#i did like one run each and revelations i spent a month on cause i got bored

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

blood feud. ( drew wu x reader )

gif belongs to me

Drew often reminisced about the way you met for the first time. You were friends with the wife of another policeman he was good friends with, and the two had conspired to set you up on a blind date, citing that you were perfectly matched. All Drew had learned about you prior to the date from the PC was that despite knowing you for over three years, you remained very much a mystery. All he knew was that your father had died when you were younger and you were estranged from your family. You moved to Portland to start a new life and met his wife at the gym.

Your first date was awkward in the beginning. He was nervous, you were nervous, but within ten minutes you learned all you needed to know about him. He was kind, he had a dry sense of humor and your mutual friends mentioned how loyal and 'by the book' way he operated.

When your date ended you wished you didn't have to work in the morning as you walked towards your apartment, laughing at his story about a disgruntled civilian during a case when a chase had ended with a complaint on the Captain's desk regarding a pretzel that had been knocked out of a man's hand when the perp they were chasing had bumped into him during his attempted escape.

"Thank you for tonight." You turned to him with a smile, "I had a lot of fun. I thought I had forgotten how."

That night you exchanged numbers and planned a second date. You kissed his cheek before heading inside and it wasn't until your one-year anniversary that he disclosed that he had fist pumped the air as he walked back to his car.

As he drove beyond the speed limit, his mind wandered to the night, three weeks after your first date when you asked to meet him. On the outside, he was as focused as always during work, but by the time he got to your apartment, he was convinced that you were breaking up with him and was questioning everything he had done or said that had caused it all to go so wrong.

Your anxious smile did little to ease his nerves as you invited him inside. You motioned for him to take a seat and when you remained standing, fiddling with the cuff of your sweater, Drew was so certain his suspicions had been correct.

Which is why, when you started talking about meeting Nick at the station, how surprised you were, rambling and almost making it difficult for him to keep up as your sentences jumped around, Drew stayed silent as you told him your secret. You were a Löwen.

You told him about your father's death and he was stunned by the revelation that you had killed him. "Y-You have to understand I did it for my brothers. He was going to make us kill each other until one of us became the new leader of the family."

Drew felt the air leave his lungs when you revealed you were fourteen when it happened. And ever since you had been running, hiding from your siblings who had turned on you less than a year later, deeming you an unfit head of the house.

"I didn't have a choice." Your voice quivered and he shot off the sofa, soothing you as he brought you into his arms.

Once you calmed down a few moments later, you lifted your head to meet his gaze, speaking softly, "I wanted to tell you. When I saw Nick at the station I knew he was a Grimm. And I wanted you to hear it from me. Even if it meant you hated me."

As he told you about his first encounter with a Wesen, that he had spent the last several months with Nick and Hank reading the diaries, you moved to sit on the sofa and Drew defended Nick who had proven he wasn't like other Grimm. He was a detective first, Grimm second and that meant no Wesen was hunted unless they were extremely violent. Otherwise, he arrested and charged them for their crimes.

He looked at your joined hands, running his thumb over the back of your hand, meeting your gaze as he said, "I could never hate you. I love you."

"I love you too." You smiled softly.

That night, after three weeks of dating, exchanging those three words should have been nerve-wracking but it felt as natural as breathing. Meeting you was like finding everything he ever wanted and everything he didn't know he needed.

Unlike other Löwen you were even-tempered, and while you were competitive during board games, you were not violent or aggressive as many Löwen were. Drew accredited your rough childhood to this, believing after so much violence all you wanted now was peace and acceptance.

When you moved in together after dating for three months, you finally unpacked a box containing family photographs you had taken before you fled, symbolizing the home and the family you had found in Portland. Two months later he clocked off early and surprised you with a candlelight dinner for two, and proposed to you on bended knee in the kitchen.

You believed you had built a life in Portland with him. Formed strong friendships, and became a part of their group that was more like a family. Often you helped with researching the diaries or provided your knowledge of Wesen involved in cases your strength, speed, and tracking skills became a valuable asset to the group when facing violent or elusive Wesen.

Monroe remarked regularly about how quickly word spread through your community. And as he raced down the road Drew believed your assistance was what led to your family finding you.

He thought back to a little over an hour ago when he had come home, finding utter chaos and devastation wherever he went. Blood was on the walls and on the floor and when Monroe took a sniff around he revealed a small droplet was yours, while the rest belonged to your captors. All evidence pointed to you putting up a hell of a fight, before being knocked unconscious and carried out to a large truck.

His grip tightened on the wheel as he drove, his gut twisting at the thought of you hurt or worse fighting to the death. Violence was how Löwen settled disagreements and right now he didn't know if you were fighting for your life or already dead.

"We're getting close," Monroe spoke up from beside him, breaking Drew from his thoughts.

A few minutes later the farm track ended, and immediately he noticed a large blue truck outside a barn and parked next to it, followed closely by Hank and Nick who were in the latter's car. Yelling could be heard from inside and growls that shook the wood made Drew's heart plummet.

The trailer was covered in open books, however, when there was no mention of the tradition you had told Drew about, Monroe filled in the blanks.

"Löwen are natural leaders. When there is a lot of them -"

"A family of seven kids." Nick added.

"Right. They fight to be the leader of the family." Monroe looked at Drew who was sitting behind a table, elbow on the desk as he rested his index finger on his lips, his eyes revealing his fear and his concern for your wellbeing.

"She already escaped once, so she could do it again," Hank spoke up, trying to remain hopeful when everyone knew they would be walking into a bloodbath.

Drew entered with Monroe while Nick and Hank went around the back, guns drawn. Torches were lit in a circle, two of your brothers holding your arms, one approaching with a dagger and another on the ground, rising to his feet.

"Portland Police Department!" Nick called upon entry.

Drew shot the brother wielding the dagger twice, one bullet passing through his torso and the second lodging in his shoulder, causing him to drop the dagger.

You broke your left arm free and shoved the brother holding your right arm away. You fell backward when he swung his leg, tripping you. You groaned as you hit the ground, growling when he reached for the dagger, raising it above your heart. You held his arm, moving your head before he could punch you, and twisted your body until he was pinned beneath you, knocking the dagger out of his hand.

Chaos ensued as Hank, Nick, and Drew tried to fend off three of your brothers while Monroe was better matched. When you punched your older brother with all your strength, his Löwen features faded when he fell unconscious, and you stood up, looking for Drew.

You noticed Hank first, seeing your younger brother tackle him into a stack of hay. You were leaving the circle to help him when a gunshot sounded through the barn and you felt a searing pain in your chest. You froze, raising a hand to feel the blood staining your shirt, and turned to see Nick on the ground, eyes wide as your brother smirked, controlling the pistol aimed in your direction.

Your Löwen features faded as you woge, falling to your knees, and onto your back, looking up at the ceiling as you registered Drew calling your name. After a few moments, it was difficult to focus on the worn wood and you felt the blood soaking your shirt that clung to your skin, slowly blinking as you fought to stay conscious.

You faintly registered a loud boom sound, and soon after you opened your eyes a little to see Drew kneeling next to you, and pressure on your wound.

"Stay with me." His eyes were wide as they took in the blood pool, and met your half-lidded gaze. "I need you to hold on a little longer."

Your lips tugged upwards at the corners. "You came for me."

"Of course I did." He quickly replied, hearing Hank calling for an ambulance. He looked at your mother when she draped the twelve gauge over her left arm, two of your younger brothers in handcuffs while the third checked on your oldest brother who was still unconscious from your punch. "She's dying!"

"S/N!" She called. "Bring me my bag."

"She is a disgrace to this family -"

"I said bring me my bag!" She matched his tone and he shook his head but left the barn.

She came over to kneel beside your left side, looking at Drew who was on your right. "Move." She shooed his hands away, feeling the bullet with her fingers, earning groans from you.

When your brother returned, she cut a large hole around the wound and began to extract the bullet. When you fought back, she barked for Drew to hold your arm down, and Monroe held the other. Drew felt bile rise in his throat as she attempted to extract the bullet a second time.

"It's okay, schatz." She held her hand up, the bullet between the medical tongs, and your body relaxed. "I found it."

As she stitched you up, your older brother woke up in time for back up arriving to assist, and was arrested alongside your brothers. A minor struggle ensued until your mother ordered them to go peacefully.

Drew glanced at your mother, then looked down at you. The only sign you were still breathing was the slight rise and fall of your chest. He lifted his gaze to your mother as she tied off the stitch.

"Why are you helping her?"

She walked out of the barn and Hank watched her leave as he stood next to Nick and Monroe who had also moved closer to you. "Not warm and fuzzy, are they?"

"She is my daughter." She replied. "I lost her once. I let her down. I don't want to go through it again." She stood up and looked down at him. "That should hold until the hospital."

Nick scoffed in agreement.

Drew tried to carefully lift you up, but despite his attempt, you whimpered as he moved, your head tucking into his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Nick guided him to the ambulance and Drew gave an account of your injuries as he laid you on the bed. "Internal damage is likely."

He was forced to retreat at the paramedic's request. He stared down at you with a heavy heart before kissing your forehead and reluctantly leaving the ambulance which took off ten seconds later.

Hank stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Come on. I'll drive you to the hospital."

When Nick returned to the station an hour later, alone, he explained the situation to Renard who granted Drew all the time he needed, wanting an update on your condition. Throughout your surgery, Hank stayed with Drew who paced, sat with his head in his hands, and stared at the wall across from his seat in a daze - repeating the cycle for over two hours.

Finally, the surgeon approached and explained the bullet had caused internal damage, narrowly missing your heart. He was certain you would recover quickly although you would have to take it easy for a while. Drew thanked him, feeling the weight lift off his chest a little.

Hank went home shortly after and Drew thanked him for staying by his side. He stayed with you all night, keeping the group and the Captain updated on your condition.

It was two in the morning when he stirred, and he lifted his head from the wall, rubbing his stiff neck as he looked around, seeing your eyes were open.

He got off his chair, closing the distance between you. "Hey," he whispered. "how are you feeling?" He moved the blanket higher to keep you warm, sending you a small smile.

"Horrible." You shifted but quickly went still when you felt pain, a sigh leaving your lips. "Wait - my ring!"

Drew reached into his pocket and you relaxed when he smiled, holding your hand as he slipped the engagement ring onto your finger. He sat on the bed by your hip and looked down at your hand, running his thumb over the ring.

"For a minute there I-I...I wasn't sure if I would be able to give this back to you." He swallowed the lump in his throat and you placed your free hand on his arm. "I thought that was it."

"What happened?"

He recalled the events and you were surprised and conflicted about your mother helping you. For over a decade she had never contacted you, nor did she try to stop you from leaving. But she had stopped your brothers to save your life.

During his tale, he had moved to sit beside you, and you cuddled into his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as he spoke.

You tugged on his shirt gently and Drew leaned down, eyes closing as his lips met yours tenderly. You placed a hand on the nape of his neck when he rested his forehead against yours. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"You know I am never letting you out of my sight again, right?"

You smiled as you lifted your head to meet his gaze, "I would love nothing more."

He shook his head, a smile on his lips as he kissed your forehead, closing his eyes briefly. He kept his arms around you and exhaustion took over you quickly. You fell asleep on his chest and later that morning, Nick found you both fast asleep, Drew's head rested on yours as he held you in his arms. Quietly, he left the flowers and smiled as he took in the scene before heading to work.

It had been a close call that day. And it took several weeks before Drew stopped treating you with kiddie gloves. After you were home for three days, your mother appeared and while you still had reservations, Drew invited her to stay for dinner and it marked the official end of the blood feud in your family. Your brothers were in prison for attempted murder and kidnapping while your mother adjusted to life in Portland very easily.

A month and a half later she was there to walk you down the aisle at your wedding to the man you cared for more than anyone else.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Royal Households and How they Work

When I say Households, I mean the entourage that follows around the royal family. The household went everywhere with them to care for their needs from the people who would empty their chamber pots to their noble companions. Most royal households are basically the same as noble ones, only on grander scale. Every royal had a household and an entourage as well as every noble at court.

Palace Personnel ~ The Commons

The commons were an intregal part of every household. They made up perhaps 80% of the work force. Royal courts were often on the road and never spent more than a few months at every palace. The court was constantly moving. Some positions were not permanent, meaning certain servants did not travel with the court because they were employed at the palace only. They would be paid by the Monarch's paymaster.

Scullion: The scullion was a relatively easy position to fill so they were often changed as the court went from palace to palace. They would be responsible for scrubbing and cleaning the servants quarters and the kitchens. They would scrub floors with lye, scour pots with sand, sweep put the fireplace and clean up after the other servants. They were the first to rise in a castle and tasked to light all the fires in the kitchens. Scullions would just be employed to the palace and serve a multitude of chambers

Laundress: The laundress was responsible for the cleaning of anything made of fabric in the household. Since they are handling unmentionables, they knew what happened behind closed bedchamber doors. They knew when the King visited the Queen or hadn't, they knew when marriages were consummated or not and they knew when the Queen and royal women were not pregnant. They often sold secrets to pad their pockets. Laundresses might be permanent staff but sometimes not.

Minstrels: The minstrel was a commoner hired to play an instrument or sing for the entertainment of the royal. A royal might staff a few at a time but they would always have one on hand. The minstrel would likely come with their masters as they travelled. The minstrel might serve the main royal household but a royal might retain their own.

Cook: The cook was one of the most important servants in the household. They would have the task of overseeing the running of the kitchens and keeping supplies in order. They would likely be on call at all times. Henry VIII's cook was often woken in the night because his royal master wanted a midnight snack. The cook was a valued member of the household and would have been highly sought after if they were a very skilled cook. They would have travelled with the joint. Cooks were apart of the greater royal household but often royals retained private cooks for their own use.

Maidservant: The maidservant cleans the castle. She would sweep the floors, scrub them, empty the chamberpots, get rid of the ashes from the fire and ready the fire for later. She would make up the bed or strip it for the laundresses. She would wash anything that needed washing including furniture and ornaments. She was likely not a travelling servant and would be strictly employed at a single palace.

Jester: The jester was the hired entertainer. Working under the master of revels, the jester had the daunting task of making the monarch and their family laugh. They would tell jokes, tell stories, cause havoc in the court for laughs and lighten the mood. The most successful jester of all time was Will Somers, jester to Henry VIII. Will broke bad news to the infamously bad tempered monarch and got away with things that would have sent others to the block. Will survived most of Henry's reign, his head intact. Jesters would be apart of the main household though each royal might have one of their own.

Positions within the Royal Household ~ Noble

Nobility were always welcomed at court. They eat at court, slept at court and were cared for by the monarch. Some nobles had to sing for their supper and most were hired as royal servants. They weren't exactly scrubbing floors and would be paid handsomely with land that would generate wealth for them

The Steward/Seneschal: This person was the head of the royal's staff. They would have the task of running the lands and servants their master or mistress. The steward served as a backup and assistant in all the tasks even representing their master or mistress when they were unavailable. Would be a high ranking noble. Each royal household would have them.

Treasurer of the Household: The treasurer was the accountant and pay master. They would be in charge of ensuring debts were settled, wages were paid and the household was running within the budget. This was a coveted position because it gave the treasurer insight into the financial situations of the royals. Such info was wroth its weight in gold. Each royal would have one.

Usher: The Gentleman Usher would be in charge of escorting guests into the royal chambers and into the royal presence. They would act as a go between their royal master/mistress and the guest often going back and forth with messages. It was just as coveted as the position of chamberlain but with less responsibilities.

Master of Horse: The Master of Horse was in charge of seeing to the horses of their master. They would oversee the grooms or the stableboy/hands who were employed at the stables to actually care for the horses. The master of horse would ensure that the stables were in order and the horses were up to parr in order to bear royalty across the kingdom. Each royal would have one but there would a main one who acted as overseer.

Master of the Wardrobe/Mistress of the Robes: These are the nobility who are employed to look after the clothes of the royal they serve. This would mainly involve a managerial position, overseeing the inventory of the royal wardrobe (a warehouse like building that housed the clothing) and placing orders for new clothes. It was a tidy job that rarely involved getting the hands dirty. Each royal would have one.

Chamberlain/Valet: The chamberlain is employed to look after the Lord's bedchamber. This was the most sought out position as they effectively were the gateway into the royal presence. Their main task was making sure their boss was comfortable and happy. Could be a well born commoner or a noble. Each royal would have one.

The Page: All royal households had pages. They would be a young noble boy about seven years old sent to their royal master. He would be in charge of tidying up after the lord, carrying messages to other servants and occupants of the castle and serving him at meals. Unlike others on the list, the page would not be paid. His experience was his payment as he would learn the running of a court and how to be courtier. Each royal would have one.

Squires: Squires were like pages though they only served the men. They would accompany their royal master to battle, look after his armour and mail, ensure that his lord's horse was saddled, caring for their master's weapons. The squire would always be a young nobleman on the cusp of becoming a knight.

Governess: The governess is a noblewoman woman employed to oversee the Monarch's children's household. She would be the first teacher a royal child would have and would oversee the nursemaids who would have care of the physical person of the child. She would be appointed when the child was four or five. Notable governesses include Katherine Swynford (wife of John of Gaunt and mother to the Beaufort line), Margaret Pole (wife of Tudor Loyal Sir Richard Pole, sister of the last York heir Edward of Warwick, daughter of George Duke of Clarence and niece to King Edward VI and Richard III), Kat Ashley, Margaret Bryan, Madame de Maintenon and Baroness Lehzen. Most unmarried Princesses retained their governesses while Princes generally outgrew their governesses after they were breeched.

Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber: They were the male companions of a King or Prince, sort of like ladies in waiting but manly. They would accompany the King or Prince everywhere they would go and shared duties with Groom of the Stool (royal toilet paper dispenser) and the Chief Gentleman of the Chamber (overseeing the staff and maintaining the chamber). They would help their master get ready, serve him at the table and organize hunting and games to keep him entertained. Gentlemen and companions where often chosen for their connections as well as their master's own opinion. Henry VIII's gentlemen included: Sir William Compton (ward of Henry VII and heir to rich lands), Sir Henry Norris (the grandson of William Norris who fought with Henry's father at Stroke and a relation to the Yorkists Lovells), Sir Anthony Denny (son of Sir Edmund Denny Baron of the Exchequer) Sir Michael Stanhope (brother in law to Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset), Charles Brandon (ward of Henry VII and son of Tudor Loyalists)

Ladies in Waiting and Maids in Waiting or Maids of Honour: These are the female attendants to the Queen or Princess. Ladies in Waiting were married while the Maids were unmarried. They would have to attend their mistress wherever she went, help her get ready, keep her chambers in order, write letters for the Queen and maintaining her honour. They were chosen for their connections. Using Katherine of Aragon as an example, her Ladies in Waiting included: Maria de Salinas (daughter of Juan Sancriz de Salinas secretary to Isabella, Princess of Portugal and a Spanish courtier in the service to Katherine's parents, wife of Baron Willoughby de Ersby), Elizabeth Howard (the daughter of Thomas Howard, 2nd Duke of Norfolk, sister to Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk and wife to Thomas Boleyn, ambassador to France), Anne Hastings (daughter of William Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings, wife to George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury and Lord Steward.), Agnes Tilney (wife to Thomas Howard, Earl of and 2nd Duke of Norfolk.), Elizabeth Scrope (wife of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, a loyal Tudor lord), Margaret Scrope (wife of Sir Edmund de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk cousin to the King), Anne Stafford (sister of the Duke of Buckingham, married Sir George Hastings, Earl of Huntington and daughter of Henry Stafford, 2nd Duke of Buckingham (cousin to the King) and Lady Katherine Woodville (sister of King Henry VIII's grandmother and his great aunt by her marriage), Elizabeth Stafford (sister to Anne Stafford wife Robert Radcliffe, Lord Fitzwalter and Earl of Sussex around). Their connections are what got them their places and you can see why they were chosen.

Accommodation

Accommodation can be a difficult thing to sort both as a writer and a steward. You might have a palace of 200+ bedchambers in which you must house a staff of 500-/+, a varying amount of nobles, the royal family (of a varying amount) and their own households. When assigning rooms it is best to think of a Russian nesting doll. Start from the inside and work your way to the outside.

The best rooms go to the monarch, their consort and their children/siblings/parent(s). These chambers would include the bedroom, a drawing room/ common area, a privy, a closet (a small chamber that can be used for prayer or work). They would be furnished with the best cloth, the best candles and whatever furniture brought by the resident since most royal courts travelled from palace to palace. They will also have chambers for their personal servants such as ladies in waiting and grooms.

The second best set of rooms would go to the highest ranking nobles/people in the court. These rooms would be less fancy and a little smaller. These would be given to from titled nobility descending from those of Ducal rank (Dukes/Duchesses) or even members of the council such as Thomas Cromwell in Tudor times.

The next set would be considerably smaller, perhaps minus a closet or a drawing room. Given to lower nobility.

The next level of chambers would be smaller perhaps only the bedroom and a common area given to minor nobles.

The last set of rooms would be small and only hold enough room for a bedroom. Servants would have to sleep on the ground on pallets beside their masters.

Any other guests at court would have to stay at off-site locations around the palace in the city. Some nobles at houses around major palaces just in case they arrived late or were kicked out of court.

[drabbles-of-writing]

Coming Home

AO3

third owl fight attack! This one’s prompt was “Hunter and Luz being siblings”, and I kinda ran with it

Summary: Saying that Hunter was worried for Luz would be an overstatement. He wasn't worried, he was just...vaguely curious. He knew that she'd take some time in the human realm, to be with her mother, but...well, it'd been almost two weeks, and nobody had heard a single thing from her. So, really, breaking and entering was an entirely reasonable reaction.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now, Hunter knew, on some level, that Luz would be in the human realm for a while.

To be fair, he hadn’t had much time to think about it, what with  everything  going on. There was the Grimwalker revelation, which was also a kind-of clone revelation, and Luz offering an outstretched hand, and sitting on the ground in the human realm with the portal flickering and pulsing angrily, the dust settling as he held his uncles broken mask in his hands--

He’d been more than a little preoccupied, to say the least.

And Luz had gone through the portal the second it had all finally calmed, when there was nothing left to fight, with goodbyes he couldn’t remember. He wasn’t sure exactly when, everything had gone pretty numb by that point.

He just knew that after the first two days, when he was finally dragged out of his miserable wallowing in ditches by a very exasperated palisman and Owl Lady, Luz wasn’t there.

The others noticed her absence and the slight hole she left, he knew they did, but they never really commented on it. What with Bonesborough falling apart in a literal and metaphorical sense, everyone was kinda busy trying to patch all of it up. Like dealing with that one demon who kept talking about ancient magic, who was apparently the small rat demon's dad. And making sure Kikimora stopped escaping prison for five minutes. And dealing with the other Coven Heads. And apparently there was some people  mad  that the old wild witch ways were coming back--

Nobody really had the  time  to wonder about Luz off in the human realm, seeing her mother again.

And for the first week, he  didn’t  worry. He had an existential crisis and bothersome witches to avoid like the plague. His days were spent distracting himself by making everyone's lives miserable, since they kept insisting on holding him captive in the Owl House instead of letting him decompose in the woods for some reason. And honestly, Luz knew  way  too many people, because he’d stopped bothering to keep track of everyone by the fourth hour of being in that house. 

After he realized trying to run for it or annoying everyone into kicking him out wouldn’t work, he mostly hid in the dark corners where nobody would see him for hours at a time. Used to be for days, but apparently the Owl Lady was just as nocturnal as him, and they’d run into each other early in the morning when trying to grab a snack.

He had Rascal for company, at least. Say what you will about the little guy, but he was as loyal as he was stubborn.

But, after the first week, Hunter was starting to  really  notice a severe lack of annoying humans running around.

Apparently, so was the others, because he was noticing a few of them beginning to get a little antsy. He would’ve brushed it off, but he could hear a distinct influx of mutterings that sounded like ‘Luz’ and ‘portal’ and ‘human realm’ from his hiding places, when they thought no one else was around.

It was almost halfway through the second week before he knew it, and that was  far  too long for Luz to be away without so much as a note. 

And she was  probably  fine, he reasoned. But Luz being away without even a call was suspicious enough,  two  was downright concerning.

By then, Hunter was somewhat starting to recognize the faces that filtered in and out of the Owl House, and he began to plan. 

Somehow, he managed to wait until he saw a girl with familiar purple hair step in through the doorway, speaking words he didn’t bother to listen to as she sat on the couch he was hiding under. 

Rascal had, of course, chosen to perch himself on the head of a chair across the room, where barely anyone would care to notice him.

She was talking to some small illusionist he saw earlier (he may recognize faces, but names were a whole other matter. He’d never had to memorize names unless they were important to Belos, and if they weren’t, they were irrelevant. He should probably work on remembering their names), something about buildings and repairs or something, it wasn’t his problem. When the illusionist stepped away, off towards the kitchen to grab something, Hunter decided to poke his head out from underneath the couch.

“So what's the word on-- ow!”  He yelped, jerking back under the couch when he got a foot kicked into his nose.

“Titan,  don’t  do  that, you prick!” Amity snapped, inching a little further to the left as Hunter peeked out only one eye from under the couch this time, giving his best spiteful glare. “Why are you even  down  there?”

“Because nobody bothers me,” Hunter growled, holding his nose as he began to wiggle out. “Everyone’s so  clingy  in this house, it’s maddening.”

“Do you actually mean clingy, or are you referring to basic kindness?” Amity raised a brow, narrowing her eyes as he stood and brushed himself off from the dust bunnies that gathered under the couch.

“Irrelevant. Why hasn’t the human returned yet?” He demanded, leaning against the arm of the couch as Amity sat at the other end, giving a reasonable distance between them.

“Luz?” Amity blinked, clearly taken aback by the question.

“Yes, is there another, different human that you have to bring up every five minutes I should know about?” Hunter snapped, and got a curled lip and bared teeth from Amity in response.

“What, getting bored of the rest of us?” Amity snarked, crossing her arms. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, barely any of you were entertaining to begin with.” Hunter huffed. “Now do you know why the human is avoiding us or not?”

“Avoiding?” Amity frowned. “Luz’s not  avoiding  us, she’s just visiting her mom.”

“With radio silence for almost two weeks,” Hunter said, doing his best to stamp down his impatience. 

He  really  would have rathered asking the Owl Lady about this, but he’d learned from the last time he tried that she’d twist any conversation regarding Luz to be about him, so the next logical best bet would have to be her incessant, chattery, girlfriend. Titan, Luz had the weirdest tastes.

“She’s been away from her mom for four months.” Amity said, rolling her eyes like this was some concept he wasn't understanding. “She’s not gonna see her for a day and then come right back.”

“But still!” Hunter threw his hands in the air, ignoring Rascal’s minorly concerned chirp from across the room. “You think someone like  Luz  would go without contact for almost  two weeks?  She would’ve at least popped in to say hello, or go on some ramble about what’s going on in the human realm. She’d feel guilty about leaving you guys to repair everything on your own by the second hour.”

“It’s just...taking her a minute,” Amity said, and that was the first small crack in her resolve he saw. Had she not seen him at his lowest the first time they spoke, he would’ve been proud of the fact he could chip away at her far easier than she could at him. “Luz wouldn’t avoid anyone out of the  blue,  that’s not like her.”

And he  knew  she was right on that, as infuriating it was to admit it. Luz wouldn’t  abandon  people, she’d be more likely to keel over on the spot from spontaneously growing a bile sac. And perhaps a part of him  was  being a little over dramatic, but there was just this little twist in his chest that curled tighter when he considered going back to hiding in empty rooms and letting everything continue on,  waiting  to see if anything would change rather than  making  it change.

“Besides,” Amity continued. “As Luz’s girlfriend, I think that I would  know  if--”

“Oh  Titan,  just  forget it.”  Hunter groaned, tugging on his ears as he stepped away from the couch. “Whatever, you’re useless about this, anyway. If  you  don’t know when she’s coming back, and the  Owl Lady  doesn’t know, then nobody will.”

Amity stayed silent for a moment as Hunter stormed off towards the doorway that led to the staircase, Rascal flying off his perch to land on his shoulder with soft, almost melodic chirrups.

He contemplated if he could steal something from one of the spare rooms up there. Everyone was fluctuating between them the last few days, but they often left their stuff in there for him to take. It was fun watching them get so riled up about their missing junk.

“We,” Amity started, and Hunter paused in the doorway, one ear pricked. “We were planning on going into the human realm,” She admitted, voice quiet. “If we didn’t hear anything from Luz by the end of this week.”

Hunter turned around then, noting Amity had one hand bunched up on her leg, fisting the hem of her shirt and rubbing her fingers between it in a nervous tick. She avoided his gaze, and he saw, for just the briefest of moments, the uncertainty spilling off of her, possibly having been doing so for far longer than when he’d noticed the same signs from everyone else.

“Well,” He said, and she looked up at him then, and the vulnerability was gone in a snap, replaced by a curious, slightly accusatory, expression. It unnerved him how familiar it looked. “By all means, don’t go telling  me  about your super secret rescue missions, not like  I’d  want to join.” He muttered.

“Count it a blessing that I told you at all,” Amity hissed, ears flicking back. “Maybe if you promise to be nice, we’ll let you come along.” She taunted.

“Maybe if you people hadn’t  kidnapped  me, I wouldn’t be causing so many  problems.”  Hunter growled back through gritted teeth, breaking eye contact for only a moment when Rascal lightly bit and tugged on his ear, trying to urge him away.

“Like you need an excuse--”

“Uh, am-am I interrupting?”

The two turned their heads, realizing that the small illusionist, he’d figure out the kids name later, was standing in the living room again, a box of juice in his hands as his eyes flicked between them.

“No, Golden Boy was just leaving.” Amity waved him off, leaning back against the couch.

“You weren’t even clever with that one, Blight.” Hunter sneered, rolling his eyes as he turned to leave.

“Wittebane.”

“Call me that again and I’m ripping your teeth out.” Hunter threatened, pointing a finger at her as he backed out of the room.

“No name,” Amity amended, sticking her tongue out at him.

“You are on  thin ice.”

 ,

That night, Hunter was opening the window in Luz’s old room.

His escape attempts had never really worked before, the weird tube demon in the front door took his job of keeping him contained  very  seriously. Everyone else just liked watching the show and tapping in when needed.

However, he  also  knew, from the mutterings that Luz had told him in those few snatches of time in the days that they had talked before everything went wrong (or right, depending on who you asked), that she’d snuck out through her window  multiple  times without the demon realizing. Apparently she had bribed him once or twice, and now he barely reacted to the sound of her window opening, sort of like a reflex.

He’d meant to use it for his next escape attempt, just to see if it’d work for him, to run for the hills if it worked, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He’d be  damned  if they left him out of nabbing Luz from the human realm.

So Hunter tugged his cloak tighter across his shoulders, despite it being torn in many places, he had yet to rid it completely, and slowly opened Luz’s window.

He waited, tense, Rascal just as silent from within his hood. When there wasn’t the sound of a piercing voice after a few seconds, he cautiously poked his head out.

Nothing.

Either the bird really  had  grown to have no reaction to Luz’s window opening, or he was just as tired as everyone else. Or off eating bugs, that was plausible.

He slowly edged out, only having a moment to peer down at the ground below until he swung out of the window, hands gripping the windowsill as he edged himself down.

He hung in the air for a moment before releasing the windowsill, dropping to the ground below in a crouch. The perks of the Emperor’s Coven were few and far between, but hey, living there had made him an  expert  at being quiet.

He darted around the Owl House, crouching so as to avoid being seen through the first-floor windows, because there was always  someone  awake, no matter the hour. The portal to the human realm had been moved not too far away, but far enough that it couldn’t be, you know, automatically seen by anyone approaching the building.

He spared one last glance towards the house before he booked it off towards the woods, already mentally cursing himself for wearing a  white cloak  in the middle of the night. Why did he think that was a good idea,  why  did he think that was a good idea--

He made it to the cover of trees, somehow, without anyone sounding the alarm. He ducked behind a tree, catching his breath for a moment as he waited for shouting to arise.

Upon realizing he was in the clear, he pumped a fist in the air with a soft  “yes!”  and got an encouraging whistle from Rascal, who he gave a quick scratch on the head to.

He then hurried a bit further into the trees, soon faced with branches, vines, and bushes all stretched out across the beginning of a slope before him.

He reached out, grabbing one of the vines and yanking it aside, revealing the structure of the portal to the human realm, its soft humming mostly muffled by everything covering it. He ran his hand down the exterior of it for a second before pushing more vines aside, allowing a small enough space for him to crawl through.

He’d been to the human realm before, technically. Belos’s wrath had only just begun to reach into the human realm before he had managed to be stopped, and Hunter had a few moments out there, feeling the grass and seeing the trees. They really  were  green, and he couldn’t help but see it all and know with certainty that there was no magic within any of it. Hollow. It was a feeling he was familiar with.

But this time was different, and he inhaled for a moment before giving Rascal what he hoped was his best determined look.

“Alright,” He said. “Let’s see what’s been keeping her.”

 ,

He spent about half an hour in the woods of the human realm until he managed to find Luz’s house.

She’d never really said  where  she lived, just that it was the closest house to the forest. Nothing about directions, so he spent his time wandering about trying to find a house that wasn’t falling apart.

Rascal gave up and eventually flew off at some point, returning about five minutes later, chittering loudly and pulling on his hood. Hunter knew better to argue, and had followed until he came across a house that actually looked  lived  in, as opposed to the one he’d appeared in.

“If you led me to a random person's house, I  will  throw you into the sea.” Hunter warned, only getting a cheery whistle in return as he walked around the house.

He eventually found a window on the first floor, and pushing on it, was delighted to find that it was unlocked. He opened it, hoisting himself inside as Rascal darted in.

He realized the window was right over a kitchen sink, and lightly stepped a foot onto the counter beside it. He slowly swung himself inside, not even bothering to shut the window behind him as he dropped to the floor. He might need that escape route later.

Rascal was off exploring without a second thought, so he allowed himself to stalk throughout the kitchen, eyes flickering over photos and magnets stuck to the fridge. He saw ones that looked like letters, colors, and even saw a photo of a woman and a young, crazy-looking child.

He peeked around corners as he darted through the house, cracking open doors before continuing through hallways. One of the doors he opened  looked  like a bedroom, but he saw something with a scaly tail poking out, so he let that room be. The human realm was bound to have its own oddities.

The other bedroom he saw did have a person sleeping in it, but she didn’t look like Luz, much too old, so he quietly shut that door again and tried a different one.

He opened the last one, at the end of the hallway, already preparing to snap back that Rascal had brought him to the  wrong house,  when he took in the bedroom.

He only needed to see it for half a second to see the immediate resemblance to the mess that was Luz’s room in the Owl House. He slipped inside, leaving the door open just a crack in case Rascal showed up.

He crouched, eyeing the posters along the walls, shelves full of random junk, books strewn across the room. The figure sleeping in the bed was practically twisted backwards, blankets already halfway on the floor. He approached it, slowly standing up as he loomed over them, searching their face.

“Oh thank the Titan,” Hunter breathed, stepping back as he pressed a hand to his chest. That was Luz, for sure.

She stirred, slightly, hand twitching as she mumbled incoherently in her sleep. At least she wasn’t actually kidnapped or something, he reasoned.

“Hey, human,” He said, a little louder, but enough that he hoped the others down the hallway wouldn’t hear, shoving at her shoulder. “Wakey wakey.”

Luz mumbled in her sleep again, one eye barely cracking open before she turned over and tried to bury further under her covers.

Hunter grabbed her leg poking out from the blankets and yanked her off.

Luz’s yelp was cut off as he smothered the blankets over her, pausing as she fumbled around trying to get it off, ears pricked as he waited to see if anyone had heard.

“I’m  awake,  Vee, I’m  awake--”  Luz pulled the blanket off her head, her glare almost immediately replaced with shock.

“Hey,” Hunter grinned, flashing fangs. “Miss me?”

“Hunter?”  Luz exclaimed, before immediately covering her mouth with her hands, eyes darting towards her door like she expected someone to be there.

“Oh don’t sound  so  surprised.” Hunter scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You oughta step up your game if you think you can escape me in another dimension.”

“What are you  doing  here?” Luz whisper-yelled, scrambling to her feet as she looked wildly around her room. “Did-did the  others  come?” She asked, giving him such a scared look he was a little put off by it.

“No? I mean, they  will  be, I just got ahead of the curve.” Hunter shrugged off her odd reactions. “Made sure I got to you before they did, didn’t feel like being left behind on the ‘let’s drag Luz back kicking and screaming’ plan.”

“Oh no, oh no,” Luz shook her head, one hand on her head as she began to pace. “Are-are the others  looking  for me?”

“Will be by the end of this week,” Hunter said, watching her curiously. “Why? This a bad time or something?”

“Yes! Yes, this is a  terrible  time!” Luz exclaimed, barely managing to keep her voice down as she whirled towards him.

“Did you get grounded?” Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Because if so, let me just say, I know about fifteen different ways to lessen the extent of the grounding, and twice as many ways to sneak out, this place isn’t even all that fortified--”

“No! Well, I mean, I kind of am,” Luz winced. “But that’s not--you can’t--you need to  go.”  Luz said, gesturing back towards the door. “You can’t be here.”

“Do you need a body disposed of? Because I also know a lot of ways to--”

“I’m touched, but no.” Luz gave him a withering look. “Don’t even wanna know why you know that. You have to  leave.”  She insisted, beginning to shove him towards the door.

“Aw, but I came all this way to see you,” Hunter whined in a dramatic tease, slowly leaning back, therefore putting more strain on Luz as she tried to push him out. “You don’t want to see me?”

“Believe me, I’m  very  happy to see you’re okay,” Luz assured through gritted teeth, offering the smallest of smiles. “And I’ll bother you later. But now is  not the time.”

Rascal took that moment to poke in through the crack in the doorway, landing on a shelf and eyeing the two with what felt like judgement. Hunter promptly dropped all his weight on Luz, nearly crushing her. 

“Damn,” He whistled when Luz’s knees refused to buckle. “You got some muscle hiding under those skinny bones?”

“That, and you weigh as much as a half-filled sack of lumpy potatoes.” Luz muttered, already pushing back up to her full height as she took Hunter with her.

“You’re  impossible.”  Hunter huffed, standing back up onto his feet and snickering as Luz stumbled with the lack of weight. “Seriously, what’s the hold up? Are you getting bored with us already?”

“No,  first of all, I’d never do that.” Luz pointed a finger at him. “And I’m offended you thought I ever would be.”

“It’s a reasonable assumption.”

“It’s not. And second of all,  I’m  serious, you  cannot be here.”  Luz stressed, grabbing his shoulders, a movement that instinctively caused him to flinch, just the tiniest bit. “If my  mom  sees you here, she’s going to  freak--”

“Luz?” A groggy voice called, and Luz stiffened so quickly with such  terror  crossing her face that Hunter tensed as well. “Creí haber escuchado algo, are you--?”

Hunter saw the door to Luz’s room open, and immediately threw an arm out in front of Luz, giving a quick whistle that Rascal had learned to recognize by now. In a flash, he was holding his staff in his other hand, Luz pushed behind him as he pointed his staff towards the figure in the doorway, ears pressed back and fangs bared in a low, warning growl.

The person froze, eyes going wide, one hand still clutching the door handle.

He recognized it as the older woman he saw in one of the bedrooms, hair still mussied from sleep, the glasses on her face smudged from someone having grabbed them clumsily. The sleep had vanished from her eyes the moment she saw him, a faintly glowing staff pointed only a foot away from her.

“Hunter, Hunter, no, stop!” Luz was quick to grab Hunter’s arm after barely a second of tense silence, shoving the staff down. “She’s my mom, she’s safe!”

Hunter paused at that. Granted, his experience with biological family (as biological as Belos could be) wasn’t the best, but he had heard a few stories, here and there, about Luz’s mom. And Luz would go into a Slitherbeast den for anyone who asked nicely, but hey, he still thought that if someone was willing to fight  Emperor Belos  for them, they had to be something special.

“Oh, sorry.” He said, all hostility evaporating as he drew his staff back, holding it at his side. “Reflexes.”

“Luz,” The woman said, slowly, and Hunter was so instantly reminded of when the adults dealing with him were trying so hard to not lose their shit that he halfway raised his arm to shield Luz again. “Por qué hay un chico extraño en tu habitación?”

“Puedo explicarlo!” Luz was quick to exclaim, clutching Hunter’s arm, and he looked blankly between them. He’d heard of other languages in the Isles before, often ones spoken by demons, but this was a new one on him.

“Oh estoy segura de que lo harás!” The woman snapped back, hands on her hips now, not bothering to keep her voice low. 

“What’s she saying?” Hunter whispered to Luz, eyes still darting between the two. “Is this a ‘we’re about to start fighting’ situation or a ‘you’re grounded for life’ situation?”

“No te puedo creer.” Luz's mom grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, so, uh,” Luz clasped her hands together. “I promise, mami, this is  not  what it looks like.”

“What does it look like?” Hunter blinked, giving Luz a concerned expression now. “It doesn't look like I’m a robber, right? Because this place has nothing  near  worth stealing.”

“Please stop talking,” Luz hissed out of the corner of her mouth, never taking her eyes off her mother. “Mami, this is, uh,” She faltered for a moment. “This is Hunter.”

Her mother cracked open an eye from where she was rubbing the bridge of her nose, sending such a seething glare that both kids shuttered. 

“You know what,” Hunter said, letting Rascal transform out of a staff and back into his usual self, letting the bird land on his shoulder as he clapped his hands together. “I can see that you're busy, so I think I’ll just be--why is she staring at me like that?”

The woman was staring at him now, well, Rascal, eyes locked on the cardinal on his shoulder like it had suddenly grown five heads. He flicked an ear in confusion, turning to Luz to ask what her mom’s problem was, only to see Luz immediately face-palm.

“Estoy atascado con un idiota,” Luz mumbled under her breath, and Hunter could pretty easily guess what the last word had meant, and bristled at it.

“Hey--”

“Okay,  so, Hunter,” Luz kept her hands pressed together, using them both to point towards him. “Thank you for the visit, really, but I think we’re done here.”

“We,”  Luz’s mom finally managed to speak, and Luz cringed with a sheepish smile. “Are going to have a  talk.”  She growled, though it lacked any of the reverberating sounds an actual growl would have. He always wondered how humans ever got the last  hit  of their point across without growls or clicks or hisses. He realized now that tone had a  lot  to do with it.

“And that includes  you,  young man.” The woman added, turning her glare towards Hunter, and he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit he wilted a bit under it. She could’ve disintegrated Kikimora on the spot with a look like that.

“Yes, ma’am.” Hunter ducked his head, and ignored the quiet snickers from Luz that she quickly tried to smother.

The woman stepped to the side, allowing the two of them to shuffle out of the room. Luz went out first, giving Hunter an expression that was somehow both  ‘sorry’  and  ‘I told you so’  and  boy  did he want to punch it.

Hunter hurried out after her, one hand cupped over Rascal protectively, unable to fight back the urge to hide him from everyone and everything new, that he’d be broken in half the second anyone got close.

As he passed her, he knew she was staring at him with a far sharper gaze than she had Luz. He glanced out the corner of his eye, and she was staring at his ears, at Rascal, and just as he stepped into the hallway, her eyes narrowed in on the scar along the side of his face.

He’d had people stare at his scars before, it wasn’t new. Scars weren’t uncommon in the Boiling Isles, but ones as big and prominent as his were generally expected of witches far older than him, far more known for their battles and their victories.

He growled in the back of his throat, briefly twitching his lip to flash a fang. It was near-instinctive at this point, a quiet reminder of who he was, of who shadowed over him, and that it was impolite to stare, to mind your own business.

Luz’s mom jerked back at it, a far stronger reaction than the ones he was used to getting. He was used to a quick aversion of the eyes, hurrying to turn their heads the other way, a simple glance to elsewhere in the room. She stared at him with even more apprehension and worry than before, like she was confronted with a wild animal in her home.

His ears pressed down and he hurried off down the hallway, almost stepping on Luz’s heels from how close he walked behind her.

He noticed an eye peeking out of a room up ahead, and Luz gave a weak, almost teasing, salute to whoever was inside. He saw a flash of scales and what might've been a pitying look until they slipped out of view.

Luz stood off to the side as she exited the hallway, and Hunter stood next to her. He gave her a questioning look, one she nearly missed from how much she was staring at her feet. He nudged her shoulder, gaining her attention, and Luz gave a weak, nervous smile.

Alright, so he was  definitely  missing something here with his woman.

“Kitchen table,” Luz’s mom said, pointing, and the two obeyed. Hunter had no real reason to, he knew this. She was human, he could just leave, and she wouldn’t be able to stop him. But she was important to Luz, clearly, and he knew, tragically, that he’d feel guilty if he left Luz alone.

Luz sat in one of the chairs at the round table, and Hunter took the one next to her. Her mother eyed them for a moment before taking the one across from them.

“Can I just say, that I did  not  invite Hunter here--”

“Oh, so  that’s  how it's gonna be?” Hunter whirled his head to her. “Throwing  me  under the bus? Sorry I wanted to  check in.”

“I am telling it  as the truth.”  Luz insisted, glaring at him. “Would you rather I tell her that I purposefully invited you here at,” She turned towards the wall, squinting at a clock hanging there. “Two twenty-three? Why did you come here so  late?”  She demanded.

“Technically, it’s early.” Hunter corrected. 

“I’m actually going to punch your teeth out.”

Rascal cheeped from his shoulder, and Hunter nodded sagely like he had said something. Rascal  could  talk to him, of course, in words that only he could hear, but he often didn’t. And the best part was that he could never prove to anyone that Rascal wasn’t shit-talking them.

“Enough,  both of you  . ” Luz’s mother said firmly, hands placed on the table that had them both straightening to attention. “Luz,” She turned to her daughter, rubbing her temple with one hand as she gestured with the other towards Hunter. “Explain him, please.”

“Like, life story, or why he’s here, or what he is, or--”

“Just  please  tell me he’s not from where I think he’s from.”

“Oh,” Luz glanced between Hunter and her mother, gears turning in her head. “He’s...not?”

“Dios ayúdame,” Her mother groaned.

“You told me to say he wasn’t! Actually,” Luz frowned as she turned to Hunter.  “Do  you count as someone from the demon realm, biologically? I don’t know how that whole, er, Grimwalker thing worked, like are you a direct clone, or--”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, because I’ve been avoiding dealing with that whole situation for the past two weeks, and I’m not about to start now.” Hunter raised a hand to cut her off.

“You…” Luz narrowed her eyes at him. “You need a therapist, dude.”

“You’re the fifth person to say that in the last week.”

“Why,”  Luz’s mother cut in again, silencing their conversation. “Is there a  demon boy  in my house?”

“I’m a witch,” Hunter corrected.

“Don’t you count as, like,  half  a--”

“What did I  just  say, Luz?”

“Right,” Luz snapped her mouth shut. “Uh, so, I’m assuming he broke in--”

Hunter groaned, gripping his head in his hands as he slouched over the table. Rascal chittered gently as he hopped off his shoulder and onto the table, nudging his arm.

“--but he wasn’t going to cause any trouble!” Luz added quickly, seeing her mothers expression continue to sour. “He just-he wanted to make sure I was alright.”

The woman eyed the two of them for a moment, and Hunter refused to look up and meet her gaze.

“Hunter, is it?” The woman said slowly, cautious, suspicious, but not accusatory. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Hunter sighed, relenting to lift his head, messy hair hanging in his face.

“How old are you, exactly?”

“Mami…”

“Sixteen, ma’am.” He mumbled, resting his cheek in his hand.

“And…” She hesitated for a moment.  “How  old is that in witch years…?”

“...sixteen?” Hunter gave her a perplexed look.

“They age the same as us.” Luz assured, and her mother seemed to relax just a bit.

“Gracias a Dios por eso,” Her mother mumbled. “Alright, and how did you get in?”

“Window,” He tilted his head off towards the one in question, still open over the sink.

“Of course,” The woman muttered under her breath. “The  one  time I didn’t lock it. Okay, now what is  that?”  She gestured towards Rascal on his shoulder, and he raised his hand to let the palisman hop onto his hand.

“My palisman,” He said, settling the bird down on the table, but keeping him a far enough distance from Luz’s mom that she wouldn’t be able to grab him. “I call him Rascal. Which reminds me,” He nudged Luz’s shoulder. “Where do you keep those seeds you have for your palisman? She keeps screaming at everyone and the Owl Lady doesn’t know how to make her shut up.”

“Is she okay?” Luz straightened.

“Yeah, little jays fine, she’s just being a pain in the ass.” Hunter grimaced.

“Watch your language, young man.” Luz’s mom leveled a finger at him, and he eyed it for a moment. “Now what do you mean ‘Luz’s pailsman?’ What in the  world  is a palisman?”

“Oh, uh, nothing! Nothing important, really. Just, like, staff things.” Luz said quickly, and Hunter and Rascal shared a look. Luz loved her palisman, as bratty as she was. And he knew from experience that Luz didn’t think of palismans as ‘nothing important.’

He drew a hand around Rascal and scooted him a little closer towards himself.

“Okay, okay,” Luz’s mother inhaled a steadying breath, as though to keep her cool. “And you are breaking into my house, early in the morning, to see my daughter.”

“Really just to make sure she didn’t, like, get kidnapped on the way up here.” Hunter shrugged. “Everyone's worried about her, so I took one for the team, and all that.”

“Everyone?” Her mother frowned.

“Her...friends?” Hunter gave Luz a sideways look, and she avoided his gaze.

“Mija, you have friends in the  demon realm?”  Luz’s mom balked, with the tone of someone who didn’t quite believe it, who almost felt as though they were being tricked.

“I told you a bit about them…” Luz mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

“You,” Her mother chuckled, shaking her head, the first sign of anything lighter than what they’d had so far. “You really can’t help but be friendly to everyone, huh?” 

“It’s how she got stuck with me, it’s a real problem.” Hunter said, and got an elbow jabbed into him for his troubles, wheezing as he clutched his side. 

“Well, you certainly are an...interesting acquaintance,” Her mother said slowly, eyeing him, and he barely resisted the urge to briefly flash sharpened teeth when her gaze lingered on the scar across his face again. “And you showed up, by breaking in...just to check in on Luz?”

“Yeah?” Hunter managed to cough out, cracking open an eye to give the woman a confused look compared to her suspicious, searching one. “Why else?”

“...alright.” She said, and her gaze went back to her daughter. “I wasn’t aware that there would be... situations  where the demon realm followed you  back.”

“Neither did I, really.” Luz was quick to assure, hands raised.  “Hunter  of all people being worried about me is the most confusing and touching thing that’s happened so far.”

“I was not  worried.”  Hunter whirled to her. “I only came here because everyone  else  was, and they were going to leave me out of the rescue party.”

“Rescue party?” Luz’s mother startled, and he should really learn her name.

“Aha, he doesn't mean that.” Luz waved her hands quickly. 

“I do?” Hunter narrowed his eyes. “The others were planning on busting out of the portal to come find you by the end of this week. I didn’t want to be left out, so I broke in ahead of time.”

“There are demons coming  here?”  The woman exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

“Pretty sure the little rat dog is the only demon coming along.” Hunter corrected. “The others are witches.”

“You  know  his name is King.” Luz grumbled.

“Yeah, but it's way more fun to call him a rat.”

“Luz, cariño, are we going to have  more  witches breaking in?” Her mother stressed, stepping away from the table and already beginning to pace.

“Not-not when Hunter gets back to them!” Luz said, also standing. “He can tell them to hold off, that I’m fine, and all that.”

“And deal with them getting all pissy I broke out?” Hunter demanded, scooping Rascal up in his hands as he, too, stood.  “Hell  no, either they hear from me with you there, or I don’t tell them shit.”

“Watch it,” Luz’s mother warned him again, this time only giving a quick glare. “And Luz is  not  going back there.”

“Then you have two to twenty witches, plus one demon, knocking on your door.” Hunter shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”

“Luz, what did you get  into  while you were in the demon realm?” Her mother groaned, rubbing her temples.

“I mean, you didn’t ask a  lot... ” Luz tried, hovering about two feet from her mom.

“You have two to  twenty  magical demon people ready to break into our home to make sure you’re okay,” Her mother said, turning towards her daughter. “You didn’t...you didn’t tell me you had  friends  there.”

“I feel like I just said this,” Hunter squinted. “I told you Luz has friends in the Boiling Isles, isn’t that expected? She makes friends with  everyone.”

Luz rubbed her arm and looked down at the ground, and her mother’s mouth twitched downwards for a brief moment. He felt like he was missing something.

“Are all of your friends like him?” Her mother said after a moment, gesturing with a hand off towards Hunter.

“I resent what that implies,” Hunter huffed, ears pressed down as he tucked Rascal between his neck and cloak.

“I mean, personality wise? No, he’s the biggest brat of them all.” Luz assured, and Hunter visibly took offence. “Well, Matt was  also  a brat, but he’s a friend of a friend, and I think he’s calmer now.”

“They  are  annoying, though.” Hunter piped up, and prided on barely reacting under Luz’s seething glare.

“Well they can’t come  here,  your first friend has already caused enough trouble.” Her mother said firmly, and Hunter rolled his eyes at that.

“Please, breaking and entering is tame for me.” Hunter scoffed, and got an even more worried, and possibly judging, look from the woman.

“You're not helping.” Luz whispered, immediately turning back to her mother. “I’m sure we can figure this whole thing out. I can probably get Hunter to tell them to calm them down without me having to go back, Rascal can bully him into it, he likes me.”

“That’s a  low blow,  human!” Hunter hissed, a low, drawn-out sound that had the woman tensing and Luz only rolling her eyes. “I do so much for you, and  this  is the thanks I get?” He ignored Rascal’s gleeful chitters that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“We’re  even  on that front and you  know it.” 

“Debatable,”

“This is  serious,  Luz.” Her mother said, and Luz’s mouth clicked shut. “Christ,” She sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d made  friends  in the demon realm?”

“You didn’t ask…?” Luz said slowly.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Hunter said, leaning against the island counter. “I drag Luz back, she hangs for a day or two to calm everyone down, and she comes right back to have quality family time, or whatever you guys call it, until you’re all finished.”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother said instantly. “Luz will not go anywhere  near  that portal.”

“It’s not gonna blow up, it’s stable.” Hunter raised a brow, not noticing Luz freezing up. 

“Luz is  not  going back to that demon realm,” She insisted, and he was sure she would be growling if she could. “Listen, could you please just tell the other witches to stay back? I don’t want any trouble from that realm coming through here.”

“Ouch,” Hunter said dryly, twitching an ear as he crossed his arms. “Why’s this got you in a tizzy? I came here to bring back Luz anyway, why is this an issue?”

Luz and her mother met eyes for a brief second, and Hunter knew then he was missing something, because it felt like a conversation passed between their eyes and Luz ducked her head again, ashamed.

“Luz,” Her mother spoke in soft tones, though she was rubbing at her face. “You didn’t tell your  friends--”

“I was going to--”

“Luz, honey, you can’t  omit details  from people--”

“I know, I swear I was just busy trying to see you--”

Hunter set Rascal down on the island counter and gestured towards him. The palisman fluffed his wings before proceeding to peck incessantly on the counter, making a loud clinking noise. It got both humans mingling words to come to a stop as they both turned towards him.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt, but I’m still here.” Hunter said, scratching his bird's head to get him to cease once he had their full attention. “What am I missing?” He asked, pointing between the two.

“I apologize Luz hadn’t informed you earlier,” Her mother started, and Luz gripped her arms and looked away from them both, shoulders hunched. “But she won’t be going back to the demon realm.”

He stared. He blinked once, twice. He could see Rascal staring too, just barely in his line of sight.

“Come again?”

“Luz had been trapped there for so long,” Her mother went on. “And-and she was surrounded by  demons  and rain that scalded skin and-and Vee told me of Emperor’s and experiments,” 

Hunter flinched at that, ears pressing flat as he turned his head to the side.

“It’s clearly not a safe place,” She continued, and her eyes dropped to his notched ear. “And...there’s much to catch up on, to talk about.” She said, in a polite tone that told him not to press that particular matter. “Surely, you can explain this to them?”

Hunter stayed silent for a moment, aware of Luz peeking at him with guilt across her features. He didn’t meet it, he knew he’d get more riled up if he did.

“Yeah, so,” Hunter said calmly, clasping his hands together. “That’s  not  happening.” 

“Excuse me?” Her mother reeled back a bit.

“Listen, Miss...what are your last names again?” He asked Luz, though he still didn’t let himself fully look at her.

“Noceda,” She said, sounding confused now.

“Ms. Noceda,” He continued. “I can speak from personal experience when I tell you that the Emperor and any experiments he had are  far  beyond gone,” He said, bitterness dripping from his words. “And I--  we  have your daughter to thank for that.”

Her mother startled for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, but he plowed on.

“Half the things that made the Isles dangerous, including the very reason your daughter was late coming home, are either burnt to a crisp or in the ground.” He said, holding her gaze. “And I can tell you this, with one hundred percent sincerity, that if I go back and tell Luz’s friends that she won’t ever be coming back, you’ll have witches and demons in numbers nearing the thirties knocking on your front door.” 

“Is that a threat?” The woman managed to get out first. 

“With all due respect, Ms. Noceda, it’s a promise.” 

“Thank you,  Hunter.” Luz was suddenly at his side, seizing his arm in a grip that felt like he was losing circulation. “That’s  enough,”  She said, giving him a warning look. “I think she gets the message.”

“Luz, what in the world is he talking about?” Her mother asked, eyes back to her child.

“It-it’s a long story, but he’s right about the Emperor!” Luz added quickly. “He’s...he’s gone, and-and I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“He won’t.” Hunter said, and left it at that.

“Luz, cariño, I’m sure we could work something out with your friends.” Her mother assured. “I’m glad a man like Vee had described is gone, but I’m sure they would understand.”

“That her mom won’t let her come back?” Hunter scoffed, and Luz tugged forcefully on his arm.

“Hunter,”  She hissed, and he looked at her then, and saw the fear practically  radiating  off her. He wondered if it was something she’d picked up from Amity or vice versa, to be brimming with emotions, but leaving them largely unnoticed until someone actually  focused.

“Look, I…” Luz hesitated for a moment. “I  promised  that I’d stay with her…” She mumbled, and the last piece clicked in his mind.

Luz had promised she’d stay, to a likely terrified mother, and Luz was never one to skimp out on promises. She either kept them or agonized over trying. And it’d make sense why she wouldn’t want to tell anyone, she promised she’d  leave forever,  and no plans or compromises from the residents of the Owl House could sate a mother worried for her daughter. 

Also made sense why she wanted him to leave. Her mom did  not  seem to like the place, and him being there had to be somewhat breaking the little ‘promise’ of interacting with someone from the demon realm at all.

“Oh,” He said, instead of all that, ears pricking slightly. 

“I’m sorry to have it all sprung on you without warning,” He heard her mother saying, though he wasn’t looking at her much in that moment, but she sounded genuine. “But the demon realm doesn’t necessarily seem to be...the  safest  of places.”

“It’s not,” Hunter confirmed, slowly straightening to face the woman again. “But hey,” He shrugged, feeling Luz letting up her grip on his arm. “It’s home.”

Her eyes dropped to his scar again, just for a moment, and he didn’t bother to hide his eye roll this time.

“Trust me, I’m an outlier in how deadly the place  actually  is.” He muttered. “These,” He gestured broadly to his face, not quite feeling the satisfaction he assumed he’d feel when he saw her wince. “Were caused by something  outside  the Boiling Isles, something that never should have been there in the first place. He’s gone now.” He rumbled a growl. “We made sure of it.”

She looked apologetic, and he’d give her that. But she shook her head with a sigh all the same.

“I’m sorry, truly, but Luz and I agreed, it’s not safe. I’m glad she could make friends there, I really am,” She said, and he wondered what kind of friends Luz had had in the past, because she said the word ‘friends’ like it could have five different meanings. “But it’s not safe for her.”

“And?” Hunter threw a hand out in a broad gesture. “It was never completely safe, no place is. You gonna look me in the eyes and tell me Luz would never sneak back out? I’m giving her another week at best.”

“Hunter!”

“Look, I’m  really  just trying to wrap this whole complication up,” Hunter sighed unsympathetically, aware of Rascal chirping and head-butting his arm. “Unfortunately, I  know  you, and I know you’d rather wallow in a chasm for eternity than never go back to the Isles. And as entertaining as watching a whole drama unfold would be when your mom would eventually find out, I  really  don't want to deal with that headache.” He grumbled.

Luz looked to her mother then, and her mother looked back. Luz’s hand was still clutched in his sleeve, watching her mother worriedly as she met her confused gaze.

“Luz?” Her mother said slowly, and Luz fiddled with Hunter’s sleeve.

“Mami, I...look, I didn’t...my friends, they...I don’t…”

“Hi, sorry, can-can I butt-in?”

The three whirled around, Hunter automatically putting an arm in front of Luz and taking a step back at the sight.

A basilisk lay in the doorway to the kitchen, tail curled somewhere out of sight. It was a young one, about the size of Luz. That’d work, he’d taken on bigger before, not like he had any magic for a basilisk to steal--

“Vee,” Luz’s mother breathed. “What are you doing up?”

And of  course  she was someone they knew. Amazing, wonderful, he loved being out of the loop that there was a  basilisk  casually within the house, that wasn’t unnerving at all.

“You guys aren’t very quiet,” The basilisk--Vee--shrugged as she slithered in, and Hunter took another step back, his arm in front of Luz causing her to be pushed back as well. “Hey there, uh, new guy.” She offered a small, shy wave to Hunter, and he eyed her before hesitantly returning it.

“Vee, I think you should go back to bed, we were discussing--”

“I know, I heard.” Vee brushed off Luz’s mom. “I actually have an idea for, y’know, this predicament. No offence, but I can't really sleep with you guys arguing.” She said, the wringing of her clawed hands the only sign she was nervous, stopping only when she was between them, with Luz and Hunter on one side, Ms. Noceda on the other.

“Should I be worried about this?” Hunter whispered to Luz.

“Nah, she’s cool.” Luz whispered back.

“What if, and hear me out...we all sleep on this,” Vee said, palms pressed together. “We think it over during the night, and when it's actually  light  out, we talk about Luz wanting to go back to the Isles and the rules that would have to be put in place. And also nobody breaks in.” She tacked on quickly.

“So you  do  want to go back?” Luz’s mother turned to her, and he saw the hurt and shock in her eyes.

“I…” Luz looked like she had a ‘no,’ at the back of her throat, and he truly did believe she would’ve said all her mom wanted to say. But he nudged her side, and she looked up at him, and clearly he was doing  something  with his face, because the empty assurances died out.

“Y-yeah, I do.” She mumbled, looking back to her mom. “I...really,  really  want to see them again, back in their realm.”

And he avoided looking at Ms. Noceda’s face, because the shock and pain increased significantly.

“Well, I, for one,” He said, ducking around Luz. “Agree with the lizard's plan. Sleep on it, talk in the morning with Ms. Noceda, yadda yadda, all that fun stuff.”

“Camila is fine,” The woman murmured, sounding a little dazed.

“Lizard?”  Vee hissed, tongue flickering out as she narrowed her eyes on him.

“Right, sorry, snake fits better.” Hunter said before he could stop himself.

“You have permission to beat him up.” Luz said casually, ignoring Hunter’s indignant shout of “traitor!”

“I, yes, yes,” Luz’s mother--Camila--sighed, stepping back and bracing herself against the kitchen counter. “Tonight has been...a hectic one. It’s far too late to be talking about things like this.”

“Does this mean I can go?” Hunter asked, pointing with his thumb behind him. “Preferably without alerting everyone that I snuck out?”

“I don’t know  how  you got past Hooty,” Luz sighed, tilting her head and beginning to walk towards the front door with a quick, affirming glance with her mother that both had barely managed to make, Hunter immediately following.

“I escaped through your window.” Hunter said simply, and he noted Camila looking up slightly at that, until Vee approached her, murmuring in soft words he knew better than to try and eavesdrop on.

“Of course you did,” Luz grumbled, opening the front door and practically shoving Hunter outside. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, I’m leaving--”

Luz stepped out onto the front porch with him, leaving the front door open just a crack, enough so that she could be seen through it, and in turn could see Camila and Vee talking back by the kitchen.

“Am I going to get a personal lecture?” Hunter asked cautiously, crossing his arms as his ears flicked down. “Look, in my defense, you didn’t exactly explain a lot of things to  me--”

Luz lunged, and he stepped back and raised his hands defensively. Instead of a mean left hook he was expecting, he got arms wrapped around his sides, squeezing the air out of him.

Hunter wheezed, and would’ve doubled over if Luz wasn’t in the way. She didn’t let up on her hug, and after a moment of trying to get his thoughts in order, he slowly drew his arms around Luz, chin tucked against her head pressed into his chest.

“I’m glad you're okay,” Luz muffled into his shirt, and Hunter may have clung on a little tighter, aware of Rascal watching this all from his shoulder.

“Feel like you said this already.” He managed to get out.

“I know, I just wanted you to know I meant it.”

And if Hunter tilted his head down to press his face into Luz’s hair then, she didn’t say anything.

“Good to see you still kickin’, too.” He mumbled. 

“Miss me?” Luz teased, throwing his words back at him as she pulled her head back slightly, and Hunter quickly did the same to look down at her.

“Hardly,” He huffed, clearing his throat to hide how it cracked halfway through. “I just didn’t want everyone leaving me out of all the fun.”

“Uh huh,” Luz raised a brow. “So you just  happened  to drop by to make sure I was alright on the one night you  actually  managed to escape the Owl House without being caught?”

“...listen--”

Luz laughed, and Hunter sputtered over his words. He growled and pushed her back and off him, knowing his face was flushing as he turned away and crossed his arms. Luz’s laughter didn’t stop at that, and Rascal sounded like he was laughing, too.

His ears drooped down and he half-heartedly bared teeth, in what may have been an attempt to hide a smile.

“You’re such a massive pain, you know that?” He growled. 

“I do,” Luz grinned, laughter calming down to giggles. “I learned from the best.”

“That, you did. That Owl Lady couldn’t be more overbearing if she tried.” Hunter muttered.

“She’s got a bit of an empty nest syndrome, you get used to it.” Luz lightly nudged his shoulder. “It’s her way of welcoming you to the family.”

And he didn’t even have the time to process  that  whole sentence, because Rascal was fluttering onto Luz’s shoulder, cheeping as Luz raised a hand to scratch at his head.

“Make sure they know not to worry too much, okay?” She continued, looking up at him. “I’ll try and sort this out.”

“Does that mean you’re coming back soon?” Hunter paused, tilting his head. And maybe there was a tone of hopefulness in his tone, maybe.

Luz hesitated for a moment, frowning slightly in thought. She looked back towards the front door, though he couldn’t see if Camila or Vee were anywhere near it, what with the angle being off and Luz blocking most of it. He wondered if they could hear their conversation.

“I think so,” She said, quieter this time as she turned back to him with a small smile. “I... hope  so.”

“So do I, they’ll be insufferable without you.” Hunter teased. “Have fun thinking up how to explain to them your apparent promise.”

“Don’t remind me,” Luz groaned, throwing her head back. “Look, it was a panicked situation, and I didn’t want her any more scared than she--”

“Save it,” Hunter said, not unkindly, raising a hand to silence her. “I’ve made worse spur-of-the-moment decisions. Contrary to popular belief, I know you well enough that you’d never stay away for long. You have a habit of being a people-pleaser.”

Luz relaxed, and raised her hand to let Rascal hop onto it. She offered him back to Hunter, and he took the bird into his hands.

“Still, I’m sorry.” She said, wringing her hands together. “For all of this.”

“If all goes well, you’ll get to tell them that yourself.” He said, and attempted a smile.

“Hopefully,” Luz said, glancing back towards the door. “So, that means you’re willing to tell them what happened?” She asked, a pleading note to her voice.

“As in, I tell them that I broke out of the Owl House in the middle of the night, escaped to the human realm, found you when I  knew  they were going to do the same thing, and then came back to the demon realm  without  you, just to tell them you’ll  probably  be back soon, but I don’t know when?” Hunter said, ears lowering more and more as he spoke, raising a brow.

“...yes?” Luz tried, hands clasped behind her back as she looked up at him with wide, puppy-dog eyes.

“...I don’t know  why  I put up with you.” Hunter groaned, relenting as his shoulders slumped, letting Rascal fly up onto his shoulder.

“Because you care about me,” Luz teased in a singsong tone, her relief immediate.

“Unfortunately,” He muttered unthinkingly, before the words processed in his head. He tensed right after, eyes locked on the wall behind Luz.

She looked surprised for about half a second before she practically  lit up,  beaming excitedly at him.

“Anyway,”  He said quickly, voice higher than normal,  knowing  he was flushed up to his ears. “I should be off before your mom gets even more pissed at me.” He said, sharply turning on his heel.

Rascal was most definitely laughing at him now, and he pulled up his hood before shoving the bird into it, silencing him. He leapt down the stairs leading up to the porch, instead of walking down them like a normal person.

“Well, in her defense, you  did  break in.” Luz reminded, though there was a certain giddiness to her tone as she watched him leave.

“Like you  haven’t  done it!” Hunter scoffed behind him, beginning to hurry back towards the forest, head ducked low.

“Yes, but we don’t need to  tell  her that!” Luz hissed, voice notably quieter as she fearfully glanced back. 

“No promises!” He called back, a grin forming as he picked up the pace. “Call it compensation for throwing me to the wolves!”

“Wh--Hunter!” Luz squawked indignantly.

He turned on his heel for just a moment, giving Luz a mocking salute before ducking between the trees of the forest, cackling as Luz’s calls of “don’t you  dare!”  faded behind him.

“Alright, Rascal, prepare yourself.” He said, hearing his palisman chitter from within his hood, with a hint of annoyance to it. “We’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

[zarnzarn]

Stolitz fic rec!!

||

I'm going to just drop my favorite stolitz fics here.

They run at night by @wearemisfortune

Blitzo is always moving because when his body stops, his mind races. This almost always leads to a terrible fucking idea.

Tonight is no different—but the result will be.

-lovely angst, lovely climax, and it captures Blitz's line of thinking in a serious tone but in a way still feels authentic to the character. And I'm ALWAYS a sucker for the sheer unconditional trust trope.

Junctures by @sluttycrimehat

To everything, there is a season.

-I still am in complete awe of how the author managed to fit so much in such little time. The bit at the end always fucking gets me, I love it so MUCH.

The last general by @curtailed

It's in a month after, with Stolas spent and lying on his side, that Blitzo finally musters up the courage to tell him.

-Hello??? BEAUTIFUL post-harvest moon fic, wonderful vibes, love how well they know each other in this one, the trust is amazing. Love it.

You got everything that I want by @bipridemoth

Stolas can’t recall a time where “love” wasn’t synonymous with “pain” for him.

With Blitzo, it’s not love. So, there’s no pain. Stolas doesn’t let there be pain, at least not emotionally, the physical pain is something he quite enjoys. When Blitzo leaves after their monthly night together, he doesn’t allow himself to feel pain, only anticipation of the next time. He likes that there’s always a next time, even though that’s because of his active incentive more than anything else. But that’s alright, he doesn’t want Blitzo to come see him without an incentive. He deserves favors in turn for what he’s giving Stolas.

-Stolas angst!!!! The angst really is delicious in this one, with just as nice of a happy ending. Blitz is confident about the relationship, which is Wonderful to read and the "I know where this is going" segment had me in TEARS.

Between fairy tales and realities by @coloringthegreyscale

Blitzo's a complicated imp and Striker and Stolas accept that. But what happens when the two worlds he's made for himself collide together for one night? Well...

-Okay, so yes, this is striker/blitz/stolas, but it's so good. All three of them have a lovely dynamic, managing to work out somehow, with powerful Stolas, wonderful Blitz and a HILARIOUS Striker. Go read the series, it's a lot of fun and has many cute interactions that made me smile.

The look by @seireileafy

Blitz has been noticing a change in Stolas.

-It's such a CUTE drabble, I adore when one person can tell the other is pining for them, and the LAST LINE FUCKING GETS ME EVERY TIME-

Instead I made my bed with apathy by @thebooklord15

Just like every night before this one, Blitzo glared at the form next to him, already lulled into the bliss of slumber. He had never meant for things to turn out this way-he’d gotten the grimoire already, he didn’t need this man and from the way Stolas treated him it was clear he did not need the imp either.

And yet.

-Jcjdkafj this one is so GOOD I love blitz being pissed off yet too deep in to stop, and like I've said for others already THAT LAST LINE, PLEASE-

Call and response by anon

It was a love story, maybe.

-short but deliciously angsty, with some beautiful imagery, really nice dialogue, and time-doesn't-exist-in-this-motel-room vibes. Love it.

Shovel proof by @kereea

Octavia tries to give Blitzo the shovel talk. He decides to help with that.

-FUCKING cute, love the Octavia/Blitz dynamic, and it has snappy fun dialogue!! Really sweet.

Reaching out, touching me, touching you by @allmightshipserasermic

Stolas hasn’t been able to preen sufficiently in quite awhile, since Stella refuses to do it for him anymore. Blitzo offers to help.

-PREENING FIC is there anything more I have to say?

The skin you could have by @coloringthegreyscale

Stolas catches Blitzo staring and it leads to some talk, some magic, and a little bit of fun.

-Again, BEAUTIFUL dynamic between the two, lots of angsty tenderness, and lovely body imagery.

Different shapes by @sirdust

“Before the exorcist, he taketh the image and shape of a man.”

Blitz catches a glimpse of Stolas’ human form.

-okay, practically a direct opposite of the previous fic, but SO GOOD, I can't describe it. Love the imagery and their comfortable relationship.

A helluva mess by @stratumgermanitivum

It’s not like Stolas isn’t a hot piece of ass, because he is.

And it’s not like Blitzo’s blind or anything, because he isn’t.

It’s just that there’s pleasure, and then there’s business, and never the twain shall meet. (Unless he finally gets Moxx on board with that threeway, in which case, Blitzo fully intends to christen every damn surface of the office except his precious Loony’s desk.)

-AMAZING, love the pining and denial on both sides it's so great especially since you can tell both sides know that they've messed up. Again, LAST LINE!!

Eat the whole cake (it's what you deserve) by @okoyik

"His Highness is on the phone for you, sir," Moxxie says.

Blitzo makes a face. "Who?"

"Stolas," Moxxie supplies, as if that's supposed to help Blitzo understand. His expression is surely one of complete confusion as he stares at the other imp.

"Who the fuck is Stolas?" Blitzo asks slowly, racking his brain for a face to put to the name.

-

Blitzo's memory starts to slip, and all he knows is he needs that owl that seems to haunt his nightmares to stay away.

-HELLO it's only on one out of four chapters for now but it's already SO GOOD I can't WAIT for the rest!!!

Stand tall, but your hands are shaking by @remymorton

It’s been a month since the Harvest Moon festival. Another full moon night arrived, and after that... Blitz ... He's not well.

-wordless cute comfort, truly very sweet, I love it.

Palaces and souvenirs by @cloudysonder

So Stolas is objectively. Objectively. Attractive. Kinda soft-looking, sometimes. Pretty. Whatever. Fuckin’ whatever. That’s always been a thing. Blitzo knew that, Stolas definitely knew that-- whatever.

"This is not," Blitzo thinks, sounding a little bit desperate even to himself, "some sort of revelation."

His flicks of the lighter get a little more unstable, a little more frustrated.

A clawed hand reaches over and takes hold of the lighter, lighting Blitzo’s cigarette with practiced ease, as if he’d done the same thing a thousand times before (He has, Blitzo realizes).

“Silly Blitzy,” he giggles quietly, giving Blitzo a soft pat on the head before curling up beside him, stretching one last time before closing his eyes to sleep.

Blitzo feels warm.

"This," Blitzo tells himself, and it sounds like a command, "will not be a problem."

-I saw the start of this fic on Twitter and have been following it religiously ever since. It's really a gorgeous fic, three chapters up, with the promise of a Great slow burn, fun dialogue and Octavia & Blitz bonding. The level of denial Blitz is in even as he moves comfortably around every aspect of Stolas' life cracks me tf up.

Can't by @hazbincalifornia

Blitzo realizes he feels something something that he doesn't want to feel. This was supposed to be simple.

-feelings realization fic, wonderful, amazing, lovely, also the exact same way I realized I was gay, funnily enough (girl fell asleep in my lap and I was like oh. Oh fuck.)

Too late to stop by @malkaviancake

Stolas spends some time with his thoughts, realizing that his feelings for Blitzo aren't as one sided as he presumed.

-GORGEOUS vocab, I'm truly very obsessed with it. Like most of these stories, LAST LINE!!!!

Itchy with want, thin on sleep by me

It happens in parts- both falling in love and having his eyes opened.

-I will,, finish this one day, but for now here's a few in between moments before they have The Conversation.

Heaven in hiding by me

Their nights together are good, they always are, both of their tastes lining up to be shockingly compatible, but on the days where they end early and they get to spend some extra time cleaning up in comfortable silence or playful banter- and Blitz would rather take a bullet than admit this out loud- but those nights are pretty great too.

-AFTERCARE FIC, I had to write an aftercare fic ft. Good dom Blitz, Stolas taking care of him in return and a comfortable relationship that they both know is going to cause Problems in the future :)

Love in the bones and sinews of this curse by me

Five times Stolas and Blitz needed the grimoire to break a curse + one time they didn't.

-self explanatory. I tried to make it as funny as possible, everyone bickers a lot and Blitz brings Stolas flowers and gifts, what more could you need?

Life is a curse (love makes it worse) by me

"Alright!" Blitz says, clapping his hands together, "Weapons out, and-"

Half pull out some gun or the other, but half just look at him blankly. Blitz wishes for death.

"Save me from this family," He mutters under his breath, "Okay. Take these then." He passes out the few weapons he'd brought along with him and doesn't ask if they know how to use them because if he hears a no, he's giving up and going back home. "Stick close and talk loudly so the others can hear us. Let's go."

They move out, Blitz taking the lead and the rest forming a circle close behind him, starting up a loud conversation about the neighbour's garden. It gives him enough time to wonder exactly what the fuck he's doing here, in a nightmare world with a bunch of pretentious snobs, searching for his stupid Ars Goetia boyfriend, instead of sleeping in his nice lumpy bed back at home.

-a sequel to the previous fic!!! I had to write some Octavia and Blitz bonding, and accidentally added in a bunch of teenage imps who work for Stolas who imprint on Blitz immediately. And there's Eldritch Stolas, protective boyfriends and found family!!! The whole shebang!!!

This ended up being Much longer than I'd expected, but genuinely every fic up there is really good, go check em out!!!!

[spideyhexx]

the cookout; b.b. + s. l.

pairing; bucky barnes + sylvie laufeydottir + female!reader

a/n: umm thank @vineridden for talking to me about this and our shared love of Sylvie and Bucky. I couldn't help myself. Pls reblog/comment/give feedback!

masterlist

summary: Sylvie picks up on you and Bucky thirsting over each other and decides to do something about it...and perhaps involve herself.

NSFW 18+ Minors DNI please!!!

WARNINGS: mom's best friend!sylvie. college aged reader and bucky. dirty talk. threesome. grinding. spitting. soft dom!sylvie. some sub!bucky. some dom!reader. oral (female receiving). fingering. unprotected sex. facial. handjob. spanking. kind of edging. some voyeurism. use of the word "whore"

word count: 4.3k (oops)

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Sizzling grills, water splashing, and the loud chatter erupts from your backyard.

Well, more specifically, your parent’s backyard. It’s not uncommon for them to throw huge cookouts, but this one was big. It’s an anniversary, welcome home, birthday, all the major events tied into one.

You didn’t mind these parties, but part of you wished you could just skip it and stay locked away in your room all day.

It was all good and fun, but the amount of people your parent’s would invite could become quite overwhelming.

One of the only good parts was Bucky. You hadn’t seen him in a couple months, due to the two of you attending different colleges, but that never stopped your frequent texts.

He lived in the house next door, your whole lives spent just a few paces away.

Getting through these parties together almost felt like a tradition. But this time, there was something different in the air.

You did not expect to be hit with a wave of awe as you watched Bucky greet your parents. He was always handsome and perhaps not physically seeing him for a bit made him look better, but shit was he gorgeous. His tight t-shirt was hiding nothing, making the muscles he worked hard on strain more prominently.

And you internally rolled your eyes at his swim trunks that had a cat pattern on them. Seems as though he still loved silly designs.

Your breath catches when he spots you, a grin spreading across his face as he jogs over.

“Flower! God, I’ve missed you,” Bucky says, pulling you right in for a hug. You want to tell him you missed hearing that nickname, but decide against it.

“Missed you too, Buck! Are you ready for a long night?” Bucky smirks at your statement.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you clarify and Bucky still has the smirk on his face. His hands have not left your waist and you wonder if he could tell how much of an effect it has on you.

“I know, just teasin’. Did you hear Sylvie is coming?”

There’s the other good part about these cookouts. Sylvie, a friend of your mom’s.

It was only recently you started to develop a crush on her. With her witty comebacks and smooth accent, it was hard not to.

You might’ve drunkenly admitted your crush on her to Bucky during a late night phone call and he has not forgotten. I

t was easy for you to confess this crush, but somehow not the one you had begun to develop on Bucky himself. You felt a little ashamed that you have been developing feelings for your mother’s best friend, but nothing would ever happen, right?

Bucky tilts his head and pinches your waist.

“You’re already gettin’ lost in your thoughts thinkin’ about her!”

“Oh stop, you think she’s hot too,” you tease, your voice a tinge too loud and Bucky shushes you, putting a finger on your lips.

He did think she was hot.

Bucky revealed his crush on Sylvie as well when you first talked to him about it.

Since then, the two of you joked about it pretty often, but now was your first time seeing her since you’ve acknowledged the little (maybe big) crush.

“Hey Bucky!” One of your cousin’s calls out to him and he looks back at them, before turning to you.

“I’ll see you in the pool?” He questions and you nod, watching as he runs off to talk to more people.

He trips in his flip flops and you burst out laughing, not being able to contain it. Bucky whips his head to look at you and flips you off.

You take one last look at how good his back looks in his shirt before migrating to the lounge chairs, hoping there’s a free one.

That is when you spot Sylvie, laid back in one of the chairs, a drink in her hand.

You take a deep breath before approaching the seat next to her. She smiles widely when she notices you.

“Gonna give me a hug, flower?”

Sylvie beamed, placing her drink down to pull you in for a hug.

Flower.

You could not decide if it sounded better coming from Sylvie or Bucky. Relishing in Sylvie’s hug, you have to stop yourself from pouting when she pulls away just a bit too soon.

“How’re your studies going? I know you were practically jumping to get away from here?” She asks, settling back into her chair.

“School’s good, it feels nice to be around so many new people but, I’ve missed being home if I’m being honest,” you say and she nods in understanding.

“I know I’ve missed seeing you around, flower.”

A heat rushes across your face and you’re happy it’s hot enough outside to keep a facade up. You turn your head away from her, fearing you would end up lost in her eyes.

What you did not expect was for your eyes to lock onto the sight of Bucky taking his shirt off. It’s as though he meant to take it off in slow motion as he carefully lifts it over his head and throws it onto a chair. He puts one foot in the pool and retracts it.

You can vaguely hear him yelling about it being cold.

Bucky sits at the edge of the pool, letting his legs get used to the temperature.

He runs a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already is. Sylvie clears her throat and you turn to her.

“He is an attractive man, isn’t he?”

Her question catches you off guard for a moment, but nonetheless, you answer.

“Yeah, he is.”

A slight weight falls off your chest at admitting it, but how could you not?

Sylvie smirks, “Don’t look now, but he’s checking you out.”

You go to look anyway and sure enough, he’s gazing at you. Bucky turns his attention to a bowl of chips once he notices you caught him.

“You two are so adorable,” Sylvie says.

“Are we?”

She scoffs and leans in closer to you, almost whispering.

“Very much. You’re taking turns checking each other out.”

You laugh and look back at Bucky, who’s decided to lay back in a chair, his legs spread just enough for you to squeeze your thighs together.

“You should go over to him and sit on his lap,” Sylvie mused, chuckling at your shocked expression.

“What?! No, no I can’t do that Sylvie!”

“Why not? He was looking at your bum and now he’s rubbing his thigh, glancing at you like he’s waiting for you to take a seat.” You ponder her words for a moment.

Yes, sitting on Bucky’s lap sounded like a great idea, but you were a tad nervous.

“And I could tell you want him, honey. Do you know what eye fucking in? That’s what you’re doing.”

The fact that Sylvie could see so clearly through your lust filled eyes also managed to send sparks around your body.

“If he rejects you, you can sit in my lap. Now go, flower!”

Well, you couldn’t say no to that. Standing up, you adjust your swimsuit, then walk over to Bucky.

You run through what you should say once you’re by him, but you can’t decide on what would be best.

Too many thoughts are running through your head. Sylvie offering her lap. Her words about sitting in Bucky’s lap and the way his hands look even better against his thighs as you get closer.

“y/n,” he addresses.

“Can I..um, can I sit with you?”

Bucky raises his brow for a moment, but nods and pats a spot on the chair next to him.

“No, I mean, on you. On your lap,” you say and Bucky’s heart skips a beat.

“Sure you can, flower” he says cooly and he immediately wraps his arms around your waist as you settle against his chest, on his lap.

His hands feel warm against your skin, yet send a shiver up your spine. You allow yourself to lay your head on his shoulder, shifting around in his arms to get more comfortable.

“Careful,” Bucky mumbles, clearing his throat. It doesn’t take long to realize you shouldn’t squirm too much.

But you want to. You catch Sylvie’s eye and she smiles at you, raising her drink and then sipping from it.

“Did you have a good talk with her?” Bucky asks.

“Mmhm. She told me to sit here,” you confess, wanting to know his reaction.

He’s quiet for a moment before replying “Mischievous, huh?”

“Like always, but didn’t expect her to...help with this...I suppose.”

“I’m happy she did,” Bucky says, pressing a short kiss on your cheek.

You sit with Bucky for a bit, zoning out and trying to memorize the feeling of his hands splayed across your stomach.

How when he speaks, you can feel his breath hit the side of your face and his voice drops to a lower volume when he only wants to speak to you.

Being so caught up in your thoughts once more, you can’t help but squirm a bit, his arms tightening around you.

“You’re gonna cause a problem,” Bucky tells you, a slight smile playing on his lips. You push back against him and he contains a groan.

“Seems as though I already caused a problem.”

He chuckles and sighs deeply as you wiggle against him, reveling in how hard he’s gotten from your movements.

“We should go inside,” he mutters and you turn slightly to look at him.

“And do what?”

You feign innocence, but the smirk on your face tells Bucky you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Do I have to say it?”

You nod at him excitedly and he gently pushes your head to the side so he could lean his lips against your ear.

“I want to go inside so you could properly touch my cock, since you’ve had so much fun the past twenty minutes grinding against it.”

His words send a shudder through your body and you take one last glance at him before standing up. Bucky follows suit, placing a hand on your hip and keeping you close to his body to perhaps hide his rather big hard problem.

You lead him through the house to your bedroom. You don’t notice how fast you’re walking until Bucky pulls at your wrist and gently pushes you against the wall in the hallway.

“Slow down, flower,” he starts, bringing your hands up to his shoulders. He dips his head down to nudge your nose against his.

“Are you sure?”

You nod and Bucky, with a tinge of hesitance, presses his lips on yours. At first, the kiss is simple.

Bucky’s fingers rub against your sides gingerly and he’s taking his time to feel your mouth on his for the first time. You pull away first, your lips lingering on his own.

You catch your breath, not even realizing how fast your heart was beating. So many feelings are rushing through you, but the main urge coursing around is the one to smash his lips back onto you.

One of your hands drifts up to the back of his head to encourage his mouth back onto yours in a searing kiss.

His actions are a little more desperate as he nips at your top lip and presses his body closer to you. The strain in his swimsuit is undeniable and you whimper as you feel him pushing himself against your thigh. Bucky grunts and you trail your lips to his jaw.

Someone clears their throat and you and Bucky jump apart. Sylvie stands a couple feet away leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and a playful smirk decorating her face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she teases, gesturing for the two of you to continue. You look at Bucky and he’s already got his eyes back on you.

“I’m fine with it...if you are too,” he mutters, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

“It’s okay,” you reply, kissing him once more.

Heat pools in your belly knowing that Sylvie is watching you make out with Bucky.

“Tug at his hair, flower,” she murmurs and without hesitation you pull at Bucky’s hair, a soft noise escaping his mouth at the sensation.

“Little harder this time.”

You follow her instructions again, tugging hard, causing Bucky to buck his hips against you.

“See? He liked that,” Sylvie comments.

“Why don’t we go to y/n’s room? For more privacy.”

The fact that there’s a party right outside has completely glossed over your mind.

The strong desire to have this moment with not just Bucky, but Sylvie as well was enough to lead Bucky into your room, Sylvie following behind. She closes the door and locks it. She takes a seat in your desk chair.

“Continue...with what you were doing.” Her voice, firm yet soft must’ve been turning both you and Bucky on.

His cock looked like it was suffering from his shorts, while you could feel how soaked you’ve gotten since you first sat on Bucky’s lap.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh.

You straddle him, gasping at the feeling of his hard cock right by where you needed him. Bucky kissed your neck, sucking softly around to find what spots made you weak.

“I bet she likes it right under her ear, Barnes.”

He quickly moved his lips to the spot and sure enough, it made you whimper. You shift in his lap, slightly grinding against him.

His hands fall to your ass, rubbing the skin and pushing you forward to continue grinding.

“Now, flower, look at his lips. What do they look like?”

Sylvie asked and Bucky pulled his head from your neck. You hold his jaw in your hand and gaze across his lips.

“Wet. Redder than usual.”

Sylvie hums as a response.

“Do you think those lips would feel good on your clit?”

You gasp at her words and Bucky smirks.

“I know they would,” Bucky remarks and Sylvie tsks at him.

“I’m not talking to you, Barnes. Be quiet.”

That wipes the smirk off of his face, but does not stop you from smiling.

“They would feel good.”

You answer, and Sylvie hums again.

“You wanna make them more wet? Spit on his lips. Don’t open your mouth, Barnes. You don’t deserve her spit in your mouth right now.”

Bucky groans and you swallow hard, suddenly a little nervous.

Sylvie seems to sense this and you feel her presence behind you. Her hands slide up your arms to your shoulders and she leans her lips close to your ear.

“It’s okay, flower. You’re already doing so good. I know you want to see Buck become a mess, so do it when you’re ready.”

Her praise really does things for you. You grip Bucky’s jaw tighter, his eyes blown out as he looks up at you.

You gather saliva in your mouth and spit directly onto his lips. He has a hard time keeping them closed, but he does it.

“Smear it against his lips now,” Sylvie says, still standing behind you. Using your thumb, you rub your spit onto his lips. Bucky takes a deep breath, probably trying to control himself.

“Do it again.”

You go through the motions once more, but as you smear the wetness across Bucky’s lips, he can’t help himself anymore. He takes your thumb into his mouth and sucks on it lightly.

You pull your thumb away from him and he whimpers.

“He didn’t listen. What are you going to do about it flower? Slap him? That would be sexy.”

“He would like it though, so not a punishment,” you say and Sylvie smiles.

“Hm you’re learning, honey.”

Sylvie places a kiss on your shoulder, the first time her lips have touched your skin so far.

“He does want to cum. He’s pressing so hard against me.”

Sylvie nods, “then we’ll edge him. He needs to put those pretty lips on you first anyways, right Barnes?”

“Yeah, right,” he stumbles out after clearing his throat.

“Switch spots and take the swimsuit off, flower” Sylvie commands.

You hop off of Bucky’s lap, slowly slipping off the bathing suit. You felt the stares of Bucky and Sylvie bore into your body, but Sylvie’s soft smile made you feel more comfortable.

You sit at the edge of the bed. Sylvie leans close so she could whisper only to you.

“Tell him to kneel,” she says. Your brow raises at her and she nods. Looking back at Bucky, you spread your legs, noticing how a blush is coating his cheeks.

“Kneel,” you say, not as confident as you would have hoped, but it still affects Bucky.

You could almost see how it made his cock twitch. Bucky drops to his knees, moving in between your legs.

“No touching,” Sylvie tells him and continues “only use your mouth. Make her cum.”

You rest one hand on Bucky’s head, close to tugging at it again when he immediately places his lips on your cunt. His tongue rolls through your folds as if he’s testing what feels good.

“Pull on his hair, flower. Use his mouth to get off.”

Bucky moans against you as you tug at his hair, pushing his face closer to your pussy. His tongue flicks at your entrance, his nose bumping against your clit. You slowly start to move your hips, using his face, just how Sylvie told you.

“That’s it, flower. Fuck he’s really into your cunt,” Sylvie says, sitting next to you on the bed. She was right, even though you were moving against Bucky’s mouth, he was devouring you.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking harshly, moaning whenever you gasped out his name.

“She’s close, Barnes.” Sylvie did not need to say it, but hearing it made you moan louder.

“That’s a bit too loud, honey,” she mumbles before turning your head and crashing her lips onto yours in a messy kiss.

The kiss combined with Bucky’s mouth sent you over the edge, your body exploding in pleasure. Sylvie pulls away and runs her thumb over your lip.

“Such a good girl. That felt good?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. Sylvie smiles, leaning in to kiss your cheek, then the other. She trails wet kisses back to your lips and licks into your mouth.

“Am I going to get something now?”

You pull away from the kiss to look at Bucky, still on his knees, his cock still frustratingly hard.

“Don’t give us an attitude, Barnes. You’ll get your turn when we feel like it. Go sit on the chair,” Sylvie motions to the desk chair and Bucky begrudgingly takes a seat.

Even though he looks a little annoyed, he’s truly loving this. Loving that you were finally getting to do things with Sylvie...loving that he was making you feel good...and now...loving to watch.

“Can he touch himself?”

You ask, as if reading his mind.

“Your choice, flower.”

“Beg for it, Bucky.” Sylvie is surprised at your tone, but she smirks, looking expectantly at him.

“Let me touch myself, please. ‘M achin.”

His voice breaks a little and you can’t tell if he did it on purpose or not, but it does send a jolt of pleasure throughout your body.

“Go ahead.”

“But don’t cum,” Sylvie warns and she rids herself of her shorts and underwear. Bucky follows suit, taking his trunks off and grasping his cock in his hand.

“Do you want to touch me, honey?”

You nod and she points to the ground. Settling between her legs, your lips ghost over her clit. You look up at her.

“Spit on my cunt,” she says.

Bucky groans behind you and you have an urge to look at him.

You let your spit dribble onto her pussy, maintaining eye contact with her. It’s just now that you remember how insane this was, how bad it may be, but it’s felt so good.

Using your fingers, you spread the wetness on her cunt, smiling to yourself at the little noises she’s trying to keep hushed.

You prod one finger at her entrance, then slowly ease it in, locking your lips onto her clit. You suck lightly at first, trying to build up her release.

“You see how good she is at this, Barnes? Bet you want her lips on your cock, hm?”

You can’t see exactly how he responds, but you do catch a hurried curse under his breath and a wet slick of him stroking his cock.

You add another finger, Sylvie’s thighs squeeze against your head.

You curl them in sync with the sucking on her clit until she’s moaning your name and riding out her high. She bends down to kiss you, groaning at the taste of herself.

“Please let me fuck her,” Bucky whines and you both turn to look at him. He’s completely naked and flushed, his cock resting against his abdomen.

“Seems like he learned his manners,” Sylvie whispers to you, making you giggle.

“How do you want her, Barnes?”

Bucky contemplates, then stands up. He helps you up from the ground.

“Want her from behind,” he says, a low rasp in his voice.

“Do you want that, flower?”

You smile and jump on the bed, positioning yourself on your hands and knees.

You wiggle your ass a bit at him and Sylvie playfully smacks it, causing you to laugh.

“Still can’t cum until we say so,” Sylvie reminds him and then turns to you, “but you could cum whenever you want, honey.”

With that, Sylvie sits back at the desk chair to watch.

Bucky holds his cock by the base and rubs the tip up and down your cunt.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, coating his dick in your wetness. You whine as he keeps teasing the tip at his entrance.

A few more strokes and Bucky pushes into you.

You both moan and Sylvie shushes the two of you.

“Please do remember there is a party going on,” she says and Bucky takes a moment to control himself.

The way you clench around him as he pushes himself into the hilt was enough to send him over the edge. But he held that back, focused on making you cum as quickly as possible.

He grips your hips as he steadily pulls out, then glides back in, creating a smooth rhythm. The sound of skin slapping and your short gasps fills the room.

“Spank her a little, Barnes. Not too hard though.”

Bucky does so, softly hitting your cheek and almost doubling over at how much you squeeze him when he does it again.

“Fuck, flower,” he grunts, picking up his pace.

You grip at the sheets beneath you and lower one hand to toy with your clit, still sensitive from when Bucky made you cum earlier.

“Talk dirty to her, I think she likes it,” Sylvie comments as Bucky leans down and swats your hand away to replace it with his own.

He rubs even faster circles on your clit.

“Can you feel how deep I am inside you? Bet you’ve been dreaming about this cock for a while yeah? Just like how you’ve dreamt of Sylvie.”

You whine at that, embarrassment threatening to flood in, but that’s quickly taken away when you hear Sylvie say “That’s cute, honey. I hope you dream of me more after this.”

Bucky pounds into you mercilessly, his fingers never letting up until you cry out his name a bit too loud.

He doesn’t seem to care and fucks you through your second orgasm, watching as you try to catch your breath.

“Help her to her knees, Buck.”

Bucky pulls out of you and you let out a small hiss at the emptiness. You’re tired, but you move quickly anyway, resting on your knees on the ground. Bucky’s cock was dripping with you and the little bit of precum that managed to escape.

Sylvie stands beside him, sliding her hand down his chest, then gripping his cock. Bucky throws his head back in a groan.

“Look at her, Barnes. She’s a little whore, isn’t she?”

Bucky moans, both at Sylvie’s words and the look you’re giving him.

“I think she wants your cum…” Sylvie trails off and looks at you.

It’s crazy how you feel like you know what she wants you to do...without her even saying it. You put your hands on Bucky’s thighs, feeling him tremble slightly.

Soon your mouth is open and you stick your tongue out, pleasantly waiting for him.

Sylvie jerks him off faster. What pushes him over the edge is your hand drifting up from his thigh to cup his balls.

His cum spills out of him, most of it landing on your tongue, but some onto your cheek as well.

“That’s a lot of cum for her, Barnes. Think she likes it?”

Bucky’s eyes struggle to stay open as he’s riding out his high, but he manages to watch as you swallow what was in your mouth. You wipe the rest of his cum off with your fingers and put them in your mouth, sucking them clean.

“Shit,” Bucky groans and you giggle.

You stand up and reach for your blanket, all of a sudden feeling a little cold completely naked. Bucky joins you on the bed.

“You didn’t really get to fuck anyone,” Bucky directs at Sylvie and she shrugs.

“We can’t spend too much time here. Besides, you both did well, I need to give you a reward next time.”

“Next time?”

You ask and she nods, smiling, leaning in close to you, her lips mere centimeters away.

“Of course, if that’s something you, or both of you want,” she mutters.

Sylvie is about to walk out of the door when Bucky says “I know flower here will definitely want more, you don’t even know how many times she’s told me about wanting to kiss you.”

“Bucky!”

You slap his arm and he cackles, laying back against your bed. Sylvie laughs too and sends you a wink before retreating.

Bucky’s gazing at you when you turn to him.

“What the fuck happened,” he jokes and you shake your head, snuggling onto his chest.

“Dreams came true?”

[rosafione]

"Come Closer."

title; How Far Will I Fall, 'Till You Catch Me In your Arms

pairing; xiao x reader

desc; you never really lacked the guts for these kinds of things, but before everything else, you valued his feelings, and most of all, his consent. in the end, it still takes two to tango.

a/n; xiao drabble xiao drabble xiao drabbleee now, he might be ooc, im not sure, but this is mostly just an hc if you guys are close— to an extent muahahahahaha

Time was at a standstill for a certain young adeptus.

For someone who's lived a millennia, you'd think two months would only feel like a second. Before, Xiao would not deny the frequency of those moments— of loneliness, and melancholy; Of time spent watching the Guyun Stone Forest and awaiting his time to strike.

Every day that passed was one spent with his guard high, back then.

And yet now, those moments seemed as if they existed in a far different time. A time before the Traveler plunged Osial into the ocean, stripping them of their adeptal duties and eliminating a cause for Liyue to seek their guidance.

Though possibly the greatest disparity from that time could be that.. It was a time before you— before he had you by his side.

You were a mortal, one he considers to be above average, yet a mortal, nonetheless. You still had times where your humanity catches up to you, and you are left vulnerable in the hands of the evil that lurks among the lands of Tevyat.

Xiao met you at your weakest; But he watched you grow into your shell.

It wasn't as if he regarded you with any special fondness. At first. You were no different from any other mortal that walked Liyue— a fragile creature he was tasked to protect, and a being he needed to steer clear off, lest he harm you with his adeptal energy. (Death from the sheer force of it was no stranger to him. He does not want to carry another human's death on his shoulders.)

Xiao had a complicated relationship with the mortal realm. It was not disdain he harbored for humans, only vigilance and curiosity.

Their realm and the adepti's were two worlds apart.

What differed you from the mortals is that you crossed that distance. And somehow, you stood before him, right in the in between.

He wonders how you do it; You've always been unyielding in his presence. He knows you are aware of his prowess, but every time he looks at you, there is nothing but fondness and adoration he sees in your ancient gaze.

You offered him Almond Tofu almost every day. It makes him anticipate your troubles, yet you do no else other than indulge him in small chats, and silly escort commissions into the mountains or the forest. At times, you'd just watch him feed on your offerings.

He knew it was a bribe, the Almond Tofu. You did it almost everyday— Until you didn't have to.

At some point, Xiao stopped denying your presence. He's warned you enough— He respected you enough to know that you were an adult, and you could think for yourself. And though the moments you'd offer him were memories worthy to look back on, he dares not seek you out.

But he didn't have to. You always came to him first.

His relationship with you only grew from there. It was no earth-shattering occurrence, that's for sure. It was a parasite that he didn't know had been rooting itself into his being so deeply that he cannot bring himself to part with it.

Though if not a shocking event, it was still a crushing revelation.

"Good day, Xiao."

The lady-in-charge, Verr, seemed to be searching for something before her gaze flitted back to his. "No Y/N today?"

"Y/N is off to the harbour for a few days," he'd answered instinctively as he walked to the usual table prepared for him near the kitchen.

"And you didn't come with?"

His slit brows raise in confusion. "Why would I?"

"Oh dear, my apologies. I just figured—" a bashful chuckle leaves her— "Since I see you guys together all the time."

He frowns at the memory. It was a realization that started his resolve to put some distance, yet it was also the beginning of your.. lengthy travels.

When your few days became a few weeks, his resolve easily yielded to his eagerness in meeting you once more.

-

Time used to pass by swiftly, but nowadays, a year spent with you feels as if he had already spent half of his life.

He sighs, shaking his head at himself. "Reduced to just standing around. How absurd."

"If you think standing around was such an absurd concept then why do you still reject the idea of travelling with me?"

The familiar voice wills him to rip his gaze away from the scenery.

He knows it is yours— your steps, your scent, your weight, your presence. Xiao feels you the moment you stepped into the inn. Yet he does not move, run, nor show any sign of the buzz that vibrates from inside his chest.

Yet when he sees you, you are beautiful, safe. Ephemeral.

He forgets every aching minute he's spent in the eight weeks you were not in his vicinity.

Time runs again.

Still, everything about you is slow; The way you walk carefully to his side, the way you drag your fond gaze from his, to the scenery before you.. The way your hair flows and dances with the evening breeze.

He knows. The wind has always favored you.

"Ever since meeting the Traveler, all you've talked about is travelling," he chose to say.

"With you."

"What?" he frowns.

"I mean that yes, all I've talked about is travelling—" you chuckle bashfully, averting your eyes away from his— "That is, travelling.. But with you."

His eyes widen, then hardening with a purse of his lips, before he turns to glare into the distance. "My answer will not change. I cannot leave Liyue."

"And my reply is the same," you sigh. "The place does not matter. As long as we'd be together."

It is a sensitive topic, and an inevitable taboo.

There was a line neither of you should ever cross— a line he's put there himself, and one he disdains all the same.

Silence ensues. It is a frequent occurrence, ever since you first brought up the prospect of adventuring. Stubborn and troublesome. Xiao finds himself needing to track back in conversations just to figure you out.

Mortals were such complex creatures.

And yet it was so easy for you to read him like an open book. Or so he assumes. You always knew how you'd deal with him. Even Xiao knows that it is no easy feat.

"You're always like this," he grumbles.

You do not answer, and he settles for the tranquility, all the tension leaving his body; And for once, after two months, he felt as if he could actually breathe.

He wonders how much longer he'd be stuck in this area of torment and bliss. Wonders how much longer he'll continue to drag you into it.

Wonders when you'll snap and just leave him all together.

He frowns grumpily at the thought.

-

"Can I?" you ask.

Xiao looks into your eyes— swirling hues that didn't return his gaze, far focused on a lower part of his face. His lips, he realizes. Your gaze had been focused on his lips.

The epiphany wills a streak of crimson to rise to the tips of his ears, and his own focus is stolen away by the pink appendage that wets your lips.

"Your question is incomplete," he says instead, feigning ignorance.

Shaking his head, Xiao crosses his arms and forces himself to concentrate on your eyes. Only on your eyes.

Maybe then, he wouldn't get so distracted.

"Regardless of how your question would go, I don't understand why you need my opinion," he huffs, grumbling. "It's your body. You would know it best."

You press your lips together. A gentle, bashful smile spreading on your face as a fond look emerges in your eyes. "My apologies," you chuckle. "It was the wrong question to ask."

He faces you to narrow his eyes at your suspicious behavior, but he's far too distracted by the way your hand lifts, trailing from the side of his neck to gently cup his cheek, and his breath hitches, eyes widening.

Warmth radiated from your touch. Xiao knows better than to reject such touches any longer when with you. So he leans into it, presses his head closer to your palm, closing his eyes and exhaling in surrender.

"What i meant to ask was," he opens his eyes to look at you.

Your gazes clash. They meld and melt into each other as you slowly raise yourself closer and closer — or perhaps it was him who'd been leaning down.

The hand that traces the tattoo on his right arm, as well as the other that caresses his face with an aching gentleness, reels him in. enthralls him. It lures him into succumbing to your presence, and his body goes through that familiar feeling of softening under your touch.

"May I?" you whisper.

Suddenly, you are leaning in more eagerly— more determined, as if with a clear intent in mind. He thinks he understands your words enough now, swirling in his mind, goes through consideration, and the one practical response he could muster with his focus in a jumble is to deny you permission.

He gulps soundly; He can't bring himself to.

Xiao thinks this is it, watching you move in as he struggles to keep his eyes from fluttering shut. He thinks it would be this moment— this moment in which he dooms the unspoken rule between mortals and adepti. Dooms the contract he's worked so hard to fulfill in service of Lord Morax, now Zhong Li. He'd doom your friendship, or whatever it is you've offered him up to this point.

Yet even then.. Even then, he doesn't say no.

He stays quiet; Waiting. Wanting.

It's funny— the mortal language, how one could switch out a letter, and a word would seem that much different.

It was true, nonetheless.

Xiao waits. Xiao wants.

He wants the closeness, the intimacy— the affection you provide. He wants your lips to meet his just to know if it is as soft as the rest of you is. He wants to see if a kiss— curious, like a child— truly lives up to the countless tales told by the experienced. He wants to know.. If you will give him those answers.

His amber eyes meet yours. He does not breathe, as if doing so would scare you away. As if doing anything would give you a response he does not want to give.

It is enough. Your noses bump for a second, his eyes fluttering closed; Your scent wafts from beneath his nose, crisp burning incense, molded into the fresh smell of the forest that is brought about by the wind.

He curves into you, a single thought shaking him to the core, making him tremble - so utterly pathetic.

'Please..'

Your lips do not meet.

And suddenly, there is too much air between you and him.

Xiao opens his eyes to see you trailing back, fidgety— you looked like a walking contradiction, twitching fingers trying to cross the distance, gaze darting between looking away or staring regretfully at his lips.

There was a crimson hue staining your cheeks, he noticed.

"Why.." he whispers, then catches himself.

The inside of his chest strains from all the emotions he has to keep hidden— all the emotions he has to keep denying.

Disappointment. Loneliness. Exhaustion. Desperation.

Xiao wants.

-

You couldn't believe you almost kissed him.

It was a heavy violation of contract— not that you two had ever agreed to one, but it was an unspoken compromise. It was a truth you both knew, yet continued to ignore.

So that this— whatever this was, could survive.

Archons, you almost laid it all to waste!

(Either way, any decision would still leave you with regrets, had you continued or pulled away.)

"Ah, would you look at that!" you laughed out loud in a panic, perhaps to cover up the tense atmosphere. "I did it again! I asked a question without completing it, yeah? Guess it's a really bad habit on mine!"

Xiao does not answer. You spare him a look. And you wish you hadn't.

He looks dejected, disappointment and frustration showing through his slit eyebrows and wide eyes.

As if your choice was a surprise to him.

As if he wanted you to continue.

As if.

You couldn't deny you wanted it, too. Whatever he could give you. And, more.

You mentally scold yourself, knowing you're already stretching Xiao's patience with your friendship as it is.

You have to remind yourself that Xiao is immortal, and no matter how humane he may seem, you cannot trouble him with matters such as the turmoil in your heart.

It's really hard to say anything, when all the thoughts that circle in your head is how wonderful he is. How amazing he makes you feel. How he is all you've ever wanted for the whole year since you've realized you'd developed a certain affection for him.

"Sorry, Xiao," you say, throat tightening with bubbles of emotions threatening to spill. "I should.. Go away, for some time."

( And the first thing Xiao thinks is to dejectedly reply 'Again.?' )

"No," he says all too quickly, detaching from the banister.

"No?" you echo, confused. "N-no what?"

"Stay," he says, but it is not a command. Not from the adeptus. It is a soft request; A wavering plea that reaches to you soul.

"Where?" you ask. 'How far?'

"Here," he whispers now. "With me."

You push your luck, craving just a bit more patience from Xiao.

"Close?"

You could see Xiao consider. His eyes showing his heart, but his silence showing his mind.

He gives in.

"Close."

That day was the nearest you've peered, held and embraced Xiao's soul, moving closer, and softly leaning your forehead on his, clenching onto the white fabric of his shirt as he loosely wraps an arm around your waist— under the watchful eyes of the night sky.

There is still a distance that Xiao dares not cross.

And for now, maybe it's enough.

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (15)

word count; 13,807

summary; a tough kill and an injured firefighter bring you and thomas closer than ever, but something else might get in the way..

notes; y’all are gonna love me and hate me.

warnings; injury description, blood mention, infection mention, reference to explosions.

Stripping off a single glove, you wiped a hand over your forehead, sweat built up there cleared away by your palm. Your legs were aching, your lungs were burning from smoke inhalation, and every bone in your body felt like it was turning to jelly. There were sore patches along your skin where you’d come a little too close to raw flames or brushed against hot exposed metal framework, and you were sure that you were covered in bumps and scrapes from falling over broken debris in your rush. 

Your eyes were stinging from how you’d been rubbing at them during your time in the collapsed building and your throat felt torn raw from the gritty and smokey air you had spent the last several hours inhaling. Bracing your hands on your knees, you heard the scuffling of Newt’s boots behind your own, stumbling out in the heavy gear of fire equipment you’d been hooked up with before ever going in, the lull between city planners and demolishers getting the correct blueprints giving you enough time to suit up before you’d been sent into the rubble. 

He coughed, following much the same position as you as he hunched over, head between his legs as he crouched, heaving breaths, and you forced yourself to stand up, rubbing gently at his back. The heatproof jacket he wore was warm to the touch as you did, still letting heat escape onto your sweaty palm, and when he stood tall again, you stripped off your other glove, both held in your hand, and you cupped a hand over your eyes to block the sun, and actually taking in the state of the building. 

The flames that had been curling out into the fresh air were extinguished, you’d known that much from the water that had been dripping through in streams to where you’d been working for hours, the internal flames unable to be dealt with until you, Newt, and the other paramedics had all cleared the trapped victims. 

You’d never seen anything like it. A demolition of old industrial buildings that had been due to be cleared since before you’d ever even moved to the state, finally put in action, buildings that were created in the early twentieth century, and the crew had been provided with outdated blueprints of the layouts of the buildings. 

The space where one of the buildings had once been was entirely gone, the smell of gas from the pipes that had failed to be shut down was finally beginning to clear from the air, the explosions it had caused being able to dull down at last, as all traces were evaporated or was burned from the air by high-rising fires. 

The building had crumbled, old foundations crumbling the way they should and worse when the gas in the mains that had been incorrectly shut down had all but turned to powder, trapped crew inside on floors that never should have been touched were caught in the crossfire, sections of the building that hadn't even been due to be demolished had gone up in flames, and there was several other houses dotted around, using up the supply of water in their trucks as all fire hydrants were miles back on the roads, and never came this close. 

The sun was now sitting low in the sky where it had been high up in the middle and directly overhead the last time you’d seen it before crawling into the building to provide first aid. With a register done and a fireman called ‘Mikey’ in your ear for hours over the radio checking off every construction worker that came out until the building was clear, like an Easter Egg hunt for injured builders, but instead of chocolate in the garden, you got blood and partially severed limbs in the burning wreckage. 

You’d seen more blood and bone today than you had for the last month, maybe two, all together and the feeling of jolting bones being snapped back into place was still running in shock waves along your spine, making you shiver every so often. Clouds of smoke from extinguished flames were blocking the sun a little, your throat dry and scratchy each time you tried to swallow down on it. Newt simply chuckled, patting your shoulder before slinging that arm further across, and clearing the lump from his own with a cough. 

“Let’s go and get a drink, yeah? I’ve been fantasising about the cold water bottles in the ambo’ for three hours now.”

“A cold water sounds better than sex right now. God, the condensation on the bottle is like porn.” You mumbled, Newt laughing loudly, despite the rasp that lined his voice as he struggled to make such a sound without breaking into a coughing fit, squeezing you a little tighter in acknowledgement of your joke. 

Wandering over together, you were already peeling your jacket down your arms as soon as you had the chance to. Newt unhooked the back of the ambo, all others having cleared from the scene with the more brutally injured builders. Stretchers full and passengers benches loaded up too, the rest of the firetrucks all lingering, but there was little left that any of them could do when the rubble was so unstable, the fire just had to burn itself out now that it was clear of civilian casualties. 

As soon as both doors were open, you were shucking your fire jacket from your arms and dropping it down to the floor, barely scooping it up to lay in the back of the ambulance behind you as Newt followed suit. Reaching to your left, you scooted up a little closer to him to be able to open the fridge, and he was leaning with his eyes closed and head balanced on the leg of one of the stretchers, cheek pressed to the cold metal. 

Plucking two bottles from inside, you presented one to Newt, nudging him with your elbow, and he groaned as he forced his eyes open again, taking it from you, hands shaking a little as he untwisted the cap, he brought the edge to his lips. You held onto it for a moment longer, pressing the edge of the cool against your flushed skin, and revelling in the chill that swept over every nerve. None of the burns were serious, they’d be gone within the hour, it was simply skin that got a little too close to a source of heat that was a little too warm, but you’d been through worse.

You felt better now you didn’t have the heavy protective coat on, not like you were going to overheat anytime soon, and your head wasn’t spinning as much, the thudding pressure of a headache building behind your eyes starting to recede. Taking a sip of your drink, that rapidly became a swig, which in turn became half of the bottle, unable to stop yourself now that you were cooling down and getting relief on a sore throat, icy cold water soothing the stinging sensation you were burdened with. 

Your body felt weak, hauling rubble out of the way and off of builders had taken its toll, and you were just glad you’d been wearing gloves, because your hands would have been torn to shred and burned to a crisp without them. The metallic smell of blood was still present in your nose as a phantom memory each time you inhaled deeply, and so your lips parted, opting to breathe through your mouth instead, as your eyes fluttered shut.

Leaning back and into the coat you’d left on the floor, you lay down, legs dangling out of the truck and swinging lightly in the air with every cool current that passed by, letting you take several deep breaths in a bid to steady a still racing heart and calm the effects of the adrenaline surging through you. Newt followed suit, his arm pressed to yours as he lay down, letting out a long and slightly exaggerated groan as he did, before his body was turning to jelly and mush much like yours. 

You jumped when a hand landed on your knee, squeezing a little, before sliding slightly further up, and you huffed out a response to the intruder. 

“You got a visitor,” Newt muttered, and your lips twisted into a smile at the edges, one hand thrown up over your eyes to block out extra light. 

“Maybe he’s here for you.” 

You knew it was false, Thomas chuckling a little as well as his fingers inched down over your calf, squeezing lightly as stiff muscles twitched under his touch. He pulled your leg up, balancing it against his thigh, before his touch was pulling away, and a second later, he was tugging on your laces to get them undone. Giving in, you dropped your arm, propping yourself up on your elbows instead to be able to look at him, and he offered you a dazzling grin upon fixing eye contact. 

He was covered with a little soot, dirt on his skin that made his stubble stand out a little more, smeared with sweat and tracks made in it where his gloves had wiped across, but he looked just as good as ever. His skin was still shining slightly, his hair messy from under his helmet, and patches of sweat were forming along his t-shirt now that he’d stripped down his jacket, suspenders hanging by his waist as he’d pushed them from his shoulders. 

“You’re eye-fucking me.” Thomas beamed, pulling one boot from your foot and dropping it to the ground, letting you flex your socked-toes in the air as he switched to the other one.

“I am not eye-fucking you, don’t be so crass.” You grouched, sitting up a little further, and Newt gagged loudly, the sound cut off when you smacked him in the stomach. “I was just seeing if you looked as rough as me and Newt, and I’m proud to report, we look worse for wear. Get on our level, Tommy.”

“Oh, she’s got attitude, now? Is that the fireman’s jacket, made you feel real power?” He teased, and Newt kicked out a foot, aiming in the vague directions of Thomas’ voice, but missing as the man jumped back, taking the second boot with him.

“‘Real power’, shut the fuck up. Any fool could take a hose and put out a fire, I’d like to see you snap a builder’s broken leg back into place as half of his guts hang out in your hands.” Thomas wretched, a disgusted look flashing over his face and Newt’s gory description, and you only laughed at the pair. 

“Okay, well, I’m sorry that the idea of holding someone’s insides in my hands now they’re on the outside repulses me. Not all of us are psychos, Newt.” 

“Hey! That’s me you’re talking about, too! You frowned, sitting up a little further, and taking one of your sneakers from the two pairs that had appeared, seemingly with Thomas as he must have brought them over from the truck where they’d been left. 

“Well, I already know you’re a little bit crazy.” Thomas mused, and you scowled at him, the expression fading when he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling your face up a little, until he could brush the tip of his nose against your own, smiling widely. “But I like your brand of crazy. I really like it.”

“Yeah, well, I should hope so.” You mumbled back, twisting your head up a little to peck the tip of his nose, and you resisted the urge to coo at the way his nose scrunched up when he pulled back, a blush settling over already pink cheeks. 

Once you had one shoe back on and laced up, you moved to the other, letting out a little sigh. Newt was rotating his ankle, his leg tensing and un-tensing quietly, but the moment never stopped, and he was stretching out as best he could. It was no surprise it would be sire, after the unceasing stress put on both of you, all you could really do was admire that he was still on his feet at all. 

Finishing up the second shoe, you hopped down from the van, Thomas only taking a step back, and smirking a little as your movements made you almost flush up against him. He licked over his lips, staring down at your coyly, and you rolled your eyes. “Oh, cut it out. Time for that later, but for one, why don’t you help me hand out water bottles to the rest of the team so that everyone gets a drink?”

You nodded your head to Newt, hoping he got the message that you wanted to do as much as you could to keep Newt off of his feet, and he nodded. Stepping back a little to let you pull out the rest of the plastic packaging from the mini-fridge, you handed it to Thomas, before another unopened packet was following, and he held both of them in his arms. 

He was happy to simply follow you, letting you find each firefighter from your teams as you walked along. Almost all of the Truck crew were huddled together around their van, making it easier for you to hand them out to them all, their faces lighting up at the offer of cold drinks and relief from the heat you felt. The Squad team were all scattered around in various locations, some leaning against the vans, and some sitting down on the edges of the chaos, muscles too weak to hold themselves up. 

Despite the previous joking, everyone looked a little worse for wear, and you knew they’d been just as busy out here as you had been under the jagged concrete surface, trying to uncover rubble and shift unstable patches to make sure it didn’t collapse in, as well as putting out fires, and working on freeing up the trapped civilians closer to the surface. 

“Where’s Gally?” You looked around, not having seen the tallest lieutenant as you’d been handing out drinks, and Thomas was swigging from his bottle, finally leaning against the edge of one of the trucks to take a moment's respite himself. 

“Doing a final sweep with Fry, they should be out any minute.”

You nodded, leaning up to wipe a stray drop from his lip without really thinking about it, and your cheeks flushed when you realised what you’d done, but Thomas only smiled a little wider. 

“How are you feelin’?”

You shrugged, a yawn seeming to answer it all, and he only grinned, watching as you rolled your head from side to side, one hand reaching up and over your shoulder to rub at sore muscles. You were sure there was a crick forming in your neck from the way you’d spent the entire day staring down at injuries and keeping your head ducked and body crouched low to weave through tunnels left between crumbled chunks of building. “I’ve felt better.”

“You’ve looked better.” You raised a brow at him, his eyes widening for a second after he realised what he’d said, shaking his head and lifting a hand to settle over your neck, thumb brushing against your jaw. “I just mean that you’re all dirty and you look exhausted.”

“Nice save.” You whispered, his head ducking a little bit, and he only nodded, his eyes dropping down to your lips. His hand slipped a little higher up, rounding to rest on the back of your neck, daring to pull you a little closer, until he was smiling, and letting himself sink down far enough that his forehead was pressing to your own. 

“I was worried about you today. Running into a burning pile of debris that I couldn’t help you with.”

“I like it that you worry about me.” You mumbled, tipping your head up until your nose was bumping with his own, lips brushing together, and he let out a rumbling sound of agreement. 

“Yeah, well, you make it a hobby to make me do so. You’re a little bit reckless.”

“I prefer to call it adrenaline chasing. You have to take a few risks in life, keep it exciting.” He let out a soft breath, amusement you assumed, at your joke. Smoothing a hand up along his chest, your hand settled over his heart. “You gonna’ go ahead and take a risk right now, Tommy?”

He pulled back, just a fraction, raw dropping slightly, and you heard his other hand reach to put down his water bottle on the edge of the truck you were leaning on, his hand coming up to grip your hips tightly. You gasped, watching the cheeky look that flickered over his features as you did. “A risk implies that it might go bad, are you saying you wouldn't kiss me back? I’m not so sure I want to try now.”

He took another step back, lifting his hands away from you entirely, held up in a surrender motion, and you rolled your eyes at him fondly, despite the beaming smile that was forming on your cheeks. The hand on his chest tightened to a fist, a handful of his ‘House ‘21’ tee scrunched between your fingers, before you pulled him back into you and he was stumbling over his own feet, bracing a hand on the edge of the van as you turned your back to it and tugged him into you.

“Y’know that was kinda’ hot.” He teased, a hand coming up over your own to undo your fingers, pressing your hand flat against his chest again as his own rested over the top, heat flushing your cheeks, before there was a throat clearing loudly, and a feminine cheering to follow. 

Minho looked appalled, his arms crossed over his chest and an empty water bottle in one hand, Brenda’s still open as she stared at the two of you with wide eyes, taking a sip of her water after the cheering ended. 

“Kinda’? It was totally hot.”

Thomas groaned, turning to glance over his shoulder at the pair of them and you couldn't help the laugh that you let out as Brenda winked dramatically, your giggles only increasing, and the hand on your hip flexed. “Will you two fuck off?”

“We’re here for the show! We’ve all been waiting for you two morons to stop dancing around one another for months now, the sexual tension is suffocating.” Minho taunted the pair of you, and you lifted a hand from where it had been placed on Thomas’ shoulder to flip them both off, and the pair wandered away, cackling and staring back at the two of you as they did. 

Thomas sighed, eyes flicking over your face, and he reached up to tuck a strand of stray hair back out of your face, his thumb smoothing along your cheek and down your jaw to your chin as he did. The radio on his shoulder crackled, your eyes flicking to it for a second, and Thomas paused, knowing that while none of you was still needed for assistance, he should still listen in. 

“Okay, looks like we’re all clear in here, there’s nothing else really at risk. It’s all a bit crumbly, but it’ll burn itself out, there’s no more gas or fuel.” 

It was Gally, his voice a little distorted over the radio waves, and you could hear Fry in the background with him, making jokes about the dust and the grit in the air that he was inhaling. You chuckled at the pair of them, standing up a little straighter from where you had slumped down, and Thomas’ hand loosened on your waist, leaning back slightly and letting you o so as the environment between the two of you changed. 

“We’re on our way out now, I assume it’s all clear out there, and-” He was cut off, the screeching of metal loud, and you winced as the sound came over the airways, before everything went silent again, Gally having let go of the trigger that allowed him to talk. There was a shift in the rubble pile that was still smoking feet away from you all, and Thomas backed off to look at it, tensing up once again as you followed, the chatter around you all going quiet as you turned to look at it, and you assumed everyone had been listening to the radio chatter that had fallen silent. 

You waited, your heart thudding in your chest to measure the beats that were passing, before the radio was coming on again, the frantic voice of Fry this time through his own receiver as you heard Gally groaning painfully in the background. “It moved! Some rubble moved, Gally isn’t so good, we need a paramedic in here because he can’t get up?”

Your hand found Thomas’ radio before he could, his hand closing over the top of your own as you leaned in, squeezing gently as you pushed down on the button. “Fry, what happened?”

“A pole fell right through his shoulder, it’s stuck in the ground and he’s pinned down. Do I just pull it out? I could pull it out, I mean, it’s unstable in here, we need to get out, an-”

“Okay, Fry, whatever you do, do not pull it out, I’m on my way, okay?” He gave a shaky assertion, nervous as he waited and you told him to hang on, and that you were on your way. Newt was staring at you, wide-eyed from the ambulance as he stared at you, holding up your bag as well as his as he silently questioned which one you would go, and you nodded to him, pointing at yourself. All eyes were flicking between you and Newt, and you rocked back down to sit properly on your feet from where you’d rolled to your tiptoes. 

“You’ll be careful in there, right? Don’t make me worry too much?”

“You’re not gonna’ be worrying about me from out here, because I need you with me, Tommy. Grab the cutters?” He nodded his head, switching back to being a lieutenant as he let you go, and you felt like you were stumbling over your own feet as you made your way back to the truck. 

Pulling on the jacket you’d abandoned for protection, you grabbed your bag, slinging it over one shoulder and setting off towards the pile you’d already vacated once, Thomas still searching through the lockers on the Squad truck to find the cutters. 

He was only a few steps behind you, long strides from his taller stature helping him to catch up with you quickly, and he flicked on the head-torch on his helmet, holding the portable cutters in hand and placing an arm out in front of you as you made to step forwards. 

“Let me go first, alright?”

He didn’t wait for you to reply, but he did take your hand in his free one, gloves palm sliding against your own as he held onto you, before stepping back into one of the gaps. The ground was unstable, and you were hunched over to move, the difference between light and darkness in the tunnels startling as the sunlight was blocked out by clouds of debris, ash and dust making everything hazy and blurred, and you raised a hand to cover your mouth in an attempt not to inhale anymore. You coughed lightly, his hand squeezing around yours gently as he heard the sound, and you squeezed back. 

It was harder to navigate inside when you weren’t wearing boots, every jagged piece of the concrete or lumpy floor made you feel as though you were walking with bare feet, and you could already feel the hat absorbing through the soles of your shoes, never realised just how much difference those fire boots made until now. 

Your toes caught on a slight lump of concrete, tripping forwards and your hand was ripped from Thomas’ as you felt, falling at an angle as you went down, and feeling the skin on your palms scrape against warm stonework as you hit the floor roughly. Your knees took a hit too, but your body was protected by the jacket, a feat you were grateful for, and your head was stinging along your hairline, as you fell at the odd angle, before hands were catching you under your armpits. 

Letting out a huff, you allowed Thomas to haul you to your feet, shaking yourself down, and in the rush of it all, you felt all the more panicked as everything sounded muffled for just a second, the shock of the fall clearing only when you shook your head to force it to sharpen, and his eyes were wide as he stared at you. 

“You okay?”

“I am, I’m fine. I swear. Radio Gally and ask him where he is, because the corridors split into three not far ahead.” You pointed forwards, remembering this pathway, the maze of jagged tunnels and pathways carved out seemingly burned into your memory from navigating them all, and Thomas nodded. As he spoke into the radio, you brushed your hands on your pants, checking your palms and noting the scraped on the heels of your hands, dotted with blood but nothing serious, and nothing that would cause any kind of long-lasting injury or impede on your work, and so you left it alone, the throbbing on your forehead from a developing headache more of a bother than the grazes. 

“Second tunnel, third left, and Fry will come meet us for the rest of the way.”

“Let's go.” Thomas took your hand again, smoothing a clothed-thumb over the back of your palm, before tugging you along behind him once again. “Don’t trip again, okay? We don’t need two of you getting injured.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You teased, covering your mouth again as you got a mouthful of dust, and you felt bad that Thomas had no free hand to cover his own mouth with, watching as he took shallow breaths as not to inhale too much each time, but you supposed he was used to it. 

You followed the directions given to you by your colleague, making your way forward as fast and safely as you possibly could, until you found the man you were looking for, fear written all over his face, gloves stripped away and hands a little bloody, with wide eyes that were lined with unshed tears. 

You knew there was a deeper bond between Fry and Gally, a friendship that connected them both, and you’d heard the story of how they’d been each other’s first friend at this firehouse, and always stuck by one another’s side. 

“He’s right this way, he’s balancing, because the pole is sitting at a really weird angle, I don’t know how long he can hold the position without falling.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding your head and letting him guide the way, anxiety flooding your system because no matter how good of a paramedic you were, these weren’t exactly the optimal working conditions and you weren’t sure how much you could do in the limited light and space, but you needed to get him out, and he was too big to drag through cramped tunnels. 

It was an awkward position indeed, your eyes widening as you laid your sights on him. He was leaning backwards at a very uncomfortable angle, with his good hand reached out behind himself to keep himself propped up, legs bent and back arched, face screwed up in pain with shallow breathing. 

“Oh, Gall..” You mumbled, his eyes cracking open, and he offered a strained smile. 

“You here to fix me up, because that would be real nice?”

“Gonna’ do my best. Always running around after you boys, cleaning up your messes.” You tutted, stepping a little closer and running your fingers along the bar to take a look at it. It had torn right through his clothes, blood strained on the other side as it had gone right through his shoulders, and he panted slightly, watching you move. “Okay, well, first of all, let’s get you out of this interesting pose you’ve got going on, so we don’t mess your back up, huh?”

He only nodded, licking over his lips and attempting to stand, before he was crying out loudly with pain, and retreating back to an even worse position to take the weight off of his shoulder.

“Tommy, Fry, each of you grab a side of the pole, carefully, okay? When I tell you to, you’re going to hold onto it, and hold the weight of it so it’s not pulling on Gally’s shoulder, and hold it up until he’s kneeling, and don’t let go, or it’ll tear up his arm.”

“Please don’t fuck my arm up, I kinda’ need it, guys. This is my good hand.”

Thomas chuckled, Fry following as the tension eased just barely, and then your lieutenant was putting down the cutters to take the front of the pole while Fry took the back. Holding on gently, you grabbed Gally’s hands, pulling him forwards now that he didn’t have to hold onto the weight of the pole, and sinking slowly to his knees. Once he was kneeling there, they kept a hold on the pole, and Gally was able to take deeper breaths as he took the pressure off of his muscles. 

“Uh, so, I feel like I should bring it up,” Gally started, watching as you knelt beside him, bag lowered to the ground as you opened it up and began to dig through it. “I can’t feel my arm. That’s bad, right? Like my fingers aren’t moving. I can’t move them.”

There was a tremble to Gally’s voice, higher-pitched and shaky and it hurt you to see someone so strong being so scared, and you shook your head, pulling out some of the tools you needed, before placing your hand on the opposite shoulder, and squeezing gently. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’m not going to lie to you, I’ve never lied to you, Gally, it could be bad. It could be really bad. However, it could just be your body’s response to the shock. You’ve probably cut off nerves and got some trapped, you may never regain full feeling, maybe the arm doesn’t work, or maybe it gets totally fixed up. I can’t promise any of that. What I can promise, is that I’m gonna’ get you out of here, and I’m gonna’ do my damn best to get you patched up so nothing extreme happens.”

He swallowed thickly, tears lining his eyes a little, and he sniffed it away. “Thank you.” His voice was hoarse, from the smoky atmosphere and the emotions, and you only nodded. 

“So, I’m gonna’ start with a numbing spray. It won’t help much but it’ll do a little, because this isn't going to be easy. If you want to keep that arm and get it recovered, I can’t risk taking this pole out, the hospital needs to do that.” 

“So, what is the plan?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” You lifted your scissors, trimming away the fabric surrounding the cut to expose the jagged and torn flesh more, the wound a little bigger than that of the post from all his movements, and blood was seeping out from torn flesh and muscle. “I’m going to clean it up and spray it, and then Tommy is going to cut away as much of the pole as he can, as close to your body as we can get without making it worse. Once there’s enough that you can move, we’ll get you out of here, and to the hospital, alright?”

“Oh, God, it’s gonna’ be like a bone drill. What if I throw up?”

“That's okay, I’ve had worse.” You hoped it comforted him, and it seemed to, his lips flicking up in a pained smile. He nodded his confirmation, allowing you to proceed, and you shook the can of numbing spray, before lifting it up to the empty spot. Dousing around the pole as best you could, he let out a sharp hiss at the feeling, eyes screwing up in pain, and you whispered an apology. You repeated it on the other side, his reaction much the same, a layer of it settling over his skin, but after a few minutes, his features smoothed out as the spray began doing its job. 

“Y’know, that’s actually a little better.”

“I’m glad.” You picked up the first packet of gauze, tearing it open, and tipping some antibacterial onto it, but trying not to soak the pieces through. One packet at a time, you placed them around the entrance of the pole, catching the blood and taping them down to secure the pole a little more, until it was layered up with thick padding all over, and wouldn't budge an inch, both front and back secured. “Okay, I cleaned it a little, but you’re definitely going to need some shots when you get to the hospital, to make sure you don’t get any infections. Now for the hard part.”

“What about this piece of the pole?” Thomas spoke up as you were packing the bag back up with litter and bottles of chemicals. 

“I’m gonna’ hold it steady, while you cut the rest of the pole away.” You zipped the bag up, moving it out of the way for now, and standing back up. Your knees were aching from kneeling on the rock, and you brushed the dust from your pants, rubbing at the sore flesh slightly for just a brief moment. Taking over from Thomas, he held on a few seconds longer, letting you get a better grip, before finally daring to let go. The pole was heavier than you expected, and you felt shocked by it, hoping that the flinch you made wasn’t felt by your friend. 

Thomas placed a pair of goggles onto his face, before he was stripping off his jacket, and grinning at Gally with a cheeky smile, before covering his friends head with his jacket. You turned away, the loud sound of the cutter starting up, and from the second it touched the metal, your teeth were grinding together, muscles tensing as shivers ran along your body. It was just like a bone saw, and it went through you every single time, the screeching sound of the metal being cut and the feeling of it shaking as Thomas cut as close to the shoulder as he could without making it vibrate too much, and there were only eight or so inches left on this side, where there had been more like eight feet of pole in total. 

When it finally snapped away, you jerked slightly, your body jolting when the pole came loose in your hand, and the saw stopped its buzzing for a moment, the metal clattering on the stone as you dropped it to the ground, and Gally let out a muffled but relieved sigh from under the coat as the weight came loose. 

Moving to stand behind him, Thomas repeated the action, another shake running along you as your guts twisted at the nerve-shaking sound, and you admired Thomas for being able to hold so sure and steady while he did it, but you were certain that it came with a lot of practice. Once the second half came free, Gally swayed a little, the lack of the weight he’d grown accustomed to carrying presumably feeling liberating now that it was gone. 

Thomas lifted his coat back from Gally’s head, the man blinking back to the torchlight of the room, and you picked up your bag, adjusting it on both arms as Thomas put his coat back on. Getting to his feet with the help of Fry, the two began to stagger forward. 

“We’re good to go?”

“Yeah, we’re good to go. As soon as we get out, go straight to the ambo’, we need to get that to the hospital, and quick.” Thomas folded away the protective goggles he’d worn, shutting down the saw equipment he used, and making sure it was all cleaned up, Gally and Fry beginning to take slow steps forward towards the exit. Reaching for the radio on your shoulder, you pressed down on the button, listening to it crackle and connect. “Hey, can one of you guys get Newt?”

You paused a few seconds, before there was a signal coming through in return; “I’m already here, love, been waiting to hear from you. Can I expect to be making a trip to the hospital?”

“Yeah, you might wanna’ call ahead. Let them know it’s pretty bad, they’ll wanna’ take him straight to surgery, and he’ll need a tetanus shot, maybe some others. It’s messy.”

“I’ll call it in now, see you soon.” The line went dead, and there was nothing else left to be said. Wiping at the ache on your forehead, you gasped a little at an unexpected sting, a trail of blood smeared across the back of your hand when you pulled it away, and you frowned, or aware that you’d cut yourself when you’d fallen before. Thomas watched you, an even deeper frown on his face, but he resisted reaching out to look at it properly with dirty gloves, lowering his hand back to his side when he’d lifted it. 

Instead, he took off his helmet, the torch on it moving wildly and sending all different casts of shadows around the room, a dizzying array of motion, before it was going calm once again as he placed the helmet down on your head. Pushing it up out of your eyes, you looked up at him, a softer look on his face as he adjusted it, and reached down to take your hand again. 

“C’mon, let's catch up with the other two and get the hell out of here, and hopefully, you don’t get yourself hurt anymore.”

You could only nod, body beginning to scream out in protest with aches and pains from the day, following after him as he tugged you along, leading the way by the torchlight you offered, until daylight was finally visible. Fry and Gally had been easy to catch up with, the two walking slowly as Gally’s good arm was slung over his friend's shoulder, balancing as he slowly began to lose consciousness, the shock fading away and pain seeping in, and his body was shutting down to deal with the injury. 

Newt was already waiting with the stretcher, chewing on the nail of his left thumb, and perking up considerably when the four of you came into sight. You blinked rapidly, the daylight a harsh adjustment to the darkness of the tunnels, and despite Gally still being injured, you felt a hell of a lot better knowing that he was out of there, that all of your team were out of there. 

No longer were they in danger of being crushed or injured further, and your friend sat on the edge of the stretcher, sitting up and swinging his legs onto it, he was being quickly wheeled away to be strapped into the ambo’ by Newt, Minho and Fry, the other firefighters all following, nervously questioning their friend’s well-being.

Taking off the helmet and handing it back to Thomas, he switched off the torch, and you shrugged off your bag and jacket too, handing the coat over to him, watching as the stretcher was wheeled up the ramp, being clicked into place, the ambulance only second away from departure. 

“I have to go, I’ll see you back at the firehouse, alright?”

“Yeah, of course, go.” His lips tipped up at the sides, and you didn’t even bother putting your bag back on properly, lingering for just a second as they put away the ramp, folding it into place. With a hold on his elbow, and the other on his shoulder, you leaned up, pressing a sure kiss to Thomas’ cheek, and he let out a soft breath at the feeling, pressing into you slightly, before you were pulling away and taking a few steps toward the van, the doors slamming shut loudly. “See you soon, angel.”

“See you, Lieutenant.”

Your words were followed with a wink, and his cheeks were pink as you turned away, jogging away to the ambulance as Newt was climbing into the driver’s seat, and you climbed into the passenger one quickly, dropping your bag down to the floor and strapping yourself in safely. 

“How you feelin’ back there, Gall?”

Your words were answered with a groan, and you looked back in the mirror to the back of the van, noting that Gally was strapped onto the stretcher, half laying back as he was propped up on a lot of cushioning and Newt’s bag, an awkward collection of belongings as not to disturb the pole lodged through his shoulder. 

The sirens switched on, and Newt was backing out of his space, driving as carefully but speedily as he could over the bumpy industrial roads, not tarmac-ed and smooth like real roads, but filled with dips and potholes as they were simply covered in gravel. One hand was braced on the dashboard, the other on the door, jolting slightly as he moved, and you let out a huff, hating how terrifying this must all be for the injured man in the back, trying not to get hurt any further. 

Once you were out on the main roads, it wasn’t too bad, and in your mirrors as you pulled back out onto the highway you could see the red vans of the fire trucks pulling out and going in the opposite direction of you, Newt and Gally, through the flashing lights and wailing alarm on the top of your van, a direct juxtaposition to their calmness. 

The drive to the hospital was only six minutes and thirty-two seconds, you timed it against the clock on the dash, adrenaline and worry seeping through every inch of you, lighting up every single nerve you had as you all but shook in your seat, but it felt more like six hours. The nurses were waiting outside when you got there, and you were grateful for it, catching sight of a familiar redhead who seemed or have been promoted after passing her exams because the colour of her scrubs had changed, and you made a mental note to congratulate her when you were in a better state of mind to do so. 

You watched as they took Gally away, swapping him from one stretcher to another once they were inside of the hospital, and Newt disappeared for a few moments, finding Derek who was working in the clinic, leaving you to fill out all the details for Gally at the main desk. It only took you a few moments to do so, your friend long-since taken away to surgery, and you were finally able to let out a relieved breath, as everyone you cared for was finally safe, or in good hands, at the very least.

You waited patiently by the vending machines until he appeared, biding your time by staring in at the chocolate and cereal bars that were attempting to coax you into a purchase, your stomach grumbling a little with hunger, and you gave in. You’d been able to scrounge up enough spare change in the bottom of your bag and your pockets to purchase two candy bars from behind the glass, already eating your own as Newt arrived, and a sparkle passed through his exhausted eyes as you handed one to him, the two of you wheeling the stretcher back out in silence. 

When you finally climbed back into your seat, stretcher strapped in, and Newt slumped in his seat, he let out a slow breath, hand behind your head as he reversed out of the parking space and onto the pathway to leave, the day beginning to show it’s drag on you both. 

“So, how do we feel about leaving the ambo’ cleaning for the other team? All in favour, say I.”

“I!” You cheered, but it was weak, and Newt’s laugh was equally so. Your eyes went to the clock on the dashboard, noting that it was less than an hour away from the end of your shift, less than half an hour, actually, and you relaxed back into your chair, a little sleepy. 

You’d probably regret leaving the work for the others, it would hang over you in the night and you’d be cursing at your current self the next time another team left it for you to do, because cleaning down the van was no fun, but you were beginning to feel practically boneless, and there was no way that you could handle doing it now. You were sure they’d understand, and besides, it wasn’t like it needed mopping or anything, just disinfecting.

The journey had slipped by quickly, the station coming into view soon, and Newt was tapping his fingers against the wheel, humming a song to himself as he reversed into the garage. You liked being in such comfortable silence with Newt, he was always a soothing company to be with, your head rocking to the side to take in your friend as he shut down the engine and pulled the keys back. 

“What are you staring at?”

“Just thinking about being your friend. Things are weird. Didn’t mean for you to be important to me, but here you are, one of the most important people in my life. That’s all.” He smiled a little, his hand coming down to squeeze over your own. 

“I love you, I really do, but I’m way too tired for the heart to heart right now. Rain-check feelings for the next time we’re drunk?”

“Deal, my feelings only come out when I’m tired or intoxicated anyway.” He beamed at that, nodding his head in confirmation, before opening his door, and practically flopping out of it. You had to peel yourself out of your seat, dragging yourself after Newt as he hung up the keys, but once entering the main corridors, he set off to the locker rooms, and you made your way to the common room. 

The firefighters were all milling around, waiting for updates, and they all turned to look at you, silence falling over them, from the second you entered the room. 

“How is he?”

It was Fry that spoke, understandably the most shaken by it all, and you tried to muster up the most reassuring smile you could. “He’s gone straight into surgery, and they have high hopes. I think it’ll be a good outcome, I really do. He was awake the whole journey and when they took him in, which is a really good sign. They’re going to patch him up and give him his shots, keep him in for a week or so, of course, but we should hear some news tomorrow, when he wakes up from the anaesthesia and they can run some tests and check him out.”

Relieved sighs went all around the room, everyone absorbing the information they’d been given, and the silence only lasted a few moments longer, before quiet chatter was taking up again, as everyone went back to what they’d been talking about, finishing up their shift and praying no calls came in within the next ten minutes, because everyone was absolutely exhausted.

Thomas was coming over to you, feet scuffling a little on the tiles, and you turned to look at him, shoulders slumping as the last of your tension slipped away, looking up to him as his shoulders slumped, finally being able to let the last of the day’s stress melt away now you were back at your station with the people you cared for being safe. His eyes swept over you, head tipping to the side a little, and you waited for him to speak, whatever it was he wanted to say practically on the tip of his tongue.

“You got a cut on your forehead.” He mumbled, hand cupping your cheek and thumb smoothing over the space above your brow, tipping your head to the side a little. 

“I know, it’s from when I tripped. I can take care of it later.” You mumbled, exhaustion seeping through every inch of your body, muscles aching from climbing over the piles of debris and crawling through small spaces to get to trapped workers. 

“Or, you could let me take care of it now,” Thomas whispered, hand dropping from your face to your hands, pulling you over to the kitchen counter, and using his foot to pull out one of the stools for you. Climbing up onto it, he slipped your medical bag down your shoulders and placed it onto the marble before you both, slipping a hand under your seat and using the grip to pull you forwards. “Just let me take care of you, for once, alright?”

“What do you mean ‘for once’?” You mused, watching as he shifted through the contents, his brow furrowed slightly as he tried to identify some of the bottles, before choosing a cotton wool ball and a bottle of disinfectant that you’d used on him before. Soaking some of the liquid into the small ball, he pushed strays strands of hair out of your face and pressed the ball gently down on the spot. 

It stung, and you figured you must have made a face about it, because he frowned, whispering an apology as he cleaned it up, wiping slowly and clearing the blood from the small cut you’d gained along your hairline. It was nothing severe, you’d felt it happen, and it would be healed in no time and was probably already scabbing over, but he was caring for it tenderly nonetheless. 

“Kinda’ feels like all you do is take care of me, actually.” You continued on after a while, and he raised an inquisitive brow, before he was taking the cotton wool pad away, and switching to the soothing gel for healing up cuts that you kept in the front pocket of the bag. 

“Well, our shift is almost over. How do you feel about letting me take care of you some more later? Takeout and movies at my place.” He smirked a little, pulling back and putting the cap back on the gel, tucking it into your bag with the bottle of disinfectant and zipping it up, moving away to put the cotton ball in the bin while waiting for your answer. 

When he approached, you placed your hands gently on his hips, pulling him in a little closer, and he smiled, his arms sealing around your shoulders to pull you in, close enough for him to press a kiss to the top of your head as he hugged you. “I will accept, but only if I can wear that comfy green hoodie.”

“I just washed it, so you can definitely wear it. It’s probably still in my laundry room.” He grinned, you could feel it pressed to the top of your head, before he was pulling back, wide eyes as he looked at you, and a soft smile. “If you want, you can stay the night, too.”

“Sure you wanna show me your bedroom? That's a private space.” You were teasing him, and he picked up on it straight away, that fond look morphing into something cheeky and playful, and he pinched at your arm in retaliation.

“Who said you were sleeping in the bed? Maybe you can just have the couch.”

“I’m not a couch kinda’ gal.” You sighed, shrugging at his request, and he chuckled. 

“Well then, guess you get the bed with me.” He leaned down, bumping his nose against your own, and the single bell alert sounded over the speakers to inform you that your shift was ending in five minutes, and that the next team was due to arrive and take over any time now. You placed a hand on his chest, his heart thudding steadily under your palm, and you pushed him backwards slightly, hopping down from the stool and groaning under your breath at the new pressure being placed on your muscles. “Go grab your stuff, I’ll meet you at the front, I’ll drive.”

“What about my car?”

“I’ll drive you back to pick it up tomorrow. Unless you’re planning on a quick getaway?” He joked, but his words from weeks ago flashed in your mind, and you placed a hand on his cheek, shaking your head. 

“I won’t be going anywhere, I promise. I’ll be by your side all night, honey.” He shuddered slightly at the sweet name, melting a little under your touch, before nodding his head and licking over his lips as a shy heat brushed his cheeks. “Meet you at the front in five.”

“I’ll be there.”

You grabbed your bag, taking it with you to store properly in your locker for the next shift, and swap it for your clothes, waiting to get changed into something more comfortable than smart shirts and trousers. Undoing the metal latch, Brenda bumped her hips against yours as she entered the room, already beginning to undo the bun she’d done in her hair and weave her fingers through the ends. Undoing the buttons along the front of your shirt, you shuffled the sleeves down, letting it fall away to leave you in your vest, and Brenda whistled as you did, making you roll your eyes as you folded your shirt up and put it into your bag. 

“You know, if you decide to quit being a paramedic, you should totally be a stripper. You’ve got the hips for it.” She teased, and you scoffed, smacking at her hand when she poked your waist, but unable to avoid your grin from breaking free as she giggled all the way around to the other side and opened her locker. 

Unbuckling your belt and popping the button on your work pants, you kicked off your shoes, pants falling way to the ground and left pooled on the tile temporarily so that you could pull on the comfortable and somewhat baggy pants you’d worn this morning, a silky material that was nowhere near as formal as your work pants had been.

With sneakers back on and your cardigan pulled up onto your body with only one button to hold it closed, you packed everything else away, swapping your med-bag for your home-bag, and closing your locker for another day. 

“Bye, Bren!”

“Bye, stripper!” She yelled back, voice sounding more like it was coming from the bathroom than the other side of the lockers, and you figured she was doing her makeup, seemingly having more active plans than you did for the evening. Stepping out into the main foyer, Thomas was waiting, hands tucked in his pockets as he leaned against the open garage door, talking to a member of the other team as he waited. 

You vaguely recognised him, you’d seen him a couple of times during hand over shifts and house meetings where everybody was required or be present, and Thomas offered you a smile as he caught you approaching from the corner of his eye. Approaching, he stood more fully, the conversation inching towards an end and you were more than happy to wait, not bothering to tune in to the workout tips Thomas was giving to a younger fireman who was thinking of taking his lieutenant’s exam. 

He was passionate about it, clearly happy to share his knowledge, it was evident in the excited tone of his voice and the twitches along his expressions as he spoke, animated movements, and once his hand was back by his side, you dared to reach up, fingers curling a little around his forearm. He paused his movements, stuttering a little, before continuing with what he was saying, and lifting his hand up a little more, fingers flexing slightly. He seemed to have caught onto what you were wanting, but wasn’t sure he was correct, and he squeezed your hand back tightly as your fingers linked with his. 

Newt wandered by while Thomas was still talking, texting on his phone and chewing on half a sandwich in the other, but he slowed in his steps, eyes sweeping along the pair of you, pausing for a second, before he was shoving the remnants of the food into his mouth until his cheeks were puffed up, but smirking through it all. Rubbing his fingers together to dispose of crumbs, he made his way over, the team member Thomas had been talking to bidding you goodbye as he walked away, Newt arriving only a second later to fill the gap. 

“So, what are you two up to tonight?” There was a sickly-sweet undertone laced in his voice, something like seventeen innuendoes ready to be spilt from him you had no doubt, but you smirked back just as widely. 

“Taking a page out of you and Derek’s book. We’re having a sleepover.”

The look on Newt’s face quickly fell, smirk becoming a scowl, and his eyes narrowed. “You know what? When you two still hated each other, I didn’t get mocked like this. Go back to hating each other.” Thomas snickered, brows raising slightly, but he didn’t bother to add anything on, just watching the interaction taking place. Your partner scoffed, before gagging falsely, and then after taking a step back, he was giving a softer smile. “Have fun, you two. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He gave a salute, two fingers tapping his forehead before pulling away, and then he was turning his back on you, long strides that were slightly uneven with every other step he took on a sore leg from a hard day’s work, but he was lifting his phone to his ear a second later, and grinning as he began to speak. There was a tug on your arm, Thomas pulling you along, and you fell into step beside him, wandering over to the car he was pulling out the keys for. 

Letting go of his hand as you approached the vehicle, you reached for the handle, beat to it by another hand, and Thomas opened the door for you, winking when you looked at him, his eyes twinkling, before sinking into the seat. Once the door was closed, he rounded the car and climbed in himself, strapping himself in as you put your bag down into the footwell, before he was starting the car up. 

His hand tucked behind your headrest as you adjusted your seatbelt, getting comfortable in the leather seats still holding heat from the afternoon sun. Backing out of the parking space, the car spun around, engine revving slightly as he did, and then he was pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road. 

“So, do you fancy Chinese or Indian food? There are two great places near me.”

“Any pizza places?” He turned to look at you, just for a split second, following the signs toward the highway, and you shrugged in your seat.

“Two, actually. One does a really great stuffed crust thing, but the other has more topping choices.” You grinned, settling back more comfortably, and as you arrived on the highway, his hand came down to land on your thigh. You watched his fingers move, flexing a little against your skin, digging slightly into the muscle, and you reached out a single finger, the rest curled away. Stroking slowly along one of the prominent veins in his hand, the nerves underneath twitched, before you were brushing right up to the tip of his finger, and back along another, to his wrist. “So, pizza and a couple of movies? Not the most exciting of dates, we can do something else, if you want?”

“Tommy, if you’re going to date me, you’re going to have to get used to the idea of napping together and eating takeout on the couch rather than going to restaurants as dates.” He only chuckled, something hidden below the surface that was more than just humour at the joke you’d made, and you settled your hand over the top of his to squeeze it. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just remembering something you said a few months back.”

“Yeah? Because I can barely remember half of the things I said an hour ago.”

“I was thinking about when Newt thought you were on a date with Derek, just before you got called out on a case.” He continued on, his hand taken from yours as the two of you began to approach the intersection in which you’d take off for his, his hand on the gear shift instead. “I remember you saying that you had no time to date, and you had no idea where you’d even meet someone when you’re in our line of work, and I also remember thinking that you were missing what was right in front of you.”

“Technically, by that point, you were behind me, because I was walking out.” You teased, and he let out a grunt, swatting your shoulder with the back of his hand, before slowing down a gear again, as the roads began to narrow as he pulled up towards his apartment building. You’d recognised the area you were driving through, vaguely, from your trip to the vets, proud of yourself for being familiar with it. 

“Yeah, whatever, technicalities. If you follow that logic, now I’m by your side.”

I hope you stay there for a while, though.” He faltered slightly, before letting out a soft and shaky breath, and nodding his head.

There was a barricade across the entrance to the building's parking spaces, and he rolled to a stop, car humming under you both as he rolled his window down, cool breeze sweeping into a warmed car, and you watched as the pad lit up and awaited his entry code. As soon as it was punched in, the barricade was lifted, squeaking and letting out a groan under its weight as it did, rising high enough in the air to let the car through. 

Pulling into the building car park after the barricade had raised high enough, and rolling the window back up, cruising slowly as he searched for a parking space, and remaining quiet. When he finally found one, he paid attention to parking in it, before the engine was going dead, and he was turning to face you more. 

“Do you really mean that?”

“Mean what?” You echoed, brows raising as you forgot where the conversation had been going, and he unclipped his safety belt, and twisted more in his seat. 

“Do you really want me to stick around? For a while? You see this going somewhere?”

You sighed, lifting a hand to rest on his cheek, and he leaned into your touch. “Tommy, you saw my record yourself. If I didn’t see a future in this firehouse, or with you, I wouldn’t still be here. If I’m sticking around, it means I found something worth sticking around for.” His smile was shaky, nodding his head and licking over his lower lip, before he was leaning across the centre console and unclipping your belt too, his nose bumping against yours, and he hummed at the soft laugh you let out. “Don’t you dare let our first kiss be in your car, after all of this waiting around, in the parking lot of your building.”

He whined slightly, nudging his nose with yours again, bumping together teasingly, and you rubbed back, before he was sitting back into his seat with a false pout. “Then get your cute little butt out of the car, so I can get you upstairs.”

“Impatient, much?” You mumbled, taking your bag with you as you went, and closing the door once your feet were out on the concrete flooring, arms stretching above your head to loosen tightened muscles. Meeting Thomas at the end of the vehicle, you reached your hand out for his, his touch bypassing you entirely to cup your cheeks in each of his hands, and pull you in, close enough to press his lips to the top of your head in a soft kiss. 

“C’mon, then. I believe I owe you a hoodie.” you could only nod your head. His hand finally found yours again, warm palms pressed together tightly, and he guided you through the compound towards the doors. 

He stuck to his word, keeping himself composed in the elevator and in the halls, longing looks cast in your directions, before he was using a different key on the same ring that held his car keys to open up the door to his apartment, and you couldn't deny that you were excited to see within. He excused himself, to go and get himself changed and find your jumper, leaving you with another lingering kiss to your cheek this time, and telling you to make yourself comfortable. 

You did just that, hanging up your cardigan and your bag on one of the coat hooks, and taking off your sneakers, leaving them loose and unlaced to sit on the shoe rack by his door, sock-clad footsteps almost inaudible against his polished wooden floors as you wandered a little further inside. 

It was different from your place, the corridors split the rooms where your kitchen looked straight into your living room, and there was a set of wide sliding doors on one side. Running your fingers over the edge of the wooden frame, you peered inside, soft couches with black cotton cushions and throw pillows in bright splashes of colour. It was a surprising mix of minimalism in sleek shades of black and white with pops of colour. One wall was covered with brightly coloured pictures, all blown up large in custom prints, and you could pick out all the faces you knew, as well as some you couldn't.

A face much like that of Thomas’, but older and more feminine, the same shade of brown hair and eyes that twinkled like his own, his mother, clearly, and pictures of them that couldn't be any older than a year. Pictures of Thomas and Newt from when they were younger, you’d never mistake that shaggy blonde hair and toothy grin for anyone else, he looked exactly the same, just younger. 

There were pictures of the whole team, one that must have been years ago, before Chuck had ever become the candidate and back when the position was filled by someone else, Thomas wasn’t wearing his lieutenant’s shirt, and there were crew members' faces that were unfamiliar to you. Standing next to one of the trucks, sweaty and dirty and looking exhausted, it was a trimming from a newspaper, an article you were sure reflected their heroism properly. Newt was standing by the ambulance, thumbs up and gleamingly wide smile, as Teresa stood by his side, looking a little more relaxed. She had a simple smile, fixed look and slightly forced, seeming to stare just beyond the camera instead of at it. 

She wasn’t in many of the squad photos, a collection of selfies and pictures from group events, some with fun stories and backgrounds like mini-golf or the beach, and others with the bar or Minho’s place. There were a couple more with her in, though. 

One with her and Newt and Thomas, that seemed to have her in as an improvisation, crammed between Thomas and Newt as they all sat on the edge of the ambulance and ate sandwiches, still wearing half their uniform, looking over the edge of the river on a bridge. 

The other was one of her and Thomas sitting on the couch at the station, one that was old because it didn’t match the ones you knew, but you recognised the kitchen in the background. They were both asleep, and behind them was Gally and Fry, pulling faces and giving them both bunny ears, and your lips flicked up into a smile as you observed the antics of your family, messing with one another and always keeping it fun and light.

Your vision was blocked for a second, everything going black and soft material brushed over the bridge of your nose, before you were popping free again, and the smell of fresh laundry detergent and Thomas’ aftershave was overwhelming. Pushing your hands through the sleeves and turning when his hands found your hips, you looped your own around his neck, eyes scanning over his change of outfit. 

Black sweats and a grey jumper, cosy-knit socks and holes in the sleeves that one of his thumbs had gone through, hair mussed from the change of clothes, and you smoothed down the stray strands that were sticking up at odd angles. 

“You look so cosy.” You mumbled, a rumbling sound of agreement in the back of his throat, and one of his hands smoothed up your back, rubbing gently and pulling you in a little closer, nodding his head, and letting the tip of his nose rub against your own. “I was looking at your photos.” 

He smiled, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, before he was stiffening a little, and pulling back, eyes snapping open once again. “Some of them are old, they need replacing-”

“I think they’re all really sweet.” You whispered, leaning in again, and he let out a shaky sigh, his forehead pressing to your own. He let out a sigh, his hands sinking from your waist to your hips, pushing you backwards slightly, and walking you back through the sliding doors to the living room. 

“So, now, you’ve got my comfiest jumper, and you’re all settled in. Maybe I should give you a tour?” He mumbled, your feet moving underneath you, legs tapping against the back of the couch and you grinned, judging a little closer to him until your lips were brushing. 

“Oh, I think we can get to that later.” You pulled him down, one hand on the back of his neck and one hand on his chest, pulling him down a little until he was sitting beside you. He was beaming, pressing you back into the arm of the couch, curled over you as one hand supported him on the cushions behind your head with the other sitting on your jaw, thumb stroking over your skin gently. 

“Good, because there’s something important that I’ve been meaning to do, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“Get on with it, then.” You whispered, feeling him barely nod, before he was closing the distance. His lips brushed your own softly, teasing at first, and you gasped a little, before he was pulling back, licking over his lips and pressing in more firmly. His lips met your own, noses bumping a little as you pushed back into him, chaste and testing the waters, the pressure built up forcing him to take it slow, despite the way his grip got a little tighter on your jaw, and a shiver was running along him continually. “Relax, Tommy.”

Your words were whispered against his lips, a breathy laugh following, before he turned his head to the side, pressing in with a little more confidence, and moving his lips with your own this time. It was sweet and naïve, like kids sharing a first kiss, innocence in the connection as you slowly tried something new together. He relaxed, then, his hand on your jaw sliding down to sit on your neck, lowering you a little more against the couch, and you giggled as you caught your breath, his lips trying to find yours again as you smiled, and puckering your lips for him once again. 

He settled against you more comfortably, leaning over you further, and one of your hands smoothed up his back to scratch lightly at the base of his neck in short hairs, daring to slip a little further when he took that step, his lips parting a little as he kissed you more firmly. Wet lips sliding together, scarcely begun, before knuckles against wood echoed through the apartment, and Thomas let out something between a growl and a curse against your mouth, pecking your lips once more, and pulling back to sit again. 

He blinked for a second, the interruption confusing him as he shook his head slightly, and looking through the walls in the direction of where the front door was. 

“We didn’t even order food yet.” You pouted, a knock sounding again, and Thomas chuckled, reaching out a thumb and finger to sit on your chin, attempting to pull you back to him. “Ah, ah, ah. No way, this so doesn’t count. Go take care of whichever neighbour is at the door, and then come back and give me the kiss you promised.”

“I’m nervous, I’ll get there.” He huffed, rolling his eyes, and you chuckled as you settled back into the couch cushions and throw pillows. “Stay here, I’ll be right back, and when I do come back, I’m gonna’ give you the best damn kiss you’ve ever had in your life, just you fuckin’ wait.”

He wandered away, cursing at whoever was still knocking every so often, delicate knocks, and you took a deep breath. Despite your teasing, your own heart was racing, and you lifted a finger to press over your lips, brushing against them. Your fingertips were tingling, blood rushing with excitement, and you felt heat flush over your features. There were muffled voices, whoever Thomas was talking to, and it gave you a second to calm yourself and steady your heart for the moment he’d return. 

It was a step you were confident in, a step you were more than ready to take with Thomas, already missing the feel of him holding you so tenderly and pulling you in, and the way his lips felt pressed to your own. Now you’d had a taste, you wanted more, you wanted to kiss him whenever you felt like it, to silence his worries with soft kisses and to giggle against his mouth next time he flirted with you cheekily, or to kiss him before a call each time you told him to stay safe. 

You wanted to kiss him goodnight later on, and to hug him from behind when he cooked for you and have dates with naps where his lips would seek out yours sleepily, to hold his hand and put a label on it. You’d never been one for labels, because you’d never had anyone to label. Friend, best friend, boyfriend; they were all new to you, the last year has changed your life so radically that you felt unrecognisable to the person you’d once been. 

Your eyes found the clock on the wall, at least five minutes have passed, and you found a great deal of internal humour as you pictured the polite look on Thomas’ face that you’d seen so many times before as he struggled to ever be able to end a conversation without feeling rude, and never wanting to offend a person. 

Standing up, you rounded the corner, aiming to save him, his back still turned to you, looking tense as he stood in the doorway, door held close to his body as he spoke to whoever was on the other side. 

Placing a hand on his shoulder, instead of relaxing, he seemed to tense even more, white-knuckled grip on the wood as he turned to you, brows slightly furrowed. 

“Hey, you were gone a while, thought I’d see what was up.” Your hand moved down to his arm, and he paused a moment longer, before releasing the edge of the door, letting out a slow breath as it swung open to reveal more clearly who was on the other side. 

Peeking out, you were greeted with a familiar face, and you felt a little put out at her composure. Tight jeans, a fitted jumper and a coat that looked like it cost more than your food money for the week that suited her well as it fell to her mid-calves. Dark curly hair that sat perfectly and wide eyes, that only widened a little more as she took in your presence with equal shock to you taking in hers. You took a steadying breath, before reaching a hand out, and trying to be polite. 

“You’re Teresa, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not sure whether to take that as a good thing, or a bad thing.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, humour lacing a tone, and you forced a laugh to sound realistic, before shrugging. 

“I’ve heard you were a great paramedic at our house before you moved on.”

“I try my best, I’ve heard good things about you, too.” It was a polite smile, but there was nothing friendly underneath either of your tones, and her shoulders slumped a little, her hand returning to tuck into her pocket to match the other. “I’m sorry to invade on your evening, I didn’t know you were here, or I wouldn’t have come over. I was hoping we would have that catch up you promised me.” Her attention turned back to Thomas, and despite not saying it, you sensed there was something else under her words, the way Thomas hesitated with his answer, stumbling a little on his words. 

“I can’t right now. You should have texted, or something.”

“Well, I would have, but you never called when you said you would.” Your lips pursed, clearly a lot of unresolved issues between the two that never got solved that you hadn't caught onto until now, and you stepped back slightly, your mind spinning. “You haven’t called in months, but your mom said you talked to her about what happened between us on your last visit to her, stuff we haven’t even talked about.”

“You’ve met his mom?” The words were blurted out before you could stop them, her eyes finding you again, and she seemed a little more confused about it. 

“Uh, yeah.” She smiled again, polite again, and you tried to return it. “Our moms went to college together, it’s how I found out about the job at the station, we went to see her a couple of times at the care home.”

“She’s in a care home?”

“I feel like I’m telling you a lot of personal stuff here that’s not mine to tell, I just assumed you knew, I’m sorry..” She stopped herself, Thomas still standing silently beside you, and you shook it off. 

“It’s alright, no worries. You two clearly have a lot of things to talk about, and I seem to have no idea about, like, ninety percent of it. I should go.” You pushed your foot into one of your sneakers, Thomas’ attention finally snapping back to you and you looked down to find the other. 

“No, I can come back another time, I really didn’t intend to get in the way.” Teresa insisted, and as your foot settled into the second shoe, you offered her a genuine smile now. 

“You don’t have to go, really. We were about to order food.” Thomas insisted, his hand coming out to sit on your arm as you pulled the jumper up and over your head, hanging it on one of the hooks and ignoring the look Thomas was attempting to give you in persuasion to stay. 

“Yeah, but, we didn’t yet. So, it’s fine.” You gave him the best smile you could, taking your jacket from where you’d hung it up and patting your pockets for your keys and phone once putting it on, finding them both where you’d left them. Reaching for your bag and pulling one strap up your shoulder, you nodded to yourself, and Thomas settled a hand on your arm once again, turning you to look at him. 

“Please, don’t go.”

Anxiety and confusion were all you could feel now, and you stepped a little closer to the door once again, stomach twisting into knots, before you were taking a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our shift. I hope you guys can get to the bottom of whatever it is that’s up.” 

Teresa offered you a soft ‘thank you’, at least having the courtesy to look a little apologetic for the ending of your evening, and you stepped into the hall. Turning your back on the pair of them, you didn’t bother looking back, hearing them talk for a few moments longer, before the door to his apartment was closing. 

Pausing at the elevator and waiting for it to arrive at your floor, you glanced back over your shoulder, the empty hallway making a pang of something cold and nauseating run through every single one of your veins. A chime sounded overhead, and then the doors in front of you were opening up. 

As you stepped into the elevator, you pressed your back to the wall and hit the thumb for the lower floor, a sting in the back of your throat making you feel pathetic for letting something get to you so much. There was a taunting voice in the back of your mind suggesting that none of this would have happened if you hadn't let your walls down and got yourself into this. You were tempted to just go straight home and put them back up, to deal with it all alone, and shut out everything else to rely on yourself. 

Instead, you pulled out your phone, rubbing at your nose as you sniffled, and the numbers over your head were flashing differently with each floor you passed. It only went two rings, before a cheery voice was picking up on the other end, and you let out a watery laugh at the teasing enthusiasm she’d held as she’d clearly heard about your impromptu - and now failed - date night. 

“Hey, stripper! What can I do for you? Calling for tips? Because I’m pretty sure you drive him crazy already, wear your cute panties and swing your hips and he’ll be on his knees.”

“Actually, Bren, I was wondering if you wanted to have a girls night? I know you probably have plans, but if you’re free, I would love to hang out.”

She was silent for a moment, crackling on the end of the line as she moved, before she was back; “I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes, and I’ll bring loads of alcohol and take-out food.”

“Sounds awesome.” You sniffed, stepping out of the elevator and feeling a little relieved and not having to be alone, but having your best friend to rely on. “One more thing, though. I need you to pick me up, because I just remembered that I don’t even have my car.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

[wtfjd95]

Together As One; Part 3

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Part One | Masterlist | Part Two

A/N: SURPRISE UPDATE!!!! 

Sorry if it seems so crap towards the end. I was trying to get it as close to a decent end as possible for this part but with work consuming my time now that the lockdown in England is easing, I have less time to write and writers block is slowly appearing once more. I’m not too sure if i’ll have a part 4 & if I do, it probably won’t be for a long while.

I hope you all enjoy this either way. 

2 months. 2 long months you had been unconscious and Wanda was terrified. She’d spent several months looking for you, never giving up hope that she’d see you again and once she had, she vowed that she’d never leave your side only to have you blackout on the ride back with yet to wake. So here she sat by your bedside, day in and day out as she waited for you to wake.

“Someone should talk to her,” Steve said. He, Natasha & Clint stood outside your hospital room.

Through the small glass window of the door, the three could see the dried tear tracks on Wanda’s face. The young woman had barely left your side, only leaving at the start to shower and change her clothes before she returned to your side, your hand clasped tightly in both of hers, pressing a kiss there every so often as she hummed a quiet tune. Whether it was to keep herself calm or hoping to rouse you from your slumber, no one knew.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Someone should.” Both men turned to face Natasha, who just sighed and ran a hand over her face.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Natasha grunted moving towards the door. “Men,” she mumbled as she walked in. 

“Hey, any news?”

“None since yesterday.” Wanda answered, her voice huskier than normal from lack of use.

“Wanda, why don’t you go and get changed?” Natasha suggested, looking over the well-worn sweatpants and hoodie the younger woman wore. “Or maybe check in on Silver? I’m sure he misses you.”

“I’m not leaving Y/N alone,” Wanda mumbled against the skin of your hand. “I promised her I’m not leaving her side again once I found her and I won’t break that promise.” ‘Not now, not ever.’ She thought to herself.

“Wanda, I’ll stay and watch over her while you go and clean up.” The Russian suggested. “I promise to call you if anything changes.”

Looking up at your peaceful face, Wanda exhaled shakily, green eyes shining with tears before laying your hand back at your side and standing from her seat, knowing there was no chance in fighting the redhead. Quietly, she shuffled towards the head of the bed and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“I will be back soon, my love.” She uttered lovingly. “I promise you.” She pressed one final kiss to your lips before turning to Natasha. “You call me if she wakes up.”

“I promise.” Natasha vowed, looking at you before moving back to Wanda with a firm nod.

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

Stepping out of the elevator and onto her- your shared floor of the compound, Wanda was greeted by a soft meow and the light patter of feet. 

“Hello, Silver.” She smiled, moving forward and picking the small animal up. “I’m sorry for leaving you with the team for a while,” the kitten revelled in the affection that Wanda gave him, purring softly as she ran her hand over his head. 

Once she’d felt that she gave the cat enough attention, she allowed him to settle on her shoulder as she made her way toward the bedroom.

Entering your room, Wanda sighed. She hasn’t been inside since your disappearance, opting to sleep in her old room or even on the couch at times when she was too in her thoughts. 

The thought of sleeping alone in your shared bed was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Something she’d found out within the first week of you missing. She wasn’t able to sleep without you beside her for her nightmares returned full force with a few new ones featuring you. 

She cast a glance over the framed pictures that lined the top of your dresser, a small smile appearing on her face as she recalled the memories that came with them.

Various team photos played in a slideshow on a fancy digital frame that Tony gifted you a while back; another held a pic of you, Nat & Clint, you had Clint in a headlock while Nat just stood off to the side with her head in her hands.

The last picture, however, Wanda adored. It was at the engagement party that Tony had ‘offered’ to throw you. It had been a fairly fancy party, she might point out.

You had dressed in a pair of your nicest slacks, a button-up white shirt with a charcoal grey waistcoat while she wore a figure-hugging deep red dress. Her fingers delicately tangled in the baby hairs at the base of your neck while yours rested on her waist, foreheads pressed against one another as you swayed softly to the music. Neither of you cared about the world around you as you did.

With a shuddering breath, she set Silver on the bed and wiped the tears from her face, before stepping into the bathroom.

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

30 minutes later, Wanda was back at your bedside, freshly showered and changed with Silver curled up on her lap, a book levitating in red mist allowing her to run one hand along the kitten’s back, while the other held your hand, thumb running gentle circles on your knuckles. Besides the situation & beeping of the monitors attached to you, it was an almost peaceful silence.

“Y’know pets aren’t allowed in the medical wing, right?” Tony’s voice pulled Wanda from her thoughts, the young woman jumping slightly in response.

“He keeps me calm, you know that.” She told the billionaire, running a hand over Silver’s head, the kitten purring in content.

Tony was about to respond when the heart rate monitor you were connected to began to beep incessantly, Wanda’s grip on your hand tightening in fright. She listened to the rapidly increasing beep of your heart monitor with watery eyes. As Tony headed to the door calling for a doctor, when you suddenly shot up into a seated position, eyes snapping open and gasped for air.

“Y/N?” “Hey, kid?” Tony and Wanda chorused, trying to catch your attention.

Your eyes darted around the overly bright white room as your vision cleared, eventually landing on the two blurry figures at your bedside.

“Tony?” You wondered, lifting a hand to wipe at your face. “Wanda?” You blinked a few more times to make sure you weren’t seeing things.

“Detka? (baby?)” Wanda squeezed your hand cautiously, trying to get your attention.

“Wanda,” You mused. “Hi love. Is that my jumper?” She shrugged in response, tears falling from her eyes. “And who’s cat is that?”

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

An hour later, the doctor in charge of your care had filled you in on all you needed to know medically. Tony had left to inform the team and Wanda had stayed to inform you on what had happened while you were unconscious.

“And this is Silver,” she told you. The small siamese purred contentedly as he lay curled in your lap, your hand running along his back. “He was a gift from Tony. Not long after…” As she trailed off, you knew that she was referring to your initial disappearance.

“Silver, huh?” You pondered, a soft smile on your face as your fingers scratched Silver’s chin. “Does that have any reference toward a certain blue-eyed, silver-haired speedster we know?” You questioned trying to change the subject as quickly as possible. “I mean, I can definitely see the resemblance.”

The pair of you continued catching up until the door to your private room (courtesy of Tony) opened and Nat, Steve, Clint & Sam all filed in. Natasha being the first to approach, pressing a kiss to your head before each of the guys gave you a careful side hug. 

You were catching up with Steve when you spotted the bag slung over Clint’s shoulder.

“We pull you in from the school run there, Clint?” You joked, the archer scoffing in response. “What’s with the backpack?”

Clint just scoffed in return and threw the backpack into your lap. “Very funny,” He said. “I stopped off with Nat and we grabbed your backup bag you keep ready for this kinda situation.”

“Thanks you guys” you nodded as you reached for the bag, pulling out a fresh shirt.

You moved to stand from the bed, only for you to fall into Wanda when you collapsed. A surprised gasp coming from Wanda as you ended up in her lap.

“I mean you already knew I fell for you but it doesn’t hurt to tell you again” You smirked, arms snaking around her neck, hers around your waist. The both of you leaned in, lips barely touching when the sound of someone clearing their throat caused you to pull away.

“Almost forgot we had company” Wanda mumbled hiding her face in your neck, colour creeping up her own from embarrassment.

“Right, out you guys please.” You waved your arm at them. “I need to get dressed and would like some time alone with my fiance.”

“Oh that reminds me,” Wanda said, removing her hands from your waist and up to the back of her neck.

You watched as she pulled a chain from under the neckline of the jumper, a brief sparkle catching your eyes as the fluorescent lights overhead caused the gem on your ring to sparkle.

“I thought I lost it” You mumbled. “How?” Wanda just smiled as you held your hand out for her to place the ring back on your finger, where the both of you wanted it to stay.

“Let’s just say Fury has his ways” The young redhead told you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

[figonas]

As Warm As The Sun-Part 2

The Light of the Moon

The scent of his skin beneath the aroma of sweet wine blurs Jude’s thoughts. She’s tempted to reach for him again, to trace her fingers along his sharp cheekbones; pale as the light from a full moon, dusted softly with incandescent, shimmering gold. 

Summary: Part 2 is Jude’s POV of the scene from Part 1. Takes place during The Wicked King pretty much right before the Queen of Mirth scene and Chapter 15. Just a soft, fluffy response to the prompt; “hug me, I command it”.

Words: 2267

Rating: GA

Links: Part 1-Cardan POV | AO3

A/N: I struggled with Jude’s POV far more than I did with Cardan’s. I think because this is a really vulnerable moment and at this point in her story like Jude isn’t prepared to be vulnerable with Cardan. Idk, this takes place a little early in twk for Jude to be admitting she has feelings for Cardan, but this is fanfic and I do what I want. @jurdanhell this one’s for you my dude.

********

Jude Duarte, former spy for Prince Dain, seneschal to the High King of Elfhame, is exhausted. If she is honest with herself, which she often isn’t, she couldn’t remember a time since Cardan was crowned where she hadn’t been tired. Nearly every day of the last five months there was always something too important going on for Jude to waste time sleeping. There was always a problem to solve, a threat against the kingdom to thwart, an attempt on her life, or Oak’s life, or Cardan’s life. What Jude really needed was a shorter list of lives she was responsible for, but for now, a good night's sleep would have to do. She was almost too tired to be angry at Cardan for having her attend this stupid revel, almost...but not quite.

Early in the night Jude was doing her best to slip away after a meeting with the Living Council, yet another one Cardan had failed to attend and Jude had fought for every word she had to say. As she rushed out of the room she nearly collided with Locke, followed closely by Cardan, Taryn, and a group of court members she didn’t recognize. Cardan’s eyes met hers and Jude knew she was in trouble the moment he got that infuriating gleam in his eye, the look that said; Oh Jude, you will absolutely hate the next words I speak. And hated them she had, Cardan launched into details about that evening’s revel which ended in him asking Jude if she would attend the revel in full that evening, his voice practically dripping with mock innocence. Before Jude could answer with a curt and resounding no, Locke chimed in and did what he was best at; started trouble. By the time he was done with his mocking explanation of why Jude’s many duties robbed all her mortal energy and didn’t allow her to attend revels like the rest of the folk, the Living Council had moved from their meeting place to gather in the hall. Jude briefly entertained a fantasy of running Locke through with Nightfell just to be done with this whole encounter, but she realized Locke’s attempt to devalue her position had garnered a substantial audience so Jude was left with no choice but to clench her jaw and bite out an acceptance of Cardan’s offer.

Now, an eternity later, Jude stands to the side of Cardan’s throne scowling at the side of his horribly beautiful face as he downed the dregs of yet another gobet. She had given up trying to count his cups hours ago but the glazed look in his eyes told Jude it is likely someone would be carrying Cardan back to his chambers this evening. She took a cursory glance around the room eyeing the dwindling guests and the King’s Guard who all made a point to look anywhere but toward the dais, and realized that someone is most likely to be her.

As if on cue, Cardan stands swaying as he attempts to step forward and nearly pitches head first off the dais.

All of Jude’s training, both in Madoc’s house and as a spy for Prince Dain, have honed her reflexes and without a second thought her hand flies out fisting in the back of Cardan’s gaudy cloak of embroidered black velvet. With all the gentleness of someone who has spent the last four hours contemplating murder Jude yanks Cardan back against her and wraps her arm around his waist to steady him.

“As much as it would amuse me to watch you fall after you made me stand here all night for no reason, I’m too tired to pick you up off the floor,” Jude hisses in his ear, she throws his other arm about her shoulders and sets off down the handful of steps leading away from the throne. Cardan leans into her, his breath ghosting across her temple; warm and sweetened by wine, Jude can’t stop the longing that shoots through her like the peeling of a bell.

“Dearest Jude, are you trying to take me to bed?” Cardan’s mouth stumbles through the words, just as his feet stumble down the steps nearly dragging them both to the floor. Jude tries to tap into her anger that seemed so palpable only moments before but she can’t think past his hip pressed against hers, his arm warm and heavy across her neck and shoulders.

“Don’t push your luck or I’ll leave you to sleep on the floor in the middle of the burgh”. He laughs, truly laughs in a way that’s free of anger or malice. Jude tries and fails to suppress the small smile that touches her lips at the happy sound she so rarely hears from him.

The walk to Cardan’s rooms takes a lifetime. They don’t speak again, but Jude can feel Cardan’s eyes on her every few moments. His proximity makes the sensation hard to ignore causing a flush to darken her cheeks. Jude tries to focus on the path ahead and clamp down her desire to return his gaze.

Once in his chambers Jude abruptly releases him and takes a half step away putting much needed distance between them, but even then he’s still too close. The scent of his skin beneath the aroma of sweet wine blurs Jude’s thoughts. She’s tempted to reach for him again, to trace her fingers along his sharp cheekbones; pale as the light from a full moon, dusted softly with incandescent, shimmering gold.

Jude, no the rational voice inside her mind nearly screams. She clenches her hands into fists, a half second from running out the massive wooden door when Cardan’s voice startles her from her thoughts.

“Embrace me again,” he says in a voice that reminds her of another drunken request he made not too long ago; kiss me again, kiss me until I am sick of it.

Jude is weary, worn down, exhausted, the kind of tired that makes limbs sore and heavy as if she’d spent the whole day throwing rocks. In that exhaustion the Cardan-shaped wall built around her heart is lowered more than Jude would ever admit; she had refused him then, she doesn’t know if she can refuse him now.

“Go to bed Cardan” it’s as much of a refusal as she can muster with his eyes boring into hers, black and wanting. Her hand flicks out to point across the suite to Cardan’s ridiculously large bed.

“But I am your king, Jude I command it,” he grins like he’s gone mad but Cardan, who is less a living being than a fae revel given flesh and bone, looks horribly and unmistakably sad. It’s gone in a moment, replaced by feigned indifference so sharp it almost burns in his coal black eyes. But she had seen it there; a glimpse of the depth of his loneliness and misery.

“So I say again, embrace me and then I will concede and go to bed,” his tone is teasing, it does nothing to fool Jude.

She opens her mouth to speak but quickly shuts it. The feeling of slick, slimy guilt roils in her belly, guilt she often pushed aside in favor of anger and self-preservation. Cardan’s pain was not all her doing, she knew of his scars, on his skin and his soul, wrought from Baelkin’s hateful hands and the cruel indifference of Eldred.

But his position as High King, his empty life beneath a hollow crown was one she had thrust upon him through lies and deceit. Facing the truth of that in his eyes made bile crawl it’s way up her throat, and if Jude was honest with herself it shattered her heart into shards of broken glass threatening to shred her apart from the inside.

Guilt was not easy to feel, it was the feeling of admitting you had done wrong paired with the admission that you haven’t yet made it right. Jude had choked on guilt before but usually pushed it away, citing the safety of Oak and the stability of Elfhame; but those excuses fall apart like strips of wet paper when pit against the emptiness in Cardan’s gaze.

Jude curses herself, wishing for the days when she felt nothing but hatred for the High King, instead of the complicated mix of regret, shame, and desire she feels now. Swallowing thickly against her guilt, and before she can examine her own want too closely, Jude steps forward and wraps her arms around him, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

Cardan hesitates for a brief moment, before returning her embrace. Jude resists the urge to sink into his warmth, stops herself from tightening her arms and nuzzling her face into his neck; it’s power over her she won’t relinquish to him and an admission to herself she isn’t ready to face.

More than anything this moment feels fragile, as if Jude, mortal among fairies, human of the earth could break it with the snap of her fingers.

“I’m only doing this because I’m too tired to fight with you about going to bed,” she lies, to herself and to him.

Cardan doesn’t reply, simply holding her in a strong, steady embrace, his cheek resting light as a feather on her forehead. The unsteady balance brought on by Cardan’s overindulgence seems to evaporate as if, he too realizes how delicate this moment is. How easily it could shatter like a stone through glass.

She isn’t sure how much time passes as they stand there tangled up in each other, but her eyelids begin to droop as Cardan strokes lazy circles on her back with his thumbs.

In serious danger of dozing off Jude yawns deeply and steps back. Cardan’s hands bracket her waist as she pulls back and he makes no effort to remove them. The warmth of his palms seeping through her jacket keeps her heart pounding out a steady rhythm. She doesn’t know how to read into this small gesture of intimacy, if it means anything at all, so she simply ignores it.

“Alright, Your Majesty I indulged your wishes,” she stops another, smaller yawn with the back of her hand.

“Now to bed with you so I can go get in my own,” Jude points again in the direction of the vast expanse of pillows and spider silk sheets.

Cardan’s hands drop to his sides, he sways unsteadily as he turns, his drunken clumsiness returning now that the distance between them has broken whatever spell was cast over their embrace. She places a gentle hand on his lower back, when he leans into her touch Jude feels a rush of warmth as she walks him through his empty rooms.

“Careful with your orders Jude or I will tell everyone that you were kind to me,” he laughs though she can’t imagine why.

“Though I don’t think anyone would believe me,” he continues softly almost as if speaking to himself. She shakes her head though Cardan is too focused on his feet to notice. He doesn’t say the words with malice or venom but something twists in Jude’s chest all the same.

“You won’t remember this tomorrow anyway”.

She gives a gentle push as they reach his bed and Cardan flops down on the coverlet, gazing up at Jude in with something soft and yearning in his eyes. She leans over him, breath catching in her throat. The intensity of his gaze pins her to the spot.

“Oh Jude, loveliest of afflictions, I will remember this night for years to come.” He makes a move as if to reach for her, but Cardan’s hand falls back to his side as his eyes flutter closed.

“We’ll see about that tomorrow,” She makes a disbelieving noise and crosses her arms. Laughing softly as she takes in her disheveled High King.

Though Cardan’s eyes remain closed, his head turns in her direction as she laughs, as if he craves her laugh as she craves his; a moth to flame.

Jude backs away from the bed, retreating to the suites main door, but something stops her as she places a hand on the knob. Turning to peer over her shoulder she calls out softly through the dark chamber.

“Goodnight Cardan,” without waiting for his response she slips into the hall and flees toward her room.

By the time she reaches her chambers Jude is dead on her feet and desperate for the feel of her pillow against her cheek.

She strips off her weapons and clothes, tucking herself into bed instead of curling up in front of the fire as she most often does. It’s cold but the sheets and pillows are soft, as she relaxes into them. Sleep hovers nearby waiting to take her the moment she closes her eyes, but Jude stares up toward the ceiling keeping herself awake for a few more blissful moments.

Jude Duarte has made herself into a fearsome creature, one of the folk in spirit if nothing else. Tomorrow she will go back to her role as the High King’s seneschal, back to her knives, and seething looks, and harsh clothes. But tonight she will allow herself one small, indulgent moment of weakness and be simply; Jude Duarte, mortal girl.

Tonight she lies in bed and thinks of Cardan’s soft breath on her cheek, the stroke of this thumb on her back, the moonlight glow of his skin in the dimness of his chambers.

Jude isn’t sure exactly when she drifted off but her dreams are filled with yearning black eyes and strong steady arms. When she wakes she smiles to herself, wide and foolish, before donning the mask of seneschal once again.

[juminly]

For The Love of An Angel

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle x Reader.

Rating: Explicit.  Summary: When you had spent way too much time with another man, Arthur found himself in a predicament, unable to contain his jealousy... and his possessiveness inevitably manifested.  Song Inspiration: Call Out My Name [Acoustic Jazz Remix] –♥–  You were not given the chance to breathe nor to think. There was something unusual about your lover and almost unhinged, a fierce glow in his sapphires that intensified the moment you walked into the dining room after coming back from your small outing with Comte de Saint Germain. No… it was not then. It was when you were by his side, snuggled tight in his embrace. Arthur trusted you wholeheartedly, you having already informed him what you were up to, helping Comte with a ball that he was planning to hold in the mansion in less than a month's time. Wanting a female's opinion and touch in the preparations, to add a little more 'modernity' to the banquet that he had in mind, Comte decided to consult you in the matter. You had graciously accepted to aid him in his quest, even though you didn't have much experience with these excessively lavish balls, it not being customary to the 21st century and such. Still, this was a great opportunity for you to do something that was outside of your own routine and even Arthur had encouraged you to dive deep into the matter, knowing that it would give you even more of an idea about all the mindless extravagance that the Parisian aristocracy were so preoccupied with. A futile preoccupation in Arthur’s ‘humble’ opinion. The quirk of your lips when you met your lover's gaze was involuntary, missing his excruciatingly handsome face, a slight tilt of his head, an implicit gesture to the empty seat by his side that was meant for you while his pink lips playfully hooked into a grin, exposing pearly whites along with his fangs. Without even speaking, you could hear his voice in your head saying "At last", his voice warm and silky smooth as chocolate melting on your tongue, manifesting the peace and comfort he felt with you finally returning home. Settling on the chair right next to him, instead of greeting you as usual with a kiss, sometimes much deeper than your custom ‘greeting’ kiss, he leaned in and kissed you right under your collarbone and ran the tip of his nose along the column of your neck, inhaling your exquisite scent while sweet shivers spread across your skin. You smelled like him, you smelled like another man and… Arthur was appalled. He was indeed unhinged and maybe even furious over the scrambled thoughts rushing through his mind, his desire driven by a primal need to mark you and claim you before every single threat that sat on that same table. Friend or foe. It didn’t matter. 

Arthur couldn’t recall what was said, his lips simply moving of their own volition, maintaining a semblance of decorum while responding to whoever had attempted to converse with him, a considerable feat for a man in his state. The walk to your room was a silent one yet you hadn't read into it, the familiar click of his oxfords against the mansion floor, his gloved fingers interlaced with yours as his thumb caressed your palm, over and over again, a motion that was a natural habit for you. Yet, the moment you set foot into your shared bedroom, it was like all the air around you. Arthur pulled you into his embrace, his arms finding home around your waist, your body crushed against his as he pinned your back to the door. A loud click resounding in your room, a tell-tale that your lover locked the door. And now that you were both behind closed doors, not that it ever mattered before, the leather covering his hands glided over your figure, swiftly stripping you out of your clothing, ridding you of every barrier that dared come in his way. Sometimes you wondered how he did it so effortlessly, how he had you melt at the faintest touch and fall even harder for him when he expressed how he truly felt. The kiss that had you locked together was unbreakable, his tongue caressing yours with urgent passion, there was absolutely no vigilance or thought to any action he was taking. After aiding you in your feat, he undressed as quickly as he could, moving his fingers over his garments instinctively, his mind filled with only thoughts of you. He finally broke the kiss, both of your chests heaving harshly as you had stolen each other’s breath, the cool breeze from the open window cold against your heated bodies. Arthur’s lips quirked up impishly, his hands cupped your breasts and brushed his thumbs over the hardened beads, your eyes looking up to meet clear dark blue. “Arthur... It's cold.” From a woman as coquettish as you were, that was an excuse that you both knew to be untrue. The cause for your trembling were many but the main reason stood before you, his handsome visage drawing closer to you until he was but a mere breath away, a breath that you could barely take. “It won't be long until I have you all warm for me, love. Patience.” He leaned down to press his lips on the junction of your neck and shoulder, your breasts fondled so gently, his hands moving with minitious precision, eliciting one reaction after another. As if your body was but an instrument he controlled at his will, shivers were running up and down your spine, your lips trembling slightly as your nipples were twisted between his fingers. “They call out to me so willingly, love. So audacious in their plea and I am but a helpless man, in no state to resist your siren’s call, my angel.” “Arthur… You know I always want you, love.” You panted, your heartbeat quickening with every word he uttered as you listened with bated breath, each syllable pulling on your heartstrings while your lover commenced his ritual. His hands meandered away from your supple breasts, pinching your peaking nipples one last time, releasing them from his hold, revelling in the shivering laugh that passed through your lips with a mischievous chuckle. Arthur allowed his hands to smooth over the soft skin of your back, beckoning your hips forward with a gentle squeeze of your behind before pushing the back of your thighs and hoisting up in his arms, your legs wrapping so perfectly around him. “You are driving this old chap absolutely and undoubtedly mad and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He couldn't help but let his hands wander over your tender flesh, his fingers digging into your thighs, one of the most favourite parts of your body that he always sought, dreamt and countlessly indulged in. “May God be my witness…” he breathed warmly against your neck, his lips titillating as they brushed softly against your sensitive skin. “I shall do whatever I can, my angel. I promise you that.” “What is it that you’re promising exactly, handsome?” You wondered out loud, the teasing edge to your voice hadn’t gone unnoticed either. “Does my angel really wish to know the answer to that?” Not even the anger that he felt could stop him from being his playful self with you, yet, your usual banter was not enough to rid him of the possessiveness that he felt. “Arthur... Don’t answer my question with another. You know what happens when you do that.” Your tone, mocking a sternness that your countenance didn’t express, elicited a warm chuckle from your lover, a sound that soothed your heart. “I surrender, haha. It is simple, love. I do not appreciate other men taking advantage of your kindness, love. You are much too desirable yet you are blind as to how seductive you can be, having me irrevocably entranced by your wiles.” Grazing the tip of his fangs on your neck as he walked to sit down on the divan with you straddling him, he couldn’t help but think to himself: ‘I want her to understand, I want her to know, I don’t want to be unreasonable but this is getting out of control’. The vampire in him only raged louder inside of him, provoking his desire to get this specific point across, to stake his claim and make your body, heart and mind his, over and over again. “I am not willing to share with another, my angel. You are mine, today and forevermore.” Those words, a promise of an eternity together that he chanted like a prayer every time he spoke to you. Forever and always. Forever and always echoed in your mind, in your heart and in your soul. Biting into your neck only for a split second, Arthur pulled away and watched as the toxins coursed through you, the climax caused by the bite raking through your body as you rutted your wet folds against his hard abdomen, only increasing the stimulation to his needy cock twitching inside his trousers, begging for you. But now, he couldn’t even give two shits about that, Arthur was far too enrapt in giving you pleasure, yearning to hear his name fall from your lips… to be the only name that you prayed upon while he drove you to the precipice of bliss. He watched as blood trickled out of the small wound, the tip of his tongue lazily lapping up the trail moving down your chest and even reaching your abdomen, decorating your flesh with pink blemishes that would soon turn to dusk. Watching your face contorted and your lips swollen and slick from his kisses, Arthur’s eyes locked on yours and he spoke in a solemn tone, an edge of something akin to anger to it. “Let me love you…” Yet, it was only a manifestation of his possessiveness, nothing but your love, your answer to his plea could possibly assuage the fire burning in his heart. “Let me love… all of you.” Your response was a silent one but one that he still desperately needed. With a chaste kiss on his cheek, Arthur could unleash what was buried inside.  Placing his elbows right under your knees, Arthur secured your legs in his arms, laying back down and pulled your body closer to his face, your core sliding over his chest until you pushed down on your knees, finding yourself hovering right over his handsome face. “Ravishing…” Arthur murmured softly, finally smiling as he looked up at you. Your curls tumbling down your chest, framing your mounds as blood snaked down your curves, painting a roadmap over the meadows of your soft skin. Tears already forming in your eyes, a shimmering glaze over them, making them look even more mesmerizing than they already were. If that were even possible. Laying prickly kisses your inner thighs, Arthur smiled ravenously every time you hissed, the dichotomy between the softness of his lips and the sharpness of his fangs enticing you beyond compare, the heightening ache between your legs a testament to your body’s greed for your lover. That is what he wanted. That is what he needed. He chuckled boyishly as he saw you smile at him, clearly enjoying the attention he was giving you and he sighed dreamily, at the waking dream that was you. “This is what it’s like to have Heaven smile down at me.” You couldn’t help but let a giggle of your own escape, all these mentions of Heaven and angel were a bit ironic considering that you were the complete opposite of what one would call an angel. Yet, your lover had his reasons. Arthur vowed to himself that he would worship every inch of you whether it was with words or his body, pay what is due for the blessing that the heavens have bestowed upon him, being entrapped between the soft thighs of an angel... his angel. No matter how pure his thoughts may seem, everything about your lover radiated pure, unbridled lust and... sin. You were his Aphrodite, yet in his eyes, even she did not hold a candle to you. You could feel Eros in his tantalizing touch, unwinding every inch of your being with Ludus playing at the corner of his smirked lips, watching him watch you lose yourself in the glint of Mania you saw in his eyes. This was your lover, this was the man that was wholeheartedly prepared to become a better man, for himself and for you. Ultimately, you knew that the flames of Agape burned fiercely in his heart, making him completely and utterly yours, forever and always. This time, he bit you once again, right next to your aching need, shocking your body so suddenly, crying out his name as the rush made your hips snap to meet Arthur's mouth. He was more than ready to oblige, languidly lapping at the wound and opening your fold with the tip of his tongue, the mix of his two favourite flavours making him groan loud, pushing your hips down onto his face as his own instinctively rocked into the air, seeking some sort of respite but it was all in vain. The bulging tent in Arthur’s trousers was not the only sign that revealed the state he was in. Your lover’s raspy moans echoed in your shared room, joining your breathless cries as the wet noises grew even louder with the fervency of Arthur’s hunger to completely devour you. “Tell me what you want, my angel. Call out to me… tell me exactly what it is you need.” “Arthur... love... You… Ahhh pleaseee...” A broken moan ripping from your throat, your body moving on its own, your hips rutting against Arthur’s expectant tongue, the aftershocks of the bite still coursing through your veins as you keened for a different kind of pleasure from your lover. Your moans grew even louder, Arthur flattening his tongue over your sensitive nub, pressing against it as your core glided over it, shivers raking through you as he had you use him as you pleased. Long fingers conspired to unravel you, delicate just as they were conniving in their quest to still you while your lover had you teetering on the brink of losing your sanity. He sucked fiercely on your clit, not paying mind to the quivers that have befallen you. Your back arched needily as you called out your lover's name, a prayer that only he could answer. The waves of pleasure overtook you, having your entire body tremble and gripping the arm of the divan with all your might, forming indentations in the fabric from the sheer force of your pleasure. Arthur plunged his tongue inside of you, your walls contracting wildly against his wet muscle as he continued to thrust it in and out of you, guiding your hips with his hands while you rode his mouth, your juices coating it along with his lips, driving you further to the pinnacle of your release. Collapsing forward onto the divan, you rested your head on its arm while trying to catch your breath. You could still feel your vision a bit blurred, your core still pulsing from your previous orgasms… and you knew Arthur wouldn’t just stop there. When did he ever end the night without having you weeping for him? Either to continue or to stop. “Angel... I fear for you.” The solemnity in Arthur’s tone breaking the silence. "Hah... why do you say that, baby?" You couldn’t help but inquire, especially when his usual cheery tone was now dark, lustful and almost… threatening. It wasn’t like you didn’t know exactly what he meant. Still, you wanted him to say it, to express himself and not keep anything locked inside his heart. He scoffed, not at you, but at himself, at how such a pet name made him feel so gleeful despite his urgent need to mark you, to dominate you. It was a great contradiction to how furiously crazed he felt but it was no surprise. You kept him grounded, sane… composed. One of the many reasons why you were his angel. Noticing that some of your blood was about to drop onto his chest, he pushed your hips up, his large hands gripping your behind tight and firm while he lapped up the blood before it would trickle down, teasing your folds with a wide lick over them, humming as the taste of your release and your blood seeped into his mouth, his voice dripping with silver as he praised your taste with a salacious moan of his own. “Hmm... You will not be able to handle what I have planned for you, love. But don’t try and stop me. I don’t plan on it.” Securing you in his hold, he flipped you on your back with his body hovering above yours. It gave you a moment to cast an appreciative gaze over Arthur’s well-defined chest, let your hands wander and trace over sharp edges of his musculature, just the perfect balance of lean and masculine. Your eyes immediately traveled to where his long fingers were working on that wretched belt of his so you could finally get what you needed… and give him what he needed. “And I had absolutely no intention to do so.” Your seductive grin was met with one of his own, a flash of pink appearing as he licked his lips that were glossed with traces of you. And God only knew… you weren’t sure if you would ever be prepared for anything this man had to give you, especially with you being so stupidly and completely in love with him. And him with you. And thus, your sleepless night, where you shed, blood, sweat and tears had begun. –♥– Tagging @shhhlikeme @sweetlittlemouse @delicateikemenmemes@kisara-16 (Sorry if I forgot anyone else who wanted to be tagged!)  Please feel free to leave some love in the comments or some feedback!💜 You can also check out my Masterlist ! 

[crowleesi]

Just Friends

V insists that she and Viktor are just friends, despite the overwhelming evidence that suggests otherwise.

Inspired by this beautiful artwork by @tekstelart.

I haven’t written anything in YEARS and I am super nervous to post this but my fellow Viktor simps have inspired me <3

Read it on ao3 here!

***

“Bein’ careful is a concept that is entirely lost on you, isn’t it?” Vik grumbles, wiping the last of the blood away from the already healing wound on V’s forearm, thanks to the nanites the ripperdoc had injected into her just a few minutes before. It wasn’t a concept that was lost on her, not completely - she’d made it this far without getting herself killed, so she figured she was doing something right. The gig hadn’t really been all that different from many others; she and Jackie were outnumbered 4:1 by gangers that were sloppy fighters and lousy shots, and V had been taking on a guy twice her size when he’d pulled a machete and sliced her arm open.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” She flashes him a grin, and the corner of his lips turn up as he shakes his head and throws the rag down beside them.

“Lemme get’cha a Maxdoc, hold on.” He rounded the surgical chair and disappeared around back - V watched him walk away, letting her eyes trail over the curve of his large, muscular back, before turning her attention back to Jackie who, incidentally, was smirking at her.

“What?” She said, and he immediately started fluttering his eyelashes, clutching his hands together under his chin.

“Oh, I don’t know what you’re talking about, doctor,” He mocked in an unnecessarily high pitched voice, before laughing. “You got it so bad.”

V rolled her eyes and tossed the bloody rag at him. “Fuck off, we’re just friends.”

“Whatever you say, chica,” Jackie chuckles, and Vik returns to V’s side.

“I trust you know what to do with this?” He asks, leaning his hip on the chair beside V, holding out the inhaler. V took it from him, took two puffs of the medication and thanked him. Vik patted her thigh, a signal to get off the chair, and she hopped down, trying not to focus on the warmth of his large hand. She quickly headed over to his desk where she'd left her jacket, hoping Vik hadn't noticed the blush creeping across her cheeks.

“Vik, you comin’ to Misty’s tonight?” Jackie asked the ripperdoc as he cleared down his station. V pretended not to really pay attention as she pulled on her jacket, though she held her breath waiting for his answer.

“Nah, you kids go on without me,” he said, and V’s heart sank. “I got another client, anyhow.”

“Yeah, so,” Jackie said. “Come after!”

V looked over to Vik, and he looked up at her.

"C'mon, doc," she pleaded. "It'll be fun." He hummed, kicking his stool over to his desk. "Even if you have one drink, just swing by." Vik settled down on his stool, looking up at V. She flashed him her winning smile, and he looked down, shaking his head with a chuckle.

"Fine."

"Fuckin' A!" Jackie hollered. "Catch ya later, hermano. Let's hit it, V." Vik waved a hand as Jackie headed out, and V followed, turning to glance over her shoulder. Vik sent her a wink, and she bit her lip in an effort to contain her smile. She followed Jackie out of the clinic and he turned to smirk at her.

"Not a word." She warned, and he laughed, shoving her shoulder.

***

Vik would be lying through his fucking teeth if he said he wasn't having a good time. A few hours earlier, he'd made his way up to the roof above Misty’s Esoterica. He could hear the music from outside his clinic, and felt it vibrate in his chest as the elevator got closer to the top. He'd headed up the last set of stairs two at a time, and stepped out onto the roof to find a large group of people yelling over music, dancing, drinking. He'd scanned the crowd until he'd spotted Jackie and Misty, but V was nowhere in sight. As he'd made his way through the crowd of strangers, he was greeted by a few familiar faces, and high fived by a guy he’d never seen before.

He'd immediately had a beer thrust in his hand as Jackie greeted him as though he hadn't seen him in months.

"Viktor fuckin' Vektor!" He had yelled over the music, clapping him on the back and pointing over to the other side of the roof, telling him that it was about time he showed, cause V was waiting for him.

Donning a long line black bralette and tight, black jeans, she was a fucking vision; her lustrous, black hair cascaded down her back in waves, and she'd looked over at Vik with eyes of purest amber. She'd jumped up from her seat when she'd spotted him across the crowd, and had forced her way through the makeshift dance floor to greet him.

They'd spent the entire night together; drinking, laughing, and even dancing. Vik had insisted that he did not dance, but V wasn't having it. She'd grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the dance floor, and they got lost in a sea of people as she threw her arms around his neck and swayed her hips, keeping him close. He didn't dance so much as shuffle, hold her hips tentatively, and focus on anything other than getting hard.

It was an impossible task. V had thrown her head back with a laugh, running her hands down his chest and turning around, leaning back into his chest and holding his hands on her hips, moving in sync with the music. Vik had tried to think of anything other than the small beads of sweat trickling down her chest, her stomach… fuck, she was killing him.

It was utter torture but eventually his salvation lay in V deciding she needed another drink, and had dragged Vik over to a couch.

Hours later, as the party was winding down, the music was quieter and the two of them hadn't moved from their seat at the far corner of the roof. They had been exchanging stories - Vik of his boxing days, reminiscing tales that V had heard many times before but never got bored of hearing, and V of her days as a Nomad, what her childhood was like and how she ended up in Night City.

Vik had also heard these stories before but never said a word. He was lost in the way her eyes shone with excitement, and the perfect shape of her lips that he just knew were as soft as they looked.

V trailed off when her eyes met Vik's and she took a moment to just look at him. It was the early hours of the morning, with only the glow of the surrounding blue and pink neon lights outlining his features amongst the pitch black of night. She had memorised every single detail of his face back when they first met; the freckles that dotted his nose, the scar on his chin and the brilliant blue of his eyes.

God, she thought. He's fucking beautiful.

"V?" His voice was liquid velvet, and she sighed. "You all right?"

"Yeah, just… tired, I guess." She said, stretching and shifting to lay on her back, resting her legs over Vik's lap. He smiled down at her, leaning over to set his beer down on the table in front of them. He sat back, one arm resting over the back of the couch and the other stroking her leg.

She reached out a hand, and Vik raised an eyebrow.

"C'mere," her voice was husky now from all the yelling and alcohol she'd consumed, and Vik swallowed thickly. Her smile fucking melted him.

"All right," he said. "Scoot." V grinned and shuffled over as Vik got settled between the back of the couch and V's side. She lifted her arm, and he snuggled into her side, resting his chin on her chest. Wrapping her arm around his neck, she stroked his collarbone delicately and he hummed, breathing in the sweetness of her perfume. V was sure she'd never heard a more gorgeous sound in her fucking life.

"Thank you, by the way." She says suddenly. "For patching me up. Again." Vik chuckled, and she felt it reverberate through his chest and into her side. His arm hung lazily over her hips, and he sighed against her skin, tucking his leg between hers.

"Always."

***

When V wakes up a few hours later, there is nothing but the distant sound of traffic and the warm glow of the sunrise to greet her. She rolls onto her back, opening her eyes when she meets the back of the couch instead of a large, muscular chest. She sits up, pressing a hand to her head, cursing at the dull ache.

Over by the edge of the roof, Jackie and Misty were sleeping soundly, with Misty tucked into his side. V smiles, stifling a yawn when a gravelly voice says her name. She looks up to find Vik approaching her, four coffee cups in hand. Whether it was the soft glow of neon in the dark of night or the light of a sunrise that illuminated Viktor Vektor, he left her fucking breathless.

He set down two coffees in front of Jackie and Misty, and kisses the top of V's head before he takes a seat beside her, handing her a cup.

"G'morning," he said, and she took a sip of coffee, sighing as the hot liquid pooled in her stomach.

"Morning."

He sat close by her side, taking the top off of his coffee cup and taking a large mouthful. V watched as his throat bobbed when he swallowed, and the way he licked his lips and let out a content sigh. When their arms brush against each other, Vik looks down at her with a smile, leaning his knee against hers. She can't fight the lopsided grin that spreads across her lips, and tries to hide it behind her coffee cup. Vik leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees, looking over to Jackie and Misty.

"I had a good time last night." He said, turning his chin into his shoulder to look at V. She made a mental note to thank late nights and alcohol for what it did to his voice.

"Me too." She said. "I'm glad you came." His lips turned up and he held out his coffee cup.

"So am I." She giggled and tapped her cup against his own, revelling in his smile lines and the way his skin appeared golden in the early morning light. Her eyes travelled down to his lips, and her heart fluttered in her chest. Fuck, she wanted to close the gap between them. She'd fantasised over how his lips would feel against her own since the day they first met, sure that they would be soft, that he'd kiss her so tenderly that she'd forget to breathe.

And she almost does when Vik's smile falters a little and he slowly leans closer to her. His eyes fall to her lips and fuck, is this really happening? Her breathing becomes shallow, her heart starts to race as she finds herself leaning into the ripperdoc. It felt like the air around them suddenly became electrically charged. The space between them was fucking magnetic.

A loud groan brings V back to reality, pulling back from Vik as she looks over to where Jackie was now stretching and cursing in Spanish. Vik let out a defeated sigh as he sat back, bringing his coffee cup to his lips.

"Mi maldita cabeza," he grumbled, as Misty sat up groggily, yawning as she looked over to the couch where V and Vik were perched.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"Too fuckin' early." Jackie said, spotting the coffee cups in front of them. "Oh, fuck yeah."

"Good morning, sunshine." V cooed, and Jackie flipped her off as he took a large, audible sip of coffee.

"That's the shit, right there." He hands Misty her cup, which she cradles close to her chest. V was all too aware of the rigid presence beside her, and looked over to Vik as he ran a hand through his hair.

"We should get goin'." He says, getting to his feet. Jackie protests but Misty jumps up, pulling him up with her.

"Come on, lazy," she says affectionately, and Jackie grumbles before kissing her forehead. V's heart tugs a little with jealousy, and glances at Vik.

"C'mon, lovebirds." He says with a cool smile, and heads over to the stairwell. They head down the stairs to the elevator, and V pulls out her phone as Vik pulls open the gate, stepping in and waiting for the others to join. She has a few messages, one of which is from Jackie from a few hours earlier. Curious, she opens it, and blushes furiously when she is met with a picture of herself and Vik, sleeping soundly on the couch, wrapped up in each other, and a message below that read:

"Just friends" my ass.

She suddenly became aware she'd stopped in her tracks, staring down at her phone, when Jackie asked if she was coming. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and Jackie looked down at the phone in her hands, back up to her eyes and a moment later a shit eating grin spread across his face.

"C'mon, chica," he said devilishly, and V entered the elevator, holding her phone tightly in her hand. She stood next to Vik, looking straight ahead, and saw in the corner of her eye that Jackie was leaning into Misty, whispering in her ear. Misty started giggling, to which Vik raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of his coffee.

It felt like an eternity before the elevator finally reached the ground, and V quickly exited, heading out into the alley behind Misty's store.

"V," came Vik's voice from behind her. "You gonna come grab your gear?” She nods, having forgotten about her weapons she’d stashed in his clinic the night before. After Misty wished everyone a good day, she headed into her store and Jackie crouched down to stroke the cat that frequented the alleyway, telling V he’d wait there for her. V followed Vik down the steps to his clinic, distracted by the fact she could see his back muscles even through his shirt. Once inside, Vik unlocked the gate and pushed it open, flicking the switch to turn on the lights and the AC. The familiar smell of sterilised equipment and Vik’s aftershave greeted V, wrapping her up as she headed for his desk, where her gun was waiting for her.

"So," he said, leaning back against the surgical chair. "What was all that about, back in the elevator?" V froze for a moment, her grip tightening on her gun, before holstering it and turning to Vik.

"Jackie," she said. "He, uh…" Vik raised an eyebrow and V blushed, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She held it out to him, and he walked over to her, looking down at the picture. A smile slowly spread across his lips before he turned back to the surgical chair.

"Send me a copy of that, will ya?" He says, and V's heart positively leaps out of her chest. She stares at his back, wondering if she heard him right. She hoped to fucking god she did.

"I-" She stops herself. "Okay." She taps away on her phone, and forwards the picture to Vik. His phone beeps, and he pulls it out of his pocket. It's then that she realises she'd been holding her breath, and her heart was thundering in her chest.

He looks over his shoulder, smiles again and walks over to her. Placing a hand on her cheek, he leans down and brushes his nose against hers.

"Just friends, huh?" He says lowly, and her knees almost buckle beneath her. She sighs against his lips, running a hand up his chest as he at last presses his lips to hers in an electrifying kiss. Her entire body practically fucking melts into his touch, and she parts her lips to deepen the kiss, bringing her hand up to hold his cheek. He shuffles closer, pressing his body against hers, his hands cupping her jaw, fingers gently threading through the hair above her neck.

The kiss is utterly dizzying and it takes everything she has to hold herself together. She clings to him desperately, and a quiet moan escapes her lips between kisses as the heat began to rise between them.

"Yo, V!"

They pull apart suddenly when Jackie calls down to her, and she stares at him, their noses brushing, neither daring to move. They breathe heavily against each other's lips, and Vik chuckles.

"Better get goin'." She nods, but doesn't move. He pulls his fingers along her jaw and tucks her hair behind her ears. She nudges his nose with hers, and he connects their lips again.

"What's takin' so lo- oh,'' Jackie stopped at the gate to the clinic. V and Vik break apart, turning to find him leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, grinning like the cheshire fucking cat.

"Fucking finally."

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.9

Spencer is in love with you, but you’re engaged to someone else.

Chapter Nine: illicit affairs: The direct aftermath of Spencer’s confession. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading.     Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: swearing, heartbreak, unrequited / unreciprocated love, talk of breakup/s, cheating, very angsty, a tiny tiny bit of fluff, this whole series is a real slow burn

series masterlist

A/N: thank you for the continuous love you are showing to this little story! i can’t put into words how much it means to me, truly!! thank you also to those who expressed whether they would prefer this chapter to be happy or painful, you all really inspired me!! ENJOY!

-

“P-please say something.” Spencer’s plea was barely a whisper.

Time stood still in that moment. His heart was now in his throat, his hands trembling against your soft skin. He could see the sadness in your eyes, the conflict. Hurting you was exactly the thing he wanted to avoid. And as he silently observed the uncertainty cloud your features, his soul ached.

“I-I.. Spencer, I…”

There was a period of time after your breakup where you imagined something like this happening perhaps a million times. Where you wished he’d tell you all of the things he just did. Like a wild dream. A happy dream where you would say you loved him too. He would wrap his large arms around your frame, and never let go again.

This felt nothing like that. This was more like a nightmare.

His voice was ringing in your ears, the confession replaying on loop. You didn't know what to say. You didn't know what to think. You felt betrayed by the man standing in front of you. Betrayed by the words he said.

Most importantly, you felt betrayed by your own feelings.

“Please leave.” You finally uttered, chin trembling.

The sentence came out croaky, broken even, but Spencer heard you. Pain rushed through him, burning his skin inside out. He twitched his nose in a failed attempt at trying to fight back his own tears.

He was prepared for this outcome, he knew it was a possibility. He knew there was a chance you would distance yourself from him. He knew you might get angry. After all, the kiss you shared two months ago didn't compare to what he just weighed off his chest. Especially if you didn't feel the same way.

In this moment however, as he held your face and looked deep into your eyes, his heart was in agony. He wasn't ready to let you go.

“Please leave.” You repeated a little more determined. Your hands quickly travelled to his in an effort to free yourself from his strong embrace.

“Y/N, don’t do this. W-we can talk this out.” Spencer begged, not wanting to let you slip away. “You’re the most important person in my life Y/N. I need you. I-I know that’s unfair. And I know it was unfair to tell you the truth about how I truly feel now, after all this time. I know that. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. Please-e don’t tell me to leave, please. I need y-you.”

“W-what, what about what I need?”

By now, the tears streaming down your face were resembling a waterfall. Everything was heavy, especially your heart. Conflicting emotions circling through you causing your head to spin. You felt like you were losing your mind. As if the room was getting smaller, and the walls were closing in.

“What about what I need, Spencer?!” You cried out, sadness slowly dissipating into anger. Your hands moved to his chest. You pushed him backwards, little by little, struggling to break free. “Get out! Get out! Get out.. Get out...” Your voice faded.

The brunette doctor let his arms fall. Completely defeated he took a step back, giving you space to breathe. Hastily, he wiped his tears away before proceeding to run his fingers through his hair.

An agonising silence filled the room. The two of you stared at one another, both afraid to speak up first. Afraid to somehow make this worse. Salty droplets continued to stream down your face as you tried to organise your thoughts, and your conflicting feelings.

There was no denying you loved Spencer too. You realised now more than ever that you always have. But you also loved Ethan, and you couldn't just walk away from a relationship you tried so hard to build. A relationship that to a certain extent helped you get over the very man standing in front of you.

Which is what hurt the most - Spencer’s impeccably terrible timing.

“W-why didn't you say anything sooner?” You sniffled. “I-I waited for you. After we broke up, before I met Ethan, I waited for you. I-I wanted you Spencer, and you never said anything. You never showed any inclination that you wanted me back. Why?”

The one-worded question lingered in the air. Heavy. Shattering.

Spencer sniffled quietly. A broken look was visible on his features; one to match yours. Tears slowly trailing down his jawline.

“B-because... Because....” He stuttered. Mind racing as he tried to collect his thoughts. Truthfully, Spencer didn't have an answer to that question. He didn't have a good enough reason. “I-I was afraid. I was afraid if I said something I would lose you all over again.”

“How much does it hurt knowing you lost me anyway?” It was the wrong thing to say. You regretted it the second it escaped your lips.

Heartbreak is a whole-body response. Similar to a grieving process, there are a number of stages. A number of reactions. It spreads through the nervous system, the respiratory system, and the endocrine system. It spreads until you’re unable to function.

Your words were ringing in Spencer’s ears. He felt nauseous. The room was spinning. Everything he feared was coming true.

Heartbreak doesn't just affect the heart and brain. It’s a lot more complicated than that.

“Y-you don't mean that.” He whispered, taking a hazy step towards you. “I-I know you don't mean that. Please, Y/N...”

The way he said your name made your heart ache even more. You didn’t want to cause him any pain, just like you knew his intentions weren’t malicious either. Yet, the two of you stood across from one another with nothing between you but hurt.

“I love you. And I-I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but please don’t tell me to go. Please don’t shut me out.” Spencer pleaded. His hands found yours, and he held them close to his chest. “I can’t imagine my life without you. I love you Y/N.” He repeated.

Sniffling, you swallowed your breath. The waterfall ended. Instead, it was replaced by lone wet droplets gradually trailing down your features.

“I love you too.” You expressed in a soft voice before meeting his wandering gaze.

Spencer blinked. His heart fluttered as he registered what you admitted.

“Y-you do?” He didn't think he’d be lucky enough to hear you say those three words again and mean it. Really mean it. Of course he hoped you would. After all, you said them earlier tonight. However, right now it was different. He felt it with every fibre of his being. You loved him back.

“Of course I do! Of course I love you! I always have, and I’m pretty sure I will never stop.” You admitted. The words spilling out of you with such ease you knew it was a sign what you were saying was true. “No-one makes me feel the way you do.”

A deep sigh escaped your lips. “B-but I can’t love you, Spencer. I’m getting married.”

“If Ethan doesn’t make you feel-” He began, but you quickly cut him off.

“You’re the love of my life Spencer. My soulmate. You came into my life at exactly the right time and made it so much richer. You helped me become the person I am today. Our connection is so strong, we can understand each other without a word. We’re combined through heart and mind, and I will never regret the time we spent together. I will never regret loving you.” You revealed. “E-Ethan, however, Ethan is my life partner. He gives me comfort. He’s my right hand. Our bond grows stronger with everyday menial tasks.”

“I could be your life partner Y/N if you just gave me a chance.” Spencer’s hands moved to your cheeks once again, cupping them gently. “You told me you wanted to marry me before, we can do that.”

“Spencer...”

“Y/N, there is no doubt in my mind that I would do anything to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.”

It was a proposal. A marriage proposal.

Spencer didn't have to specify, you knew that it was. You knew what he meant. He didn't have to get down on one knee with a diamond ring in hand. He didn't have to ask, ‘will you marry me?’. He didn't have to make it intentionally romantic. His words alone were evidence enough. Spencer Reid wanted to marry you.

“I-I, I need some time to think. I-I can’t just drop everything and run away with you. I hope you understand that Spencer.”

The hazel-eyed doctor slowly nodded his head. “Take all the time you need Y/N. I’ll wait. I will always wait for you.”

And with that, his lips found yours.

Despite the complicated situation you both found yourselves in. Despite the difficult position, and the choice you were now facing. He held you as close as it was humanely possible. Nothing mattered. The world slipped away. Your hands moved around his neck. Heartbeats syncing into one. 

Both of you revelling in the thought you found each other once again.

And you know damn well For you I would ruin myself A million little times

-

A/N: hope you liked this chapter and as always i’d love to hear your feedback! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel

[mingoyeob-archive]

omg hey, if not done yet, can we please have 51 + jk? also take your time for part 3, no need to rush and stress about it, you're an amazing writer and good work always takes time 💜

under the oak tree drabble game ⚔️🌳 to make up for my delayed release of part 3 of under the oak tree i’ve decided to do a drabble game!

omg thank you for being so kind 🥲 I wanna end under the oak tree in a good way so I've just been pushing it off until I come up with something thats not a complete disappointment?? but I'm hoping these drabbles give you guys more time to enjoy the characters! hope you like it :)

51. “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time” | jjk x reader ft yoongi | word count: 2k

The castle was eerily quiet.

Most days it would be loud with the sound of footsteps and the banging of mugs hitting wood tables followed by the clanking of cutlery. However today, no one seemed to want to make a peep; they were as quiet as a mouse. Unlike everyone else who found the lack of noise peculiar, Yoongi enjoyed it - reveled in it, flourished in it even. Nothing made him happier than being able to sit and enjoy his daily morning, afternoon and evening naps and it made studying all the damn protection spells Jungkook wanted for the castle a hell of a lot easier. But there was one thing that threatened his new paradise, a looming cloud over his glorious fantasy, the grey cloud that he called Jeon Jungkook.

Now Jungkook was never one to be in an especially chipper mood, at least not around most people that is (you on the other hand, seemed to be a completely different story). Yoongi distinctly remembers seeing baby pictures of the lad when he was just a baby with a scowl etched permanently on his face under bushy dark brows. He often found it comical. Here was this lumbering idiot, with a silver spoon practically being shoved in his mouth, the glorious savior of the kingdom, but he was walking around as if his favorite horse had died (which it hadn’t, he checked). It was really starting to get on his nerves.

“Kid, you’ve gotta stop scaring the men. I swore I saw one of them shit themselves the other day.” Yoongi said from beside Jungkook. Currently they sat side by side in the great hall, feasting on bowls of hearty beef stew, the kind with giant chunks of meat and half haphazardly chopped vegetables covered in a thick and glorious gravy. Hmm my favorite Yoongi hummed to himself, eyes slipping shut as he drank up the delicious broth with a loud slurping sound. His spoon made a loud clanging sound against his bowl when he dropped it back down, wiping his mouth to shift his gaze back over to the scowling man to his left. “You know if I were you I would be jumping for joy. You’re filthy fucking rich, whats to be sad about huh?”

Jungkook didn’t even let out his usual grunt in response, opting to continue swirling his spoon around in his stew while glaring down at it as if it had wronged him in some way. But the sudden sound of one the knights from across the hall laughing had him snapping his head up to send a growl over to the group of men which had them instantly silencing themselves, ducking down to continue silently eating their food. Yoongi watched the exchange with amusement, “Yeah you definitely need to get laid.”

Jungkook raised his hand to swing at him to which Yoongi merely stopped with a spell, not even bothering to look at him while he took another spoonful of his food. He knew Jungkook would never try to purposefully hurt him if he knew Yoongi couldn’t protect himself, so this was just considered normal playful banter between the two men. “That’s enough, Yoongi.” He mumbled angrily, dropping his fist to bang against the table. The noise gained the attention of everyone in the dining hall, but none of them dared to turn their heads to look at the commotion, afraid the Duke would redirect his anger towards them. “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, you know, that's what tends to happen when you don’t get any for a while.” Yoongi sighed and leaned his hand against his hand, gazing pitifully at Jungkook. He noticed the slight twinge of confusion on Jungkooks face and decided to reiterate himself, “It’s called blue balls idiot.”

Jungkook nearly choked on his spit. Yoongi was never one to mince words and this time was no different, but still his blunt words caught him off guard. “Would you keep it down!” Jungkook seethed, whipping his head around to see if anyone had overheard the topic of their conversation. It’s not like he was scared of anyone mocking him (everyone knew better than that) but still, he didn’t need the whole castle knowing that him and his wife still hadn’t had sex yet since he’d been back.

Yes, you heard him correctly. Jungkook had been back for almost three months and you and him still hadn’t even so much as touched each other intimately. Sure they had a few passionate kisses and lust filled embraces here and there which had left your neck bruised with hickies, but outside of that, neither of you had even dared roaming a hand south of the border. He didn’t know why he hadn’t tried it, perhaps it was because he wanted to make sure you were ready this time, instead of forcing himself on you like last time. He wanted to be positive that you enjoyed yourself as much as he did, wanted to bring you to new heights that made you absolutely euphoric. But until you were comfortable with him enough to let him do so, he would stick to his hand and the dirty images that he had conjured up in his head.

“I know what blue balls are, Yoongi. But I’m perfectly fine with how mine and y/n’s relationship is going.” he mumbled, glaring at the sorcerer. “And I don’t need you meddling in my love life so why don’t you just go and frolic with that stable boy like you do and leave me be.”

Yoongi let out a noise of disagreement, throwing his hands up in annoyance, “How many times do I have to tell you, me and hoseok are not frolicking or whatever the hell you’re into-” Jungkooks foot kicked his leg under the table causing him to let out a hiss but nonetheless he continued, “You can’t keep waiting for her to make the first move. Y/n is a lady and a lady from Aster at that. Those chicks never make the first move.”

Jungkook grumbled and pushed his bowl away from him then sipped at his ale in contemplation. Perhaps Yoongi was right, maybe it was time for him to make the first move. “But how can I make sure she’s ready? What if I fuck up like last time?” he questioned, not bothering to hide the genuine concern in his voice.

The sorcerer just sighed, patting Jungkook on the shoulder, “Trust me, kid. If you fucked up, she wouldn’t still be here. And judging by the noises I heard last time, I’m pretty sure she enjoyed herself.” yoongi shuddered. No more late night walks through the hall he promised himself. “Just try to do something nice for her this time. Don’t just throw her around, take it easy. Try and lighten the mood, understand?”

Jungkook was quiet for a second, the gears turning in his head. When he finally seemed to come to a conclusion, he grunted and nodded his head. The corner of Yoongi's lips tilted up in a satisfied smile and he clapped the man on the shoulder, “Thatta boy!”

Immediately after dinner, Jungkook went to the kitchen to request the finest meats, cheeses and artfully crafted desserts they had along with the sweetest wine the chef could find. The kitchen staff were practically shaken in their boots when the Duke had first walked into the room, afraid they had done something to mess up his dinner. But when they saw how shy yet dedicated the man seemed to be (despite how much he had tried to hide it) they were more than happy to help him, promising him that they would do their best. Jungkook gave them a monotonous thanks and had practically run out the room, up the steps and to the bed chamber. He had a lot to do in a short amount of time.

“I am pooped!” You groaned, complaining to Seokjin about how much work you had done today while walking through the hard stone halls of the castle. You had spent most of today working in the library, learning and going over the finances with Seokjin so you could finally start taking on more of your ‘wifely duties’ and relieving him of some of the burden. “I’m still not sure how the conversion from pences to shillings works. Or is it shillings to pences? Ah, oh well.”

Seokjin merely rolled his eyes as he walked beside you, hands clasped behind his back in his usual gentlemanly fashion. “Yes my lady you did work very hard today. I do believe it is time for you to get a good night's rest so we can start again in the morning.” You whined at his words, stopping as you finally reached the door of your bed chambers. Seokjn just let out a small chuckle at your over the top theatrics, “Have a goodnight Y/n.”

You had returned his well wishes, sending him a beaming smile and wave as he walked back down the hallway. Once he was out of sight you turned back towards the door hand reaching out to grasp the knob. But before you got a chance to even touch the brass door handle, the mahogany swung open in front of you, your tall husband's looming figure instantly coming into sight. “Oh hello!” you greeted, surprised by the fact that he seemed to be waiting for your arrival.

Jungkook just stared at you, is he blushing? You asked yourself. The man didn’t say anything, just stepped out of the way and gestured for you to enter. You thought the whole exchange was weird and cautiously stepped around him, not expecting the sight that awaited you.

You let out a gasp, hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock as you surveyed the room. Almost every inch of the place was covered in the most beautiful and fragrant rose petals, the room lit up from the fireplace he had going across the room. Delicious food and desserts covered the tables so much of it that you had no idea how he expected you to finish it all. “Jungkook, what is all this?” you said, whipping around to look at him as he continued to stand by the entrance, stiff as a board.

He ducked his head, hands coming up to fidget as he nervously looked around the room. “Do you like it?” he asked, finally daring to meet your gaze. “I had Yoongi help me. He said you might like all this...or whatever.”

Your irises were practically lit up with admiration, eyes shining with pure undulated joy. You couldn’t believe he had done all of this for you. “Of course I like it! I mean- I love it! But what did I do to deserve this?”

Jungkook just furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, finally crossing the room to cradle your cheek and stare into your eyes affectionately. “What do you mean deserve this? I love you, y/n. I would give you the whole world if I could.”

His words had your eyes tearing up and you brought a hand up to gently hold the one he had placed on your cheek. Your head turned, placing a peck against the calloused skin of his palm as you returned his gaze, letting your eyes show just how thankful you were. “Jungkook...I love you too.” you whispered, watching as his face seemed to light up with your confession.

The rest of the night was spent dining on the luxurious food the kitchen had prepared, mouths full as you whispered sweet nothings to each other and spilled all of your darkest secrets and happiest moments. And despite the fact that the two of you still hadn’t managed to find your way to the bed or explored the rest of each other's bodies that had laid untouched by one another for quite some time, Jungkook couldn’t find himself to care. He was happy enough to be here at this moment, with you.

Blue balls be damned

[omg-imagine]

Forget Me Not (Part 12/15)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Angst, language

A/N: Kinda nervous posting again since it’s been a while, but we’re winding down to the end of this story with only three more parts to go (2 chapters + an epilogue). As always, feedback is appreciated. Thanks for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy!

Part 11

Home.

You are home. It’s supposed to be home.

But it wasn’t. To you, it couldn’t be. 

This place feels too far from home, too foreign. You had no memories of it, no recollection of the safety and security it offers. Not even the faintest remembrance of the laughter, smiles, and tears; the fondness and the sadness these four walls have witnessed over the years. 

You can’t call it home. You don’t know where home is, and you’re not sure you have one anymore. 

Not after leaving him behind.

It’s cold and dark when you first wake, sleep weighing heavily in your eyes. A pair of curtains block out the sun from filtering into the room, leaving you to wonder if you had slept through half the day. With a yawn, you stretch, the bed underneath creaking as your body fully rouses from yet another night of fitful slumber. Almost a month back in New York, and it doesn’t make sense to keep blaming your lack of energy on the time difference.

The ache is still ever-present. The pain caused by the void in your heart remains, sharply throbbing in your chest with its refusal to go away. Two heartbreaks, two betrayals, occurring five years apart, but it feels as though not much time has passed in-between. 

It hurts to ponder about it, that evening when your seemingly perfect little world came crashing down. Hiding behind rose-tinted glasses, you were unknowingly tricked, fully caught up in a well-crafted illusion. His illusion. Love has blinded you to the sad reality, and in the end, it left you a shattered mess, a hollow shell of your former self.

You doubt you’ll ever be whole again.

Forcing yourself out from under the covers, you reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time before scrolling through your notifications. Nothing was of interest to you, fortunately; you didn’t have the energy to respond to those you suddenly abandoned. Friends who cared about you but realized you were never close to them. Not in the way it used to be.

As you skimmed over the new texts and emails, you then came across his now unsaved number. The moment you stepped on the plane, you deleted his contact from your phone and blocked him. Yet the last messages he sent to you were still there and haven’t been read since, though you already knew what they could entail—

I’m sorry.

It was never my intention to hurt you.

Please give me another chance.

Let me fix this.

Just come back, Y/N. Come back home.

Home. There was that damn word again. You were beginning to loathe it, even more so knowing that whenever you think of home, you wind up thinking of him.

The last time you saw him was the morning after the storm. Booking a one-way ticket back to the east coast, you then spent the early hours packing as many clothes that would fit in a single suitcase. Tears had long since dried up, having none left as you headed down the stairs, ignoring the look he gave you from afar.

He was dressed in the outfit he had on the night prior; his hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and it was quite obvious he endured no sleep. Your resolve nearly crumbles as your gazes connect, bodies close enough that he could reach out the slightest bit, and he’d be holding your hand in the palm of his. 

Fighting the urge, you didn’t cave in. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall for it—for him. 

No, never again.

As expected, he followed you out of the house, remaining quiet as he watched the cab driver load your luggage in the trunk. You paid him no attention when he approached the vehicle once you climbed in, wanting nothing more than to escape this nightmare. With nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, you decided it was best to leave California, not that you belonged there anyway.

It played out like a scene from a movie—the taxi pulling out of the driveway slowly as the raindrops started to fall. Hearing him call out your name, his voice cracking with each syllable, made you hesitate for a beat. Perhaps you could forgive him, you had thought in that split-second. Forgive and forget; let what happened in the past stay in the past. 

But even if you did, the pain’s still there, and it was overpowering. This pain resulting from his deception had been too consuming, too unbearable to move on.

You told the driver to hurry as you couldn’t afford to miss your flight.

The atmosphere in the car was fraught with grim silence. As the house sequestered in the hills vanishes in the rearview mirror, you knew you were running away from it all. You couldn’t stand being here in LA, where every turn, every corner, and every street reminds you of a life that wasn’t truly yours. 

As idyllic it once was, you wanted no part of it anymore. Instead, you sought for familiarity, the life you used to have, the one you could only remember. 

What you thought was your real home.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you had broken down in the backseat, never feeling more alone than you did at that moment.

You wish you could forget, but it’s not that easy. It’s never easy. Memories of him linger in your mind, still tragically fresh as they haunt you day in and day out. Closing your eyes, you could see him wearing this smile that used to make your stomach flutter. You came to love his smile the same way you had loved him wholly. 

Now? Seeing it was a stab to the heart—a reminder of how he took advantage of your condition, your vulnerability. Of every lie you were fed. That smile, the one you previously hoped to wake up to for the rest of your life, had been an act, a facade. 

Everything had been a facade.

A sudden knock on the door startles you, and you clicked off the phone screen before announcing to whoever that they could come in. Your mother Nancy enters soon after, her face displaying concern when she realizes you had just woken up. She’s silent as she walks towards the window and then pushes the curtains aside, the sunlight outside immediately washing over the room. 

Briefly, you squint to adjust to the brightness, a confirmation that it was past noon already—another wasted day.

“Hey, darling,” she speaks softly as she moves to sit on the mattress beside you. “How are you doing?”

There’s no point in lying, but as much as you greatly appreciated her caringness, you didn’t want to burden her with your problems. They were yours to deal with and yours alone. 

“Better.” And that, you were. Just a week ago, you finally stopped crying yourself to sleep. “I might even go out tomorrow and look for a job. Can’t keep freeloading under your roof, right?”

You release a half-chuckle, a small attempt to lighten up the mood. It was comforting when your mother cracks a smile in response.

“Oh, hush. You’re always welcome to stay as long as you need to,” she assures, a loving warmth radiating from her tone. 

Lips pressing together, you sense that she has another thing to address. “What’s wrong?”

Nancy pauses to take a breath, shoulders rising and falling. For some reason, you’re on edge, finding yourself bracing for what was to come.

“Have you spoken to Keanu lately?”

Upon hearing his name, you swallowed away the lump in your throat. After telling your parents what had transpired, it stirred up various emotions—mainly anger from your father, sorrow from your mom. Their hearts sank as you recounted the story, tears blurring your eyes that you couldn’t see their faces. It was a good thing, however; you probably wouldn’t have reached the end.

Since then, they’ve refrained from speaking of him and to him. He’s called the house on a few occasions but could never get past the automated answering machine. Pictures of the two of you hanging on the walls were taken down shortly after the revelation, and you were unsure of who had done it. 

Your parents still couldn’t believe he was capable of such a thing. He had played them the same way you were, twisting the truth and omitting facts. Painting himself in a way that made them think allowing you to stay with him was the best decision when just months before he treated you as if you didn’t matter. 

As if he didn’t love you.

“No.” Curt, you had nothing else to say. 

“He’s a persistent one, I’ll tell you that. Left another message last night,” Nancy comments, feeling her stare as you fiddled with the hands in your lap. The next time she speaks, it’s slow and controlled. She’s careful with her words, wary of how you would react to what she has to say. “Hon, the last time you were here, you told me something. Something that I probably should have mentioned the day you woke up in the hospital.”

You tense, eyes flickering up to hers. “What is it?”

She sighs deeply, her smile fleeting and replaced by a taut frown. “I knew you and Keanu were having… problems. Not the full story, but enough that told me you’ve been unhappy for a while.”

“W-Why didn’t you bring this up then?”

“Because the second I saw him in your hospital room, I could see how much he loves you. How scared he was at the thought of nearly losing you—”

“Pfft, sure he was,” you scoff at the statement in disbelief. “What he did—you don’t do that to someone you love. You don’t lie to them, betray them. Hell, if you had given me a heads up earlier, then it would have saved me all this trouble.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t you get it? He’s an actor. Of course, he’s good at playing pretend. Got us all believing that things were all sunshine and rainbows. He fucked up and fucked up even more by lying. I’ve always had a bad track record in relationships, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised.”

Tension hangs thickly in the air, an apology murmured at the end of a passing second. You didn’t mean to snap at your mother, to let the anger and betrayal consume you that you began taking it out on others although unwillingly. 

But you were just too goddamn hurt. Every day, the memories are suffocating you despite constantly wishing and pleading for them to disappear. That life, the one you had with Keanu, no longer exists, and yet you were still holding onto the frayed remains of it, not ready to move on—to let go. 

You grieve. You grieve and mourn for the recent past, the happiness and love you experienced in the time you were left unaware. Never have you felt so complete, so content, and much at ease. You had turned a blind eye to the signs, to the small inklings of doubt brewing inside because you thought that there was no way you could get something else as close to this.

Perhaps you were both to blame after all.

“I thought he was different,” you whisper, sorrow flowing from your words. “I thought he was the one. The man I’d settle down with, marry, and then maybe someday, be the father of my kids. We’d build an entire life together, a family, a future. The kind of life where I could look back on it fifty years from now when we’re old and gray and not regret a single thing.”

Feeling your mother’s hand come on top of yours with a light squeeze, you fought off the tears forcing their way from your eyes. You swore you would never shed a tear for Keanu ever again, but you are crumbling from within. The weak walls you put up are now tumbling down, leaving you even more vulnerable than before. 

“I want to hate him. I want him to feel my pain and suffer through it, knowing that he’s the reason why. But I can’t. Somehow, I just can’t.”

“It’s because you still love him. No matter how much it hurts, you’re still in love with him,” Nancy adds solemnly, and you nod shakily. “You’re healing, dear. So far, all you’ve done is put on a bandaid, but it doesn’t mean the wound closes up immediately. It’ll burn, it’ll bleed, and it’ll ache, and right now, that’s what you’re feeling; the pain of a fresh open wound.”

“Make the pain stop,” you mumbled incoherently as you lean against your mom’s side, wet cheeks pressed to her shoulder. “It has to stop.”

“And it will,” she promises, listening to your soft and tired cries. “It’ll take time for the wound to heal, but eventually, it will. Until then, life continues, and you would have to as well. You don’t have to go all-in right away, but don’t let this heartbreak hinder you from living, sweetie. You’re strong, and I believe you will feel that same happiness again, in one form or another. But you won’t find it unless you go out and look for it.”

For the first time in what seemed like a while, you felt something other than loss and despair. It creeps into you slowly, half-expecting a cold, crushing weight to fall heavily on your chest rather than the warmth and light it is. But as quickly as it came, the sensation subsides, a wave of loneliness, emptiness filling the vacant space surrounding your heart.

A shuddering breath released, you then reflect upon what your mother said about time and how time heals all wounds. You wonder how much time is needed until you can finally break free from the remnants of the past and breathe again. Could be days, weeks, or even months more, but it’s right there, waiting for you on the horizon. 

You may not have a place to call home, but what you do have is time.

---

Seconds turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours. The sun sets, the moon rises; bright, blues skies bleed into a fiery red before dimming to an inky darkness. The world spins on its axis as people wake, move, then sleep, and the cycle begins all over again.

Two weeks have come and gone, and life pushes onward. You could tell by the scenery outside where the season of fall has taken charge of the Northeast. Days are shorter, with nights stretching out longer as the year fades into winter. Time was flying by at a brisk pace. Very soon, a blanket of snow will cover the ground you walk on, reminding you to take a step back and admire the natural beauty of mid-November.

The crispness of the late afternoon air is refreshing as it fills your lungs, a welcome change from the hazy summer heat. Leaves that were once lively shades of green are now painted in deep hues of amber and burgundy, and they crunch beneath your boots with each leisure step down the earthy path. The nearby lake is as pristine as ever, sparkling freely underneath the rays of the ochre sun as it waits for the impending frost.

Wandering about outdoors for hours now, you were lost in your stream of thoughts. You honestly felt better, not entirely mended, but just enough that you can step out of the house and explore the quaint little town. A picturesque place, it was a perfect settlement for your retired parents where everyone knew everybody; their faces, names, the street they lived on. Boilding down to more personal details such as knowing the pets they owned, which book club they’re a part of, and any recent travels. 

When the townsfolk saw you, you sensed the feeling of familiarity. Those you passed by in the streets waved at you, and though you couldn’t exactly recall your relationship with them, it made you smile. Recently, old friends and family in the area had begun reaching out after hearing you were back. You never gave them the full explanation, only revealing that things in California did not work out, and you figured it was best to leave. 

Was it a permanent decision? Most likely. Life here is simpler, quieter. You enjoyed the peacefulness, favoring the calm atmosphere of this town much over the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles. It gave you space to think, to focus, to breathe. To reacquaint with yourself, rebuild who you are as a person by taking this journey of self-discovery. 

It’s the brand new start you desperately wanted, needed. An opportunity to find your place in this world without the past holding you back. Without the shadow of the woman you once were looming over you. And if your memories don’t ever return, which deep down, you hope they never would, you would be fine with it. 

You were tired of being stuck searching pieces of the past. You had to live.

Trekking up the gravel road leading to your parents’ home, a black car sits on top of the hill, one that you did not recognize. Perplexed, you approached the house with hesitant steps, dragging your feet through the pile of dead and dry leaves. There was a moment of panic when you noticed a man sitting on the front porch steps, hands clasped on his knees as he hung his head low, a curtain of dark hair masking his identity.

But you don’t need to think twice, for you already know who it is.

“Keanu?”

His name slipping out of your mouth feels different now. Gone is the affectionate tone that it was usually spoken in. It held no meaning, void of any warmth or tenderness. Keanu, the name is bitter on your tongue, a poison that could cause you to spiral down yet again, and saying it out loud brought upon a rage that swirls through your veins.

How dare he show up here unannounced?

As you take your breaths, one… two… three... and out, Keanu straightens his posture and meets your stern glare. Slowly, he gets up, the expression on his face hard to read. But aside from that, he looked worse for wear. The bags underneath his eyes were dark and prominent, the beard on his chin was unruly and untamed. He appears gaunt and exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept a wink ever since you walked out of the door and out of his life.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You’re the first to break the thick silence, a testament of your bravery and strength of some sort. Brows furrowing and teeth gritting in anger, it contrasts with Keanu’s lax demeanor as he steps closer. “No, stay back. You have no right to be here right now.”

“Y/N, please...” He speaks calmly, each and every one of his movements measured. “I’m not here to fight—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you seethed, shaking your head as you stormed past him and towards the door. Tears brew in your cloudy eyes, a sign of how much he still affected you. Seeing him again after all this time only proved that the wound he had inflicted bleeds to this day.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Keanu quickly trails from behind, his voice dripping with utter desperation. “Please, just… give me a chance to talk. All you have to do is listen, and I promise you won’t ever have to see me again.”

The seriousness in his timbre causes you to halt in your tracks. Swallowing dryly, you turn around, sad, tired eyes reaching his guilt-filled ones. Keanu stands before you with a face written in despair, making him barely recognizable. The way he’s staring at you as if he’s hopeless and in pure anguish is unsettling, and you almost pitied him for it. 

“Y/N…” He pleads softly, defeatedly. “Hear me out, please.”

You wrestled between your options, half apathetic, half curious of what Keanu had to say. Unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, he mutely begs for you to relent, and if this is all it takes for him to leave you alone, leave you for good, then so be it.

“Ten minutes,” you muttered, low enough that he barely catches it at first. Crossing your arms against your chest, the gentle autumn wind rustling through the trees pierces the silent air as you observe Keanu staggering forward, a hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he begins, gazing at you with his searching brown eyes. “I-I know saying it a thousand times won’t make a difference, but I really am sorry. What I did before and after the accident was inexcusable and selfish. I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself that. Don’t expect you to do so, either. You probably hate my guts right now, and flying out here might be a mistake, but I needed to talk to you in person. To say goodbye one last time.”

Brushing his hair back, Keanu then pads over to the trunk of the car, and all you can do is wait for him to come back. It doesn’t take long, but he makes two trips to unload two boxes, setting each of them down in the space separating you two. He instantly notices the confusion etched across your features, burying his hands in his coat pocket with an exhale.

“Are those—”

“All the things you left behind,” Keanu finishes feebly. “Thought you would want them back.”

Stunned, a mirthless chuckle escapes your throat. “You didn’t have to do this. Those aren’t my things anyway.”

“But they are—”

“They’re not mine,” you cut him off with a weary gaze. “Keanu, I’ve said this before; I’m not the woman you fell in love with. Not anymore. Look, throughout those months we spent together, I tried to fit into this life everyone told me I had. A life that’s far from what I was used to. God, it feels like a dream being her. So confident, happy, and successful. Waking up from the coma, of course, I would want that. I had just gotten out of a terrible relationship which left me broken and unworthy of anything and anyone. Then you showed me the love I thought I didn’t deserve, and it kept me from realizing that it was all too good to be true.”

Eyes faltering to the ground, your fingers fumbled with the hem of your sweater, ultimately distracting yourself from the tears threatening to fall. “The truth is, I didn’t know you. You were, are, a stranger to me. You had done things behind my back, hid details that would have been a deal-breaker, but you didn’t care. I’ve thought about it a lot lately; would I have stayed if you told me from the very beginning. I wasn’t sure if I was madder at you kissing someone else, knowing how much it would hurt me, or the fact that you lied to fix this—us.”

There is a moment of silence that weighs over everything. The wind stops blowing; the leaves are motionless. Time seems to slow around you and Keanu as he waits for your next words. Words that you are still searching for since you hadn’t prepared to voice those thoughts out loud. They all came rushing, flooding like a broken dam, too overwhelming to keep at bay. 

“Which one is it?” Keanu probes delicately, equally afraid of which answer you’re going to give.

“Neither,” you revealed, surprisingly. “I’m angrier at myself for falling too fast; for being the naive little girl who let herself be fooled, who refused to listen to her instincts even though she knew they were usually right.”

You see Keanu open his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done. “I always believed this accident was a curse. It erased years worth of memories that, at this point, I’ll never get back. But now, I see the good that came out of it. Our fights, our arguments, they were all signs that our relationship was falling apart, but I couldn’t let go of it—of you. I held onto us thinking the bad will just phase out eventually when in reality, I couldn’t bear giving up on you and this life we shared.”

Another pause. “Huh, funny. Looking at it, the same thing happened all over again.”

With that said, you felt relieved, somewhat lighter. Despite previous inclinations, you didn’t shout or yell at Keanu. Nor did you discuss to the fullest extent of the suffering you’ve endured. Strangely, it was nearly therapeutic admitting all of that to him, to yourself. For months, you had been unable to let go and accept the truth, allowing fear and doubt to control your actions. 

But that was then, and this is now. 

And now, it was time for you to be free.

“Guess this is it,” Keanu sighs dejectedly. He didn’t come here to win you back, knowing there’s nothing that he could do or say to repair the damage. Like you, he’s letting go, letting this be the closure he needs, and you need as well. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, “Guess this is goodbye.”

Before you could leave his sight to spare Keanu the awkwardness, he holds up a finger, signaling you to wait a second. Swiftly, he goes to retrieve something that’s lying on the front seat, something that you’ve spent countless hours flipping through. He then reluctantly passes it over to you, and you’re unsure what to do with it.

“Your pictures,” he points out, though you were already aware. “I’m not trying to be an asshole or anything by giving this, but this book is yours. Keep it, burn it, do whatever seems right to you. But I want you to know, to remember, that I did love you. I still do, and these photos are proof of it, even if you can’t bring yourself to believe that I’m telling the truth. You deserve love and to be loved, Y/N. More than anything in the universe. I fucked up my chance to be the one to tell you that every day, but it doesn’t mean the next person you fall for will.”

“Ke…” your voice suddenly breaks with emotion, uncertain of what to add after his statement. It’s because you still love him. No matter how much it hurts, you’re still in love with him, your mother’s earlier words echo in your mind, ringing true in your heart. Even after everything, a piece of you still loved Keanu, and saying goodbye to him more painful than you anticipated.

As you stand frozen, Keanu inches nearer until he’s by your feet, the palm of his hand coming to rest on your cheek. He strokes your face with a tender caress before tilting your chin upwards to meet his gaze, brushing his thumb along your lower lip gently. You allow him to have this moment, to hold you and study you for a final time, commit you to memory as this would be the last. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you feel him press a soft kiss on your forehead, the warmth of it immediately spreading throughout your body before he slowly pulls away.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” Keanu says, opening the driver’s side door of his rental. You look at each other once more and see the subtle, hopeful smile he shoots your way. “And don’t be afraid to love again.”

You watch as he starts driving away, opting to wait until the car is finally out of view before releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

In your hands is a keepsake of your memories. A collection of captured moments that you had cherished so dearly. But things are different now; mistakes were made, words were said, people have grown apart. You found no reason to linger in the past when there’s nothing left to salvage. 

Nothing left to do but heal.

The warmth of Keanu’s kiss eventually disappears, the world around you unpausing, continuing as it was before. You stay standing in place, glancing back and forth between the book you clutched on tightly and the boxes laying on the ground. 

Yet in the quietude, the wind still blows. The leaves still fall, and the earth still spins.

Time resumes, bit by bit; passing for life to move forward— 

For you to move on.

Part 13

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer​ @fanficsrusz​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee​ @ringa-starr​ @ficsnroses​ @iworshipkeanureeves​ @keandrews​ @greenmanalishi​ @feminine-machinegun​ @thehumanistsdiary​ @lilyette​​ @rdjloverxxx @flaminasteroid @danceoftwowolves @ravenpuff02 @wheretheriversrunintothesea​​ @breakthenight​​ @allie1804-fan​​ @partypoison00​​

[angelictaehyun]

Growing Pains

⤷ In kindergarten, he accidentally punched your nose. Thankfully, from that, a loving, caring friendship blossomed. Since then, you both had been attached at the hip, until suddenly... you’re halfway across the globe, a couple thousand miles apart.

PAIRING; yeonjun/reader

WORD COUNT; 3.2k

GENRE; singer!yeonjun, coming of age au, angst, slight fluff

WARNING; mild swearing, heartbreak, abandonment, angst

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Honestly, five-year-old Yeonjun was nothing short of a nightmare. Though, he was seen this way only by you. 

On a sunny day, sometime in kindergarten, he sat crouched on the playground’s field, searching for a ladybug. As for you, you believed if you found a ladybug, it could grant you a wish, thus you joined the young boy in his quest. You sat next to him, mindlessly searching the grass, and when he looked up to see you... he panicked. Other children, as he was told, are unclean and gross, and that’s exactly the sentiment he told himself as he pushed you onto the grass, causing you to scrape your elbow and bleed. You couldn’t stop sniffling as a big, crocodile tear trickled down your face; he felt terrible. In the palm of his clammy hand, he held a tiny, red ladybug, and seeing you cry, pushed him to give it to you. 

"Please, just take it,” he quivered nervously. He thrust his hand in your face to present the small creature, but he ended up punching your nose. Unsurprisingly, you began full-on bawling. 

He ended up in the principal’s office, and despite his feeble attempt to explain the true incident, his nap and playground time was taken away as punishment. Shortly after, he sulked back to class, passing the nurse’s office. Through the tinted, glass window, he saw you laying on an uncomfortable cot with an ice pack held over your nose and gauze over your injured elbow. 

He was miserable. 

He decided to genuinely apologize. He despised the idea of you being upset with him, even though he didn’t know you. After a stolen pint of ice cream from the school’s cafeteria, a pleading fest, a horrendous papier-mâché, and a heartfelt apology, you decided he wasn’t the worst. As for Yeonjun, he decided he liked you and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he was glued to your side. 

But you didn’t mind. It was hard to resist his smile. 

· ──────────────────── ·

The day you decided Jung Mina was your absolute, garbage, worst enemy, you were nine. 

On your first day back at school, you had gone to the restroom for a quick minute, and when you returned, you found she had stolen your diary to read in front of the class. Though she was quite the golden child, pissing you off to no end. Fortunately, your school’s field day neared the horizon and you decided to show her up. You wanted everyone, specifically Choi Yeonjun, to see your pure, unadulterated talent. You decided to absolutely destroy her in each event. 

You were quite the vengeful nine-year-old. 

Yeonjun, on the other hand, felt hesitant to follow through with your field-day-domination plan. Mina was just too pretty. Her hair smelled like sage and he had the biggest crush on her, unbeknownst to you. He was scared to mention his deep, dark secret, especially after you vocalized your complicated plan. You received virtually no help from him on field day. Despite that, you had won nearly every event. Unfortunately, somehow, you remained tied for champion with Mina, but the tiebreaker seemed quite simple. All you had to do was win a human-wheelbarrow race with Yeonjun, it was almost too easy. 

And in all honesty, you would’ve won had Yeonjun not dropped you in the middle of the field and trip over your body, easily distracted by an air kiss from Mina, herself. He’d been lovestruck, but he didn’t have much time to dwell, especially not when you were squashed under him. He scrambled to help you back up, hoping he didn’t completely ruin your chance but it was too late, you had long lost the race. He turned to you, meeting your unkempt ponytail, narrowed, piercing gaze, sweat, and pursed lips. He was terrified, rightfully so. You told him off in the middle of the field, him withering in shame as he took in your colorful wording. 

You chose to ignore him for a week, leaving him pouty. He decided to relive the past and create another papier-mâché, steal ice cream, and beg for forgiveness at your front door. He stood in the doorway, glancing at you with big, apologetic doe eyes, as an onset of a tear formed. Your resolve crumbled as you pulled him into a forgiving hug. As you pulled away, you admired his puffy lips which tilted into a small smile, and for the first time in your life, you felt your heart flutter. 

He never did tell you about his crush on Mina. In the end, it didn’t quite matter. 

· ──────────────────── ·

Year thirteen, you experimented with makeup. A lot of it. You tried different brands, colors, and styles. Yeonjun would be lying if he said you didn’t resemble a clown, but he kept his mouth shut and let you figure yourself out. Unfortunately, people were mean. When boys laughed at you behind your back, he made sure to drag them outside and put them in their place. When girls acted catty, he held you when you cried. When your family fell apart, he sat and devoured ice cream until your stomach ached. When you decided to join the dance team, he cheered you on at the audition. 

He was always protecting and supporting you, even when you weren’t aware. 

Lastly, when Homecoming approached, he was by your side as your unofficial date.

You both sat on the gym bleacher, overlooking your classmates who were either awkwardly swaying to the music, stuffing their faces at the snack station, or making out with each other. You regretted attending the dance, considering your boredom. though, when your watchful gaze traveled back to the couple kissing, a brilliant idea came forth.

“Junie, you know, neither of us has had our first kiss,” you observed, leaning slightly to see his reaction. He simply hummed in response, not fully listening. You continued, “... and I want to have my first kiss. I think we should have our first kiss with... each other.”

He stayed still, showing no indication of acknowledging your statement. You didn’t blame him, the music was quite loud anyway, you could barely hear yourself. You pretended you didn’t say anything and for an awfully long moment, you both stayed silent. Though that silence mixed in with a hint of embarrassment got too overwhelming, you had to excuse yourself to the restroom. As you left, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He definitely heard you, but he didn’t know how to process your ask let alone go through with it. He spent so much time, deep in thought, that he failed to realize your absence. When he snapped out his pensive state, he searched the massive gym for you and found you almost immediately, but you weren’t alone. You were pressed up against a dirty, filthy wall, experiencing your first kiss with someone that most certainly wasn’t Yeonjun.

He stood frozen, feeling a bit creepish, yet he couldn’t move if he wanted to, he couldn’t even breathe. Unfortunately, you didn’t stop until a while later, forcing Yeonjun to watch every second in complete agony. Your hair was messy and you were out of breath— that sight broke Yeonjun’s heart. The other boy dragged you onto the dance floor and when you spotted Yeonjun, standing absolutely dumbfounded, you sent a big smile and cheeky wink his way.

You seemed too cheery, and though he was your best friend that should’ve reveled in your happiness, all he saw was red. He felt pure, unadulterated rage, and jealousy. He was supposed to make your first kiss unforgettable, not the other boy.

It was supposed to be him.

· ──────────────────── ·

At fourteen, you decided you didn’t necessarily like your boyfriend all too much, especially since someone else already held your heart. Sure, you felt the loss of your first relationship, but the realization that you’d loved Yeonjun for longer than you cared to admit, hurt more. Though, what hurt the most, was the conclusion that your love was likely unrequited. That night, you sobbed into the phone, and the second he heard your cracked voice, he hopped on his bike and headed in your direction.

It didn’t matter the time, he needed to make sure you’d be okay.

Naturally, he believed you were heartbroken from your breakup, so he attempted to soothe you with ice cream and cuddling. He pulled you against his chest and softly caressed your hair as you watched Titanic; it was supposed to make you feel better, but it made you feel significantly worse. He belted out the movie’s famous ballad in a feeble attempt to lift your spirit and for the first time that night, you smiled. It was a fake smile, of course, but he wasn’t privy to that. Nonetheless, he thought you looked breathtaking.

You complimented his soothing, silvery, beautiful voice — it made his heart swoon.

He was fourteen when he decided to become a singer. It was also at fourteen, he realized he was hopelessly in love with you.

· ──────────────────── ·

At fifteen, you rode the dinky, old subway with Yeonjun to a company audition — one he eventually passed and became a trainee for.

You were there the day he stepped foot into the building for his first training session. You were there when he felt like a loner amongst the other trainee, and you were there when he decided to become the absolute best, letting nothing get in the way of his dream. He set his sight high, and with that determination running through his bloodstream, he decided to express his undying love for you. So when you kissed him back, on the roof of his house, under the moonlight, after eating a gallon of ice cream, he felt like he had everything in his grasp.

After that night, you never let each other go. You stayed by each other’s side and fell more in love as the days passed by, remaining blissfully unaware of the pain the future had to offer. At least you were happy, even if that happiness was on a ticking clock.

· ──────────────────── ·

You were eighteen when you packed a bag and said goodbye to Yeonjun.

A month before high school graduation, you irrationally decided to study abroad in America. You weren’t stupid, you knew about the promise he made to himself when he was younger, his whole schtick of letting nothing stop him from his dream. You knew you were a hindrance, and it was only a matter of time before he realized that as well. You loved him with your entire heart, that much was obvious, but you didn’t want to be the thing to hold him back. He begged you to stay, he said he could have you and success, something you both knew was a plain lie. He couldn’t have you and be an idol, it was one or the other, but he was too stubborn to admit that to himself.

He drove you to the airport in a painfully silent car ride. He was angry, hurt, devastated by your decision to leave him, but you, on the other hand, felt complete and utter relief. He was so close to reaching his dream and all you truly wanted was his happiness, unfortunately, leaving was the only way you knew how to ensure it.

You cried as you said your farewell to him, but his blank face gave no indicator as to how he truly felt; he had barely spoken a word to you the entire week leading up to your departure. He stood motionless as you kissed his cheek, completely devoid of emotion — it hurt you. When you walked away, you felt heartbroken but much lighter. He watched your figure travel through security, unable to bring himself to leave. When you turned for a final glance, you noticed how broken he seemed, but you knew he’d piece himself back together — it would just be without you.

When you turned the corner, leaving his sight, he let every emotion flood his body. That night, he sobbed into his pillow, crying harder than he ever had before.

He’d lost you.

· ──────────────────── ·

You truly discover yourself at twenty. You graduated university earlier than everyone else, got your first and only tattoo, decided America wasn’t great, and moved back to Seoul. Hell, you even found your signature scent.

As much as the country itself sucked, your time in America served you well. You got your first job, experienced university life, made a friend or two, dated a lot, but most importantly, you got the degree you diligently worked for. Of course, it was hard to be away from him. You spent months holed up in your room, refusing to leave the apartment. It hurt the most when you watched his debut, seeing his face rushed every memory back to you. However, over a long period, you slowly pieced yourself back together and moved on. Eventually, you were able to think of him without feeling a sharp pang in your heart.

When you moved back, you weren’t surprised to see his handsome face plastered along the subway or on large billboards. It brought up old scars, habits, memories, but it reminded you that he was able to achieve everything he sought out to do. You, of course, knew he would, he was too stubborn and hardworking to fail; he was meant to succeed.

You just hoped he was happy.

While you were self-discovering in America, Yeonjun nearly gave up everything. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but countless times he almost bought a one-way ticket to you. However, a newfound brother held him back and kept encouraging him to move on. Not long after, he thanked Soobin for his support, had it not been for him, Yeonjun would’ve given up everything. He understood why you left and it was that knowledge that pushed him to work harder, he just wanted to make you proud, even if you were out of his life. He worked tirelessly to debut and once he did, he realized that despite everything, it was worth it.

If it was meant to be, he’d find you again.

He let his mind stray to you from time to time. He couldn’t help it, you were the love of his life. He truly hoped that wherever you were, you were happy.

· ──────────────────── ·

At age twenty-one, on a warm summer’s night, you left your apartment to head to a convenience store, searching for a pint of ice cream and an iced coffee, and maybe an energy drink if you were feeling desperate. Not a month into moving home, you had decided to pursue a master’s degree, but on a night such as this, where you frantically searched for any source of caffination just so you could complete your dissertation, you sorely regretted it.

You were met with harsh, fluorescent lighting as you entered the store but it was a welcomed relief, especially after staring wide-eyed at a computer screen for the past week. You browsed then snack aisle, too preoccupied to notice the soft jingle of the opening door. a tall, lean figure strut past your aisle, standing in front of the drink section for a bit, clearly having trouble deciding on a beverage. You made your way to the front, feeling content with your pint of ice cream, iced americano, and a bonus bag of pretzels. On your way, you stumbled into the hoodied boy and you cursed yourself because only you would run smack into the only other customer in the shop. You scrambled to pick up your scattered belonging, “Oh my God! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see where I was going, I’m such a klutz. Next time, I’ll pay more attenti—”

“Y/N, it’s you...” the soft, hushed voice cut off.

You stared at the young boy’s feet, slowly lifting your gaze to scan the rest of him, stopping at his broad chest, too afraid to look into his fox-like eyes. You knew it was him, of course, you did. It was the same deep, soothing, honeyed voice you spent your childhood falling in love with. Your breath caught in your throat as you dared steal a glance at his face. When you finally met his piercing gaze, he thought he saw the universe in your eyes. He opened his mouth in silent awe as a stray tear cascaded down his cheek. He moved toward you as if you were a flighty deer, and hovered his face closely. You thought he was going to kiss you, and surprisingly, you were quite eager despite the time apart. He pulled you into a loving embrace, so tight, you believed he’d never let go — not that you wanted him to.

That night, he accompanied you home.

Your heartfelt reunion was more than you could’ve asked for. He spent the night with you, doing nothing but catching up, laughing at past memories, eating ice cream, and slowly falling back in love. When he pressed you against your sink, he kissed you with everything he had. At that moment, you understood that despite the painful heartache, everything worked for the best.

You were truly meant to be, you found your way back to him.

Everything was complicated, unsurprising for an idol, but he saw the way you looked at him; it was a look that said you’d move every mountain and all the bright stars in the sky, just to make him happy. It was the same way he looked at you.

He told himself once, when he was a young five-year-old, that he wanted to stay by your side. He left it once, but he’d be damned if he ever left it again.