sherry,” Mulder lies, urging her along. Neither of them are scared, despite of their previous history with ghosts. He’s not sure if Scully even remembers. That house had not been a pretty lie. It had only been filled with ugly truths.

On their way up the stairs, pausing at each creak even though the foundation is craftful and sturdy, a tune plays in his head. “Sherry… Sherry baby…” he sings, letting his voice go comically high. It’s too loud in the quiet house surrounded by nothing, and Scully turns around to slap a palm over his mouth.

“That’s a bad Frankie Valli impression,” she says, arching her eyebrow. “Want me to make it better?”

He kisses her palm. She takes it away and continues her charge up the stairs. When she’s far away enough, he finishes the line in his ghastly falsetto, voice cracking.

“Sherry, won’t you come out tonight?”

Come come, come out tonight. Come come. Come out tonight.

***

In the den on the other side of the house, a lightbulb flickers. The glow it casts under the lampshade is a soft, pinky red, the color of a deep blush. The winds caress the house with the sigh of a new lover. There is a soft scritching noise, a click of a record sliding into place. Static, and then…

Sherry, Sherry baby! Sherry, Sherry baby!

***

“I was listening to particle physicist Brian Cox on the radio the other day, talking with Neil deGrasse Tyson,” Scully says, sipping coffee from her thermos. She shivers a little in her suede jacket and Mulder regrets not finding somewhere a little warmer. Temperatures are at an all time high this fall in Virginia, but it’s still uncomfortable. He plans on warming her up anyway. “He’s a Professor at the University of Manchester and works on the Large Hadron Collider at CERN. You’ve probably listened to him before on a podcast. He tackles a lot of different concepts in science fiction. Frankenstein, for instance.”

“Corpse reanimation is my favorite,” Mulder says. “I know a lot about it.” She pets his hair and hands him her mug. He drinks from it gratefully. Another thing to regret. He hadn’t brought his own mug.

“Specifically, he was saying that ghosts could not exist because of what the collider tells us. You know what it does. It essentially uses a network of very complex, high-powered magnets – the largest, most expensive machine in the world – that are continuously switched on and off to send particles flying at almost the speed of light. The purpose of it is to find out what everything is made if. The particles collide and emit smaller particles, which we can observe, along with their interactions with other particles.”

“We used it to discover the Higgs Boson particle, which tells us how particles get their mass. The God Particle. It was a discovery over half a century in the making.”

“Mostly, yes. The argument was that if ghosts were real, they would emit particles that should be detectable in the Large Hadron Collider, and those particles would be able interact with the particles that make us up.”

Mulder’s silent for a moment, thinking. “What if the LHC isn’t powerful enough to detect those particles?”

“Mulder.” She licks her lips and angles her body towards him on the couch, looking into his eyes. Incredulity is still her best look. “This machine has been able to reconstruct temperatures and states of matter that only existed a microsecond after the birth of the universe, before it changed states. It is a very powerful machine.”

“But it still hasn’t answered everything,” he points out, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, we still know nothing about dark matter. And dark matter is called dark matter because we know nothing about dark matter, only that it could explain why galaxies might contain less mass than what we’ve calculated.” He nods at her, taking another sip. “Maybe all that extra mass is a bunch of ghosts. Bet you never thought of that.”

“Mmm. Your souls in the starlight.” He scoots closer to her, slowly sliding his arm behind her on the back of the couch. When he leans forward, she says, “Mulder, maybe we should split up.”

“What?” He says, not pulling back. There’s enough light coming in from the windows that he can see her clearly, her noble profile shadowed and unshadowed as he moves towards her. He smells her perfume… and pine sol. “Now why would we do that? Last time we split up during a case like this you shot me.”

“I didn’t shoot you. You shot me.” So she does remember. She’s still talking when his lips are close enough to brush hers. “But how are we gonna catch this ghost sitting down?”

“Well, we don’t have to be sitting down.” He kisses her, a chaste, sweet little thing. He pulls back an inch and kisses her again. And again. And again. “We can.” Kiss. “Stop sitting.” Kiss. “Anytime you want.”

“Mulder.” Kiss. “Where’s the ghost?” Kiss. “Where’s Sherry?” Kiss. She’s folding under his body weight, falling back into the remarkably undusty cushions. She cups his jaw in her small hands and kisses him for real, chasing the flicker of his tongue with her own. She stretches one leg behind him, lets the other fall off the couch.

He groans and shifts so that he’s nestled between her thighs. There is – so much he loves about kissing Scully. In a lot of ways he’s learning her all over again after the time they’ve spent apart. Her face is thinner, he can trace her bones with his fingers, but not that sickly thin it had been the day she walked out. Her hair got its shine back. She tastes like a day at the office, her coffee and Cliff bars and the Burt’s Bees lipstick she wears during the cold weather.

But. Kiss. Her hands are bunched up in his shirt, very much like she’s prepared to rip it off of him. But this is is going too fast. Kiss. He forces himself to break away, taking his hand out from under her blouse.

Trying to control her breathing, pupils dilated, she lifts her chin and licks his lips. “So you want me to shoot you this time around?”

He laughs and moves off of her, giving her space her to sit back up and fix her wrinkled clothing. He winces and struggles to rearrange his wayward dick. Men’s pants are so tight now. He misses the freedom of the 90s.

“I uh. So here’s,” he pauses, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Here’s the thing. There is no ghost.”

She blinks slowly. He wants to move a lock of silky red hair out of her eye, but keeps his hands to himself as she thinks things through. “You brought me to an abandoned house to… what? Make out with me?”

“Well, no. I mean yes. But I have…” All these years and this stuff still makes him tongue tied. “Libations. And… mood music.”

She raises her eyebrows, but her eyes are softer. “The Monster Mash?”

“The Prince version, yeah.” He leers at her. “It was a graveyard smash.”

“Oh my god,” she groans, letting her head fall back on the cushions.

“Think about it. The way I see it, Halloween is our holiday, right? Mr. and Mrs. Spooky.”

“No one ever called me Mrs. Spooky.”

“I did. All the time.”

She smiles. “I guess it beats the time you set me on fire for Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t want to kill the adrenaline here,” he says, partially damning himself for ruining it so early. He lost a good amount of blood to that kiss. “There could absolutely be a ghost here. I’m just saying this isn’t my most reliably sourced case.”

“Are any of them?” She sighs, but she reaches out to pat his shoulder. “Go grab us some libations and make me forget this conversation.”

He ducks down to kiss her cheek. “Yes ma’am.”

Taking his bag of goodies to the kitchen, he pulls out the wooden cutting board he brought along to serve everything  and all of the bags of pre-cut cheese, crackers, fruit and meat. He hums while he works. Hm. Hm hm. Hm hm. Hm hm. Hm. And it starts over, the notes twanging loudly in his mind. It is almost as if he could hear it being played through the walls – he feels it from the outside, rather than in his head. He blames it on his massive erection. He takes out the wine glasses and fills them up high enough to placate Scully and make his mother roll in her grave. Vineyard folk are serious about their wine.

He gets a good look at the kitchen as he works, transported back into a time he doesn’t know very well. The cottages on the Vineyard never kept up with any particular trend, opting instead for the timelessness of colonial whitewash and brown trim. They changed out maids and nannies like they’d change the air filters, and neither Teena nor Bill put effort into upkeep. Neither cared much for fidelity either he grimaces, and immediately feels bad for doing so.

If there is any truth to the tale, he aches for people like Sherry who gave their all and never knew when to take it back. He gets it. Sometimes you fixate on people. He had been a victim of it more than once, and now he’s the one waiting for the one he loves most to come back home.

He grabs the cutting board and the wine glasses, balancing them carefully, anchoring the stopped bottle in his armpit. The second bottle of wine and the dessert he’ll save for later are left on the counter. He hums his way back to the living room, his woman still sprawled out on the couch, waiting for him, and he forgets about Sherry.

Behind him, in the kitchen, there’s a flutter in the cabinets, sounds of gently moving ceramic. A pleasant, almost feminine noise, like tinkering laughter. Then there’s the pop of a cork.

The bottle moves, sliding to the end of the island. Then it rises into the air, bobbing up and down as if being carried by invisible hands.

Over the sink, the bottle upends. The glug-glug-glug of sweet red flows into the pipes. Just one glass’s worth.

The air is warmer, somehow.

Like a full body flush.

***

He sweeps her over the creaking floorboards, her cheek pressed to his chest. The cold has left them. His phone sits on the sleek, white coffee table, and his Elvis tunes play, his Dylan, some acoustic hits. She nuzzles in closer and hums along to Roberta Flack, Sinatra, that Cher song they both like so much.

“Why don’t you believe in the ghost, Mulder?” She murmurs, a little sad.

“I don’t know that I’m against the idea of her existing,” he says into her hair, closing his eyes. They turn. Sometimes he dips her, sometimes he spins her, but they spend most of the time just like this: as close as possible, eyes closed, careful not to bump into any of the furniture. “I just need more proof these days.”

“Well,” she says. “I’ll believe for the both of us then.”

He lifts his chin from her head, surprised. He pushes her away to search her face. “You believe in Sherry?”

“You had me with that dark matter point,” she shrugs. “If souls… did exist, they would most likely exist as a form of matter we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Dana Scully, but you are tipsy,” he chuckles, pulling her back to him. “If you believe, I believe. Sherry Battersea is alive and with us.”

“Why’d you bring us here if you didn’t think it was haunted?”

He thinks about this, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “We’ve got a long way to go, don’t we Scully?” She looks up at him, cocking her head. “You haven’t…. Moved back yet.” His thumbs caress her waist. “Into our home.”

Her face falls. “Mulder–” she tries to step away, but he holds onto her, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, Scully. Scully, I’m not mad. I’m not asking you to do anything before you’re ready.” He presses a kiss to the center of her forehead, smoothing his hand down the length of her hair. She closes her eyes. “But I thought maybe… if I could recreate… not an exact replica of the good old days, because we were always getting our asses kicked, but something tonally similar, it might help. Show you that I appreciate you and that… I miss you, and that I’m so fucking grateful that…”

She saves him by wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a slow, mind-melting kiss.

There are none of the cobwebs that decorated all those places in their youth, not like he’d been hoping. The shadows that float across the room are all accounted for. There is no fear. It is not quite like the old days, but he remembers this: holding her hips as they move above him in the dark, the rise and fall of her upturned breasts, the underside of her chin when she tosses her head back and gasps. She rides him into the couch, the sweltering sheath of her body spreading warmth from his cock to the tips of his fingers and toes. He watches her face in the shadows again, how her expressions undulate in the moonlight. She still keeps her apartment, but she’s come back to him in every way that matters.

In the kitchen, a bottle breaks. A tray of dark chocolates hits the wall at full speed.

“Did you hear that?” Scully breathes, furrowing her brow but not stopping, refusing to stop their decades-old rhythm. His hands slip around to grip her rear and he shakes his head. Wind rattles the windows, a howling, devastated screech that neither Mulder nor Scully can relate to.

***

“…Mulder,” Scully frowns, her nude form wrapped up in a fleece blanket he’d brought in from the car. She sits on the floor in front of the middle bookcase, running her fingers over the titles. “You said this place was abandoned, right?”

He’s dozing on the couch, KO’d from sex and the little bit of wine they’d had. “Mmm,” he rubs his cheek and yawns. “Yep. No one lives here.”

“I just find it odd that a place that’s been abandoned for so long shows so few signs of disrepair. In fact…” she runs her hand over the books again. “This place is cleaner than my own. You’re absolutely sure no one lives here?”

“It’s condemned,” he says. “Government says it’s no longer fit to live in.”

“That’s… weird.” She pulls out an old pulp romance novel and flips through the pages. “It seems perfectly habitable.”

“It might have something to do with the plumbing. There are all sorts of strange, outdated Virginia laws that classify a place as livable –” he’s cut off by a sharp yelp and a thud. He sits straight up and peers over the couch. “Scully?”

“I’m okay,” she groans, massaging the back of her head. “A book fell and hit me from the top shelf. But it hit me hard. Jesus, it feels like I got pelted with it.”

He climbs over the back of the couch to join her on the floor, and she laughs when he pecks and pats the top of her head.

“I have just the thing to make it better,” he says, standing back up.

“Again? So fast?” She sounds impressed. Excited. He shoots her a look.

“I was offering more wine, Scully. But ouch.” Her cackling follows him into the kitchen.

The sight that greets him freezes him cold. That extra wine bottle rests in a million shiny pieces, and what was once a glaringly yellow wall bleeds dark red with the wine streaking down to the sideboards. “Scully?” he calls out hoarsely, approaching the scene with caution.

“Shit!” she screams. His stomach drops with fear and he darts back out into the living room to find her huddled under hundreds of fallen books. “What the hell?”

“Scully!” He drops to his knees beside her, throwing book after book off to the side and clutching her face in his hands. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Not bad, but I’m beginning to see why this place might be condemned. The bookshelf just rattled and all the books fell off. Maybe there’s something wrong with the foundation.” He helps her out of the pile and they both move away, far back from the shelf.

“Rattled?” he asks, alarmed. “Like it was being shaken?”

“I thought it might be coming from the walls,” she posits, but that doesn’t sit right with him. Anxiety begins to gnaw his stomach into pits.

“You don’t think,” he starts and stops, biting his lip. He wants to put his clothes back on. The chill is coming back. “You don’t think that…”

“Think what, Mulder?”

“That… something was trying to push the bookshelf? On purpose?”

She looks at him, startled. “What? Like a ghost?” He nods his head, shrugging, and she angrily clutches the blanket around herself, turning her back to him to pick up her clothes. “You just told me you didn’t believe there were any ghosts here.”

“You just told me you did,” he argues, following his own garment trail.

“Mulder,” she whines, pulling on her bra. “I don’t actually – I was just…”

“You were lying?” He asks, pausing with his shirt over his head. The hurt catches him off guard.

“I wasn’t lying, I just… I’m so…” she sighs, doing up her fly and buttoning up her shirt. “I never know how you’re feeling these days, and…” she doesn’t finish. He nods slowly, a hot wave of dejection flooding his cheeks. There are traces of ancient anger he wants to pull from, that’s the easier path, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“I never needed you to lie to me, Scully, and I certainly never asked you to,” he says roughly. He turns away from her to pull on his underwear, jeans, and jacket. He ignores her attempts at  apologies and walks in long strides to the kitchen. “Come look at this,” he calls to her flatly.

Just when he thinks he’s pushed past the resentment of her leaving and the guilt at having made her leave, all of the other feelings are brought to the forefront. The shame. The fragility. He’s spent the last several months trying to prove to her that he can make it on his own – that his need for her doesn’t stem from an inability to function without her, but the irrefutable fact that they work so much better together – and the whole time she’s been… what?

Seeing him as a fucking child? Wearing kid-gloves in all of her interactions with him, holding back her opinions in fear of setting him off? Oh, Jesus. Is this why she won’t move back? She thinks he’s not ready?

“Here.” Side by side, they stand in front of the stain on the wall, mindful of the smushed chocolates and shards of glass.

“Maybe they fell?” Scully guesses weakly, at least having the decency to look contrite.

“They fell? At fifty miles an hour?” Maybe there is some anger he can pull from. “Unlikely. Didn’t you tell me you felt like that book had been pelted at you?”

“Yes but Mulder that could be anything. You said yourself the house was condemned.”

“Yeah, but–” he bends down to inspect the chocolate on the floor,  picking one crushed morsel up to show her. “This looks… this looks like it’s been stepped on, crushed by something. What kind of foundational issue would cause that?”

She looks at it and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Let’s split up,” Mulder says. “Take the top floor. I’ll take the bottom. It’s what we came here for anyway, right?” And he leaves her alone in the kitchen.

***

The den drastically departs from the design ideal of the rest of the house. Under his flashlight he spots leather rock chairs, worn and overstuffed, plain walnut bookshelves and orange shag carpets. He looks through the books and the desk drawers, searching for anything personal. Photos, journals, receipts kept, anything that might give him any insight into Sherry Battersea and the lonely, lonely house she kept. No luck.

There is a large stack of records sitting next to a hefty Champion record player, dressed in supple red leatherette. He flips through them. The Big Bopper. Fats Domino.  The Lennon Sisters. More and more of the same ilk – an Elvis Christmas LP he’s pretty sure is the real deal, and which he shamefully considers sliding under his coat. He then inspects the player itself, lifts the arm to see the stack of singles underneath it. He lets the arm fall back into place.

It begins to play.

He yelps, stumbling backwards and collapsing onto the rock chair as the music plays loudly enough to fill the house.

Sherry! Sherry baby! Sherry! Sherry baby!

Mulder clutches for the back of the chair and watches in terrified fascination as the entire den comes to life. The lamp flicks on and casts the room in its soft pink light, turning brown into different shades of red. Warmth trickles in from the air vent and all in his body he feels the electric hum of a machine coming to life. He knows instantly that means every other room in the house must be waking up in the same way. Scully he thinks, attempting to jump to his feet.

He’s knocked back on his ass. “What the–” he tries again, and the shag rug slithers out from underneath the desk, coming at him like a cautious snake.

Sherry! Sherry baby! Sheeeeeeeeeeeeerry bay-ay-by! Sherry, can you come out tonight?

“Scullllllaaaay!” He shouts, but he’s no match against The Four Seasons bleating from the – not from the record machine, but from  – everywhere, what –

Why - don’t - you - come out? Come out! To my twist party! Where the bright moon shines!

The rug does just that, rises up, twists back and forth like wringing water out from a cloth. Still moving slowly it comes up to his feet, and he brings his legs up and hugs his knees close to his body, expelling an embarrassing squeak that would give Frankie Valli a run for his money. The rug continues its ascent, sliding up his legs, like – like a caress - gentle – warm – not like a rug, but like –

Like a human.

Mulder kicks his legs out with as much force as he can muster and the rug drops to the floor with a muffled poof. Then he’s leaping out of the chair and throwing open the door, giggling crazily when – he swears he feels it – something invisible tugs at his shirt, at his pant legs and hands.

He runs out out of the den into the open hallway like a scene straight out A Hard Day’s Night, and it’s just as he suspected. All the lights are on, and the Battersea house is thrown into full technicolor, much more vivid than he could have imagined. The lucite chairs are the brightest reds and blues he’s ever seen on furniture in his life, the sofa and the tables and the cleanest, starkest white. The light from the bulbous chandelier sparkles and spins. That pine sol scent – and then something else – Shalimar? – the alien-looking Philco television set on its tall thin stand, some old Gunsmoke episode. Then the channels flip and flip and it’s the Twilight Zone, and he’s being shoved by the air over to the couch. “Scully!” He yells again, laughing, merrily going along with the phantom guide. How is this for proof of a spirit world? This has got to be the single strongest case for the existence of poltergeists ever experienced. “Scully! Come here!”

“Mulder!” Scully screeches, straight from the gut.

Three gunshots go off.

His laughter corks in his throat, his heart drops to his stomach. Mulder races into the kitchen, faster than the grip that vies for him. The wine has been scrubbed from the walls, the glass swept from the floor. Something delicious simmers on the stove, and as he darts past the island he notices a bottle of vodka and a carton of orange juice pouring into a metal mixer. No body performs the action. They float in the air and the liquid comes out in steady, even streams.

That’s his drink. He shudders and hops up the stairs, taking two at a time. Scully’s voice has died out but he can still hear it pounding in his head, along with the never ceasing with your red dress on! Mmm you look so fine! and his ragged breath. “Scully!” He yells again, throwing open every door as he comes to it. The towels in the bathroom, the shower curtain, all rip themselves from their places and slither and slide after him, licking at his ankles and tripping him up. Gold and copper tubes of lipstick chase behind him, leaving behind perfect lip imprints on the walls.

When he gets to the bedroom, he finds Scully bound and gagged to the four poster bed, screaming into the pillowcase stuffed in mouth. “Scully,” he hisses, falling to his knees in front of her, pulling out the gag and deftly untying the knots around her ankles and wrists.

“That crazy–” she coughs and struggles underneath him, making it impossible to get her unbound. “That crazy bitch –” “Stop moving–” but she won’t, she’s writhing and wrestling until he has to cover her with his weight, yelling at her all the way. “Crazy fucking bitch!” She screams. When she’s free from her ties she shoves Mulder off of her and hops to her feet, tearing through the bedroom like a hurricane. “Where the fuck did she put my gun–”

“She took your gun?” Mulder panics, ripping through the room with her. “Scully, did you–” he sees it, three bullet holes in the corner of the ceiling. “Did you shoot the house, Scully?”

“You bet I fucking shot the house!” She screams. “Aha!” She pulls out the gun from the nightstand, cocks it, and tries to run out of the room.

“Scully,” Mulder grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her to him, ignoring her struggling. “Scully, I’m thinking this is an extremely malevolent, extremely powerful poltergeist. You cannot shootpoltergeists–”

She whips around, turning on him and backing him into the wall. “Malevolent? Did she drag you by your hair into the bedroom and tie you to a bed, Mulder? You look suspiciously unharassed.”

He licks his lips and stutters. “Uh, no. That has not been – that has not been my experience.” She raises both eyebrows and crosses her arm, waiting for him to continue. He rushes on. “I think Sherry’s still here, trying to take care of her husband.”

Scully steps back, eyes widening in shock. Her mouth opens and closes. Slowly, quietly, she asks, “Are you saying… the… poltergeist… is trying to seduce you?”

“And kill my mistress? Yeah,” he huffs a laugh and wraps his arms around her stunned and silent frame, letting his body relax against hers for just a minute. He’s getting too old for this kind of exertion. “Oh, god. You scared the shit out of me, Scully.”

“Sorry to cause so much stress, Mr. Battersea,” she grumbles, burying her nose in his neck. He nuzzles her hair and she lifts her head, slotting their lips together in a sweet, relief-filled kiss. If she’ll forgive him his affair with the carpet, he’ll forgive her everything. She pulls back, shaking her hair out of her face and straightening out her shoulders. “Now how do we get rid of this thing? What’s all in that bag you brought?”

He freezes. Shit.

“Mulder, no,” she says, horrified.

***

They slink down the stairs, Scully first, gun first, just in case. The breath of the house is soft, deceivingly calm. The music has been shut off. No objects float in the kitchen, the stove is turned off. Nothing tries to pull Mulder out of his clothes, or Scully into a closet.

“I think our little display back there pissed her off,” Mulder says grimly, staying close behind Scully.

“You’re my husband,” she bites out, straightening her shooter’s stance. “I kiss you whenever I want.”

They pause before entering the living room, looking at each other.

“That’s where it all happened,” Mulder whispers, nodding his head at the door. “If we go out there…”

“Should we just make a run for it then?” Scully asks, biting her lip. He bites his lip, too, and they meet each other’s eyes. He nods slowly.

They take off, pounding their feet against the hardwood and running as fast as they can, Mulder’s hands barely grazing Scully’s shoulders, but they never stood a chance. Floorboards are snatched almost from under their feet; chairs and tables go hurtling through the air. They drop down, Mulder curling his body over hers and shielding his head when bronze ornaments chuck themselves off of their stands, decorative mirrors drop to the floor, sending their shards flying.

From every molecule of the house, Frankie Valli’s falsetto warps into a deep, unsettling baritone.

Come come. Come out tonight. Come come. Come out tonight. Come come. Come out tonight.

“Say a prayer, Scully,” Mulder groans, wincing when a piece of glass whizzes past his head and scrapes up the back of his hands. She begins to frantically mutter one under her breath, but it’s useless. The storm doesn’t stop.

“Sherry,” Mulder tries. “Sherry!” He says louder. The music ends, but the the violence doesn’t. “Sherry, I know you were hurt!”

A woosh of a sigh is expelled from all the air vents. Objectiles drop straight to the floor. Mulder takes a deep breath and rolls off of Scully, who chokes and coughs into her arm.

He keeps going, not exactly sure what he’s saying. “Your husband was a selfish man who didn’t treat you the way you deserved. You loved him. You gave him everything. You cleaned up every mess, you paid every bill, you did everything he asked of you and it still wasn’t enough.” He swallows, pressing his bleeding hand to his stomach. “He still wouldn’t come home to you.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sherry. People who love you don’t do that to you. People who love you know that you aren’t perfect and come home to you anyway.”

The house is so quiet it is almost as if his soft, soothing voice has lulled it to sleep, and for a moment he thinks it has. Water drips from the air vents, from the windows, single, silent tears of condensation.

Crumpled next to him, Scully is sniffing. He glances at her, worried, but she’s smiling through her tears, sliding her hand through debri and dust to wrap around his. He smiles back, surprised to discover that he’s crying, too.

But she’s suddenly yanked away, screaming as those invisible hands drag her by her ankles and toss her onto the couch. “Scully!” Mulder yells, getting up to run toward her.

He’s tripped by an orange shag carpet.

“It’s not you, Sherry, it’s me,” he whimpers, frantically wriggling as the carpet begins to roll up with him inside of it. He groans and drags himself across the floor with his hands, carpet and all. The Philco set buzzes past him in the air and he shouts. “Watch out, Scully!”

He doesn’t see where it lands, but it the sound it make is a sickening smack, a bludgeoning soundtrack. “Scully?” No response. “Scully?”

He groans, dragging himself with agonizing slowness until he’s at the couch. Propping himself up his arms, his legs still wrapped in the rug, his mouth waters in fear and his stomach tightens at the sight of her, pale and silent, with one patch of bloody red hair staining her temple.

He checks her pulse, is relieved to find it faint, but still there. He kicks and pounds inside his trap until it’s beaten slack and stupid, and lifts himself onto the couch.

“Scully?” He lightly touches the spot where she’s hurt and she jerks her head and groans. “Oh, thank god.”

“Take me to dinner next time,” she winces, feeling the wound for herself and hissing out when she brushes the most tender part. She sits up, he pulls her hair away to give her better access. “I probably need to go to the hospital for this.”

“Well let’s try and get you there, partner.” One hand on her back, the other on her shoulder, he tries to help her up, but is interrupted with the sound of… “Scully. Scully, shit.”

“What?”

“Scully, the bookca–” SLAM.

***

She hauls him out of the dead and empty house, panting with the exertion and the throbbing pain in her head.

“I think–I think she went back to sleep,” Mulder yaps manically. “I think that put her to sleep. Reenacting the – the crime.” “We’re not dead, Mulder,” she grunts. Another foot down the driveway. “I just wish we were dead.”

“I think we better call an ambulance, Scully,” he says, resigned. “I don’t think either of us can drive.”

They call the ambulance and wait. Scully plops down beside him, wincing as the morning sun reflects off the ugly pink wood and cuts into her blurry vision. “This sucks, Mulder,” she sighs, squeezing her fists into her eyes.

“God, I know. This was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“How are you going to help me move with two broken ankles?” She sighs again, shaking her head. “I’ll have to hire somebody now.”

He beams at her.

***

All the spirits rejoice and return to their graves for their year long sleep.

***

Girl, you make me lose my mind!

[raleigh-ocean]

troubles of a learning heart, part 1 | billie dean howard x dara ann lynch

words: 12,580

summary: Love was quite the difficult thing at times, Billie thought many times, and she admired Dara for spending the last seven years how it felt to be truly loved, however when she started to try and give back that love to her...well, let’s say she didn’t expect that there would be moments in which she would have to step forward and actively show it. But, as she lies in bed with Dara still by her side, she thinks that she will make it as long as her heart pick up quick in the habits, in the ways of showing her dear love that she’s being reciprocated. First part of two.

warning: anxiety attack? Idk I kinda wanna give y’all some warning that there’s a heavy part near the end.

n/a: I want to thank @grilledcheeseandguavajelly for encouraging me to post it, because I’ve been feeling like a no-no since I finished this yesterday. This is full of tiny headcanons and bits from other of my stories and some others I want to write, so I hope you enjoy it. This first part is like a prequel to put a context to the next chapter of ‘over my skin, part 3’ and the second part would be the resolution of this big thing, because it goes deeper. I’m trying to make Billie finally build her love, all those raw feelings she has for Dara and put her into a few situations I think it will help her. 

"Here you go papi, take it easy, don't want your mother to scream at both because you spilled your ice-cream all over your new shirt so soon."

Billie looked at Dara in that moment with a mix of fondness and amusement, trying at the same time to find a way to help the other seven year old boy, who was smiling at his brother with all the happiness a kid could gather up when given what they wanted.

Her attention drifted a bit when a loud chuckle interrupted the moment, the teenage girl that was fighting her chocolate ice-cream from melting all over her hand snapping her out of the calm picture and getting a scowl back from the last boy.

"Auntie always has shirts to spare around because they get messy," the scowling boy - Ezra, Billie recalled his name this time - was barely two months older than the twin boys, but since she met him, Billie found out that he was an intelligent and straight-to-the point kid. 

"I figure, y'all lot have the same curse with food and clothes," Dara smiled at him with the sweetest dimpled smile, which was returned with a similar one from Ezra. "I remember when your sister was around your age that your abuelita always had sweatpants ready in case of an accident."

That made the teenager blush fiercely and the kids to giggle, Billie trying to hide her own smile eating some of her own ice-cream. 

Today was being a good day so far even when she had her doubts about it when it started, taking in count she was not used to babysit. But she thought it was good in someway, an exception to make her remember that even when she was in some kind of vacation from work, it felt good to be able to do something instead of just sitting around in a house that was still pretty much unknown for her.

"What? Did I lie mami?" Dara, in a smooth move, saved some vanilla ice-cream from falling into the table and then ate a spoonful of her own - Billie always found funny how most of the time Dara picked fruit flavors. 

"Please aunt Dara, stop calling me that," Eva - Billie remembered that one easily - gave Billie a quick glance before trying to hide somehow her embarrassment.

"Yeah, give her a rest babe," Billie was fast to pick up that and with the pet name, she had Dara smiling at her and throwing her hands in the air, all of that before lowering her voice a bit. "I think her friends overheard you enough back at the mall."

"Fine, fine, I'm only stopping because you gonna get enough of it once we are back at the house," Dara took a look over her niece and nephews before standing up. "I'm getting some more napkins before any mess happens."

It was weird for Billie to see that 'doting aunt' side of Dara, but she couldn't help but think how much it suited her. Hearing her talk with soft and cheerful voice here and there, only made Billie believe that her partner was a natural when it came to take care of the rest.

She looked at her for a second, seeing how much Dara was limping but not complaining about it, and it filled Billie with some sick respect for her...and worry. 

However her attention drifted once again when Ezra asked her if he could try some of her ice-cream in a shy tone, mostly because his sister didn’t seem to let him indulge in that. Not having Dara by her side made Billie nervous for some reason, probably because she wasn’t used to be in her own in this situation. And also because she didn’t know much about Dara’s hometown, so it was a strange situation for sure.

“Kids!” the sudden masculine voice startled Billie, making her heart to start beating faster. “Where’s your mom, hmm?”

“¡Tío!” it was then when Billie entered the panic zone because two of the four kids were moving faster than she could, going to hug a man that she never saw before. “We’re eating ice-cream!”

This tall man, with leather vest, an old t-shirt of some kind of festival and baggy jeans. His hair was slicked back except for a few loose strands that fell over his forehead. He had tattoos covering his arms and some showing through the neck of his shirt.

“That can I see and taste,” the man laughed because he had pick up the twins, they were kissing him in his cheeks and giving him to try their desserts, and then his eyes went to Billie first before looking at the teenager girl. “Where’s Diana or your mother, Eva? I thought Carla didn’t let you go alone outside.”

“We aren’t alone,” Ezra interceded, scowling once again, but not looking at the man. “We are with aunt Billie…”

If Billie was nervous and about to panic, hearing the kid addressing her like that calmed her in a weird way. She wasn't a stranger to be called aunt, her own sister had a couple of kids, but she visited them so little that it was just as weird. She smiled at him, but the man didn’t even seem to acknowledge Ezra nor her because he kept looking at Eva with an inquisitive look. Eva didn’t seem to want to talk and Billie wasn’t sure if she was afraid or just the stubborn teenager part, but she did it the same with a strange glint of pride that Billie already saw somewhere that she couldn’t pinpoint at the moment.

“Working. Aunt Dara came a few days ago, she’s watching over us,” it was time for the man to go pale suddenly. 

“Edo, Ev, you’re gonna make a mess all over your uncle, get down papis, c'mon.”

Obedient as ever, the twins wiggled their way to the ground and Billie got her stomach in a tight knot only by feeling how the still cheerful situation dropped to one more serious. Dara was leaning in her cane with both hands, looking at the man that was now facing her, a nervous smile over his lips.

"Ana, how you doin'?" There wasn't a visible height difference, but Billie got the feeling that the man shortened when he leant to kiss Dara's cheek in a friendly way - and receiving a soft one back in response. "Didn't know you were back."

"For a few days, yeah, we're on vacation and decided to spend it with my family," the sentiment in Billie's guts got tighter when Dara was adamant in making a point with the way she said the 'we', tapping her cane in the ground twice. "And I've never been better Godo. I'm spending the morning with my niece and nephews, what else could I ask for?"

"That's amazing th-"

"Tío Godo asked where's mama, tía," Eduardo, the twin with the bright green shirt, was quick to speak over the adult while hugging Dara's good leg.

Billie saw the way Godo sunk a bit more with that, how Dara's brown eyes hardened and how Eva looked away almost immediately.

"Is that so, hmm?" Dara hummed, fixing Eduardo's messy black hair with quick fingers, the gold of her rings shining a bit while her attention went from the kid to the man.

"Just checking in Ana, y'know I worry about the kids and they were alone," Godo chuckled nervously and Billie immediately felt a soft static in her skin. "I bet you understand."

"Uncle here asked for mom too," Eva chirped, only making Dara to tighten her jaw a second before flashing one of her smiles. 

"But they weren't alone, my partner here was with them," Billie absolutely didn't want to get any attention, unlike the rest of the time in her life. "As I am, so now you can go your way with your worries eased. I'm sure you can give my sisters a call if you wanted to speak with them, right?" Godo nodded and the static went away, Dara smiling at him again as if she was even glad to have met him there. "Great, then it was nice to see you, Big G."

When he was gone, Billie smiled almost shyly at Dara and was met with the purest form of happiness in the way the woman smiled her back. It was as if the encounter didn't happen and Billie knew right off the bat that there was a long story behind all of the animosity that the kids missed by a head - except maybe for Eva, which started to act a bit softer towards her little brother.

After that they resumed the ice-cream time a few minutes later and decided to make a quick stop to get burgers for take out. Billie knew Dara always liked to actually eat in the place, but by the way her leg was acting up, it was for the best to take everything back to the house instead of staying for lunch.

"Annie, everything alright?" asked Billie while the kids were already running towards Dara's parents and Eva was carrying the bags with the food.

"Yeah honey, just a bit tired but nothing a nap can't fix," Dara leant for a kiss, one longer than the tiny pecks they shared over the morning. "I'm hungry actually, and you?"

"I'm hungry too," Billie chuckled, wrapping her arms better around Dara's waist and drawing a giggle from her. A new slow kiss making them  forget their chances of making out like teenagers against Dara's mother's car were getting high. "But nothing we can’t fix before your nap," that made Dara laugh and Billie smiled big at her. "If we can, of course, I mean...did you see your nephews? We should be running before they eat our food too."

"Their stomachs are like black holes, incredible, isn't it?" Dara pressed her lips against Billie's in a lazy and tired kiss, before lacing their arms together so they could walk inside with the rest. "I think is a genetic thing."

And after only one day around Dara's family, Billie knew that it was true. She never saw so much food disappear so fast in a long while, and she was living with Dara for almost four years now and with her for almost three more.

…

“Who was the guy?”

Billie managed to pull away from the charm that was Dara spreading body cream in her legs to finally ask the question. They’d claimed the main bathroom for themselves after everyone had their turn and they were taking every extra second of that privacy. 

Against the odds, Dara passed out the second she touched the inflatable mattress and Billie took that time to indulge in answering some emails at first, but after the few first ones it became impossible to do something else with Dara cuddling her right side with such sweet face. Would it be hard to take a quick nap? When they woke up, Billie thought she had been hit with a rock, her eyes too heavy, but tiny kisses helped her to get rid of the sleep.

If they tried to get some well deserved private moment, it was broken the second Darziel - Dara’s little brother - came through the door complaining about how their mother was doing some kind of zafarrancho to get ready for tonight’s dinner. Dara had hit him with her cane, repeatedly, until she managed to get him out of the room and then Ezra came in running from the twins, trying to get a place to hide. Billie knew it was a matter of time they got interrupted again and she was right the moment Deirdre - Dara’s biggest sister and Eva and Ezra’s mom - came into the room, hiding as well from her own mother…

...and in a matter of time, the room was crowded.

“Who?” asked Dara, fixing a bit her loose robe, but not stopping from going through the little routine. Billie was used to see it and appreciate it by now and seeing her so bare, raw, natural, helped greatly each time to remind her how much she loved her girl. 

“Badass Godo-guy,” explained Billie, getting as comfortable as she humanly could, sitting in an old stool and her back to the tile wall. “He was pretty adamant in ignoring not only me but your nephew. Ezra told him I was with them but turned a deaf ear on it.”

For a second Billie forgot what was she saying because Dara turned around, the robe loose again and letting her see...well, some pretty nice things; and walked towards her - barely two steps because the bathroom wasn’t really big - to sit in her lap. Billie feared for a second the stool was going to collapse under their weight, but it was resilient enough. Hands on hips, hands on shoulders and Dara was sighing softly while playing with the ends of Billie’s blonde hair.

“My brother-in-law’s brother...Diana’s,” Billie silently thanked the clarification, drawing her thumbs over Dara’s thighs in random patterns - she was extra careful with the one scarred. “He’s a fucking bully, went with me to high school. Godofredo doesn’t like many people and the sentiment is mutual.”

“For being a bully, you got him acting like a tiny pupper, doll,” Dara was the one smiling shyly this time, getting a kiss just for that. 

“Let’s say that I...beat him up really hard once,” Billie kissed Dara’s knuckles and fingers, bare from her usual rings, and then the inside of her wrist were one of her cross tattoos rested. “And twice, and thrice...and broke a chair in his back.” It was then when Billie looked at her wide-eyed. “That one had to do with why he ignored my nephew like that.”

Billie knew they would’ve been at it right away again, but she felt satisfied with what they did in the shower for some reason. That’s why they were last to shower, because Dara took in her hands all the things her siblings didn’t want to do - helping her mother in the kitchen, per example; driving her uncle Cedric to his appointment afterwards while Billie tried to help Dara's father in the backyard - to have the rest of the time from there to dinner free. 

It was their time, only theirs to do as they wanted, and Billie wanted to actually fill it with more than sex.

Talking was good, she liked hearing Dara talk, and hearing more about her was even better. She was genuinely interested in whatever she was about to hear...because all she could focus in was the woman sitting in her lap, not in whatever was floating inside her brain almost twenty four seven.

“Godo and Berto’s oldest brother is Eva’s father,” Billie saw Dara frowning and she leant to kiss her chin, getting one in her cheek in response. “I don’t even care where the fuck he is now, Berto neither, but Godo always looked up to his big brother. Fifteen years has passed and he still forgets that his brother lost any right as father and partner the day he left my sister to her own devices, and that’s only the top of the list,” there was tiredness in Dara’s voice and a hint of rage that faded when Billie focused in keep drawing soft patterns in her skin. “It took my sister eight years to finally move on, she got married and soon Ezra was in the way. Godo still takes that as a treason or I don’t even know at this point...and well, the rest is story.”

“But I don’t get how you ended up breaking a chair in his back,” it was a lot to take in, to be fair, but Dara couldn’t help but laugh when Billie tried to lighten the mood in the bathroom. 

“He decided to be a super duper asshole towards Deirdre while we were doing groceries, and well, a twenty-five years old me was really...let’s say I had a lot of pent up anger. I was invited to a party and you know how I get with the gin and he had the fucking audacity to show up,” Dara shrugged a bit and kissed Billie on the lips, sweet and slow while indulging in the intimate embrace. “If it wasn’t for Daya, he would have had a broken pool stick going clean through his thigh.”

“Wait, twenty-five, we already met when you did all of that?” Billie blinked fast at that and Dara blushed hard. “Now I can see why you were so-”

“Oh shush, I still am like that or did you forget what we did a week ago?” it was time for Billie to laugh and Dara to act like she was offended by what she said. Act because of the way she bit her cheek playfully. “But I did soften since then.”

She didn’t think that Dara actually softened, sometimes Billie could see that fierceness in her eyes, but she let her have that because she decided to move when someone knocked on the door. It was Dara’s father, Jeziel, telling them that they needed help to set up the table. Billie muffled a laugh against her hand when Dara silently punched the air and pinched the bridge of her nose before replying that they were going down in ten.

“See?” Dara started to gather their things to get back to the room. “This is why I like your sister."

"Do you now?" Billie raised an eyebrow, because she knew how much Dara despised Josephine - Jo wasn't really polite with her and openly declared her dislike for Dara, even when Dara herself always tried to be the most polite ever, to the point that even Billie and Jo's father had started to make positive comments towards the younger woman. 

"Yeah, with her at least I see the knife that's gonna stab me," Dara laughed openly and Billie couldn't help but chuckle with her. "Bunch of traitors, I'm telling you, we gonna steal the natillas and the vodka bottle and go feast by the pool."

"Baby, you're on your medication," Billie caught Dara by the waist, spinning her around so she could kiss her once again. "You can't get hammered."

"Calamities never come alone," Billie knew it was a rough translation of some spanish words just by how weird was it phrased, but it was okay, who cared anyway? "Would my lady in shining armor come save us from doing the dishes tonight?"

God, why was she so goofy unexpectedly? Dara didn't seem to want to let go, her arms circling Billie's neck with care and pressing slow kisses down her cheeks to her neck. It wasn't fair, it had to be illegal!

"We'll use one of the twins as distraction and the other to steal the car keys, I'll take you anywhere you want me to," she tried to sound dreamy, fairy tale-sque even, but all she did was sound a bit desperate. "Pick a direction and I'll drive."

"God, how much I love you Billie Dean," the next kiss was glorious, taking in count it was probably the big last one until they were again in their room late at night later. "But we should go already, honey, let's go."

And that was it, their private moment ended with a dreamy sight and a kiss to die for, and Billie felt like something in her chest beamed with pride, love and a deepness she was getting fond of. 

Dara was a slow walker now, to her own dismay since she hated moving slow, so it was easy to capture her hand and intertwine their fingers. Billie opened her mouth for a second, thinking about what she was going to say next, and Dara looked at her with curiosity filling her tired eyes. Without make-up, Billie could see the tiny freckles over her nose and cheeks better and it only added her a whole new level of cuteness.

"Are you okay Bills?" it was a question in a whisper, genuine worry laced with the words.

"Yes, it's only that I...well," she wanted to say it, she really wanted but it was too difficult. "I…" Dara's eyes shone in anticipation, one that made Billie feel a bit bad. "I think you didn't softened, you only got wiser and more patient."

How hard actually was when Dara said it to her almost everyday?

"Absolutely, if twenty-five me would had been in the same situation as thirty-two me today, that man would had been at the dentist to get fake teeth for real as of now," Dara giggled, hiding away the little disappointment upon not hearing those words she wanted to hear so bad, and kissed Billie's cheek sweetly. "Not letting him go with the soft warning of 'go already or I'll break your ribs with my cane'," one more kiss to Billie's nose and a dimpled smile. "Now let's go, before Diana breaks a new plate in the way to set up the table."

...

Billie didn’t know what to do at that point and it perfectly showed.

She always had easy talk ready to overcome awkward situations, that’s how she survived to lots of parties all those years. But Dara could see that it wasn't that easy for her right in this moment, not when she was watching Deirdre and Diana argue over God knows what and none seemed to want to stop them.

Dara was used to that, Deirdre was always out of touch with the fact that Diana was sensitive and Diana always forgot that Deirdre loved to burn every argument down to the base. It didn't help at all that her mom was trying to give Billie some pointers about, again, God knows what and that was messing up with any tempo her dear medium was trying to keep. She wanted to go save her before it was too late for her head, but she was busy getting the plates over the table in order while Eduardo tried to talk her ear off about the show he seemed to love so much these days.

How could a seven years old talk that much and so fast? If she wasn't trained with the old ladies at the store, she would've gone insane only five seconds in.

"¿En serio, papi? Give me that," Dara smiled at her nephew, not wanting to cut his speech but needing the cutlery in his hands. Eduardo gave it to her without taking a break from talking. "Hmm, abuelita gave you more forks, someone's coming?" But the kid was too deep in his world of explaining to his favourite part to actually pay more attention than the necessary to his aunt. "Well, we'll see later then."

It was something that didn't worry Dara at all, taking in count in her house there was always more people than the usual. Maybe her parents invited some friend over or her siblings, who knows? Reaching for her cane, which she left against the table, Dara decidedly tried to move towards Billie now that she was free.

Her grandfather, Bruno, saved the medium from the little chaos and they were sharing a comfortable silence in the couch, or at least that much Dara could see. Seeing both like that, two of the most important people in her life getting along well, made her stomach explode with butterflies as if she was a teenager again. And she wanted to be part of it too, even when she overheard some ruckus in the front door.

However, the ruckus had a name and Dara was interrupted in her tiny quest of making her way to Billie because of the new guest at the house.

"Oh God, Dara!!!!!" Loud as ever, the asian girl crossing the backyard door was smiling directly at her, running with open arms towards her and meeting in a big hug. "How long since I last saw you? Instagram posts doesn't count, it's been forever!"

"Don't be dramatic Gemma, I was here a couple months ago," Dara couldn't help but laugh at her soon sister-in-law's antics. "I hope Darziel is treating you right."

"Your brother will always treat me well," Gemma's laugh was clear and soft, making Dara feel at ease only with that. "Where's your mom, by the way? My mom made me brought over some desserts and other things."

"Kitchen...I think? You know the drill, follow the panicked voice and you'll find her," they both laughed with that and Gemma hugged her again, Dara indulging on it because well, she missed her friend, to be honest. "At my left at dinner like always?"

"Of course! Your right is for your grangran, how can I stole his sea-"

"Actually, tonight Billie is at my right," the statement made Gemma stop from walking and she looked back at Dara with surprise and curiosity written all over he face. "He's at her right."

"No way, is she here?" Hearing Gemma so excited only because Billie came to Sacramento this time, made Dara happily hum and nodded where Billie was now shyly chatting with Deirdre's husband. "Okay, okay, later you'll fill me with details and I'll try to sell my soul to the devil so you two have a table at the restaurant before you go back home," Gemma squeezed Dara's hand over the cane and smiled big at her before Ezra drew her attention, hugging her by the thighs. "Hey, big guy! Let's go see your granny, I brought your favourite mini-cakes."

When Gemma was gone, Dara couldn't help but chuckle to herself. Who would have tell that an eight year gap was something difficult in a friendship? She practically saw Gemma grow up in the woman she was today, her brother and her the bestest of friends until the spark of love grew between them and became more. To this day, it still amazed Dara how everyone was so blind to not see how Darziel was head over heels with her since they were little.

Maybe she could tell Billie that story at the promised dinner at Gemma's parents' restaurant.

Looking towards her blonde, Dara caught Billie asking for silent help because Abraham was drifting away in the conversation - as always - and she was getting even more lost if it was possible. Yeah, she totally needed to save her girl, be the knight in shining armour first and all those nice things.

But right in the moment she was about to take the first step, she heard it clear even over the voices of everyone. 

The whir of a motorbike making a left in the corner of the street, the engine stopping in front of the house...it was loud enough to fill the silence of the street even when the house was alive with voices. It made Dara's stomach churn anxiously just with that, because she knew that exact sound by heart and soul. She really wanted it to be a hallucination because of the mix of allergy and pain meds, but the doorbell going off told her it wasn't.

Frozen like she was, Dara managed to turn around when she heard the rest welcoming the new guest that came through the backyard door. She wasn't ready for this, not at all, but she composed her best smile by the moment her eyes locked with those she knew from a long time ago, filled with surprise and something deeper, something she wasn't sure what it was because she was too worried to not runaway in that moment.

"Dara...Ana," her second name was always the way to soften her and only three people in this world could make it work. "You look beautiful, how are you?"

Her grandfather, Billie and Benjamin, her ex.

"Getting ready for the feast," Dara smiled in automatic and she immediately knew Benjamin knew it as well, that she was slipping into her full damage control mode as the clock was ticking even when she felt herself less tense. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

And it wasn’t a lie, he had changed...both had changed greatly, in fact, but Dara thought the change looked better on him. Benjamin sported his hair short, one of those modern haircuts kids these days wore, and it was obvious he had trouble with styling it since he had wore it long since Dara had memory. He was dressed in jeans, clean sneakers, and shirt buttoned all the way up...and he looked so uncomfortable on it, that it drove Dara crazy for some reason.

Making her forget that she had literally no clue why he was even there.

And she moved towards him, like a magnet, instead of going to save Billie from Abraham’s never-ending talk.

Billie saw how Dara made her way towards the new man in the house and she felt something waking up in the pit of her stomach. 

It wasn’t like she didn’t see Dara interacting with people, she was always polite and kind even with strangers, but it was the way the man threw his hands a bit to help her girl, the way Dara only moved her hand to dismiss it and got what she wanted - because who could get Dara to indulge without a fight? -; the way she fixed his shirt and his hair with quick fingers, the man thanking in a whisper while he also fixed his belt; and obviously the way he took her cane’s hand and kissed her fingers, over her rings, respectfully.

All of that it what truly woke Billie’s raw jealousy...but in a way she had never felt before.

A sad one that started eating her alive right in that moment. 

It went worse the second they were all sat at the table finally. Dara seemed nervous, her fingers flickering with the need of having a cigarette over her knee, when this man sat in front of them led by Dara’s mother. Billie wanted to reach for her hand, intertwine her fingers with hers and kiss her head to whisper the softest ‘I love you’ ever whispered and see if it would help her girl to calm down.

Her eyes went to the rest of the table, trying to see if anyone was acting different, but she was met with the pure happiness of a family gathering. It gave her the empty sensation she sometimes had with Dara, like an impenetrable wall that hold back everything, but when she looked at their side of the table…

...she was met with something completely different. 

Gemma was her bubbly self, but she kept being the most attentive towards Dara, talking her ear off but also giving her reassuring touches here and there. Darziel was as nervous as his sister, but he was trying to keep himself busy with eating because unlike Dara, his appetite never died apparently. Don Bruno kept eating, his eyes on the man as if he was able to dig holes in his skull just like that, but also kept passing Billie some of the dishes so she could eat a little of this and a little of that, making mumbled pointers about the food. Berto and Abraham talked to each other, to their kids, but sometimes gave nervous glances to their wives and to this man.

When her eyes finally landed in Carla, in the right end of the table, Billie knew there was something bigger than a family gathering going on and somehow, her sad jealousy went to a second plane because her attention was drawn by this same man that seemed to destabilize the whole picture.

“Sorry, I think we weren’t introduced,” he had a sweet smile, gentleman like, and it was pretty visible for her that he was trying to make things less awkward. He stretched his hand over the big lasagna platter and Billie went in automatic, taking it in hers. She expected a strong handshake but he held her hand as delicately as he did with Dara’s minutes ago. “I’m Benjamin Hernández, my parents are old friends of the family.”

“Billie Dean Howard,” she said her name trying to add the punch she always added when meeting someone, but she failed miserably. “I’m Annie’s partner.”

She did not fail, however, in finally reaching for Dara’s hand under the table with her free one, intertwining their fingers as she wanted. She didn't need to put up the charade of the medium of the stars, the fake smile, a more composed voice. She was just Billie.

And having Dara looking at her with the whole universe shining in her eyes was all that she needed to get her going through the whole dinner.

...

Saying that she ate too much was an understatement, she was pretty sure that she never ate that much to begin with. But it didn’t feel wrong, Billie was actually satisfied, warm and feeling just a bit tipsy thanks to the wine, making her enjoy better the rest of the night. She was still pretty much jealous, who was she kidding, but having Dara so close to her while they were playing domino with Diana, Deirdre and Gemma did wonders on her mood.

Dara seemed less nervous and leaving tiny pecks in her cheeks every time they did a good move in the game seemed to be helping her keep whatever storm that’s brewing in her head at bay.

“No, honey, you need to pay attention to this and this,” Billie nodded, following Dara’s hands. “And then...you put this one and boom! We won!”

“No fucking way!” Diana laughed at Deirdre’s reaction, Gemma still trying to figure out how Dara had won once again at domino. “To Hell with you, how do you do that? You always sucked ass to this game.”

“I found some online domino and the store is empty too many hours a day, I got better just by boredom,” Dara chuckled while Diana pulled all the tiles together, so they could play another round. “And Dahlia and I always play when we get together, she’s teaching Shelby as well.”

“And how that’s going? She’s a pretty good teach, I’ll always remember how she helped me with maths over Skype.” asked Gemma, happy to hear about Dahlia. 

“Horrible, for a yoga instructor, Shelby sure does have like zero patience,” Billie laughed at that, the memory of how frustrated the other blonde woman was fresh in her head, while Dara put her arm over her shoulders. “Dahlia loves her too much to tell her, but hey, until then we got some funny show going."

Billie looked at Dara for a second, taking in the way the orangish light lightened her features ever so softly. Beautiful, so beautiful, so, so beautiful that Billie leant to kiss her just because she couldn't help it at this point of the night. Dara smiled against her lips and also indulged on it, her hand to Billie's cheek to loosely caress her cheekbone with her thumb.

It didn't last long but they kept kissing each other, peck after peck and making them forget they were about to play another round of domino, making both forget they felt still uneasy from dinner.

"Go get a room you two," Diana threw them a domino tile and Dara chuckled against the last kiss, receiving another one in the cheek. 

"Same room you all keep using as hiding spot? No, thanks, I pretty much prefer to wait a few more days till we get home," Billie hid her face in Dara's neck so they couldn't see her smiling smugly at the lie, but also fondly at how the word 'home' sounded in Dara's lips. "Unless you want to learn some stuff from yo-"

"Oh my dear lord, don't finish that sentence Dara Ann Lynch!"

Everything sent them all into a big fit of laughter, one shushed quickly by Carla coming out from the kitchen back door with her arms akimbo. They five were the only ones still in the yard, the rest inside taking care of dirty dishes, sleepy kids and furniture moved.

“You better move inside, your father is already getting the ron out and all,” it was their cue to move, Billie knew that pretty well, and she soon had her arm ready for Dara to take. “Billie, can you be a dear and help me with coffee?”

“I can help you m-” Dara started to say before Billie could say or do something.

“Oh no, cariño," the way Carla smiled made Billie's stomach churn and she gave a side glance to Dara. "You rest a bit, okay? Dei, Dia, help your father, I think he's also fighting with the music thing you bought him for Christmas."

Deirdre and Diana said 'si mamá' at the same time and Gemma scratched the back of her neck, not knowing what to do since her mother-in-law didn't give her a task. Carla was still there, waiting for Billie, and she smiled at her before squeezing Dara's forearm a bit.

"Of course Carla, I'm coming."

Dara smiled faintly when Billie kissed her cheek and Gemma was quick to replace her, helping with the moving part towards the living room. As the day has gone by, Dara was feeling drained because all of the come and go had strained a bit her bad leg, and not even her cane was enough to make her feel steady. 

Billie didn't want to leave her side, but playing nice with Dara's mother was important at this moment. She always felt there was some kind of separation with Dara's family and her, and she wanted to close that stranger gap. Sometimes she felt like they all were waiting for Billie to dump Dara and it was unnerving, to be fair, making her guts twist uncomfortably.

When she passed by the living room, Deirdre and Diana were talking with their father in spanish, the tone of their voices one of mockery yet exasperation because probably it wasn't the first time they helped him with the whole device. Cedric, Dahlia's father, was talking with Benjamin and Berto on the couch, while Abraham was getting glasses from a cabinet. The whole living room was getting cozy in someway, a kind of warmth Billie wasn't used to but she found herself not minding at this point...even enjoying it.

Everything was really different from her own childhood home.

Bruno gave Billie a warm smile when Carla and her got in the kitchen, tapping slightly with his hand the side table there to the rhythm of the song that was now playing in the background softly. There was still food in the counters, waiting to be fully cold and be stored in the fridge, but also there was a plate and a glass aside that made Billie recall that Dara's little sister, Dayanara, wasn't around yet.

"Is Dayanara coming home soon?" asked Billie after being told where were the stuff for coffee.

"Yeah, she called a few minutes ago, said in forty-five she'll be here," Carla chirped, turning on the stove so she could put the coffee pot and a kettle to heat up. "Daya's been working too many extra shifts this week, my poor baby."

"For a week that her sister is here, she should have stick with her usual schedule," rumbled Bruno, playing with a piece of paper that was over the side table. 

"Ay papá, you know how she is, she just want to be better and be a good nurse, and that takes a lot of hard work," Carla gave Billie some cups and gestured her where the little spoons were. Dara had the same hand gestures as her mother, she noted. 

"All I'm saying is that we barely have Anita here, demonios."

"Dara understands that Dayanara is working hard, she's the happiest as long as they can have some time together," interceded Billie after retrieving the spoons, leaving them in the tray they were getting ready. "But…" she looked over her shoulder before lowering her voice, a bit worried. "I feel like Dara thinks Dayanara is avoiding her or something."

And it wasn't a lie, to be honest. Dara did commented on it one of the days late at night, when they were lying awake because of the heat, and Billie easily picked up to what her girl was saying the next morning. She was always good at picking up the behaviour of the rest, even when sometimes was harder, thanks to her own gift and just by how Dayanara turned down every plan Dara had proposed to her, well, what else could be said.

However, Billie didn't drop the comment that innocently. If something was up, maybe a push in the right direction would give her some pointers about why everyone seemed so uneasy since they arrived. It wasn't only a thing of that day, Billie had been picking up the weirdness in the family little by little and decided to keep it to herself so Dara could enjoy their time there.

Maybe today was just too much, overall after seeing how Dara had reacted upon having that Benjamin guy over dinner with them all.

"No, no, no, she's just busy," even when Carla's voice was a bit happy-go-lucky, Bruno's scowl said that there was something else behind. "And tired, that's all."

Carla still didn't know how stubborn could Bullie get, unfortunately, let alone when Dara was involved. She needed to cut everything by the root the moment it started to bother her girl, she didn't make the rules.

"Well, you can lie to her all you want," Billie said, a match lightening inside her chest, while pushing the kitchen's door to shut it close. "And she's going to let you if she noticed, but not me. What's going on?" she asked it with the voice she usually used on set. "Since the second that guy was in her view, Annie's been all shook up, and I don't like that because we're supposed to be on vacation, away from any headache."

Billie didn't miss how Bruno looked at her, a proud glint in his eyes, when she crossed her arms under her chest and looked at Carla with all the courage she had gathered up in a matter of seconds. 

God bless coffee for being so slow to be brewed.

"You can't tell my daughter about it, okay?" Fucking bingo, thought Billie when Carla finally gave in, looking at her to get a nod in response. "Did she talk to you about Benjamin before?" Negative, Billie shook her head. "He's her ex-boyfriend...and he's now dating Dayanara."

…

Dara had her eyes closed, trying to focus in how her father's heart beat, all while listening to him hum along the song that was currently playing. 

They managed to get the music going and she was just too tired, hoping that Billie could free herself from her mother's hands soon, but her father had pulled her to dance with him. 

She couldn't say no and she preferred to be occupied with something instead of leaving room to Benjamin to talk to her again. Dara was still trying to wrap her head around why he was there and, as much as she wanted, there was something buried deep inside her chest that stopped her from start a third degree interrogatory right away.

“...Y si en sueños pudiera volar, yo llegaría hasta ti,” her dad started to actually sing and Dara smiled, still her eyes closed. “Para entonces hacerte escuchar, lo que nunca te pude decir…” Dara giggled when he switched to humming again and it drew a low laugh from Jeziel. 

“¿Ya te olvidas de tus canciones favoritas, viejito?” she asked in a mumble, letting herself be held better by her father. At times, more often than not these days, she missed the feeling of protectiveness being in his arms gave her. 

“Ya sabes que nunca las aprendí del todo mami,” Jeziel smiled and kissed the back of her head, still swaying to the rhythm of the ballad. 

“So lucky mommy loves you, you’re such a romantic,” she shook her head and tightened her hug.

“Sometimes I think she still loves me because I’m strong enough to move stuff around, like, I still got the guns and all,” Dara felt her father flex his arms a bit, making her roll her eyes because he still called his muscles like that. She felt how her father left his hand in her hair, carefully brushing her soft locks. “I like when you let your hair grow, makes me remember when you were home.”

Maybe that was why she didn’t like it, because it made her remember of all the things she didn’t want to relive, but sometimes she kept postponing going to the hairdresser when she was too busy and her head too full of thoughts. Which was kinda why it was getting longer these days without her caring much about it. 

Spying through her eyelashes, she looked right at Benjamin, who was one of the reasons of why she did things differently these days.

“It makes me remember home as well,” Dara mumbled, hiding from her father that they remembered different things. “But I probably cut it once I’m back.”

“Ay no, mi niña, espérese a después de mi cumpleaños,” Jeziel pressed his hand a bit on Dara’s head, chuckling in that warm way he had. “Deme ese pequeño regalo, siempre te viste linda con tu pelito largo.”

“Okay, okay,” Dara sighed a laugh and looked at her father in the eyes finally, kissing his cheek fondly. Two months more of having long hair, she could do it...she thought. “But that’s your gift and that’s it, no more,” it wasn’t like a Dara had her father’s gift bought five months prior or else. “And you have to promise to make your chocolate cake for only us two and have a Rush Hour marathon...mojitos included.”

“None haggle like you, Anita,” Jeziel kissed her daughter’s forehead with love and tenderness. “You got a deal, but do you think Billie likes Rush Hour? Maybe we can let her have some cake and mojitos too.”

If Dara felt still uneasy, having her father to express curiosity and even show initiative towards Billie was a direct shot to her heart. Since the moment she told them she was dating Billie, her family except for her grandfather, Darziel and Gemma had been a bit...hesitant towards her. That in...seven years she didn’t show up much didn’t help her case, but she was taking steps forward and that seemed to have helped Dara’s family to also get interested, to want to get involved.

And that was the only thing Dara ever wanted since she knew she wanted to be with Billie as long as possible.

“Who do you think watch shitty movies with me back in Los Angeles? Dahlia?” that made father and daughter laugh, because Dahlia hated movies like those. “Billie sticks with me every time I get int-”

“Perdón,” Benjamin’s voice cut the father-daughter moment like a hot knife over butter. “¿Puedo...bailar con Ana, señor Jeziel?”

Dara felt her father’s hesitation in the way he didn’t stop from holding her, like he used to do when they were dating, and then the soft look in his face. Dara was the one between her siblings that resembled his father the most, her mother always joking that even as a days-old-baby she could pick point her from a bunch of other babies easily. So Jeziel got back the soft look he was giving, the permission Benjamin was asking for being given by his own daughter in the form of a tiny kiss on the cheek before his daughter turned around in his arms to put both her hands in the man’s shoulders.

His attention was drawn, however, by Eva wanting to dance with her grandfather and Dara was left with the source of her stress, who was trying to just mimic the way Jeziel was holding her daughter seconds ago.

Dara felt her body react like a ghost of what she was once. Forearms over Benjamin’s shoulders with her hands intertwined, Benjamin’s hands folded in her lower back and both looking into each other eyes with dozens of nights, days, noons spent together being there like a faint memory. 

It felt like they were seventeen again.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two and their love stronger than ever...yet they both were there, thirty-two and sharing space after ten years since the last time they touched each other, seven years since the last time they heard each other’s voices.

“I was being sincere back there, you still look beautiful,” it was a shy approach from him but Dara thanked it the same, because she was a bit speechless. “Thought a bit skinnier than I remember.”

“All my baby fat finally went from everywhere to my thighs and tits, what can I say? Still got some in my hands, though,” Dara couldn’t help but feel a tiny fire in her chest, full knowing Benjamin was picking at her and falling, making him laugh. “But I was sincere too, Min, you look nice even when I feel you’re wearing someone else’s skin.”

“Well...I thought it was time to make a big change once and for all, look nice and sharp, y’know?” that face that she once found so kissable didn’t change, the soft smirk on his lips, the rise and fall of his eyebrows. “Lena dragged my ass so hard after getting out that I kinda indulged in some brother-sister bonding time that ended up with me looking like one of these modern kids.”

“Your little sister won’t ever change...nor you do; she says ‘go’ and you say ‘where’,” Dara rolled her eyes at hearing, once again, her ex-sister-in-law’s antics. “How are you handling everything?”

Dara didn’t want to address the elephant in the room so soon, but it was better this way now that he kind of mentioned it. She felt her voice soften because six and a half years in jail wasn’t something easy to talk about, Benjamin’s features softening as well.

“It’s weird, not gonna lie in here, but these months are teaching me new things...and also making me think about some others,” he made that tiny gesture with his nose that indicated his cheek was itching and Dara’s hand went there to ease him, leaving it now in his shoulder while her other arm circled his neck. “Can you believe Godo approached me?”

That was something that ignited her from the pit of her stomach, raw anger destroying whatever coherent thing she was about to say and going full protection mode.

“Min, don’t te-”  

“I spit on his feet the second he was a meter from me, your father and your uncle saw me,” Dara felt Benjamin reassuringly caressing her lower back with his thumbs. “I’m not going back Ana, I’m trying to do something meaningful with my life...not going back with those that left me behind,” his smile was sad and full of hurt and all the anger that Dara was feeling settled in uneasiness. “You were always right, I still don’t know how you put up with all of it...and I’m sorry what it did to you, to us.”

Those words were ten years late, still made her heart ache with all the resentment she never managed to wash away.

“Someone had to protect you,” Dara shrugged, Benjamin taking her hand in his and pressing it in his chest, against where his heartbeat was going steady and where he had tattooed the same moon as Dara had under her right collarbone. Dara knew her ex was feeling her rings, her crooked fingers from a handful of times she broke them in a street fight when they were younger. “And I’m not drunk enough to have this full conversation, Min...not that I can get wasted now, anyway, mix of pills I became.”

“Viejita te me volviste,” Benjamin didn’t seem to mind that Dara didn’t want to follow that conversation, but both knew someday they’d have it and they were okay with that for the time being. 

“It’s not my fault this house became like an animal shelter, okay? My allergy skyrocketed in between Diana and her cats, Deirdre and her dog, my parents with Zeus...santo niño Jesús, give me a rest,” it wasn’t that Dara hated animals, she loved them in fact, but her allergy to animal fur...not goodie at all. “If my leg wasn’t acting up like a bitch, I would give the vodka a try,” she chuckled at that and a voice in her head nagged her because she also took one more of those. “But we have what we have.”

“It’s okay with me as long it’s okay with you,” Benjamin looked troubled for a second. “When my mother told me about the accident, it scared the shit out of me...watching you with that cane didn’t help to put me at ease at all.”

Two years had passed since the car accident but some days Dara still recalled it as if it was yesterday.

“Rehabilitation wasn’t enough, the limp will always be there as an effect, but I do prefer the limp over not having leg at all,” it was a too hardcore way to put it, but Dara always was direct like that. “Shit happens, Min.”

“I know but…” the hurt in his eyes was much deeper than Dara could think. “The thought of you alone in a hospital bed...it hunts me at times.”

Dara felt that last sentence like a glitch in the somewhat calm moment, deafening her for a second and her eyes straying from Benjamin’s face to where the kitchen door was opening, her mother, her grandfather and Billie coming back with the coffee, tea and whatever her mother was also getting ready. She kept swaying with Min but her whole skeleton wanted to escape, to take Billie by her hand and go upstairs, hide in the room and forget this night by drowning herself in between her lover’s thighs...as vulgar as that sounded.

“I wasn’t alone,” her voice was so faint that it hurted somehow. “Billie watched over me, she never left my side.”

While saying that Dara saw Billie freeze halfway to the living room’s table, locking eyes with her. Billie’s expression resembled a deer caught in the headlights and somehow the sensation of getting away from Benjamin got worse, as if his mere contact was like embers. Dara silently looked at her in search of an answer of sorts, Billie opening and closing her mouth ever so slightly and looking away from her.

Was that tea in her hands?

“Your partner, yeah,” Dara couldn’t tell what kind of feeling Benjamin wanted to convey, her own emotions building up, overwhelmed. Mockery, sadness, resentment, knowledge, she didn’t know, she didn’t want to know. “The ultra nice blondie, with the medium thing going. Your mother told me about her. If I didn’t know you better, I would have thought she was having a fling with you or something.”

Billie wanted to break the cup of tea in her hands against Benjamin’s head, that was for sure, but right in that moment she was a bundle of mixed feelings after what Carla had told her in the privacy of the kitchen.

She had seen Dara dancing with Nora multiple times, even hummed along the song they were dancing to, but it didn’t wake up the same feeling that the image in front of her was at the moment. She truly wanted to have the strength to pick up Dara in her arms, going full bridal style and take her upstairs, or somewhere entirely else to drown in being the two of them alone. There was no cigarette able to calm her right now, not even one of Audrey’s joints would help at all.

But there was something in Dara, the way her face was one of pure pain and surprise at the same time, that didn’t sit right. She seemed to be withdrawing from Benjamin as the seconds passed by and Billie’s eyes went to how the rest didn’t seem to notice the change in Dara at all.

It was then when the front door opened, keys clinking muffled thanks to the music, and the last Lynch arrived at the house. 

No, this can’t be. 

She thought that with her heart twisting in her chest painfully, seeing how Dayanara looked as mortified as Benjamin apparently but being more subtle about it. Billie didn’t need to read minds to know that Dayanara perfectly knew her boyfriend didn’t say shit to her sister or the rest did. They were all acting normal and her face showed clearly how tired, angered and confused she was. Billie felt Bruno by her side, taking from her hands the cup of tea she had ready for Dara, and leaving it over the table while letting his free hand to rest in the middle of her back. A silent support, she supposed.

“Daya!” Carla was trying too hard to cover her own surprise by being happy about her arrival. “I’ll heat you up some food, go get change and-”

“Mamá, por favor, cállate,” Billie didn’t need to understand spanish to fully know what was said by how Dayanara pinched the bridge of her nose after pulling up in her head her glasses, leaving her bag over a chair. She was still wearing her nurse uniform. “I’m too tired to handle this right now but I’m going to rip off the band-aid once and for all, and fuck everything.”

“What’s going on?” it wasn’t ‘what are you talking about?’ what came from Dara’s lips and Billie already expected her to say that because as much as she liked to be direct, Dara only asked for the same at the end of the day. 

“Benji and I have been dating for four months, that’s what’s going on,” Billie felt herself shiver at how similar Dara and Dayanara’s features were when angry. “I wanted to tell you right away, talk to you face to face, but between both being busy and all...well, I expected to tell you after dinner today. Thought he was going to start the conversation since I got stuck at work, but it seems he didn’t.” 

The tension in the living room was heavier than how it was at the Montgomery’s mansion, Billie starting to feel a soft static tickling her skin as if it was some kind of warning that everything could go to shit from one second to another. 

Dara wasn’t going to explode as her family thought, right? 

That was what Carla told her in the kitchen, the motive behind why they all had been hiding all of that from her. Carla told her that Dara would get angry and messy upon knowing that her ex was dating her little sister, but Billie had stepped forward to counter that, tell her...mother-in-law that Dara was pretty down on Earth and calm upon facing any kind of issue, always working her way through it with a control that even her wished to have.

Darziel looked between his older sisters, worried sick, while Deirdre and Diana looked to each other first and then to both Dayanara and Dara, as if they were going to get into a fight or something. Dayanara stood where she was, like an immovable force, but Dara…

...Billie never saw Dara so defenceless.

However, that defencelessness went away the moment Dara smiled brightly at her little sister, throwing off everyone in the room with the force of an earthquake.

“That’s...God, Daya!” Dara laughed and walked towards her little sister, who noticed right away how she was limping heavier and met her halfway, getting hugged in the process. “I’m so happy for you two! Now it makes sense that he’s here,” Dara flickered her fingers towards Benjamin. “It was my fault for not coming home earlier so we could talk, don’t worry,” then she looked at her mother before taking her cane, which was resting against the table, before lacing her fingers with Dayanara’s. “Let’s get you some food and you can tell me some details, if it’s okay with you.”

Annie, what are you doing? Billie wanted to scream that on top of her lungs, confused as she was, while the rest of the house seemed to start breathing at ease upon seeing such reaction from her. Bruno did seem to think the same as her, but there was something in his eyes that told Billie this kind of reaction wasn’t a one time thing.

“It...is,” Dayanara was getting back from the shock, nodding and starting to walk along Dara towards the kitchen. “We can always talk more over breakfast.”

“Of course, of course,” Dara chuckled and leant to kiss her sister’s temple with love. “Gossip over pancakes, best gossip, right?”

Billie didn’t care how Jeziel seemed to stop Benjamin from following them, didn’t care that the rest went back to their things, didn’t care when Bruno led her towards the couch so they could sit together and monopolize it.

But she did care about how Dara had gone, somehow, where Billie was still both too afraid and too confused to follow her. 

...

When a nausea wave hit her once again, making her empty whatever was left at that point in her stomach, Dara thanked to her five-minutes-past self to have opened the shower to make the most background noise possible.

It wasn’t weird at all that someone got showered at the wee hours of the night in the house at summer, so she saved her own ass with that. 

For sure heat didn’t help at all, she thought as she put a hand over her sweaty forehead, waiting in case she threw up again. Not that there was something else left but bile, but who knew what her body was going to decide. She laughed to herself, thinking in how in other scenery that could make her go bananas and think she was pregnant or something, instead of just having such anxiety attack like the one she was having in that very same moment.

God, sometimes her mind went to some weird places in those situations.

Drenched in sweat as she was, she made a quick work by flossing the toilet and get in the shower after peeling off her pajamas, taking advantage that it was already turned on. Cold water made her feel better, settling little by little the hole her anxiety was craving in her stomach. With tears pushing for freedom in her eyes, Dara tried to think about anything else to calm her racing mind. Like how everyone had decided stay at the house, how funny it looked the way Deirdre and Diana managed to both get the sofa-bed and their husbands took the cold hard floor by their side. Darziel, Gemma and Eva slept in Darziel’s room, the girls taking the bed while he threw some pillows to the floor and built a nest-like bed for him. Dayanara and Benjamin went to Daya’s room and Dara’s mind made a double spin to avoid thinking more about that.

She was glad Billie and her got the tiny guest room-made-office for themselves.

Wrapping her hair in a towel and drying herself enough to get back in her clothes, Dara made her new task be brush her teeth the best she could. She had rinsed her mouth several times before going down to the kitchen to get some water, her throat still burning, but the stupid bad taste didn’t seem to go away. Dara went through the fridge to get some juice instead, and when she found one she actually didn’t like much - she wasn’t risking her favourites to get ruined because of this - she sat there with the window open, drinking right from the bottle while getting some fresh air to clear her head.

In her head everything seem to go really fast, almost disorganized, but whoever watched her from the outside could clearly see how slow and careful she was moving.

She was the best at pretending everything was fine, to hold it in until she was alone to let it all flow, but having a full house didn’t help her at all. And of course this wasn’t some stupid argument between her siblings or with her mother, so it only got worse from then on. Dara wasn’t having an anxiety attack because it overwhelmed her the news per se, but because she was reliving all the memories from her time by Benjamin so hard that made her want to slap some sense into Dayanara, tell her to break up with him and find her someone in Los Angeles, someone probably better under her own point of view…

...but what was the point, after all.

Nothing Dara could say would make her sister change her opinion and she didn’t want to influence her in anyway possible, because her own experience didn’t have to be her sister’s right? 

Ten years had passed, ten fucking years! Whatever she knew about Benjamin was literally thrown away into the garbage can because she didn’t know that man anymore, how he was now, how he acted now, his aspirations, whatever.

She only knew the ghost of what he was once...and it was the other way around as well.

The way he talked about Billie didn’t help him at all, the rejection was immediate as if he had slapped instead of throwing around some stupid words. If I didn’t know you better, I would have thought she was having a fling with you or something. Dara had to close her eyes because the nausea was about to hit her again, that or an unstoppable flood of tears. It felt wrong hearing that, as if Dara herself was nothing but a game for someone like Billie. How could he even dare to tell her that when he didn’t have the balls to tell her that he was dating Dayanara? He didn’t know her at all, for God’s sake!

So fucking horrible, wasn’t it?

Dara’s eyes wandered around the kitchen, trying to tone down the awful feeling in her chest by focusing in the kitchen of her childhood. All she could see was a time that she wasn’t happy...and she wasn’t thinking about being five to ten and running around with the laugh of her grandparents as music, she was thinking of her teens, her early twenties and how one day she packed all she had in the middle of the night, took her shitty ass car - that would get wrecked eight years later in the accident - and drove all the way to Los Angeles to take a wild chance on life.

A leap of faith that made her feel she still had something to do in life.

Her eyes finally landed in the only light bright enough to make a difference in the somewhat dark kitchen aside the fridge one and Dara’s stomach churned. They will always have landline, till the end of times, she thought while hobbling to take the wireless phone. Navigating through the agenda, Dara felt immediately guilty about what she was about to do but she needed to talk with someone that wasn’t in the mess at all.

Or that she hoped.

She knew well, deep inside, that she had had to wake up Billie for that but she didn’t have the heart to do so when her partner managed to get a hold of a night of sleep. Even more when it took several glasses of rum to take her down completely. Dara didn’t want to think about the hangover her father, Billie and Berto would have upon waking up, her own stomach hurting even more for them. So her thumb pressed lightly the button to select the number in the agenda, letting herself to think once again if it was the right choice overall.

Dara, while pressing the phone against her ear and sitting back in the chair, made a mental note to live a fifty dollars bill in her mother’s purse later in the morning.

“¿Abuelo?” the sleepy and heavy accented voice of a woman sounded in the other side of the line. “Ah...no.” was the only thing Dara managed to croak in response and the woman sighed heavily, whoever was by her side grumbling something in their sleep. “¿Tata Carla? ¿Qué lo que pasó? Incluso para usted es temprano.” the woman seemed to start functioning and Dara choked on an incoming sob because she didn’t want to overworry her. “It’s me, Dara, sorry for waking you up so early,” that seemed to restart the woman, whose voice was pure confusion now. “Dara? What are you doing calling me from your parents’? What are you doing even there?” sometimes Dara forgot that her cousin was a bit out of touch of everything, so it wasn’t something new to see that she didn’t read the family group chat. “I’m on vacation here...but I was calling you because…” Dara felt the uncomfortable warmth of tears in her cheeks and she couldn’t help but sniff a bit to hold another sob, even when her voice broke. “I don’t know Dani, I needed someone to talk with I guess,” Dara pressed her free hand, which was shaking, against her own chest. “But if I’m bothering you I can call later, I know it’s stupid, you should probably go back to sleep...You must be tired from work and all, I’m so-” Being shushed by Danielle wasn’t harsh, but it was what Dara needed to start crying a bit harder. “You won’t ever be a bother, not even if you tried, so don’t apologize. Just let me get down to the kitchen to not wake Bastien, okay? Take some deep breaths, mon mimi.”

Dara only managed to whisper an ‘okay’ while pressing her wrist to her eyes, trying to stop her about to be runny nose to do as she was told. She tried to focus on her breathing, but her throat still itched and hurt, so imagine the mess. Muffling her coughs against her forearm, Dara instead tried to focus in whatever sound Danielle was making in the other side of the line while her tears ran freely down her cheeks.

She was also repeating herself there, because ten years had passed too since before leaving her parents’ house forever she called her oldest cousin to get some sort of support. Twenty-two to twenty-nine, thirty-two to thirty-nine, the only thing that had changed was that her cousin didn’t have a two years old baby anymore but a twelve years old girl that probably didn’t remember Dara that well and that Danielle’s beautiful black mane was getting too many white hairs too soon.

“Okay, I’m here,” Danielle’s voice was gentle and warm. “You want to tell me before, after or in between the crying?”

Dara decided the last option because, as always, it was the best to get as much as she could out of her chest.

…

Billie didn’t know how she got downstairs alive, but she did it somehow without breaking her neck.

Maybe it wasn’t that good of idea getting hammered with her father-in-law and brother-in-law last night, probably not her best performance, but what was done, done was. Rubbing her eyes a bit and not getting her hand smudged with make-up - Dara probably removed it when she was asleep or she convinced her drunk ass to do it somehow - was a good start, but overhearing the cheery voices coming from the television gave her headache an uncomfortable push. 

How late did she wake up? Not that they had much to do, anyway, but oversleeping was hard in her in-law’s house. Her eyes went to the clock over the kitchen door, the bright red numbers telling her right away that it was midday. That sobered her up a bit, but what actually made her react was realizing the living room wasn’t that illuminated.

The curtains were almost closed except for a crack, enough to cast light over where Bruno was reading the newspaper. Her eyes then went to the television, some cartoon movie playing for Ezra, Eduardo and Evan, who were behaving themselves pretty well for being what probably was the hour when their energy should be at its peak, and then Billie discovered why they were so quiet aside of trying not to bother their great-grandfather morning reading.

Dara was there in the couch with them, long as she was, and the boys were sitting there too in a way that Billie didn’t know how could any of the four of them could be comfortable, except for maybe Eduardo that was lying over Dara, with his head in her chest. Evan and Ezra were sitting in between her legs, their tiny ones draped over Dara’s right leg as if it was some kind of a leg-rest or something. The funniest part was that Dara was heavy asleep, making Billie to think if maybe the heat didn’t let her sleep last night and was making up for it now.

That or maybe the stress from yesterday hit her like a truck.

“Morning,” Billie mumbled, raising her hand. The boys waved at her and Bruno looked up from his newspaper, all in silence. “Where’s everyone?”

“Jeziel and Berto in the kitchen, trying to get breakfast before my daughter comes from getting groceries with Deirdre, Diana and Eva,” explained Bruno without raising his voice much. “Abe, Daya and motor-kid to work, papito God knows where with Gemita.”

“Oh, okay,” Billie got closer to Dara and she leant with care to kiss her forehead and cheek with love, only getting a soft comfortable hum in response and making Billie lick her lips a bit, refraining herself to kiss her in the lips but noticing something along the way, like some kind of saltiness in Dara’s skin that Billie only blamed to sweating too much. “She must be really tired, I didn’t see her sleep so soundly in a while.”

“Must be, dear,” and with that, Bruno got back to his reading, the kids never getting their attention drawn from the film. “Go get some pancakes before they butchered them all, Anita made them.”

She obeyed without much thought, her brain still fuzzy with the hangover, but when she sat with coffee and the last two pancakes in the tray by the men in the kitchen table everything felt a bit more homier. It was the first day Dara wasn’t getting breakfast with her, who always was the one saving her from the morning chatter, but she was lucky enough to share breakfast with the other two hangover people in the house...so she got some quiet time sprinkled with some ‘pass me this’ or ‘pass me that’.

Nonetheless, the quietness of the morning helped her greatly to finally think about what could she get Dara for their seventh anniversary.

And she really hoped that her gift, along a pretty deserved night only the two of them, could make Dara feel a bit better and take her mind off the whole mess that ensued last night in the very same living room she was sleeping so peacefully in.

[luxexhomines]

Hi! Can I have images for maki, shuichi, and rantaro who are dating an S/O who is struggling with their weight due to medical/allergy reasons (for reference, it's called exercise induced anaphylaxis) and is feeling self concious? If you dont want to write an overweight S/O then you can just do the self concious bit

Hi, anon! Thanks for the request. Sorry that it took me forever to fulfill (I thought I wasn’t going to ever get to the requests at the bottom of my inbox, but I looked back and thought I’d like to do some). Icon credit to mckindonalds!

It wasn’t an easy request for me to fulfill since I wasn’t sure what was appropriate for the reader to say or exactly how they felt about it, but this is kind of just a piece of comfort in each one. I hope you find something that you like in these imagines, although I’m unsure if this is what you were hoping for exactly. Hopefully, Maki isn’t too OOC because I didn’t make her very tsundere at all. Under the cut, since altogether it makes the post rather long.

Maki, Shuichi, & Rantaro x S/O with Exercise-Induced Anaphylaxis

Maki Harukawa

Maki rapped on the door politely. She had manners, unlike a certain someone she might name. After a short while, you came to the door. 

“Sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t-”

“You didn’t want to move too fast in case you got sick,” she finishes for you. “I understand,” she says. Contrary to her cold demeanor, her dark red eyes softened around the edges as she looked at you, her beloved, and she came inside the house with the slightest of smiles playing at her lips. 

You lead her to your room, and the two of you sit on the floor and chat. At first, it was only idle chatter: what each of you’d been up to recently, and how the summer weather was treating you. But somehow, you end up saying the words, the feelings you had never wanted to reveal to her. 

“I hate this. I wish I could be normal,” you say spitefully before gasping and covering your mouth. You desperately tried to bite back the tears and stared at the floor heatedly. All the tears you’d been swallowing day after day, night after night, year after year. You could do it again. 

You felt a hand grab yours, and you looked to see Maki’s small but strong grasp on yours. You felt weaker than ever. 

“Hey. Look at me,” she says, and you do. Her eyes are filled with concern and a tinge of sadness. You chew on your lip softly. 

“Maki?” 

She grabs your other hand in hers, too, and somehow it only triggered more feelings you thought you’d left behind long ago. Feelings you buried never really went away; they marinated in the new feelings and warped, but they were still here. Feelings of shame, rage, and self-hatred. 

“Is it so bad to show your weakness to me?” Maki says quietly. “You know I was an assassin, and I’ve talked to you about all the ugly, terrible things I’ve done and seen. They’re not the same at all, but that’s my weakness, and I’ve shared it with you.” 

You tighten your hold on Maki’s hand slightly. Somehow, your hands fit together so perfectly. 

“I thought my weakness was obvious,” you said self-deprecatingly, throwing a wayside glance at yourself. Your body. 

She shakes her head firmly. Without letting go of your hands, she gets on her knees and shifts over closer to you, so that your bodies are almost touching. 

“I know you struggle with losing weight because of your condition,” she says. “But I hadn’t realized that you’d been suffering so much.” 

Maki sounded sorrowful. It was maybe the most emotion you’d ever felt from her, aside from when she had been talking about her time as an assassin or was pissed off by certain people. 

“...Are you disappointed?” you say. You didn’t want to hear the answer if it was yes, but you still asked anyway. 

“No. Never,” she replies, and she looks you right in the eye. “You’re just as strong as you’ve always been. But there’s no harm in sharing your worries and pains with me. I’m your partner. I’m supposed to be here for you, and I want to be here for you.” 

You attempt a weak smile. 

“Is it a part of the contract?” 

She sighs. 

“I’m serious, s/o.” 

“So am I,” you joke, and you feel the heaviness in your heart slowly dissolving. 

Maki presses her forehead to yours. 

The funny thing about being in a relationship with Maki was that she was so much more daring and affectionate than she would’ve been once her feelings were returned. She wasn’t as cold, per se, as she was before you two were together. 

“I love you, s/o.”

Your breath was whisked away by those words, and you froze. 

Maki squeezed your hands gently. “...s/o? Hey, are you not breathing or something?” 

Right. She was close enough to tell. 

You breathed in slowly. 

“Are you sure?” you say. But you know the answer. She wouldn’t say what she doesn’t mean. 

“I’m sure,” she laughs, and she kisses you sweetly. “You’re beautiful.” 

More words that would take away your breath. But you breathe normally this time. She was sweeter than any air you could ever take in, though. 

“I love you too, Maki. And for the record, I’m the ugly one in this relationship.” 

She pouts and draws away slightly, releasing your hands and putting her hands on your shoulders instead so she can look you in the face from the right distance. 

“That would be me,” she says. “You’re always smiling, and you have the most beautiful smile ever. Tell me if anyone says anything to oppose that, and I’ll punch them for you.” 

You chuckle. 

“Your services are always appreciated, but that’s alright. I can punch them myself,” you respond. “But fine. Neither of us is the ugly one. We can both be beautiful.” 

Maki nods in satisfaction. 

“We are both beautiful.” 

You can’t help giggling at her statement. It would sound so funny out of context. She leans in and tweaks your nose slightly. “And what are you laughing at, huh?” 

You bat at her hand. 

“Hey!” 

You fall into a fit of laughter with her, and the two of you lie on the ground, cheeks hurting from smiles and joy. Somehow, it was so easy to feel at ease around her. Even your most heavily guarded worries and pains seemed to sprout wings and fly away in her presence. 

“Thanks, Maki.” 

“What for?” she says and turns to look at you. Her serious expression makes your heart skip a beat, and you wet your lips nervously. Sometimes you still felt like you just had a crush on her instead of being in a real relationship with her. 

“Never mind that,” you reply, and you roll over and press a kiss to her lips. “I need to recharge.” 

She arches an eyebrow. 

“Oh? Well, now that you mention it, so do I.” 

You find yourself in her warm embrace and rather preoccupied for the rest of the day. 

Shuichi

“Shuichi?” 

The two of you were sitting on the couch and, up until that time, had been reading quietly in companionship with each other. He set his book down, probably sensing something in your tone. 

“Yes?” 

You weren’t looking at him, although he had now turned to look at you. Instead, you were poking at your round tummy. 

“Why am I like this?” 

He reached out and grabbed your hand, stopping you from poking yourself. You glanced at him, and his dirty gold eyes were serious. 

“Like what?” 

You sighed. 

“You know.” 

He shook his head stubbornly, looking irritated for once. 

“No, I don’t.” 

You struggled to take back your hand, but instead, he somehow made it so the two of you were holding hands snugly. 

“Ugh. Why do I look like this?” you complained and avoided eye contact with him. He was surprisingly persistent when it came to you saying things like this. 

He pulled you closer to him so that you were leaning on him, and let go of your hand only to wrap his arm around you. 

“You look like you. You look lovely.” 

You groaned. 

“But I don’t want to look like this. It’s because I can’t exercise that I’m like this.” 

“Do you think your true self lies elsewhere?” he asks. “Do you think this body isn’t you?” 

You pondered. 

“I don’t really know because I’ve pretty much always been like this. Of course, my body has changed since childhood, but...I’ve never lived without this.” 

There was contemplative silence for a while. Shuichi seemed to always compel you to think more about everything in his presence. 

“...I still love you either way. I know it’s hard, but I’m here for you,” he says solemnly. “I won’t let you just agonize over this alone. You’re my s/o, after all.” 

You turn your head to look at him, and you’re suddenly aware of how close in proximity the two of you are. 

“Is that a promise?” you say, one side of your lips quirking upwards. 

He leans in and boops your nose with his own.

“Always.” 

Rantaro

You were lying on the bed side-by-side with Rantaro, cuddling. He was gently petting your head, as he sometimes did, and you leaned into his touch. It was comfortable and soothing. It would be easy to fall asleep under these circumstances. You sighed. 

“Is something wrong?” he said, sounding slightly concerned. “I think that’s the fifth time you’ve sighed today.” 

“I...no, it’s nothing. I was just thinking.” 

He peered into your eyes curiously. 

“About what?” 

You sighed again. 

“About my condition. And how I wouldn’t look like this if I didn’t have it.” 

He didn’t say much for a moment, just continued to pet your head. Then, he responded. 

“Do you not like your appearance?” 

You bit your lip softly. 

“I wish I was thinner.” 

“And why is that?” 

You reached out and played with a lock of his wavy green hair. 

“Because...I would be more good-looking.” 

Rantaro was quiet for another few seconds, looking contemplative.

“Do you honestly think you would be more good-looking if you were thinner, or is that what society’s conditioned you into thinking? That thinner is more beautiful or handsome?” 

You were frustrated and looked away from those probing eyes. 

“Well, it’s not like it’s just that I wish I was thinner because I think I’m ugly. My condition isn’t exactly healthy.”

He stopped moving for a moment and then continued to pet your head. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Since we’d just been talking about your appearance at first… Well, it’s not an excuse. Aside from your condition causing health issues, I still think you’re as good-looking as good-looking gets, though.” He smiles in that casual, carefree way of his, and you can’t help but forgive him. 

“Alright, alright. Your opinion is the only one that matters, huh?” You arch an eyebrow and smirk at him. “Pretty boy.” 

He raised his hands in defense. 

“Hey, I was born this way.” 

You rolled your eyes and lightly punched him on the shoulder. 

“You were born this way, but you dress this way on purpose.” 

“Ouch,” he grins. “But true. And yes, for the record, my opinion is the only one that matters. At least, when it comes to you. ‘Cause I love you, and I’m blessed to have you in my life.” 

You freeze for a moment and then grinned back at him. 

“I love you too, Rantaro. And I’m lucky to be loved by you.” 

He pulls you into his embrace and affectionately smooches you on your forehead. 

“Ditto.”

[managodess]

Title: First Impressions Fandom: Original (AU setting) Characters: Felyx and Maya (Felyx belongs to AnonMS on Gaiaonline, Maya is my OC) Words: 1.9k Rating: E Prompt: Person A is at college, has some free time, finds a quiet spot to curl up and take a nap. When they wake, they find Person B, an art student, drawing them (without asking permission first). You choose where it goes from there.

Prompt by @otpprompts can be found here

Note: This was written in 2015 but I still think it’s cute and noticed I never posted it here.

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

As the minute hand drew onto the 45-minute mark, the teacher in the front of their little class of twenty people glanced up, casting the group a smile.

“That’s it for today then. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me now or come to my office later. And don’t forget, your portfolios are due at the end of the semester.”

It was only just November, which meant that Maya had until March, but nonetheless, her teacher’s words were a reminder that she should probably get started. The requirement was showing off different traditional media and while there were some that came to her more easily – she loved working with watercolors more than anything – there were others she still had to practice with to feel more confident.

And so, casting a short glance outside and shuddering lightly at the sight of the pale grey sky that looked like incoming snow, she headed into the library, bag over her shoulder, sketchbook under her arm. She might as well start practicing some pencil sketches now; she could refine some with charcoal, colored pencils, or just shade them otherwise. Maybe she’d find some inspiration.

 As she had expected, it was quiet, something that she always found rather soothing about being here. Soft footsteps announced presence her as she made her way to a table in the back of the study room, settling down and trying to make as little noise as possible. She retrieved a small leather case, which held different pencils, pens and other general sketching supplies, then moved her sketchbook onto her lap, vivid blue eyes trailing around the room for something that might make her hands itch to sketch.

When they had nearly come full circle, she noticed a figure, huddled into a corner, head tilted back a little. Even with the dark strands falling partially into his face, she could make out his features.

‘Wow… he looks really good.’

 Absently, the brunette bit her lip, leaning forward a bit in her seat as her fingers moved through the pages until she found one that was still empty.

She had hoped to find inspiration, but really, it seemed as if inspiration had found her instead.

Her normally light brown braids were dangling against the paper, which explained the blotches of color in them considering her preferred medium.

Slender fingers on small hands drew the pencil over the page in her sketchbook with trained movements. A gesture first, getting down the general shape of the figure in front of her, vague, guidelines. Then, details, fleshing out his pose and body, the slight tug of fabric in parts of his attire that hinted towards him being at least somewhat muscular. His hands, which looked a little roughened, as if he worked with them often, one of them dangling limply just past his knee, the other propping up his face just above his nose.

And finally, her gaze wandered to his face, biting down on her bottom lip harder as she focused on this. The angular line of his jaw, the slight tilt of his lips, the serenity of his expression.

Just as she was sketching in more detail for his hair, she noticed a shift, more than the simple tremble of breathing.

Dark, reddish eyes were looking at her and she could feel her pale face heat up, eyes widening in shock. For a moment, he seemed confused, still in a state of waking and she took her chance, tearing the sketch from her book and thrusting it against his chest.

“Wha-…”

“I’msosorryherekeepit.”

Her words came out in one breath before she hastily grabbed her things, clutching her sketchbook closer and rushing out of the library in a half panic.

 The male seemed to need another few seconds to fully wake, hands shifting to grab the paper that had been forced onto him and glancing down, surprised to see himself caught on it, in soft, elegant lines thinly sketched with a pencil.

While he hadn’t remembered all aspects the strange girl’s appearance, a few things had stuck. Blue eyes and specks of color in her hair, her braids mostly. Then that look of shock, but she had run out before he had been able to fully commit her face to memory.

This wouldn’t do…

He let out a small sigh, stretching carefully, joints cracking as they slipped back into their proper places. He moved the picture into one of his textbooks, placing it gingerly between the pages so it wouldn’t get crumpled.

His mind had immediately jumped to the one person he was sure would be able to tell him more about the mysterious artist.

He just had to find her.

There were a few places she would spend her time outside of class, but the problem was that he never quite knew when she was or wasn’t in class and truthfully, waiting until the weekend, when he would definitely see her, seemed too far away right now.

Reaching into the front pocket of his dark jeans, he retrieved his phone, fingers quickly moving across the keys on screen before sending off a message.

He didn’t have to wait long to notice a familiar, dark-haired woman enter the library and make her way towards him. Her hair gave off a blue shimmer against the light and violet eyes, no doubt contacts, stood out against her porcelain skin.

Felyx wasn’t surprised to see her draw some looks from other students in the library, who glanced up from whatever they were doing a little too long, but either she didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You called?”

 Her lips curled into a small, though curious smile and she sat down on the table, legs crossed over the edge of the table.

“Here.”

He handed her the sketch, brow furrowed slightly. “You study art… any idea who made this?”

The female’s eyes scanned across the pencil lines, then moved back up to meet his red ones. “I’d recognize those lines anywhere. That looks like one of Maya’s sketches. She specializes in watercolors… Is that… wow.”

“I’m guessing she was sketching me while I was asleep because she left me with this and ran away when I woke up.”

Mosune laughed, a soft, melodic sound.

“I don’t think she was expecting you to wake up. Anyway, we have class together again on Thursday. So that’s three days from now. Room 104, in the back building. Class ends at noon; the teacher always finishes on time. You should be able to catch her then.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.” She smiled at him and got to her feet again elegantly. “I’ll see you soon. You owe me.”

“I know.” He cast her a smirk and watched her leave before sinking back down against the wall, in the same spot he’d slept in. His eyes trailed over the sketch, taking in every little detail. It was amazing how well she had captured him… and he hadn’t even noticed her watching him.

  For the rest of the day and the entire next day, Maya found herself glancing around a lot more often, as if worried that the male might be waiting for her somewhere. To what? Complain that she had stalked him?

God… she must have seemed like such a creep.

 But by the time Thursday came, she had pushed the event to the back of her mind, focused on other things. Their morning class was a practical one, working with acrylics on canvas.

She chose an easel next to a familiar face, smiling at the girl with the violet eyes.

“Hey Mosune.”

“Hi.”

The other smiled right back at her, pinning her raven hair up in a bun.

“Any idea what they want us to paint today?”

“A still life or something.” Maya frowned ever so slightly. “Seems a bit boring, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure today’s gonna end up less boring than you think.” Mosune replied, smiling back at her.

Throughout their painting assignment, the two continued to talk, until finally, the teacher ended their class, giving them time to clean their workspaces and palettes.

 It was noon by the time they made their way out of the classroom and Maya found herself greeted by the familiar but unexpected sight of the boy she’d drawn in the library a few days ago. He was moving fast towards her too, holding a frame in his hands and handing it to her as he approached.

“Here. You should keep this, it’s really good.” He cast her a small smirk and she felt the familiar warmth threaten to creep into her cheeks.

“T-thanks.”

She took the frame, holding it so the picture was concealed from view by a few classmates curiously moving past the two of them. Mosune seemed almost amused by this exchange, Maya noticed.

“Maybe I’ll see you soon.” And with that, he took his leave, leaving behind a somewhat confused brunette and her amused friend.

“Is that the guy you mentioned? Looks like he even framed it for you.”

Maya nodded, head lowering a bit to hide her burning cheeks.

“God this is so embarrassing.” She muttered under her breath. “Don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Of course not.” Mosune promised, smiling, and drawing an arm around her friend’s shoulder.

 The moment she got home; Maya hung the framed picture up on the wall of her dorm.

But it wasn’t until nearly two weeks later that a completely random event brought her to pay more attention to it than usual.

Distracted from trying to find something, she tripped over her bag, bumping heavily against the wall. The impact knocked the frame down and it shattered, leaving the sketch to slip beneath her bed. She crawled down to get it and when she did, she noticed something on the back of it.

“Is that…”

A phone number.

So that was why he had spoken about hoping to see her again.

 Once she had cleaned up, she retrieved her phone, quickly typing in a message to the not quite so unknown number.

“Hi! Looks like you hid this a bit better than you probably thought. I’d love to meet up, maybe for coffee? The girl with the sketchbook.”

 Her attention shifted back to the sketch and a thought formed in her mind as she spread it carefully onto her desk across a layer of newspaper, grabbing her watercolors.

Without even having to think, her hands drew across the paper, adding color to the pencil lines, even without having to see him. His face was ingrained in the back of her head.

It took her about two hours to finish the sketch and only then did she check her phone to see that he had replied.

 “Sure!

How does tomorrow afternoon sound? I’ll meet you at the Corner Cup?”

She sent him a quick answer, setting the time at 2 PM, then laid the picture down to dry. Time couldn’t pass fast enough and by the time the next day had arrived, Maya was more excited than she dared to admit.

As her fingers nimbly worked to put the familiar two braids into her hair, her eyes moved back to the now finished painting. She would take it with her, give it to him. And hopefully, he would accept it. A small, tiny voice in her head muttered about how it was a shame; that the painting would look amazing in her portfolio, but she silenced it. No, this would be better.

[talpup]

Chaos: 47

I want to give a special thanks upfront to those who responded to my interest check.  I had been feeling a bit overwhelmed with three fics on the burner, and your response gave me just spark I needed to focus on this story and see it finished.  While this chapter does finish the story, there will be a coming little epilogue that contains a post script from Dabi.

***Memories in this fic are always in italic.

Summary: The day Aizawa Shouta betrayed his Love was the day the Daimon lost everything that mattered in his life. Now, with her awake from her slumber and memory wiped, he has another chance at having her and being happy. There’s only the small problem of heaven wanting his Love dead, and hell wanting control of her. And her promise to protect and help another. Oh! And her remembering what he did.

But Shouta has waited so long to have her back. Has planned and taken measures to see his Love protected. He won’t loose her this time. He’ll do anything to keep her safe, and stop her from remembering his betrayal. Cost and consequences be damned.

Though it really is a shame that the cost just might bring about Chaos.

Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of violence, sex, questionable con, and non-con (though we’re thankfully done with that), and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155333/chapters/57154492

46.1

Reyanna groaned in pain.  Her ribs creaked and cracked, then broke.  She cried out but all that did was waste air she couldn’t get back. Body crushed between the floor and the Nenu’s punishing foot, she couldn’t breath.

Her watery eyes darted around the room looking for something. Anything to help her.  But there was nothing.  This couldn’t be where it ended.  She had died once and been brought back by her and Shouta's love. With the small bit of her life force that had been housed within his Vim ring, Shouta had seen her safe and out of the clutches of death.  Death.  She had been more than just dead.  She had seen Death.  How could she have forgotten?

Death stood in front of her within her mind. ”Why are you so upset, Child?”

“He betrayed me!”  Reyanna yelled of Shouta's deal with Lucifer.

She might’ve being dying but that meant nothing in light of what she had just remembered.  How could he have done such a thing?  How could Shouta have taken and twisted...

“He did as he always promised he would and saw you protected.”

Reyanna glared at Death.  She didn’t care if she offended this ancient being.  She had just remembered her Love had betrayed her.  There was nothing Death could do that would hurt worse than that.

Her lips curled in a sneer.  “He was selfish.  The Llaes and Tamaki died because of what Shouta did.”

“Are you not just as selfish, if not more so?”

“Why? Because I want nothing more in the world than to be left alone and live in peace with him?  True as that is, I didn’t make a deal with Lucifer that ended with the Llaes and Tamaki’s deaths.”

“No.” Death agreed.  “You didn’t.  What you did has seen far more than merely two young ones dead.”

“What?”

“You are such a hypocrite, Reyanna.”  Death stepped toward her, the walls of her mind darkening and closing in.  “What you have done is by far worse than this perceived betrayal of Aizawa’s.  What you have done has caused so much more trouble and heartache.  Your deeds have cost countless of lives.”

Reyanna stepped back from the looming figure, suddenly caring very much if she offended Death.  “I—I don’t know--”

“Exactly. You don’t know.  And it’s about time that you do.  Open your senses and see what you have done.  Accept who and what you are.  Your goal.  What you so desperately want.  Your very life and that of Aizawa’s.  It all depends on it, Anna. If you truly want nothing more in the world than to be left alone and live in peace with your Love, then open your eyes and see the truth of what you’ve done.”

Todoroki had said something similar, telling her to ‘open her senses and understand’.  That he wouldn’t be able to enter the room of sealed Leviathans till she did.  But understand what?  What had she done?

“You’re weak little Sister.  To think I had had hope for you.”  The Nenu spat, foot baring down on her splayed body.  “You had shown so much promise in the beginning.  Stirred up so much chaos for the sake of your foolish love.  But you don’t even know what you did.  The power of Chaos that you tapped into and let run a muck.  And now it has led you here.  You and the first Golem you created sealed away our kin.  My closest brothers and sisters forever locked in static existence.  They were foolish.  Tempted away from our place of power and into the world of man.  But you’re in my world now, Anna.  Even with this latest Golem of yours being a Nephilim true, you will not win against me.  There is nothing but death for you and your Love here.”

Reyanna gritted her teeth, fingers raking at the stone floor.  How dare he call her love for Shouta foolish.  It was her love for Shouta that had saved her from her Father’s plans and Kai’s clutches.  Her love for him that had kept her sane and going after Kai’s rape. She had been so afraid Shouta would find out.  That he would rage and kill Kai, and Lucifer would kill Shouta in return.

It had been shortly after Kai’s rape that Hawks had found and taken her.  If it wasn’t for Shouta and their love she would have given up.  Given in and submitted to Hawks’ plan to kill her.  Instead she and Shouta did had each other, and her Love had come to save her. Shouta had taken Abril and…

’Why did you decide to protect me from Aizawa's blade?” Abril’s question from long ago echoed in her darkening mind.

It had been a silly question.  She had saved Abril because she had been the Llaes. ...Hadn’t she?  Why then had Abril responded saying ‘I had no knowledge or power before then.  I certainly wasn’t the one who would or could seal away great monsters.’

Her action had caused the tear to Oblvi to widen.  Why would surpassing her power to save Abril cause the tear to the land of Third’s to widen?

“Because you are power.  You are might.  You are the end.  The true death.  Daughter.  Open your eyes and your senses.  See me and accept the full truth of who you are.”

Reyanna’s minds eye opened at the sound of a voice more ancient than time.  She didn’t startle at the sight of the twin orbs staring back at her. Though she’d never seen them before, she somehow knew those infinite voids.  Eyes that were both darker than the blackness that surrounded them and filled with bright spiraling galaxy's, burning quasars, and dying suns.

Chaos. The Being that had ordained her.  Her Father.

As Reyanna stared into those fathomless eyes she saw the truth of her beginning.  How Chaos had long ago gotten the idea to take God’s ordered creations and use them to make a creation of his own.  How Chaos had chosen Lucifer, God’s fallen favorite, to subvert his Brother’s order.  How Chaos had watched over the coupling between Lucifer and a human woman.  His power mixing and adding to the power of their carnal union to create a link between two creations that had never been meant to bare fruit together.

This new understanding allowed her to see what she had unwittingly done all those years ago.

Reyanna’s heart lifted and lurched at the sight of Shouta flinting into the field with his human prisoner.  Her Love had come to save her from Heaven's Assassin.  But at what cost? If freeing her meant putting him in danger, than she would rather die at Hawks’ hand.

It wasn’t as if her and Shouta's troubles would be over after this exchange.  They would still be left trying to figure out a way to get her out of hell's clutches.  She would still be left fearing for Shouta's life if their love were to be discovered.  Left fearing what Shouta would do if he found out what Kai had done.

Would it always like this?  With some threat hanging over them.  Why couldn’t she and Shouta just be left in peace?  All she wanted was to live alone in safety with her Love.

Shouta moved, blade thrusting to kill the woman Hawks had called Abril, and for a moment her every sense focused on him.  Their love was an impossible one.  They would never be left alone.  There would never be any peace or safety for them.  Hell would never stop wanting her. And heaven would never stop wanting her dead.  So long as those two realms could reach her, she and Shouta would never be able to live happy and secure with each other.

Focused on her Love, her power flared.

It happened like Shouta had said when he first taught her how to use her power.  That all she had to do was will it to be done and the thing would obey, sorting itself out.  Only this time it was an indirect desire that her heart and soul had unconsciously willed.  And the thing she wanted was far more complex than simply telling a house to seal itself or a fire to warm a place.

Despite it far surpassing her natural ability, her power sought for a way to obey the unrealized demand.  The tear to Oblvi widened and her connection to Chaos deepened, drawing on her father's might.

In that fraction of an instant reality changed as her power sought to bring about her deepest desire.  Abril was no longer just a human but the Llaes.  Someone who could seal away the escaped Leviathan’s.

There had been no intelligence behind her released powers doings, only a will to reach its command of seeing her and Shouta living in peace. Still, Reyanna could understand what the original will behind making Abril the Llaes had been.

If she helped Abril seal away the escaped Leviathan’s maybe heaven would be grateful and give up its hunt for her.  But heaven hadn’t relented.  Instead Toshinori had sent a garrison of angels to kill her friend.

As Abril lay dying, the purpose once again took matters into its own hands.  It created a different task and more Llaes’ to reach it. Like a domino having been knocked over, the purpose twisted and affected events around both Shouta and Reyanna.  Ever searching for a way to reach its end goal.

The revelation left her drowning in a storm of emotion.  The entire thing was downright lunacy.  The amount of times she and Shouta had almost died helping this Llaes alone.  She actually had died! More than that, her and Shouta's Bond had been broken because of it.

All that strife, and pain, and death.  It had all been because of her.  Because she had unknowingly tapped in to her connection to Chaos.  Had unknowingly used her power to do this thing.  And with no harness to guide or rein it in, the purpose had run rampant.  In its effort to obey, chaos had been created. All so she could live in peace with the man that she loved.

Though the eyes of Chaos were gone, his voice echoed in her mind.  “Take your rightful place and make them bow.  Make all of them bow.”

A distant part of her dimming mind knew that she could.  She was a child of Chaos.  The daughter of Lucifer.  She had the freewill and creativity of her mother’s humanity.  And thanks to Lucifer’s past, had a connection to heaven.  She was a child of the four realms.  She could more than make them bow.  She could rule and destroy them all.  And a part of her wanted to.

She wanted to rage and kill for the pain that others had caused.  All those years fighting and hiding.  It was Lucifer's fault that she had done what she did. Lucifer’s lust for power, and desire to see her bound to Kai.  And Toshinori... If only he had given up his cause to see her dead.  But instead the Archangel sent out assassin after assassin.  Both Archangel and Daimon deserved to die.  They all deserved to die.

“Anna!” Shouta's voiced called from the distance.

Reyanna’s eyes flashed open.  For the first time since being brought here, she saw passed the walls of the room.  Like she had with the Nenu, she could see both the darkened space and bright open sky they were hovering in.  Her eyes searched, finding Shouta at the edge of a cliff.

Her consuming rage diminished in a swell of love at the sight of him. She and Shouta had been through so much and had come so far.  There was no way in hell that she was going to succumb and give Chaos what he wanted.  She was done letting others take, and threaten, and demand. It was time to finally get what she wanted and finish what she had unwittingly started all those years ago.

Her eyes burned; not with her power, but with that of Shouta's.  She turned.  Red eyes locking on the Nenu that stood above her.  She saw both his forms, but unlike before it no longer made her head want to split open.  A black tendril sprung to life and wrapped around the Nenu’s leg, throwing him across the room.

Her hand stretched out toward the castle and unlocked the sealed chamber for Todoroki.

Ribs knitting together, she sucked in a breath and called out to the Archangel fighting a beast below.  “Enji!  Throw me the heaven fire!”

Kai ignored her cry, stabbing the beast with his blade.

Enji paused and looked up.  “Wha— Hey!”

Shigaraki grabbed the bottle and threw it up, hissing as layers of flesh were burned away at the brief contact.

Reyanna caught it, her connection to heaven allowing her to hold the bottle with minimal burns.  Jar of heaven fire in hand, she got to her feet and stared down the Nenu.

“Don’t worry brother. I won’t leave you in eternal static like our kin.”  

46.2

“The doors!”  Hitoshi pointed watching them open.

Todoroki took his pointing hand and rushed forward. “Let’s go.”

Their feet echoed loudly in the large, mostly empty room. Hitoshi’s eyes immediately landed on the single thing in the space, an ornate pedestal standing in the center of the room with a vessel on top.

At first the vessel was a sphere filled with swirling wisps of light.  Then Hitoshi blinked and found it to be a cube brimming with a dark, writhing mass.

He swallowed, lavender eyes darting to Todoroki.  The Llaes wasn’t even looking at the vessel of sealed Leviathan’s. If anything Todoroki was purposefully avoiding looking at it.

Hitoshi’s thumb brushed against the back of the others hand.  “Hey.  You alright?”

“It’s time for me to finish the task I was meant for.”

“So… What do we do?”

“You don’t do anything.  This is the end.”

Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed not liking the phrasing of those words.  “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just… Stand back against the wall. Please.”

Hitoshi nodded and reluctantly released Todoroki’s hand.  Something wasn’t right.  His Were senses could feel it.  But now wasn’t the time to question.

Todoroki took in a fortifying breath and looked at the vessel of Leviathan’s Abril had sealed away.  While the steps to get here had been far more difficult, his task was far easier than Abril’s.  He was meant to seal the tear to Oblvi.

His life.  His sole purpose for being was to complete the task his predecessors had failed at doing.  He had told his Father, ‘I will close the gate that will see all of this come to an end…’ But it had become so much more than something he was simply meant to do.  This purpose he was made for had become much more than just some blind inner drive put into the core of his being.

While it was entirely possible that circumstance had brought him and Hitoshi together.  That the will of this cause had turned Aizawa’s path toward a mauled Witch and bent his heart so Hitoshi wouldn’t be left to die.  That didn’t make what he felt any less real.  It didn’t make this desire any less his own.

The reason for all of this might’ve been to see Shouta and Reyanna safe and without threat; but his reason was different.  Closing the tear would only rectify part of the problem he wanted to fix.  It would assure that no other Third’s crossed over to earth.  But what about the Third’s already there?

He had meant what he said when he told his Father that he would ‘put to right a wrong that begun back during the dawn of man.’

That was his purpose.  The purpose he had chosen for himself.

He looked at Hitoshi.  Would he understand? Would he hate him for the sacrifice he was about to make?

To call back the Third’s in earth would take everything he had, but he was doing it for him.  So that no other child would lose their family and suffer at the hands of Third’s. So that no one else would go through the pain and sorrow Hitoshi had went through.

Heaven had turned a blind eye to the pain and suffering the children of Chaos caused.  They did it for the sake of a faulty peace that served no one but heavens own self interests.  They had left the humans they were meant to protect to be brutalized and preyed upon. But he could end that suffering.

Todoroki turned back to the vessel of sealed Leviathan’s.  The children of Chaos had caused enough strife and pain in pursuit of their aims.  It was time for that to end.

46.3

There was a whoosh of outward air from the heart of the castle.

Reyanna flinted to the Nenu bottle of heaven fire raised.

The Nenu could clearly see both the burning red eyes of the fallen Seraphim’s power and the spiraling space of galaxy's of Reyanna’s own.  But beyond that he saw the fathomless black void of Chaos in the young Nephilim’s eyes.

It was in that moment that he realized Chaos stood with her.  His reign was over.  No one could stand against Chaos.  It was futile to even try.  He didn’t understand why his Father was for this weakling, but he wouldn’t fight it.

Submitting to his Father’s will, the Nenu stretched out his arms and threw back his head.

Acting without thought, Reyanna’s hand phased.  The bottle of heaven fire passed  deep into the Nenu’s chest.

Rather than explode the bottle sucked in on itself, taking the Nenu with it.

She barely had time to blink when the wind picked up.  Shouta, her mind raced at the thought of him.

“Shouta! Hold on!”  She looked about frantically for her Love.

The wind had quickly passed hurricane force.

“Shouta!”

She saw him out in the open field, feet skidding across the ground.  As the tear to Oblvi closed the land sought to rid itself of its foreign inhabitants.

Reyanna flinted, grabbing a hold of Shouta just as his feet left the ground.

Their bodies slammed together.

Shouta wrapped his arms around his Love, holding her tight.

“I got you.”  Reyanna held him all the tighter, burying her face against him.  “I got you, my Love. You’re not going anywhere.  You’re mine.”

“Mine.” Shouta echoed.

She stood solid in the whirlwind as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze.

Trusting her to anchor him, Shouta cupped and lifted her face.  Long black hair whipped wildly around his head as he kissed her.

The wind died down, not that Shouta noticed.

Dabi let go of the tree he had anchored himself and Hizashi to, flexing his hands to bring life back into them. The first thing he saw was Shouta and Reyanna.  He rolled his eyes. Really!  There was a time and place.

Dabi cleared his throat loudly.

One of Shouta's hands left Reyanna.  A black tendril lashed out and wrapped around Dabi’s mouth silencing him.

Shouta didn’t care who was there or how long they were made to wait.  He was kissing his Love to his hearts content.

For the first time, Reyanna didn’t care who saw her and Shouta display of ravenous affection.  This man was hers, and she would claim him in front of any and all to see.

Enji dusted himself off scowling.

When Reyanna had realized who she was and what she’d done, the veil had been lifted for everyone effected by the changed reality.  Toshinori had been right to call the Nephilim whore an abomination, and want her dead.  More than that, the First Chief of heaven had been right about the Child of Hope.

“Why would Chaos create such a thing as you?”  Enji demanded the still kissing Nephilim.  Had the woman’s sole purpose been to make a fool of him?

Still laying in the trench he had made, Shigaraki looked up at the Archangel. “Do you really need to ask?”

Enji blinked thinking of the years he had spent striving to see the gates of hell closed all because one woman had wanted some alone time with her damned lover. The entire thing was so absurd in its insanity that it suddenly made perfect sense why Chaos would create and unleash Reyanna upon the world.

“Help! Aizawa!  Somebody!  Help!”  Hitoshi’s distant voice called.

Dabi instantly flinted at the sound of the panicked plea. He returned with a barely conscious Todoroki in his arms, and Hitoshi at his side.

Enji crowded his son and the Demon as Dabi knelt laying the Llaes out on the ground. “What happened to him?”

Hitoshi hovered over Todoroki.  “I—I don’t know.”

Reyanna pulled away from Shouta.

Shouta reluctantly released her.

She rushed to the fellow Nephilim’s side, brow pinched in worry.  “He should be fine.”

“Stand aside.”  Enji shoved Dabi and Hitoshi away, getting to a knee; but even his angelic healing wasn’t helping.

“Shou.” Hizashi croaked still weak from his near death.

“You have to do something!  He’s dying!  Please! Do something!  He can’t die!”

At the sound of his manic boyfriend’s plea, Todoroki’s eyes creaked open.  He tried to reach out to him, but his fingers barely lifted off his chest.  He wanted to tell Hitoshi that it was alright.  That he had done it for him.

Enji glared at Reyanna.  “You did this!  My son put everything he had into your damned purpose and now he’s dying.”

Reyanna swallowed.  It was true.  Todoroki had put everything he had into calling back the Third’s.  But Enji was wrong.  It wasn’t her fault.  The task had been to close one of the gates.  While everyone had assumed that would mean that all from the sealed realm would be forced back, that hadn’t been her purposes goal.

Todoroki must’ve decided to pull the Third’s back on his own.  But why?  The boy had to have known what such a thing would cost.

“Shouta.” Hizashi called again.  “The… Phoenix potion.”

All heads turned to Shouta.

Reyanna got to her feet.  “You have a Phoenix potion?”

“Give it here!”  Enji barked, hand outstretched.

Shouta looked at Reyanna.  They might've been locked away from heaven and hell but that didn’t mean she was safe.  What about the Third’s?  She had just killed their leader and had the tear sealed for her cause.  Surely they would seek retribution.

Everything in his vaults, found and accumulated to help and protect her, it was all back on earth.  He couldn’t even call upon Hizashi's connections to heaven for supplies.  Aside from his blade and his power he had nothing else to see her safe.  He had failed to protect her once before and seen her die…

“Shouta.”

Shouta stared into her eyes shook his head.  “I can’t.  I need it for you.  To see you safe.  I have to make sure you’re protected.  I can’t lose you.  Not again.  Never again.”

Reyanna stepped to him.  “It’s okay, Shouta.”

“Like hell it is!  Give me the damned potion.  Now!”  Enji fumed, smoke and tiny flames of fire uncontrollably licking up from his shoulders.

Reyanna’s hands moved up Shouta's chest. “It’s okay, my Love.  We’re safe here.  No one will hunt or try to harm me.  I assure you.  It’s why I did this.”

“I’ll do more than hurt you if you don’t hand that vial over!”  Enji snapped.

Shouta's eyes flicked to the Archangel, lip curling in a snarl.  His blade dropped into his hand, prepared to protect his Love if Enji attempted to make good on the treat.

“Shouta, look at me.”  Reyanna cupped his face, seeking his attention. “Would I lie to you?”

“No.” Shouta answered, softly.

“Then trust me.  Trust that we’re safe here.  That I’m safe here. Please, Shou.  Trust that everything is finally alright.  That you and I can be together with no more threats hanging over our heads.  We can have that cabin we always wanted.  Not the one we had in earth that was more of bunker hideaway than a home.  But the one we always imagined.  Hand the potion over, Shouta. Let them save Todoroki.  I don’t want to start our life here with the death of the boy who gave us this peace.  Do you?”

Shouta’s grip on the vial tightened. “You promise.  You’re not just saying this to save him?”

“I promise.  I did this for us.  For you.  So we could live in peace alone together.  It’s over, Shouta.  We’re safe.  I’m safe.”

Shouta opened his hand to her.

Reyanna took the small glass bottle.  She reached back passing it to Dabi.  Her other arm hugged around Shouta’s neck, holding him close.

“Thank you.”  She peppered her Love with kisses.  “Thank you, Shou.  I love you.  I love you so much.”

Dabi tossed the potion to Enji.

The Archangel fumbled the small vial afraid to crush the bottle in his hands.

“Don’t break it!”  Dabi scolded.

Hitoshi’s heart jumped into his throat.  But neither Were nor Archangel stop to glare at the Demon.

Enji poured the potion into Todoroki’s mouth

Dabi watched saw the Llaes swallow. He turned to find Shouta and Reyanna kissing again.  Seriously? Those two needed to get a room.

The Demon’s own urges stirred and he looked around. “So, are we done?  Cause I would like to find me a hot meal and warm body and--”

“It’s not finished yet.”  Enji interrupted.  “Kai’s still here.”

At that Shouta pulled his lips away from Reyanna.  “He’s mine.”

“Sakamata was my friend.”

Shouta scoffed at the Archangel’s words.  “You’re the reason he was cast out of heaven.”

“I swore to him--”

“I don’t care what you swore.  Kai is mine to end.” Shouta cut over Enji’s words.

“Seems like everyone wants a pound of that Daimon's flesh.”  Dabi grinned wickedly.

The idea of Dabi’s words appealed to Shigaraki who lifted Kai’s severed hand.  “I’ll lead you to him if you let me take a turn.”

46.4

Kai flinted and raced through the never ending forest.  He didn’t know why he had anchored himself and held on when the tear was closing. Actually he did.  Being locked in a world filled with filthy Thirds, an a group of enemies that wanted him dead was more preferable than whatever Lucifer would have in store for him.  At least here he had a chance of survival.  Maybe he could still built that empire he wanted.  With the Nenu dead the Third’s would need a new ruler...

Enji appeared in front of him.

Kai cursed and flinted.

Dabi appeared at Kai’s new location.

Again the Daimon flinted.

Even quicker than Dabi’s appearance, Shouta was there.

Shouta placed a heavy hand on the other Kai’s shoulder.  “Where do you think you’re running?”

Kai’s blade dropped into his hand.  He spun around breaking the contact, swinging his weapon.  “I’m not running!”

Shouta bent back, easily avoiding the wild swipe. He’s exhausted.  His teeth bared in predatory revelry at the thought, barely feeling his own exhaustion.

Kai tried to flint again but found that he couldn’t.  Eyes wide and frenetic, he spun around to find Reyanna closing in behind. To think that he had wanted a filthy Third.  Just the thought of having been with her made him break out in hives.  It was disgusting. She was disgusting.  Sick.  Filthy.  Abomination.

“Let me go.” Kai demanded of her.

Hizashi's bright golden blade glinted in her hand. “I’m not the one tethering you.”

“You are.”  Shigaraki said, patting the small mound where he had buried Kai’s hand.

Kai growled and rushed the Demon.  Before Kai reached him, white flames lashed out too quick for him to fully avoid.  He cried out.  The overwhelming pain dulled every sense he needed to defend and live.

Dabi smiled wickedly at the empty space where Kai’s arm and part of his side had been.  It had burned more of his own flesh to use the white flames again. But to incinerate some of the General, it had been worth it.

Dabi ignored the smoke that billowed from seams of burnt and unburnt flesh.  “Who gets next turn?”

“Me.” Shouta growled, eyes glowing red with his power.

Still dazed, Kai turned.  He lifted his blade to meet the attacking Daimon's; but Shouta flinted as he drew near.

Appearing behind him, Shouta struck.

Reyanna and Enji joined in. The three hacked and slashed slicing piece after piece away.

Shigaraki tapped his foot against the ground, lips curling in an ever growing smile as the line of decaying earth closed in on Kai.

The world spun.  Kai fell to the ground, dropping his blade. At first he thought he had lost his balance, but then a new pain racked his body.  His feet!  The damned Demon had disintegrated his feet.

A shadow passed overhead and Kai raised his arm, hand outstretched to grab and disassemble.

Shouta's blade sliced through Kai’s hand without resistance.  It would've kept going and killed the Daimon if he hadn’t pulled up short.

Enji stepped forward, blade raised and ready.

“No.” Shouta blocked the Archangel’s path.  “His life isn’t ours to take.  It belongs to Anna. If she wants it.”

Shouta turned his head look to her.  Bile burned his squeezing chest.  He had failed her.  Failed to do as he had promised and protect her. The mere though of Kai touching his precious Beloved made him want to end more than just Kai.  It made him want to end worlds.

Cold radiated off Shouta dropping the surrounding temperature by several degrees.  He should've known.  He should've killed Kai long before the Daimon had ever touched her.  He should've ended him for merely thinking about Reyanna, and going along with Lucifer's plan to see her bonded to him.

Kai’s death belonged to so many people; but Shouta would see that Reyanna got the final blow.  It was the least he could do for not being there to stop Kai’s horrid act or ending the Daimon sooner for what he had done.

Enji glared. He would've argued; but he was fatigued and out numbered.  It would suffice that Kai was dead and he got to watch it happen.  His arm lowered, blade disappearing.

Suddenly flames sprung out from the ground a few paces away.

Shouta pulled Reyanna to his side ready to defend.

Shigaraki stumbled back from the fire.

Dabi smiled.  He had seen coveting red eyed Demon stalk toward Kai’s severed hand while the others were focused on the kill.  Creepy already had one of the Daimon's hands.  As far as Dabi was concerned Shigaraki didn’t need more.

Shigaraki scowled at the burnt earth where Kai’s hand had been.  The power he could’ve had… His eyes lifted to meet Dabi’s still glowing turquoise.  If the other Demon kept on meddling in his affairs he would have to do something about him.

Shouta’s dark gaze turn on Kai.  The Daimon General had managed to crawl a couple feet away.  He left Reyanna’s side, flinting.

Kai’s ragged breath was knocked out by a heavy boot to the back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”  Shouta’s foot pressed down.

The cracks and pops of his breaking ribs sounded loud to Kai’s own ears.  He was covered in filth and tainted from having fucked that Abomination. His hands and feet were gone.  He was missing chucks of flesh and an entire arm.  The pain was excruciating.  But the thing that burned the most was that Aizawa and Reyanna had won.

Shouta roughly rolled him over and dragged him to his knees.

Kai swayed in position but managed to hold himself up on his own power. He was a Prince of hell.  First General under Lucifer.  Leader of countless legions.  He wouldn’t beg or try to bargain.  It would be a futile endeavor if he tried.  Instead, he would meet death without fear and stare his killer in the eye.

Standing behind Kai, Shouta found himself torn between wanting the Daimon General to look Reyanna in the eye as she ended him, and wanting to force the despicable creatures head down in submitted reverence. In the end he didn’t touch the kneeling Daimon; knowing that if he did, he would end him.

“Finish it, Anna.”

Shouta’s encouragement was all Reyanna needed.  She stepped forward, eyes shining with her power.  “I can’t believe I ever feared you.”

The ground beneath them trembled at her words.

Kai’s eyes lifted and meet hers.  For a moment he felt complete and overwhelming fear.

Reyanna’s hand stretched out and pulled.

Kai’s mouth opened to plead and bargain, but it was too late.  He was dead.

The newly arrived Hizashi, looked away, covering both Todoroki and Hitoshi’s eyes.

Dabi shivered.

Shigaraki fidgeted with Kai’s unearth hand.

Even Enji felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle at the might Reyanna had shown.

While others might have been uneasy or trembled at Reyanna’s display of power, Shouta felt a swell of pride. He shoved Kai’s corpse to the ground and stepped over him, to Reyanna.

Reyanna stepped back.

She had caused so much heartache and strife, never mind the loss of life.  If it weren’t for her, Abril might’ve lived a long full life.  All those poor kids, designated as Llaes’ wouldn’t have died so young. Tamaki might’ve still been alive.  And Shouta…

She looked at him, eyes welling with tears.  It was all her fault.  All of it.  All because of her selfish desire to be happy and left alone with her Love.

“I’m sorry--”

Shouta grabbed her and pulled her against him.

“Don’t.” He rumbled, gaze and arms holding her tight. “Don’t you ever step away from me again.” Her hands clutched his arms.  She was so afraid that he would walk away and leave her for what she’d done.

As if sensing her thoughts, Shouta lips curled ever so slightly upward. “And don’t apologize, Kitten. You’re mine and I’m not going anywhere. If anything I--” He thought about Kai’s rape of her.  About his doubts and how he had foolishly felt second ever since her promise to Abril. “I’m sorry.”  He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I should've known.  Should’ve--”

Reyanna silenced him with hot, hungry lips.

Shouta returned the kiss with equal, if not more fervor.  His loved this woman with all his being.  And finally, he had absolutely no doubts that she felt the same.

After all, how many people loved someone so much that they changed reality just live in peace and be left alone with them?

I write for my own enjoyment, but edit and post for yours.  If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know.  It’s the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting.

Again a BIG thank you to those who responded to my interest check.  It really did help in seeing this fic get done sooner rather than whenever.

As always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230 for their encouragement and friendship, and help brainstorming.  Your thoughts and our chats mean a lot.

[demonictransformation]

YES!!! 300!!!!!! im so excited to see what you do next!! can i request 129 for zenitsu? like we all know he gonna fuck SMTHN up so plz go wild :,,) mom loves you granny uwu

You sure can! granny loves you even more uwu I actually finished writing this a couple days ago but really wanted to post something for my favorite thunder boi’s birthday so here it is! Thank you for being my first zenitsu request, I know it could’ve been hella wilder but I was feelin hella soft, im sorry ;-; just a lil heads up, the boys are a bit older here! Maybe in their early 20’s?

129: “Don’t fuck this up.”

Zenitsu couldn’t remember his heart ever beating this fast; it was way too loud and obnoxious for him to focus on anything else. He could vaguely hear his significant other’s steps, so undoubtedly theirs it caused him physical pain. He’d recognize that sound anywhere, anytime. They were drawing nearer and nearer; they’d arrive at the Butterfly Estate in less than five minutes. The thought of having to face them had him going into full panic mode already. He crouched down, covering his ears and shutting his eyes closed. He could still feel the coldness from the metal ring he held tightly on his fist, making his stomach turn. It was a trend he had seen in the big cities lately, men would ask their partners to marry them while offering a ring; a custom brought from the occident, no doubt. And for some reason, he thought that’d be a good way to pop that dreaded question. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, arguing that he simply had no idea of how to ask such thing. Once he figured that said foreign tradition would be the best, he had no reason to keep postponing this. It wouldn’t have been such a huge deal if he hadn’t, quite foolishly, informed certain burgundy haired man of his resolve.

“Zenitsu! Not this again!” Tanjirou complained, running his calloused hands through his face. The tiny sparrow that sat on top of Zenitsu’s head chirped in agreement.

“Its impossible.” The breath of lighting user mumbled, trembling. “There’s no way I could do this.”

“Finish what you started!” Was his response, followed by a strong hit to the blonde man’s head. Chuuntaro took flight just in time, and returned to his spot as Zenitsu whined, rubbing the wound.

“What if they refuse?” he asked, earning an exasperated sigh from Tanjirou; it was the tenth time he’d asked that in half an hour.

“What reason would they have to? You’ve been together for years!”

“M-maybe they’re bored of me already.”

“They would’ve left you a long time ago if that was the case!” He tried to reason, to no avail.

“They probably just don’t wanna hurt me!”

“You’re saying senseless things again!”

He was too lost in thought to realize his significant other was already standing at the main door, only a couple steps separating them. He screeched, attempting to crawl away. The other demon slayer grabbed him by the collar of his uniform, tugging on it to stop him.

“Tanjirou!” He cried, extending the last syllable dramatically. “Please don’t make me go!”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything, you’re the one who wanted to do this in the first place!” Tanjirou exclaimed. He wasn’t mistaken, of course. The man with the scar on his forehead pointed at his nose. “They love you more than anything, I can tell. And you love them just as much.”

“That’s…”

“You want to spend the rest of your life with them, don’t you?” He interrupted. Zenitsu nodded slowly, drying his tears with the back of his palm, still grasping the golden band in his other hand. He heard a door opening, followed by his name being called. He held in another shameful cry, standing up and ignoring his body’s shakiness as he took a couple deep breaths. Tanjirou patted his back a couple time, giving him a reassuring smile. He cursed at himself for being so weak against his companion’s gentle sound.

“Don’t fuck this up.” Zenitsu whispered to himself, sliding the door open. His partner’s face lit up immediately and they were about to jump into his arms to greet him, but he stopped them with a hand gesture. They stopped right away, throwing him a questioning look.

“Th-there’s something I need to ask you.” His voice was still trembling slightly.

“Alright…?”

He took a deep breath yet again, giving the ring a last squeeze before kneeling down, his eyes searching for theirs. Shock was written all over their pretty features.

“(Y/n), will you marry me?” He inquired, opening his hand to expose the ring. His partner’s tears were reflected on its shiny surface as they kneeled down in front of him, wrapping their arms around his neck. Words were not enough to express just how much they accepted his offer. They nodded, unable to speak properly, as Zenitsu’s own tears started to spill. Maybe facing his fears every now and then wasn’t that bad after all.

[parkernotes]

never a bother

also available on ao3

post-endgame + hurt/comfort

whumptober 2019 prompts: stab wound & secret injury, embrace

word count: 2033

At 11:14 pm, Tony still hasn't received a text from Peter, but he lets it slide. The kid's school night curfew is at 11pm, but being late by fifteen to twenty minutes once won't make a difference, he convinces himself. He could easily open Karen's live feed and check for himself where Peter is, but he's practicing self-restraint these days, and trusting the kid to follow the curfew and text him once he makes it home safe is an important part of it.

So he waits.

Morgan is asleep and Pepper's at her office working late, so Tony distracts himself by preparing himself a cup of hot chocolate then heading back downstairs to work on some upgrades to Rhodey's suit. It gets his mind off Peter for a while, but then he receives a text from May, who's wondering if he heard from Peter. She's working a late shift and still hasn't received a text either.

He checks the time. 11:53 pm. Still no text.

He sighs, pulling his chat with the kid open and sending him a quick text. You back home yet?

Tony stares at it for a few seconds, clicks his tongue in annoyance and is about to go and check Karen's live feed when the app informs him his message was read. He waits a few more seconds, but when Peter doesn't make a move to start typing to answer him, Tony hits the call button.

It rings twice before Peter answers it.

"Hey, Tony! Sorry!"

"You better be," Tony mutters, sagging in relief at knowing his kid is fine. "Are you home?"

"Yes, sorry, uh, forgot to text you," Peter answers, but his voice comes up a bit muffled, as if he's holding his phone between his cheek and shoulder.

"It's fine, kiddo, just make sure you remember next-"

He interrupts himself when Peter emits a loud hiss and then a yelp, and that has Tony tensing on the spot immediately. A loud noise follows this then everything stops, and Tony can't hear anything.

"What is it?" he urges, sitting straight on his chair. "Peter?"

Tony hears a soft noise, then a voice. "Sorry, I dropped my phone," Peter says, suddenly lowering his tone. "Uh, it's kinda dark because May's sleeping, so I can't see anything."

Tony frowns. "I was texting her just two minutes ago, though? Isn't she working a late shift?"

Peter is suddenly silent. "Uh," he says after a few moments. "I forgot."

"Peter," Tony starts carefully, seeing through him right away even though he can't even actually see the kid. "What is going on? What did you do?"

"Nothing, nothing, like I said the lights were out so I couldn't see anything but-"

This time Peter interrupts himself with another hiss, and Tony has had enough. Without bothering to pull his phone away from his face so Peter can't hear him, he calls out to FRIDAY, asking her to get Peter's vitals from Karen.

They appear on his screen a few seconds later, and Peter's panicked reassurances soon become muffled by the ringing in Tony's ears originated from the raw panic he feels from looking at the data in front of him.

Small tear in the suit, right portion of the lower abdomen. Low blood pressure.

Just as quick as he lost it, Tony gets back.

"I don't want to hear another single word from you," Tony manages to say in almost a whisper. He think his voice will crack if he raises it too much. "I'm calling Happy to pick you up and get you to the Compound. Stay exactly where you are and don't do anything stupid."

As he speaks, he's already heading upstairs to let Pepper know what's going on. As he climbs up the steps to her office, he puts Peter on hold and dials Happy, who answers right away.

"What's up, boss?"

"I need you to pick Peter up," he says as he opens the door to the office. Pepper look up from her desk with her eyebrows raised, clearly not pleased at being interrupted, but her expression quickly morphs into something concerned. He certainly looks like a hot mess, trembling all over and on the verge of a panic attack. "He- He's been fucking stabbed and decided not to let anyone know, he probably hacked the suit again, and he's at home. I need- I need you to get him to the Compound. I'll meet you guys there."

"On it," he hears Happy say, and the sound of quick footsteps on the other side of the line. He hangs up and Tony's back with Peter, who has gone scarily silent.

"Peter?" he asks just as Pepper makes it to stand in front of him, placing a hand on his arm. When the kid doesn't answer right away, he feels his heart hammer against his heart. "Kid, for fuck's-"

"I'm here, I'm here, sorry," Peter replies hurriedly. "I'm fine, Tony, it has happened be-"

"Don't even finish that sentence, I don't wanna know," Tony snaps, finally raising his voice because the idea of Peter treating a fucking stab wound without him knowing is completely horrifying, and it just won't do Tony any good right now. "Just- Listen, Happy is going to pick you up and take you to the Compound. I'll meet you guys there, should take an hour or so. According to what Karen has shown me you should be fine by then."

"Tony, you really don't need to-"

"Shut up, I don't want to know. See you there. Tell Karen to call me immediately in case something happens, but I'll have her on alert if your conditions worsen."

He hangs up, takes a shuddering breath. Pepper places her other hand on his other arm, and squeezes gently.

"I'll let May know once her shift ends," she says.

"Okay," Tony nods, feeling a sharp pang in his chest. He places his hand on her shoulder for support, and feels that it's a little bit harder to draw in the next breath. And the next one.

"Tony," Pepper starts. "Hey, he'll be fine, honey."

"I know," he nods shakily, suddenly feeling like his legs might give out. He quickly makes it to the loveseat in the corner of the room, then buries his face on his hands, willing himself to just get over with it. He needs to get going. He needs to get to Peter who is bleeding out on his own-

"Tony, breathe," he hears Pepper, and when he comes back to it she's kneeling in front of him, hands on his knees. She gently takes one of his hands and places it on top of her chest, which is rising and falling slowly with her breathing. "Breathe with me."

At first, like always, it's hard. But he attempts to follow the rhythm of Pepper's breathing under his palm, tries to count along with her, and it begins to work. He starts to see more clearly, even though his heart rate is still too high.

"He'll be fine," she repeats softly, but firmly. "It is not like last time, honey. He'll be fine by tomorrow and come over this weekend again, like he always does, and we'll spend time together. He's fine, I know it. You can tell by the way he was arguing back with you, yeah?"

Tony manages a weak and wet chuckle and nods. He tries to repeat her words to himself, that it is not like last time, he's not even losing much blood, but it's so fucking hard. Just the thought of Peter hurting in any way makes his skin crawl. Living for five years without him was too much, and now that he miraculously came back, any threat of losing him again, no matter how small it is, is too terrifying. But he doesn't think Peter understands - he's still the same, and probably has no idea what those five years were like. The mourning. The missing. Tony doesn't blame him, but it surely makes his job harder.

It's been only five months since he came back, and Tony is not ready to let him out into the world just yet again, it seems. He just wants to see Peter safe.

It takes a few more minutes to fully calm down, but then he's ready to go. He kisses Pepper goodbye, promises he will update her on everything, then sets off.

x

Due to the time it took Tony to leave home, he arrives after them at the Compound even though he was flying. He meets Happy at the entrance to the medbay, who tells him Bruce already stitched Peter up, who's now resting.

"Thank you, Hap," he says, a bit dizzily. The other man pats him on the shoulder as he moves past him towards Peter's room.

The lights are dim inside, but Peter's wide awake sitting on the bed. Tony lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of him, hurriedly closing the door behind him before approaching the bed with quick steps.

It looks like Peter was about to say something, but Tony stops him by pulling him into a tight embrace, still minding his wound. He tucks Peter's head right beneath his chin, presses a kiss right on top of it.

"Never," he begins quietly, a bit shakily. "Do that again."

"I'm sorry," Peter replies.

Tony gives him a squeeze before pulling back, placing his hands on the kid's shoulders. "Why did you think it was a good idea not to tell anyone, hm?" he inquiries. "Is this still about the whole I'm a teenager, I can do everything my myself thing?"

"No, just," Peter sighs, looking away. "I just didn't want to bother anyone."

"Bother?" Tony echoes, shocked. "Peter, you were stabbed. And yeah, we're still going to talk about how you got Karen into not telling me," he adds as a side note, to which Peter cringes. "That's an emergency. You have the right to bother me."

"I know, but-"

"You know what, even if it wasn't an emergency," Tony continues. "Even if it was scratch, I would like you to tell me. I want to know everything, and that would never bother me, you hear me? Where did you even get that from, kiddo?"

He brushes a curl away from Peter's forehead, feeling helpless and honestly, a bit heartbroken. Hearing Peter admit that he thinks telling Tony he's been stabbed would bother him is one of the fucking saddest things he's ever heard. Is he doing anything wrong?

"I know you would want to come here, and I didn't want you to leave home this late because of me, especially because I only let this happen because I was stupid during patrol," Peter murmurs, avoiding his eyes.

Tony holds him by the shoulders again, giving him a squeeze. "Kiddo, listen to me carefully. You know how long five years can be?" he says, and Peter looks right back at him. "That's half a decade. A pretty long time if you ask me. Hell, I went five entire years without looking after you. Even though I had great moments, especially with Morgan, I missed you so much through it all, Pete. And I got a miracle, you know. I got you back. And now... I just want to make sure you're safe, so it never happens again, you get that? You would never bother me."

Peter nods and Tony watches as his eyes well up with tears. "Sorry," he croaks again, and it's all it takes for Tony to pull him in again.

"C'mere," he mutters, letting the kid sniffle softly against his jacket. "I know things changed drastically for you and your Aunt, so let me help you get back on track, yeah? Don't hide things, please."

"I won't," Peter promises quietly, fisting the back of Tony's jacket.

Tony knows it will be a hard promise to keep up with, but now that he knows what's going on inside the kid's head, he'll be there all the way, paying even more attention.

He turns his head only to press a kiss on Peter's temple, and the kid holds him just a bit tighter.

[beckzorz]

Out of Nowhere (19/21)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC Summary: An offhand comment at work draws Jesse Kaplan into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s excited at the prospect of normalcy, but there’s nothing normal about falling in love with the Winter Soldier. Warnings for Part 19: Canon-typical action/violence Words: 2541 A/N: The song for this chapter is “Second Balcony Jump - Rudy Van Gelder Edition/ 1999 Digital Remaster/ 24 Bit Mastering” by Dexter Gordon from Go! (The Rudy Van Gelder Edition). Guys! I just realized that after this there are only TWO MORE PARTS of this story :o Next Friday is the thrilling conclusion! I’m totally shocked... I can’t believe I’ve been posting this story for long enough to get through all its parts in just another week! THANK YOU so so much for reading so far and I hope you can stick through to the end <3 I hope you’re all having a great day, and I hope you enjoy!

PART 19: “SECOND BALCONY JUMP”

Natasha strode right to the interrogation table and unlocked Mike’s cuffs from the ring on its top. His face brightened with sudden hope, but Natasha just dragged him out of the room. He stumbled, his tall frame bowed like an old man’s, and shot an accusatory look at Jesse as they passed by her.

But Jesse couldn’t move. Her whole body was trembling. Twitching fingers, chattering teeth. And Mike thought she should have—could have—done something about him being dragged off by Natasha Romanoff, world’s most overqualified babysitter?

Natasha hadn’t specified, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who they were.

Current Relief.

Were they about to finish what they started when they came after her the last time?

A door in the other room slammed shut, startling Jesse out of her thoughts.

“Jesse, come on,” Natasha ordered.

Jesse crossed her arms over her chest, wrists against her collarbone, and hurried shakily out of the room. The observation window flickered when she glanced at it, and she yelped when she saw Mike through the window. She spun around, but Mike was nowhere to be seen.

“A recording,” Natasha said shortly, stuffing a remote in her belt. She nodded towards the wall next to the stairs up. “And a soundproofed cell. He’ll be fine.”

“W-what’s going on?” Jesse stammered. She dug her fingers into her shoulders.

Natasha jammed a magazine into her pistol. “SHIELD surveillance flagged a suspicious convoy headed this way, and—”

“A convoy?!”

“—further footage indicates that certain passengers are from Current Relief.” Natasha ignored Jesse’s outburst. A murmur came from her comm; her lips tightened. “They’re less than a mile away.”

Natasha’s face blurred. Jesse swayed in place.

“Hey!” Natasha snapped in front of her face, startling Jesse out of her stupor. “Stay with me, Jesse.”

Jesse nodded dumbly. Natasha took her by the elbow and steered her up the stairs. “Richard is upstairs. He’ll protect you. I’ll keep them busy downstairs. Just stay with Richard, do as he says, and you’ll be fine. No plungers necessary.”

“Plungers?” Jesse blinked and furrowed her brow as she was led up the second flight of stairs. Oh. The attack on her apartment. The shower. Stocky. “Right.”

Natasha sighed and slapped Richard’s door with an open hand. “Rensselaer, open up,” she ordered. The door opened just enough for Natasha to push Jesse inside, and then it shut.

Jesse blinked at the door’s smooth white paneling. Her brain felt like stew. She’d barely processed any of what Natasha had told her. Where was she? Richard’s room? She turned around. Richard was back to loading his guns at his bed. The open closet door revealed a small open safe, empty save for a little cardboard box of ammunition that had fallen over. A few rounds had settled on the bottom of the safe.

“Get in the closet,” Richard ordered.

Jesse stared at him, hands still trembling. Richard was dressed to fight—a tactical vest, holsters stuffed with more guns than she’d seen even on Bucky. Richard had told her to do something. Why couldn’t she remember it? Why couldn’t she move? Why was she crying? What was the matter with her?

Richard’s last magazine clicked into place, and he slid it into an empty holster on his hip. He came over and put his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, his brown eyes gentle. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” He guided her towards his closet and pushed on her shoulders until she was crouched in the corner, her knees pressed tight against her chest. “Stay quiet. I’ll be back for you.”

Plungers.

“What if they come?” she blurted. She grabbed Richard’s sleeve before he was out of reach; his whole arm shook from her trembling. “They found me when they came to my apartment. What if—” She cut herself off and pressed both hands to her mouth. They were going to find her, and she was going to die.

Richard frowned, but there was no one to advise him. Jesse squeezed shut her eyes and bit hard on her tongue to keep from making noise as tears clogged her throat. She could just make out the buzz of Richard’s comm. They’re here.

“I’ll be back for you,” Richard repeated. He hurried out, cocking a pistol as he went and locking the door behind him.

Jesse reached out blindly and wiggled her fingers under the bottom of the closet door to pull it most of the way shut. She curled herself into a ball. In the silence and darkness of Richard’s closet, with its strange smell and numerous polo shirts, her brain finally lurched back to life.

How had this happened? Wasn’t this place supposed to be safe? It was bad enough when Mike showed up, but Natasha had brought him here. Had Current Relief followed him? Within an hour of his arrival, here they were.

No… That couldn’t be it. Natasha wouldn’t have brought him here if she knew they’d be followed. She wouldn’t have! And she had to know. She was the Black Widow! One of the most terrifying spies on the planet! She wasn’t that stupid.

Jesse’s stomach dropped. No, the only person stupid enough to broadcast their location was Jesse herself.

It wasn’t Mike’s arrival that told Current Relief what they needed to know. No, Jesse had done it for them. She’d run outside just long enough for them to find her, and now—

Now she’d put the whole fucking neighborhood at risk.

Natasha, Richard, Mike… Mike was trash, but he was everyone’s best bet at figuring out the plans of the people who’d done such harm. Richard was antisocial, but underneath that standoffishness he was kind. And Natasha—if Jesse got Natasha killed, it didn’t matter that all of this had happened because of someone else’s terrible decisions. Natasha was an Avenger, one of SHIELD’s best. How many people would be after her for revenge?

Jesse shuddered. She curled her fingers into her stomach, fighting back rising bile. All she’d ever wanted was to help people. She didn’t work at a nonprofit for the money, that was for sure. But here she was, summoning terrorists to a SHIELD safehouse as though no one inside mattered at all.

How could things have gone so wrong?

And how much of all this was her fault?

She swallowed, throat burning.

An unmuffled gunshot rang out, splintering the heavy silence. Jesse gasped and curled up tighter, pressing her hands over her ears. Two more shots rang out, quieter but no less real; the wall at her back shuddered with impact. Jesse squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward until she was curled behind Richard’s small safe. Bangs and yells echoed from downstairs; the walls shook again. The closet door creaked as it swung slowly on its hinges.

Richard yelped. Oh god, was he hurt? What had happened to him?

More yells, bangs, and grunts from downstairs filtered through the thin carpet. Running footsteps pounded up the stairs. Jesse sat up, lips parted with terror. She inched forward. Through the open closet door, she could see that Richard’s bedroom door was still locked shut, a sliver of light along the bottom.

A shadow stopped in front of the door.

Jesse couldn’t stop the whimper that grew in her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth and flung herself deeper into the shadows of the closet.

“Ha,” a man’s voice said. “Got you.”

Jesse’s blood rushed in her ears. She rose into a crouch and picked up the safe. It was small, not particularly heavy, but its open door swung as she lifted it. She fumbled to latch it shut.

A gunshot splintered the bedroom door. Someone kicked it in.

“Come out, come out,” the man cooed. His voice moved closer as he spoke, and Jesse counted in her head and hefted the safe higher in her arms.

When her assailant flung the door open and let out his first gunshot, the safe ricocheted the bullet back at his leg. He fell to his knees with a shout. Jesse regained her balance and swung the safe at his head with her teeth bared and muscles burning.

The impact sent them both reeling. Jesse stumbled, but the man collapsed facedown in a motionless heap on the floor. Jesse dropped the safe, panting.

The metallic scent of blood flooded her nostrils. The bile she’d been holding back rose dangerously, and she threw herself at the little trash can by the bed just in time. She shuddered as she retched, eyes blurred with tears and adrenaline.

Jesse coughed and swallowed with a grimace as another round of gunfire rang out downstairs. She crawled on her knees over to the prone man, glancing anxiously at the half-open door. The man had fallen on his face, one arm trapped under his stomach. His gun had fallen a few feet away. From this angle, Jesse couldn’t see the damage she’d done. She didn’t even know if he was bleeding.

The scuffle downstairs was getting louder, moving closer. Someone stomped on the stairs. Jesse stood to shut the bedroom door, but the knob had been blown away.

She panicked.

Richard’s room, like hers, had a window blocked with thick drapes. Jesse grabbed the abandoned gun and flung the curtains open. She squinted against the morning sun and forced open the window, then the screen. Just below was the pitched overhang for the back door, the one she’d run out of barely an hour ago. Jesse tossed the gun outside, then climbed onto the windowsill, heart stuttering. She eased herself down the few feet to the overhang. Her hands slipped before she had gotten a solid purchase, and she slid down the angled shingles with a strained cry. She snagged a hold on the lip of the overhand.

Then she dropped.

The six-foot fall into the dirt rattled her bones all the way up to her skull. She tried to turn her heavy landing into a roll, but her right wrist buckled. She didn’t stop. The woods were just there, just there… She ran, blind and deaf to her surroundings. She couldn’t hear a thing from the safehouse.

She didn’t look back; she just pumped her legs hard as she dashed into the cover of the woods. Was anyone following? Could anyone see? Dead leaves crunched underfoot. She wound her way between the trees in a frenzied ribbon. When she finally looked back, all she could see was the forest. The house was out of sight.

In a few minutes she emerged from the woods, still running, onto a road. The dirt and gravel crunched under her shoes. Her speed and shock were too much for her to make out details. Were there rocks? She couldn’t tell. She only stayed on her feet through sheer dumb luck and the grace of god.

Jesse glanced back, panting heavily, but no one was coming. She was alone.

She slowed to a walk. As her adrenaline drained away, her steps turned into stumbles. Her whole body throbbed from the fall, and a separate sharper burn sliced through her wrist with every movement. Jesse cradled her injured hand to her chest, eyes welling with tears.

She made her way to the edge of the road and collapsed in the tall grasses. Her quick breaths sliced through her lungs. Her limbs twitched as she moved; it took four tries to arrange the grasses around her like a cloak. She rested her forehead on her knees.

Her tears soon left a damp spot on her jeans. She sat up and wiped her cheeks with her trembling good hand, then realized she was empty-handed.

“Sh-shit!”

She’d left the gun! She’d thrown it outside on purpose, and now she was completely helpless. Helpless and injured—a sprained wrist, she guessed, plus the soreness inevitable from a fall. And the come down from her adrenaline high had turned her into a puddle. If anyone came after her, she was finished.

How could she have been so thoughtless? After everything, to die alone in the woods…

But then, would she have rather been killed in her apartment, for Fran to find? Or under Natasha Romanoff’s nose? At least out here no one could blame it on the Black Widow. It wasn’t Natasha’s fault that Current Relief had found them.

No, Jesse had ruined everything. She’d led Current Relief to the safehouse. She’d run away, like a coward, and it had turned into everyone else’s problem. All of this was her fault. How long until she finally paid for it?

—

Eventually, Jesse climbed to her feet. She had no idea where she was. Was she even on the same road as the safehouse? These gravel back roads all looked the same to her.

Should she try and find a building to get shelter? Another house, maybe? She huffed in dry amusement. Out here, what was there but houses? If she found somewhere else, she could call the police, get help…

Oh, what good would that do? What could the police do if even SHIELD was taken by surprise? And she didn’t have anyone at SHIELD’s number. Not even Bucky’s.

Jesse leaned heavily against a gray tree and squeezed her eyes shut. As a child, she’d memorized phone numbers easily. Even now she could rattle off her childhood friends’ numbers. These days, with smartphones and contact lists, she was lucky if she remembered her parents’ numbers, let alone her friends’. And she’d only known Bucky for what, two months? No, less. Six weeks, tomorrow. There was no way she could piece the right numbers together from her patchy memory. She knew enough math to know there were far too many possible combinations.

No, she was screwed. Well and truly screwed.

She’d dragged enough people into this mess. She wasn’t going to drag more innocent bystanders into it.

Jesse took a deep breath and stood straight, steadying herself with her good hand. She glanced back and bit her lip. What had happened to Natasha? To Richard? Had Current Relief won? Or were they beaten, tied up or cuffed like Mike? Endless questions rattled around Jesse’s brain.

A gunshot echoed from behind her.

Jesse flinched. She spun on the balls of her feet, hands trembling, every muscle tense. What the hell?

A second gunshot reverberated through the trees. Jesse dove back into the grasses at the side of the road. They were thick, and she was wearing gray. Could she make herself invisible? She had to try. She buried her face in her hands, eyes covered and all, and dug her elbows into the dirt.

Shouts rang out from the direction of the safehouse. How far had she actually come? Were they coming after her? Blood rushed in her ears. She tried to melt into the ground. What the hell was going on? What had happened?

The low rumble of a car broke through her terror. Jesse pressed herself even lower, not daring to look to the road. A cloud of exhaust and dust kicked up in the car’s wake as it crawled along. She bit hard on her lip, eyes watering, and tried not to breathe.

The dust didn’t settle for a long time.

[amethyst-noir]

Tagged: All about me and fanfic

I got tagged by the wonderful @aelaer; thank you so much! This was fun!

1. At what age did you start writing fanfiction?

16. I discovered fanfic in December 1999, which makes this year my 20th anniversary, yay! At the same time I also met my best friend. She was curious what walls of text I was staring at while all the others were in various chat rooms. (We didn't have internet at home back then and this was during trade school which was a boarding school. I got online for the very first time, didn't know what to do and typed my current obsession into AltaVista. Highlander. I discovered fanfic about 5 minutes later and never looked back. That was all in German back then because my English was almost non-existent. I only learned it because I wanted to read more HL fic and I've burned through everything in my native language so I had to expand. Yes, I've learned English through fanfic and later on - after the advent of DVDs - by watching shows and movies in the original version.

2. Who is your favorite author?

Help, I don't want to play favorites but okay: Maygra, who wrote beautiful Duncan/Methos stories and whose Chris/Vin stories brought me from HL over into Magnificent Seven fandom. MacGeorge, who wrote the hottest Duncan/Methos and the best Duncan Gen I have ever laid eyes on. Unfortunately, their website is no longer online so the link goes to the Wayback Machine.

Tons of wonderful people in the Mag7 fandom (Gen and Slash alike) whose work is lost in the mists of time of still lives in worddoc copies on my harddrive. Their pages where on Angelfire (some of them are still there); lots on Tripod or even Geocities. See, I've been around for a long while. 😉

During my Stargate Atlantis days I read tons and tons but special mentions go to Auburn and Synecdochic (who wrote much more SG-1 than SGA but freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose still makes me tear up just thinking about).

Between Mag7 and SGA I spent time lurking in The Professionals, Starsky & Hutch and Supernatural fandom but I consumed such vast quantities in such a short time that I barely remember anything (I was jobless at that time), but Flamingo's Starsky & Hutch stories are exceptional.

Then there was Person of Interest and Da Vinci's Demon's and Hannibal and lots of other casual fandoms. Hannibal was the fandom I joined Tumblr for and I still lurked around. I only started writing, posting and interacting with people after Infinity War, a little bit over a year ago now. (And by "started writing" I mean in English. I wrote in German until about 2008 or 09 when I gradually stopped because there was no feedback and I had no fandom I could really obsess over. I was reading and lurking around until IW and Ironstrange came along and by that time I was not even thinking about writing in German anymore.)

A couple of favorites from this corner of fandom (in alphabetical order!): @atypical-snowman, @aelaer, @babywarg, @descaladumidera, @mistressstrange, @myrxellabaratheon, @phierie, @ssironstrange, @stark-raving-strange. There are many more but those are the ones I first thought of. They give me Tony and Stephen as equals, snarky and complex people and also deliver on the angsty H/C. I love you all. 💞

3. Favorite type of scene to write?

Comfort. Hurt is necessary before that but I much prefer long drawn out comfort with lots of touching and talking, culminating in a (first) kiss. Angst and misunderstandings regarding feelings are also nice but only if it ends in happy contentment.

4. What is your favorite fanfic?

Uff, okay, one for each fandom because otherwise we're here until the next year.

Highlander: Variation in D Minor by killabeez (4th installment of Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark series)

The Magnificent Seven: Egeo Fides (Without Promise)  by Maygra (3rd installment of theTo Make of Heaven, Earth series)

Starsky & Hutch: Crystal Blue Persuasion by Flamingo

Stargate Atlantis: No way, there are too many. But check out the SGA Big Bang on the Wayback Machine if you want tons to read. This was the first Big Bang I witnessed and since than I've been stuck with the definition of "40.000 words or more" for such events. The SGA years where the most fun I had in fandom until I fell into Ironstrange.

Hannibal:

Ahem. *draws a blank* Sorry. But there was such much in the heyday of the fandom. Let's just say that I like it when Will and Hannibal are depicted as equals or Will as the dominant one. Frail-flower-Will who is an unsuspecting ping-pong ball for manipulative!Hannibal is not my thing. They manipulated each other like the pros they are and in the end Will out manipulated Hannibal, in my opinion. Peacefrog wrote beautiful Hannibal.

Marvel/Ironstrange: Let's just name my favorite current WIP and be done with it otherwise this gets exhausting. whatever souls are made of by @atypical-snowman. This has everything I love and adore. And I still have to catch up with it. Also, I'm looking forward to @iwritefanficsometimes's Switched at Birth AU.

5. What tags do you avoid like the plague?

A/B/O, except for very rare exceptions. Mpreg. Always. Everything with Tony and Steve in a past or present relationship because I just don't like it. "Hurt no Comfort" - see me run in the other direction as fast as I can.

6. What AU do you wish to write but feel like you won’t manage?

Fantasy or Historical AU. Rewrite of the MCU where Stephen, Tony and Pepper know each other since before the events of IM1 and fall into a relationship before the first Avengers.

7. Do you outline, or write as you go?

No outline. If I outline the story is finished. I write because I have an idea and don't know how it'll turn out. I discover the plot as I write. If I do an outline I know what happens and see no use in writing it anymore. *looks at outline for massive d/s AU with soulbond for Tony and Stephen* You are nice, but I know exactly what happens in every scene so why bother writing it out completely? Boring.

8. What has been your favorite story to write so far? Why?

Precious. Because it wrote itself and was so much fun. I had absolutely no clue what it would become when I started and a week later I had this massive (for me) story.

9. Do you prefer to write one-shots or multi-chapters? Why?

I only can do one-shots. I would love to write a long multi-chapter epic but my style and my endurance don't fit with it. Watch me cram 10 years into 5k words.

10. What is your favorite kind of comment?

Each and every one! I squee in delight when I get an "<3", I jump from joy when I get "I loved it" and I'm bouncing like a little child when I get one of those long ones that tell me what the reader liked best. I look forward to the Kudos mail each and every day.

11. Why did you start writing fanfiction? Why are you still writing?

I started because I was back home from school and offline. "I can do that too!" I thought and tried it. It was bad, it was really bad. But badly writing in German was a stepping stone to writing halfway decent (or so I like to think) in English. I know that I make tons of mistakes, I know that I basically write the same plot/situations all over again and again but I enjoy it and quite some people enjoy it with me. So why not? I don't want to get traditionally published, I don't want a career writing; I just want the ideas out of my head. And if other people like what I write? Yay, thank you, I love you!