#i know it's winter because i need to moisturize just about my entire body after showering :')

[sleebyconfy]

..

[something-tofightfor]

Your Eyes Outshine The Town

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (Just Too Good To Be Gone pairing)

Word count: 9,586

Rating: M - language, light sexual content, but nothing graphic 

Warnings: If you don’t want to know certain plot spoilers from The Last of Us, you shouldn’t read this. 

Summary: Joel and Ellie’s first Christmas in Jackson is going to be special for a lot of reasons - even though the town’s celebration is a tradition you’ve become accustomed to over the years you’ve spent in Wyoming.

Author’s Note: An anon asked if I was going to write something for Joel for Christmas, and even though I said no and this isn’t what I *was* working on, it’s just as important. (That other piece will hopefully be ready to go for the premiere of the show, and it is SPICY). 

This takes place about 7-8 months after Joel and Ellie return to Jackson, and a few months after Help Me Get Away From Myself. 

Merry Christmas to all that celebrate - and to those that don’t, I hope you have a safe and happy weekend! 

To get alerted when I post new chapters/stories, follow @somethingtofightfor-shares​ and turn on post notifications - you can also ask to be added to my tag list (link in bio or at the top of my taglist reblog)

Just Too Good To Be Gone Masterlist

Song Suggestion: “This Christmas” by Donny Hathaway

When he woke up to snow covering the ground in Jackson for the first time, Joel froze in front of the window in his bedroom, staring out at it. 

It wasn’t that he’d never seen snow before; he’d seen plenty. 

It wasn’t even that he hadn’t seen snow in Jackson before, because it had been spitting snow for the previous week - squalls that blew through the city, coating the remaining leaves and branches on the trees and bushes for a few hours before it dripped away, leaving everything damp. 

But it was the first time he’d seen the undisturbed streets and sidewalks, the first time he took notice of the way that it covered the roof of the house across the street from him, thin wisps of gray smoke curling from the chimney in the early morning light. 

And when he looked back over his shoulder at his bed - where you were sleeping on your side, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, blanket pulled up to your chin, he let out a slow breath, closing his eyes and nodding. This is life now.  My life. 

Instead of having to worry about what the snow used to mean  - chilled, damp clothes and waterlogged socks from moisture leaking through hastily repaired boots, a lack of dry firewood, freezing nights spent huddled around whatever small source of warmth could be created  - that morning, the snow only meant that the entire city would be a little slower… and that he could take it easy. 

So on that morning - Joel’s first real snowfall in Jackson - he turned away from the window after giving it one last look and then climbed back into bed next to you, one arm slipping around your waist as he urged you back toward him. 

You mumbled something, the man unable to make out what it was, but you settled your hand over his and squeezed, sighing out his name. “Couple inches of snow out there.” You sighed again, humming - and that time, Joel did catch your words. 

“Knew it was coming.” You yawned, body stiffening briefly. “Go back to sleep, Joel. Just for a little while.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. 

— 

That morning was the first of many snows throughout November and the beginning of December, and as the days got shorter and colder, the snow melted less between storms. 

It turned the streets into slushy messes and the sidewalks into ice. It resulted in the need for either a fire to be lit constantly, or one of the multiple space heaters he owned to be plugged in and turned on - but he didn’t mind. 

He didn’t mind because despite the chilly patrol routes and extra layers he had to put on, it was always worth it to come home to his house and see Ellie’s light on, to see smoke coming from the chimney in her roof - to know  that she was alright, and that they didn’t have to repeat the previous winter. And we never do again. 

But even the seven months that he’d been back in Jackson - the integration into the community and the gradual decrease of his anxiety over every moment of every day - hadn’t prepared him for the night he’d been heading toward the diner to meet you for dinner and he’d seen a large tree in the center of the square, multiple people working to put it upright. Is that a Christmas tree? 

He’d stopped in his tracks again, blinking slowly as he watched men with power tools constructing a base around the trunk. It’s a damn Christmas tree. Making a mental note to ask you about it while the two of you ate, he shook his head and then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tan jacket, raising his shoulders and ducking his chin below the collar of the coat. 

— 

“Of course it’s a Christmas tree, Joel.” You sipped from your coffee mug, the steaming liquid inside warming you as you swallowed. Wish it was coffee and not tea. “Didn’t Tommy tell you? He said that he was going to ask you to let Ellie know.” 

“He didn’t say shit.” Joel leaned back in his chair, the remnants of his dinner - runny egg yolks and toast crumbs - smeared across the surface of his plate. “I was just walkin’ here and saw that they were puttin’ it up.” 

“Yeah. Some of the guys hauled it back the other day. They pulled it down off the mountain behind my place.” You rolled your eyes. “Not like anyone’s been skiing there in a couple decades, so it might as well do something for this town.” 

You watched the subtle twitch of his lips at your joke, but Joel didn’t say anything else, keeping his eyes on you. It was strange to you sometimes, to remember just how much of life in Jackson he and Ellie hadn’t experienced yet, and Christmas - likely his first safe Christmas season, and maybe Ellie’s first real celebration of the season entirely - was only the most recent thing you could think of. 

“So you should tell Ellie. It’s nothing like old Christmas celebrations used to be, but she wasn’t… she won’t remember those likewe do.” Tightening your hands around the mug, you shrugged. “She might like it.”

“She’ll love it.” He reached across the table, fingertips sliding beneath yours and urging one hand away from the mug. You let him, twisting your wrist and pressing your palm to his. “Especially if there’s lights.”

“There are.” You grinned at that, eyes moving up from your joined hands to his face. “Not a lot of them, but there are lights. And since the tree’s huge, lots of kids make ornaments every year - out of pinecones and sticks and string and all that … and the night they turn it on, everyone hangs their ornaments.”

“What happens to ‘em?” You heard the interest in his voice and it made your heartbeat surge with happiness, like it did every time Joel let his guard down and indulged in moments of normalcy. “At the end of the season?” 

“Most of the time they’re ruined. Jackson gets a lot of snow in the winter, as you can see.” You gestured toward the windows, indicating the softly falling snow outside, and he nodded. “But the ones that aren’t a mess? The kids can take them back if they want, but most of them don’t remember what they made, so…” You shrugged. “They just get tossed.” 

“Do you want to tell Ellie?” He released your hand, drawing his back toward his body. “You are coming over tonight, right?” 

“I am.” You’d been spending more time at Joel’s place ever since getting back from the trip to the cabins at the end of September, but since what you had was still new, you didn’t want to wear out your welcome. “Where’s she at right now?”

“Probably out somewhere with the kids she’s in school with.” He scratched the side of his neck. “She came home earlier this afternoon and dropped her stuff of and then ran off with that dark haired girl, Dina?” 

“They’re probably at Dina’s house, then.” You took another drink. “If we head back now, we can get a fire going before it gets too cold in your place.”

“Yeah.” He stood, reaching for his coat and pulling it on, your eyes following his movement. “Even though when you say we I know you mean me.” 

You stood, too, holding back a snort, and only a minute later, the two of you were making your way down the snowy street and back toward his house, both of you with your heads covered and ducked down. 

Neither of you spoke much as you walked, hurrying toward your destination, but when you were safely in his front hall, the door shut behind you, you groaned, shivering as you took your jacket off again. He hurried into the living room and knelt down to light the waiting fire, and you followed, perching on the end of the couch cushions. “I only meant you because you’re so much better at starting fires than I am.” 

“Yeah, sure.” He looked back at you over one shoulder, smirking. “You just like watching me like this.” 

“You caught me.” Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide the surprise in your voice at the bold way he flirted with you - the action very uncharacteristic of Joel as you knew him to be, but something that was happening more as he spent each additional day in Jackson. “How can I resist you when you’re kneeling in front of a -”

“Anybody home?” You heard Ellie’s voice before you saw the girl, and even though you caught Joel’s flinch at the sudden sound, he relaxed quickly, turning away from you and back to the fire. 

“In here, Ellie.” Leaning back, you crossed your legs at the ankle, still keeping your eyes on Joel’s broad shoulders. “Both of us.” 

— 

“Did you guys see that big tree?” He was still busy with the fire, coaxing the remaining embers from that morning alight with scraps of kindling, but he knew the girl was excited from the sound of her voice. “Dina said that Jackson’s Christmas is really cool, and that everyone goes, even the people that don’t celebrate. That means she’s going to be there too, with her family, and -” 

“Slow down, Ellie.” Tiny flames licked at the wood, and once he was satisfied  that they’d catch, Joel stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Apparently my brother was supposed to tell me what was goin’ on, but he didn’t. I just found out about that tree a couple hours ago, too.”

“I’ve never celebrated Christmas before.” The girl plopped down onto the chair, leaving only the space next to you open. Oh, you little shit. “What’s it like?” 

“Well.” You leaned in, putting your feet flat on the floor and resting one elbow on the arm of the couch as Joel sat next to you. “There are cookies. Lots of cookies. And some of the adults like to sing old Christmas carols. I was telling Joel earlier that a lot of the kids like to make ornaments to hang on the big tree, so you can definitely do that, too.” 

He watched as the girl’s eyes widened, Ellie looking between the two of you in excitement. He loved seeing that expression on her face, and though he’d only had the opportunity a handful of times - seeing the sunrise on the way out of Boston, looking out and over a lake on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, and when they’d stumbled on the giraffes in Salt Lake City the three clearest in his mind - he looked forward to seeing it more often. And now I might get to. 

“Are there presents?” You laughed at that, shoulders shaking as you leaned over and toward him, Joel’s arm going around you to steady your body. “Because I’ve read that -

“Yeah, Ellie, there are presents at Christmas.” Joel heard you clear your throat, the man’s eyes narrowing in anticipation of whatever it was that you were about to say. “But most of them are handmade - scarves and socks and clothes. Food, from the people that are really good at it.” 

“What else would there be?” She blinked, frowning. “I mean, what else do people need besides -”

“Back before, Ellie…” He paused, thinking. “Christmas presents weren’t about the things you needed. People would buy stuff just because they thought someone else would like it, even if it wasn’t useful.” 

“Like movies and music and video games.” You pointed to the shelves across the room. “That kind of stuff was what people wanted, to keep themselves occupied when they weren’t at work or in school.” 

“Jewelry was another big one.” Joel smiled - showing teeth - as a memory came back to him. “I remember one year, Tommy was seein’ this woman. Had to be … I don’t know, three, maybe four years before everything changed?” Ellie leaned in closer, eyes wide and focused on him, and he felt you shift closer, your arm going around him. “And he wanted to get her somethin’ real nice for Christmas, so he tried to find a necklace for her.” Joel rubbed at his face with his hand. “And I shit you not, it was probably the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, had this big ol’ flower charm on it.” He paused, laughing. “He was so damn proud of it, and when he gave it to her for Christmas, we were all waitin’ to see what she’d say and …” 

“And?” It was you that spoke up, fingers curling into the soft flannel that covered his ribs. “What did she think?” 

“She loved it.” Joel scoffed and Ellie laughed hard, the girl’s giggle warming the room up even more than the fire already had. Oh, I love hearin’ that.  “She didn’t take that goddamn thing off for months, and then when they broke up, he found it in his mailbox and smashed into pieces even though she was the one that ended it.” 

“Was he mad” Ellie’s foot tapped on the floor, her hands gripping her knees. “Tommy? Was he -”

“No. See the damn thing was made of real gold, and so he took all the broken pieces and sold ‘em and then he and I went out and got drunk.” 

It was a good memory - one of the last Christmas gatherings that they’d had as a family, a couple cousins and one uncle driving in from various parts of the state to celebrate, but he’d forgotten all about the necklace until that moment. Wonder if Tommy ever thinks about it. “People used to make Christmas lists, Ellie.” You spoke up again, Joel turning his head to look at you. “Put stuff on them that they wanted or needed so that if people were going to get them a gift, they knew what to look for.” 

“Do you make lists here?” Ellie blinked slowly. “Since there are presents?”

“Some of the kids do. They put things on them like toys and books and clothes and so a couple weeks before Christmas, someone takes all those lists and goes through what we’ve got in storage to see if anything fits. It’s not always exactly what they asked for, but usually … usually we can get something for everyone since we have so much stockpiled.” 

“I didn’t know that.” Joel’s voice was quiet, and when you met his eyes and shrugged, he knew immediately that you were one of the ones that did the searching, even though you hadn’t told him as much. “That’s real nice.” 

“Yeah. And it works out for the kids that don’t celebrate Christmas, too. The tree in the center of town is a Christmas tree, and no one would ever say otherwise, but it’s just sort of become … a symbol of the holidays in general. Warmth and comfort and happiness and all that.” 

“Makes sense.” He gave you a small smile - and a single nod of his head before turning his attention back to Ellie. “So yeah. I guess we get to celebrate Christmas this year, kiddo.” 

“Cool.” Her smile lit up her face, eyes brightening. “So when is it?” 

“The lights will go on in a couple days, but the town celebration is December 23rd.” You sat up straight, Joel watching as you adjusted the hem of your shirt. “So you’ve got some time. And,” you continued, turning your attention to him. “Since this is the first Christmas here for both of you, if there’s anything you can think of that you want or need… let me know.” There was another pause and then you kept going, Joel barely able to conceal his laugh at the glint in your eyes. “Because I can put in a good word with Santa Claus.”

Ellie, on the other hand couldn’t stop herself from laughing and the two of you joined her moments later, Joel pulling you against his chest and kissing the top of your head.

He hadn’t given Christmas much more than a passing thought in years - but as he sat in his cozy living room, laughing with the two of you, he knew that it wouldn’t be the case that year. 

– 

“We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry up.” 

Ellie was nearly bouncing up and down as she waited for you to pull your coat on, the girl bundled up in a thick jacket of her own, along with a hat and a pair of gloves sticking out of one of her pockets. “I’m coming. It’s fine, though. We won’t be late.” 

“What took you so long to get back? I thought you didn’t work today.” 

“I didn’t. Someone took my shift so that I could make sure everything was done for tonight.” You’d gotten sidetracked checking names on the gifts that had been collected, making sure that no one was left out, and before you’d realized it, it was an hour until you were supposed to leave. “Took me a little longer than I thought it would.” 

“Joel’s probably already there. He left hours ago for Tommy’s. Radioed over to make sure I was going to leave on time, and - “

“Well you did.” Smiling at the girl, you picked up your own walkie, pressing a button on the side. “Joel? If you’re still at Tommy and Maria’s, we’re getting ready to leave now. See you in a few.” 

It took a few seconds for his response - a quick ‘Gotcha. See you soon’ - but as soon as he’d spoken, you and Ellie headed for the door, the girl walking next to you with her hands stuffed into her coat pockets. “Did you ask for anything this year?” 

“No.” It was the truth - sort of. You’d hinted to one of the bakery girls that it would be great to have an extra loaf of sourdough so that you could make Joel and Ellie a nice breakfast on Christmas morning, and you’d put your name on the list for a replacement space heater, but aside from that, you hadn’t thought of anything else that you needed. Because I’ve got exactly what I want. “What about you?” 

“You already looked at my list.” She glanced up at you and adjusted the straps on her backpack, waiting a few seconds. “I know you did, so -”

“Yeah, but I mean … did you mention anything to Joel? To Cat or Dina? To Maria and Tommy? Anything that you didn’t put on that list?” 

“No. I didn’t… I didn’t want to ask for anything because it feels… weird.” You understood where she was coming from - and needed her to know it.

“My first Christmas here was like that, too. I didn’t want to ask for anything because it just felt… weird. The world’s gone to shit, and I’m asking for presents, you know?” She nodded, quickening her steps as you reached the corner of Kelly and Cache, making a right and going north toward the center of town. “It’s ok to want things, Ellie. You’ve had a tough year and a half, and I know that you’ve been through a lot more than most of the kids that grew up here, but you do still have a couple years til you’re an adult.” 

“I’ll remember that for next year.” She reached out and squeezed your hand, keeping hold of it briefly. “Why do you think Joel didn’t want to walk with us?” You had your theories, but didn’t want to mislead the girl - even unintentionally, and so you just shrugged, urging Ellie to walk faster. 

“There’s hot chocolate, Ellie.” You fell into step with a few other residents of Jackson as you got closer to the center of town, your eyes focused forward and waiting for the first glimpse of the massive tree and booths set up around it. “Hot chocolate and cookies and music. And sometimes, someone’s doing magic tricks and -”

“Last year at Christmastime I thought Joel was going to die.” She let out a shuddering breath and stopped walking, turning to face you. “And this year we’re here and we’re celebrating, and it just seems so… so fucking wrong, and -” 

“Ellie.” You stopped, too, and then stepped closer, crouching down so that you could look her in the eye. “He didn’t die. You kept him alive. And you keeping him alive meant that he ended up bringing you back here. And yeah, I know it’s a lot to take in, especially when you grew up in a place like Boston and haven’t ever experienced this before.” She nodded, her wide eyes glistening with tears. “I’ve told him this so many times, and now I’m going to tell you. There is nothing wrong with letting yourself experience life when you have the opportunity to.”

“But -”

“No. Ellie, you’re here. You’re alive. You’re surrounded by people that care about you. You get to be a teenager. It’s not wrong. You don’t need to feel guilty. That’s why we’ve worked so hard to make things in Jackson as normal for everyone as we can.” Reaching out, you laid a hand on her shoulder. “And that means for you, too.” You couldn’t imagine what those weeks had been like for Ellie and Joel, or what had gone through the girl’s mind during them - but you didn’t want her to dwell on the past. Not now. Not tonight. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. But tonight … don’t think about any of that, alright? You two deserve this.” 

“I… I can try.” She sniffed, using the back of her sleeve to wipe at her nose. “For him.”

“No.” You stood, hand still on her shoulder. “Don’t try for him, Ellie. Do it for yourself.” You watched her for long seconds and saw the look in the girl’s eyes change from sadness and apprehension to one of resolve, her shoulders squaring. 

“Yeah. Ok.” 

— 

He was waiting for the two of you on one of the benches just outside the square, and Joel was doing something that he hadn’t had much time to do in years: people watching. 

There were people in Jackson that he hadn’t ever met, but for the most part, Joel was able to place each person that walked by - some of them raising their hands to wave at him, others giving him a single nod of their chins as they hurried past. But each of them had a look on their faces that he hadn’t seen in such abundance since before the outbreak. Happiness. They’re all… happy. 

And he supposed that he was happy, too - content and satisfied in a way that still seemed foreign to him on most days. But it was easier as more time passed, and he was stunned to realize that he didn’t feel like he had to be on alert at every moment - even when he was out in the open and exposed in the way he was while sitting on the bench. 

But it was more than that - he didn’t feel his heart twist in his chest when Ellie was out of sight anymore, and he often found himself leaving his house without a weapon, the only thing in his pocket his house keys. 

The rate at which he’d settled into life in Jackson had stunned him - and he knew that meeting you had been a major part of it. But also.. The way Ellie took to her helped, too. He still had his days - just like anyone - but while a year ago he would have thought it impossible that he’d be in the position he was currently, Joel found that he had nothing to complain about. 

That realization was reinforced when you and Ellie came into view, the girl’s head covered by a dark knit cap and yours shrouded with the large hood of your jacket. She was walking close to you, and for long moments, he did nothing but watch, making note of the way that the girl looked up at you, her cheeks rosy from the cold - and of the way you paid attention to not only what she was saying but also your surroundings, never focusing on one thing for too long. 

Unlike many people in Jackson, you hadn’t completely let your guard down despite how often you reminded him that it was safe within the walls, and he appreciated it. You looked out not only for yourself, but for the people that you were with, and when people meant Ellie? That was worth everything to Joel. 

He pushed off of the bench and made his way toward you the two of you, weaving through everyone that was milling around. “Hey, you t-” The words caught in his throat when Ellie broke away from you and sprinted toward him, throwing her arms around his body and pressing her cheek to his chest. What’s goin’ on? “Ellie?” He hugged her back, the action almost automatic in a way that he hadn’t ever believed would be possible again, and when he felt her trembling in his arms, he looked up at you, brow furrowed. 

You shook your head, mouthing the word “later” and he understood immediately, his hands moving from Ellie’s back to her shoulders. She let go a few seconds later and then took a step back, drawing in a long breath as she tilted her head to look up at him. “Sorry. I’m gonna go find Dina and Jesse. Bye!” 

She darted off, leaving the two of you standing a few feet apart. “What in the hell was -”

“She feels guilty about being here.” Stepping closer, you reached up, touching his stomach with one gloved hand. “After what you went through last winter.” Oh. “And about more than that, too, but you were the first thing she brought up, and I think it’s … it’s overwhelming for her.” 

“I’m sure it is. It’s overwhelmin’ for me, too.” Nodding sympathetically, you gave him a tight smile. “Should I go find her?”

“Nah.” Closing the final distance between you, you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, the tip of your nose cold against his skin. “Just let her find her friends. She’ll be alright. And I’m sure seeing you here tonight with me and Tommy and Maria will help.” He hummed in reply, unwilling to let you go - and you didn’t seem to mind. 

“Can’t take you two anywhere, can we?” His brother’s voice from behind him startled Joel, the two of you separating, though he kept his arm around your shoulders. “Always gotta be right next to …” He trailed off as Maria took her place beside him, the man wrinkling his nose. “Alright, I guess I have no room to talk.” 

��You don’t.” You put your hand on your hip, leaning into Joel’s side. “I’ve seen the two of you Tommy Miller, and Joel and I aren’t anywhere near as bad.”

“She’s not lying.” Maria winked at him, and Joel’s smile grew, the man’s posture loosening. “Good to see you here, Joel.” 

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” Clearing his throat with a cough, he looked around the square, his eyes lingering on the tree. “Never would have heard the end of that from any of you.” 

“Got that right, big brother.” Tommy was smirking and Joel rolled his eyes, the four of you heading over for the hot chocolate table, each of you grabbing a cup of it. “Don’t tell anyone.” Tommy waited til you were a few feet away before reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket and pulling out a flask. “Got the good stuff.” 

You held out your drink just as fast as Maria did, Joel joining shortly after, and once all of your cups had been sufficiently spiked, Joel was surprised to hear the other man clear his throat and ask everyone to raise their cups. “What’s this, Tommy? I thought it was Maria’s turn to -”

“Told him he could have this one.” Maria’s voice was quiet, and he watched her slip one arm around Tommy’s waist, tucking herself under his arm. “Go ahead, Tommy.”

You moved closer, and Joel watched as you raised your cup and then looked at him expectantly, not breaking eye contact until he’d lifted his hand an acceptable amount, too. They’re all in on this, whatever it is. 

“To another year in Jackson.” Tommy paused, glancing down and then back up, his eyes locking with Joel’s. “To the first Christmas with my brother in … too goddamn long.” He sucked a breath in, eyes widening, and Joel knew that you felt him stiffen, but the slow movement of your hand over his back never stopped, the motion soothing him even though Tommy’s words caught him off guard. “To all the things none of us ever thought would be possible again.” 

There was more that Tommy wanted to say, but Joel saw him falter, heard the tremble in his voice, and so with a single nod, he pushed his cup forward and clinked the edge of it with Tommy’s, you and Maria joining in before all four of you sipped the drinks. Shit, I wasn’t expectin’ that.

You took the cup from him without him having to ask, and once Maria had done the same from her husband, Joel moved forward and wrapped his arms around Tommy, hugging him as tightly as was possible through their thick jackets. Damn, I really wasn’t expecting this. They stayed locked in an embrace for a long time, Joel’s heart pounding, and when Tommy straightened up, he was barely holding his tears back, lips pressed together in a tight line. “Won’t be the last, Tommy.” 

“It better not be.” You cut in, leaning closer. “Kinda like having you around, Joel Miller.” I like being around. That was all it took - and Joel didn’t miss the silent acknowledgement Tommy shot you, or the way his chest rose and fell when he took a deep breath after taking his cocoa back from Maria. “We’ve got what, twenty minutes before this starts?”

“Yeah.” Maria checked the clock, nodding. “I’ve gotta give my little speech in about twenty, and then we pass out the presents.” She sipped her drink as the four of you walked closer to the tree, more people nodding hello as you passed. “And then the party starts. The little kids are gonna sing for us, so …” She trailed off, clearing her throat. “So we’ll see what happens.”  Smooth, Maria. 

You split off from them a minute later, tugging on Joel’s arm as you pulled him off in the direction of Ellie and her friends, but you stopped short of reaching them, the two of you taking a seat on a different bench. “Just wanted to give you a minute, Joel. After the Ellie hug and Tommy’s toast, I thought … well, I thought you needed it.” You put your hood down before turning your head to look at him. 

“I do.” He leaned in, lips finding your temple. “Thank you.” You didn’t say anything in reply, but you did lay your head down and against his shoulder … and despite the fact that Joel wasn’t used to being so open with affection in public, he had to admit that with you, it was growing on him. 

— 

The time that the two of you had sitting on the bench was cut short when Ellie ran up, Dina and Jesse in tow. She stood in front of you, her hands on her hips. “Can we stand together?” She wet her lips. “For the presents, I mean?” 

“Of course, Ellie.” The words rumbled through him, and even with the layers separating you, you could feel his chest moving, the man nodding at the girl. 

You loved seeing them together - loved watching as their relationship changed in front of your eyes, and even though the moments earlier had been difficult, they were proof that being in Jackson was the right thing for both of them. They could still be out there. Still be … alone. He would have taken care of her, you were certain of it, but you knew what could happen, and that you didn’t want to even entertain the thought of it happening to them. 

Making your way over to where the crowd was gathered, you took your places near the front, Joel’s hand holding yours tightly, Ellie on his other side. Dina and Jesse stood close, the three teenagers talking quietly between themselves. 

As you scanned the crowd, you were struck again with how normal things felt - and even though it was only for one night, it made you smile. There were still people guarding the walls, still people out on patrol - even more ready and waiting to spring into action on a moment’s notice … but inside the walls of Jackson, you could forget about that for a few hours here and there. And we do. And it’s what keeps us … going. 

Squeezing Joel’s hand tighter as Maria moved to stand in front of the tree, Tommy a few feet away with his hands behind his back, you grinned at your friend, giving her a nod. “She’s going to make this short, Joel. She hates public speaking.” 

“Not as much as my brother.”  Joel snorted, the sound quiet. “No way.”

Maria opened her speech by thanking everyone for coming and making a few general announcements - that snow removal duty lists were posted in the community center, that hours would be changing in some of the stores to coincide with the colder days and decreased amount of light, that the food pantry was going to be freshly stocked early in the new year, and that typical amounts of things were expected. 

You were used to these announcements, and so while she spoke, you watched Joel, the man taking it all in with a look of surprise on his face - which you understood. You’d heard about Boston and rationing from Tommy. You understood shortages and fighting for supplies - and you’d only had to do it for two years while Joel and Tommy had done it for many. Just another thing to love about this place, Joel. 

You gripped his hand tighter, Maria’s words changing into the holiday portion of the night. She reminded everyone that while the Christmas tree was the focal point of the celebration, it was not the only winter holiday that the residents of Jackson celebrated - and that the night was meant to honor those traditions too, both through food and other decorations that were placed around the plaza. “And it doesn’t matter what holiday you’re celebrating, there’s never a bad time for a present, right kids?” 

A chorus of cheers erupted around you, and like many of the people in the crowd, you clapped and laughed along with them. Maria thanked you by name along with the others that had acted as Santa’s elves to make sure everyone’s wishes were granted, and at that, Joel released your hand and wound an arm around your shoulders, pulling you as close as he could while Ellie leaned forward and beamed at you. “It’s no big deal,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “I just like doing it.” 

“It is a big deal and you know it.” He murmured the words into your ear, voice low. “Take some credit for once.” Alright. Agreeing with a nod, you settled back into place as Maria called out names a few at a time, the children of Jackson walking up to take their gifts from her. 

Ellie, Dina, Tara and Jesse were called as a group, and you caught the surprise in her eyes as she turned back to face you. “I didn’t ask for -”

“Go.” Gesturing with your chin, you winked. She made her way to the front of the crowd and took the box from Maria, stepping back to where you and Joel were standing, her lower lip caught firmly between her teeth. 

“You gonna open it?” Joel shifted on his feet, curiosity in his tone. “Probably should. It is a -”

“Yeah, I’m…” She frowned. “This is my first ever Christmas present, so …” It made your heart thump in your chest, and while she was focused on the gift in her hands, you and Joel shared a look, a quick shake of your head enough to keep him from speaking. You both had gifts for her to open on Christmas morning, but you didn’t want to ruin the surprise. “Who’s it from?”

“Think of it as being from Jackson, Ellie. It’s not from one specific person.” You leaned forward. “But I did pick it out.” That was all it took, the girl tearing open the paper to reveal a brightly colored box, one hand pulling the lid off while the other held it steady. 

“Oh, cool!” She grinned up at you, the smile wider than you’d ever seen it on her face. “Art supplies? This is …” She swore under her breath, looking down at what she held in her hands. “Pens and pencils? New notebooks?” She went quiet, staring into the box, and when she looked up at you, it took everything in you to keep your composure. “Thank you. Thank you so much, I… damn this is cool.” 

“You’re welcome, Ellie.” Reaching over, you squeezed her shoulder. “Just make sure you have fun using them, alright?” The girl assured you that she would and then turned around to show Dina and her other friends her present, the four of them talking excitedly about what they’d received. “That went well.”

“You made her night.” He turned to face you, setting his hands on your shoulders. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Anything to make her smile.” He stared at you for a few seconds and then leaned in, kissing you on the forehead. “What was that for?”

“I’m gonna have to leave you here for a little while. I hope that’s alright.” He stepped backwards, watching you with slightly narrowed eyes. “Stay here with Ellie?” 

“Where else would I go?” He didn’t say anything, turning away from you and stopping next to the girl, leaning over to say something into her ear. You watched with curiosity, and when Ellie stepped next to you again a few seconds later, her eyes bright with excitement, you knew that something was up. “What’s going on, Ellie?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you off, opening the box she held again and pulling one of the notebooks out. “What should I draw first? I thought maybe I could go to sketch the horses in the stables, but I’ve already done that, and …” 

She was distracting you and you knew it, but you let it happen, inching closer to the girl and suggesting a few other things for her to draw - the mountains, the town square, some of the people in Jackson, Ellie jotting down a few ideas on the first page. “You know, it’d be easier for you to hold that if you put everything else in your bag.” You tapped her on the back. “Why did you bring this anyway?” 

“I didn’t know how long we’d be out and I wanted a place to put my gloves and hat so I wouldn’t lose them.” She glanced up at you. “Habit, I guess.” That makes sense. “Will you help me?” You nodded, unzipping her backpack and then taking the box from her, leaving the girl holding only the notebook and a pencil. As you tucked the box into the empty pocket and zipped it, you heard the crowd cheering again, your gaze raising from her to the space in front of the tree - where Joel was standing, holding his guitar, Tommy and Maria next to him. “Surprise.” 

 “Ellie, what -” You watched as the younger kids began to make their way toward the front of the crowd, Tommy and Maria talking to the second man, whose fingers were wrapped around the neck of the guitar, flexing every now and then. “Ellie, is he -”

“Just watch.” She pulled on your hand with one of hers, and you stepped through the crowd, too, breath caught around a lump in your throat. 

You’d heard him play before - the man’s nimble fingers strumming notes on his porch and at Tommy and Maria’s, occasionally joining in with his voice, too, but you’d never known him to play for more than a few people at a time. And nearly everyone’s here tonight. “We can’t do anything about the singing,” Maria started, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. “But Joel’s agreed to play as a live backing track for a few of the carols tonight, if everyone’s alright with that.” 

The kids cheered and some of the adults - including Tommy and Maria - clapped, but it was Ellie’s whistle from right next to you that carried the loudest, Joel’s eyes snapping immediately to her - and then to you, his gaze focused but also a little smug. 

Maria slid the microphone into the stand and then lowered it, pushing it in front of Joel, who slung the guitar’s strap around his neck, getting it into position. 

The first notes rang out over the square - Jingle Bells - and the crowd immediately joined in. But you couldn’t take your eyes off of Joel, watching as he moved his fingers over the frets and strings without lifting his head, the crown of it - and his thick dark hair illuminated by the lights on the tree. For the first time in nearly 20 years, you didn’t join in with the carol singing, one hand lifted to cover your mouth instead. “Are you ok?” Ellie nudged you. “Is this a -”

“Ellie,” You turned your head as the song ended, Joel finally looking up and giving a single nod. “He’s here because of you right now.” She sucked in a breath as he started another song - Frosty the Snowman - the man lowering his head again as he played. “Remember that, OK?” 

“Yeah.” The girl sniffed and then nodded. “Yeah, he is.” You returned your attention to Joel, making note of the set of his shoulders and the way he didn’t fumble a single note, even in the cold. 

He played a couple more - short ones like We Wish You A Merry Christmas and Deck The Halls, and then took a pause, looking up and inhaling deeply. His eyes landed on you and you nodded, gloved fingers of one hand pressed to your lips. “This is gonna be my last one.” He cleared his throat, while still strumming, his voice audible through the mic even though it was quiet since it was positioned so low. “It’s about a reindeer named Rudolph.” 

The kids cheered again, and when Joel started playing the actual song, it didn’t take them long to nearly drown him out with their voices. About halfway through the song, you watched his fingers falter, though he caught himself almost immediately. But then, out of the corner of one eye, you watched as Tommy turned away, bringing one hand up to wipe beneath his eyes. What’s going on? 

Joel finished the song and then pulled his hand away from the strings, fingers curling into a loose fist, and you watched as he steadied himself by taking a deep breath, chin still tucked to his chest. The rest of the crowd was busy clapping and cheering, so they didn’t see Joel raise his hand in the same motion as Tommy - but you did - and so did Ellie. The girl said your name and you turned toward her, uncertain. “Why is -”

“I have no idea, Ellie. I’ll go find out though.” She glanced down at her notebook - a quick sketch of a man and a guitar visible on the page - and then back at you. 

“OK. Let me know if he needs anything. I’m gonna go and work on this.” Telling her you would, you made your way toward where Joel had moved off to, partially out of view next to the tree, Tommy close by. 

You didn’t want to interrupt, but when you heard what your best friend’s husband had to say, you didn’t need to. 

“Haven’t heard you play that in 20 years. Not since the last Christmas with Sarah.” 

— 

He’d almost made it through - almost, but then his fingers had started playing Rudolph, and he hadn’t been able to stop them. It hit him harder than he’d expected, the familiar notes coaxed out with the picking of his fingers, and even though he’d heard the crowd singing along, he hadn’t really heard them, the memory of Sarah and Tommy’s voices joining his in front of a well-lit Christmas tree in a previous life had been all that he could focus on. 

He took a moment when the song ended, catching his breath, and then nodded once at the crowd before he headed for the side of the tree and found Tommy standing there, the man’s eyes rimmed with red. “Fuck, Joel.” 

“Yeah. I know.” There was nothing else to say, and so he waited, pulling the guitar from around his neck and gripping the neck of it as he held it by his side. 

“Haven’t heard you play that in 20 years. Not since the last Christmas with Sarah.” 

He heard your gasp at Tommy’s words, and when both men looked your way, Joel’s chest got tight at the sight of your expression - eyes wide and your body rigid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“You’re not.” Joel spoke, taking a half step toward you. “Not even close.” You moved toward him and though you were hesitant, you reached for his hand, Joel looking down as you took it. For once, your hand looked bigger than his, encased in the thick gloves you wore, and it made him smile, though the expression was gone only a few moments after it appeared. “Tommy’s right, though. Used to play Christmas songs for us after we opened presents. Rudolph was … was her …”

“It was her favorite.” Tommy cleared his throat, moving closer, and Joel only nodded again, fighting back tears. “So Joel always played it last because he knew she’d go nuts adding in all the little … whatta you call them? The extras?” He laughed. “Like a lightbulb and like Monopoly?” 

“We used to do that, too. Right after ‘Santa came to say’ it was always the biggest, loudest ‘ho ho ho’, and -”

“Yeah.” Joel interrupted, tightening his hold on your hand. “It was.” 

“It was good to hear it again, big brother.” Tommy cleared his throat and reached out, clapping a hand on Joel’s arm. “Real good.” He pointed with his free hand at the front of the tree, where the crowd had started singing again, led by Maria and a few of the other women. “But I’m gonna go sing with my wife now, if that’s alright.” Yeah. Yeah, it is. 

He nodded in reply, and when Tommy had brushed past you, telling you to have a good night, it was just the two of you left - and he didn’t know what to say. You knew about Sarah. You knew what losing her had done to him, and you never pushed him to talk more than he wanted to about her. But tonight, I want her to. I want her to … “Did you sing for her, Joel?” Still holding his hand, you led him over to the bench next to his guitar case. “Not just for Christmas, but … when you played?”

“I did.” It was the right question - and one that he was more than happy to answer, Joel nodding as he zipped up the case. “Started out when she was little - I’d sing her nursery rhymes, the ABCs… all of those. When she got older, we’d sing songs on the radio together. She could play a little by the time she was eight or nine, and it was…” He sat back up, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of one hand. “It was nice to have somethin’ we both liked.” 

“You took her to concerts, right?” He nodded. “Bet that was fun.” 

“It was.” He looked up, the clouds all but gone and the moon and stars shining brightly. “We’d try to go to one every time a band she liked came through Austin. Took her to see shows at the fair sometimes, too.” 

“I miss the fair.” You leaned your head against his shoulder, sighing. “All that food? The games?” That got a short chuckle out of him, Joel nodding as he rested his cheek on the top of your head. “Who was her favorite?”

“Can’t remember the name now. Something Drops. Was the last show we saw together before it all happened.” It was easier to talk with you about Sarah than he thought it would be, but even though that was the case, he felt his breaking point rapidly approaching. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about tonight. I didn’t know … I didn’t want to get your hopes up and then back out last minute.”

“It’s fine. I’m really glad you played. It was nice to see. And hear.” The crowd was beginning to disperse, everyone breaking away from the main tree and heading for the booths that surrounded it, and Joel figured that it wouldn’t take long for Ellie to find the two of you. 

You shivered next to him and Joel hummed your name, waiting until you sat up to look at him. “There anything else to stay here and see?” 

“Not really, no. People are going to start heading home soon. It’s cold as shit, and once the singing’s done, it’s just socializing.” 

“We should get going then.” He looked down, eyes on his guitar case. “Want to get this back into the house.” He stood and reached out to take your hand but you surprised him, bending down and grabbing the strap of the case, rising to your feet and sliding it over one shoulder. “I can carry that.”

“I’ve got it, Joel.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you shook your head, giving him a soft smile. “Let’s go find Ellie.” 

— 

Two hours later, the three of you were back at his house, Ellie tucked into her garage for the night and you sound asleep in his bed. But even though he’d taken you to bed - the sex slow and gentle, more roaming hands and lingering mouths than anything else, Joel was wide awake. 

So he slipped out of bed, kissing your temple and coaxing a quiet sigh from your lips before he turned the space heater on and headed downstairs, pulling his boots and jacket back on. His guitar was leaning against the wall in his entryway and he grabbed that, too, carrying it onto the porch and lighting the lantern before he sat down. 

He plucked a few notes once he was settled, but his eyes were trained forward - the man staring out at the street in front of him, on the single light in the neighbor’s upstairs window, and then, finally, on the stars again, his fingers picking up speed as he continued to play. 

The notes carried out into the still night air, and even though he wasn’t playing anything in particular, Joel felt himself relaxing, the weight of the emotion from playing in front of the town and playing Sarah’s song bleeding out of him. 

He wasn’t surprised when, a few minutes later, he heard the door open and you stepped out onto the porch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “Didn’t mean to wake you.

“It’s alright.” Shrugging, you lowered yourself onto the railing, bracing your back on the support beam. “Unless you’d rather I go back inside.” 

“No.” He played another note and then pulled his hand away, raising it to scratch the back of his neck. “No, stay.” 

And you did, leaning back and staying quiet, content to listen to Joel strumming the guitar in the frigid darkness. He was content, too, the man humming under his breath as he played, the creaking of the rocking chair he sat on quiet enough so that the music drowned it out. 

But when he switched to a different song and started singing along as he played, he heard your sharp intake of breath, watching the way you leaned forward as he brought his gaze in from the horizon to meet yours. 

It wasn’t one that he played often - and because he’d wanted to keep things short and sweet for the kids earlier, he’d only practiced it a few times after finding the Christmas sheet music he’d used to refamiliarize himself with the songs. But it was one of his favorites, and it seemed natural to play it that night. Especially for her. 

He wasn’t the best singer - and he knew it - but you didn’t seem to mind as you listened, head tilted to one side and your eyes closing briefly as he reached the first chorus, your smile growing from a small one into one that overtook your face. Is this really all it takes? All I need to be… 

When he paused between verses to take a breath, you stood, keeping your eyes on him, and Joel found himself unable to look away. I don’t want to. He stumbled over the notes but you didn’t seem to notice, leaning back against the wood again as you resituated the blanket, drawing it tighter around yourself. 

He finished the second verse and then started another chorus but stopped abruptly, setting the guitar down and standing, taking the two steps it took him to reach you. “Joel, wh-” You breathed out the words, unable to do much because of the way the blanket was wrapped around you, and let him tip your chin up, mouth opening slightly in surprise. 

“I know I’m not the easiest person to be around.” He stroked your lower lip with his thumb, frowning. “And I know I drive you an’ Ellie crazy sometimes.”

“You do.” You winked at him, Joel scoffing and blowing out a puff of air, his breath visible, even in the low light. “But we don’t mind.” 

“Good. I hope it stays that way.” Leaning in, he kissed you, his eyes finally closing as your mouths met. You stretched your arms out and enveloped him in the blanket with you, the pressure of your hands on his upper back pulling him in even closer. 

It was unbelievable to him that a mere 8 months earlier, he hadn’t known you, and as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between your lips and into your waiting mouth, he groaned at the realization that whatever he felt about the timeframe of your relationship, you likely did too.”We should go inside, Joel. It’s freezing out here.” 

You spoke against his cheek, but Joel didn’t move toward the door, instead winding both arms around your body and hugging you tightly, keeping you rooted to the spot you stood in. “I think I can warm you up.” He sighed, kissing you again. “In fact, I know I can.” 

The truth was that he was in no hurry to move - and for a man that had spent two decades of his life constantly looking over his shoulder and thinking three steps ahead, it was a drastic - but welcome - change for him. 

He felt it then, the thing that had been slowly growing inside him over the previous few months threatening to spill from his lips. Oh, shit. As he stared at you, again focused on the look in your eyes, he saw it in them, too - though he knew that you were reluctant to admit it. Because she thinks it’ll scare me. 

And it did - it terrified him, after so long of keeping everyone at arm’s length - including Tess - for the sake of ease. But as the two of you made your way back into the house, Joel grabbing the guitar along the way and you locking the door behind you, he understood that the terror he felt was a very different kind than he was used to. And it feels… good.

You both headed up the steps and back into the bedroom, Joel stopping to turn off the space heater before he climbed in next to you. “C’mere.” You rolled toward him and he pressed his forehead against yours, holding you like that. I think I’m fallin’ in love with you the same way you’re fallin’ in love with me. But what came out was something else - not quite as revealing, but still just as meaningful. “Can’t wait to spend Christmas with you. Didn’t think it’d be like this again.” 

“Yeah, well…” You kissed him, then, your mouth lingering on his, and he knew that he was right - that despite all of his previous objections and promises to do everything to protect himself, he did love you. An’ she loves me, even if we can’t say it yet. “You’re stuck with me, Joel.” 

He laughed, the sound little more than a quiet huff, but it was interrupted by you pushing him onto his back and staring down at him, the smile still on your lips. Alright. This I can … this I can do. “Gonna let me warm you up now?” With a single nod, your mouth descended again, covering his. 

—

tag list reblog coming soon! 

[ozma914]

Halloween Costumes for Fending Off the Cold

          There’s probably no better timed holiday than Halloween. After all, it comes just before the two most frightening times on the calendar: Winter, and elections.

            It’s hardly surprising, then, that one popular Halloween mask is any famous politician. Some years ago I went out as a Senator, stopped all the other Trick-Or-Treaters, and collected 28% of their candy. The problem is, half the people don’t recognize political figures, and the other half get too scared.

So my criteria for choosing a costume: Warmth. It’s not unheard of here to have snow by the end of October. Any Hoosier parent will tell you the main task in designing their kid’s costume is incorporating a heavy coat and snow boots. Dressing as an astronaut is very popular.

            I stopped celebrating Halloween after realizing I can just go to the store, buy all the candy I want, turn off the porch light and eat it inside, in the warmth.

Yes, I know--but I already spent one Halloween in that outfit, and never got any candy.

No human can produce a Halloween more frightening than staring another Midwest winter in its frostbitten face. So those times when forced to go out for Halloween, I dressed as an Eskimo (These days I'd be an Inuit, or Yupik). Once, to mix it up, I went as that kid Kenny from South Park, even though it killed me. He dresses as an Eskimo. I still wasn't warm – an entire calendar worth of Playmates of the Year couldn’t warm me up in autumn or winter –  but at least I tried.

My wife loves Halloween--it’s one of her few faults. She refused to marry me until I agreed to go annually to my brother’s Halloween parties, which were sadly held outside. Usually I hovered near his wood burning stove in the garage, especially after Emily decided I'd used up my Eskimo turns and had to try something new.

One year we went as zombies. We attended the Zombie Walk in Kendallville, shuffled  to a cemetery for a photo op, and then, just for fun, walked into a grocery store and demanded bran. The clerk said, “Last year you were way scarier as Dick Cheney”.

We tried to do costumes on the cheap, because I’m cheap. That gave me two possibilities, both wearable with insulted long underwear:

My adopted brother Martin gave me bags of hand-me-down clothes. Being that I’m a small town white person and he’s a black guy from Fort Wayne (which is big city by my standards), we didn’t have the same fashion sense, but see above about me being cheap.

Anyway, I found a couple of items that I’m fairly sure he threw in just to mess with me. One was a uniquely loud puffy shirt, the other a pair of oversized parachute pants that buttoned all the way down the side. I refuse to believe he ever wore these things in public.

I could go to Halloween as a stereotypical 70’s disco black guy, or as a clown. While I’ll never be politically correct, we all know I’m not brave/dumb enough to tackle the former.

The second choice was something my mother bought for me, back when she (correctly) thought I needed to get fit. It was designed to hold in body heat and moisture while you exercise, apparently under the assumption that you’ll sweat yourself healthy. It’s like a portable sauna. I used it once on the treadmill, and lost twelve pounds in thirty minutes. That day I could have gone trick-or-treating as a zombie without needing any makeup, assuming I could walk in a straight line, which I couldn’t.

That's what I'll choose if I ever go again: Any candy I ate would sweat out of me by the time I made it home. Plus, anything that reflects that much body heat back is bound to keep me warm, no matter how cold it gets outside. Since my one and only goal from October through March is staying warm, I could celebrate Halloween for months … even if the upcoming political campaign leaves me cold.

And if that doesn’t work, the Eskimo costume is standing by.

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

Substack:  https://substack.com/@markrhunter

Tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

Remember, everyone who doesn't read is risking a visit from Edgar Allan Poe.

[ddwardiswriting]

Chapter Three: Getting Dressed

Once Amy had brushed my hair out, she helped control my curls by putting them in a waterfall braid. This kept the top of my head under control, but let the rest hang down in loose curls. I’d never had hair this long. It should have felt heavier than it did, I thought. Was that because I was in a game world? I didn’t know. 

Next came make-up. Amy helped me apply an anachronistic moisturizer, followed by a primer. She then applied liquid foundation, concealer, and foundation powder. I was getting the whole treatment I realized. I waited as she worked through bronzer, blush, and highlighter. I realized she hadn’t asked for my input. I wondered if the rival had a default make-up or if the rival had instructed Amy on what kind of make-up she should apply? Or maybe the game just provided the rival with a single look. Either way, I let her carry on. She was doing an amazing job, so I wasn’t worried. Eye shadow came next, and Amy applied a dramatic gold eye shadow. I loved it. These weren’t my colors. I was a winter back in my world. But the rival was an obvious autumn. Amy applied eyeliner and mascara in a dark forest green. She styled the eyeliner in a bold all-around wing design. Next, she applied a coral-orange lipstick. And then she finished off with a setting spray. The bottles and equipment she used had a Victorian style. But the tools themselves were modern. Still, as I looked in the mirror, I found myself impressed.

I’d never been a classic beauty. But the rival was exactly that. And I found myself enjoying my new look. 

“You did amazing, Amy. This is brilliant.”

Amy looked at me with wide eyes and an open mouth, “Really Lady Ren? There are no adjustments that I need to make?”

“None, at all. I applaud you. You made that look effortless.” I clapped to indicate my approval. 

Amy looked at the floor, “Thank-you Lady Ren.”

Finished with hair and make-up, we headed to the wardrobe. And I stopped dead. Three enormous wardrobes covered an entire wall of my bed chamber. They reached the ceiling. Gilded floral designs accented the stained rosewood. I felt excitement bubbling up from my heart. I was a noble lady. I had fashion!

Amy looked back, her voice wavered, “Have you changed your mind about the gown? We may have to redo your make-up if you have.”

I shook my head; I needed an explanation for her. 

“I realized how lucky I am. How privileged. Look at those wardrobes. I love clothes. I love fashion, but isn’t it ridiculous that I have all that? How many times have I seen those, and not realized how lucky I am?”

“They are new, Lady Ren. They were only delivered last month, after all.”

“But it’s still so much. And it’s crazy how much I’ve taken everything for granted. Be honest, have you ever seen me look grateful for this luxury.”

Amy shifted her feet and looked away, “I don’t know how to answer that, Lady Ren.”

I nodded, “You mean you don’t know what to say that won’t set me off like a rabid dog.”

“No! Of course not.” Amy said, rushing the words out.

“You know I’m right. You don’t want to get in trouble, if this is some elaborate game. I understand. And I promise that it’s no game. I don’t even mind that you don’t know how to answer. Well, I mind that I’ve made you this scared. But that’s me being angry at myself. I don’t mind you being cautious. I’ve earned worse than caution.”

“We should hurry Lady Ren,” Amy said, “it’s getting close to the time.”

Amy helped to dress me in an appropriate outfit, a forest green maxi dress. She added a matching green corset with golden accents that fit over the dress. The corset on top was another flourish from the game designers. But I liked the look. 

I blushed as Amy helped me dress. She was beautiful and I was self-conscious about what she thought of my body. Was it my body though? I suppose it was now. I checked my new body in the mirror as we changed. Despite everything that had happened, at least this was an upgrade. I was tall and pale, with curves in all the right places. On top of that, I had perfect breasts and a perky ass. The boob job necessary to make these ladies would have been expensive in my old life. Here they were a perk of being a major character. The old me would have asked the new me out if they’d met at a party. No, that’s not true. The old me would have blushed and stared at a distance while cursing my cowardice. 

Amy’s hands brushed my hips as she helped me step into the maxi dress and I gasped as a shiver ran up my body. 

“I’m sorry Lady Ren! Did I hurt you?” 

My face went beet red, “No! Not at all. You didn’t hurt me. It was nice. I mean, it was fine. Fine, no problem. It just, I mean, it tickled a little, that’s all.” 

Amy looked at me, she raised an eyebrow, “I’ve served you for three years, Lady Ren. I’ve never known you to be ticklish before. I’m sorry for not noticing.”

Then she paused and looked at my face. I flinched as she stared. Her eyes opened wide. Then a small, crooked smile crept across her face. I tensed. The world of Moonlight Hearts had no taboo against same sex attraction. But her catching me in arousal like this was excruciating. A second shiver rolled across my body, and I gasped again. 

Amy composed herself and said, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Lady Ren. I didn’t realize your interests lay in the same direction as mi- that is to say, I didn’t realize your interests lay in that direction.”

I raised my eyebrows, “The same direction?” I said. Now Amy began blushing. And so, we stood, faces red as tomatoes, staring at each other. 

Finally, Amy spoke. “Has it been like that for the past three years?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t been me three years ago. I wasn’t even sure that any of this actually existed three years ago. 

After several minutes of silence, Amy said, “I see.”

“I’m sorry.” I said, guessing at her thoughts. “I should have said something. I’ve been such a terrible person. I’m not good at, I mean, I’m not good with beautiful people.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” She asked. 

“A blind woman would think you’re beautiful.” I answered.

Amy looked away. I could see her blushing. I waited as she composed herself, and turned back to face me. 

“So, what will we do now?” Amy asked.

“I don’t know.” I said. And now I looked away. I knew enough of the game to know the challenge. The rival needed to marry a member of another noble family. She needed to protect her position and the position of her family. A maid was not going to do that. But I wouldn’t need to explain that to Amy. She would know that. What I would need to do was find a way to make her feel better.  She was uncomfortable with what she thought I’d been doing for the last three years while she helped dress me. I ran my mind across everything I’d seen Lynn do while playing the game. I considered everything else she had told me during many conversations. 

The game involved three main factions. They were the kingdom of Hyperborea, the island of Ys, and the kingdom of Agartha. The game took place on the island of Ys, the heroine and the rival were both from Ys. It was a small island nation between Hyperborea in the north and Agartha in the south. What did I know about it? It was a constitutional monarchy; the real power lay with the house of lords. The technology was an odd mix of fantasy Middle Ages and Victorian England. The designers had used whatever they thought looked cool or romantic. Ys had gender equality as the norm and no discrimination based on race or sexual orientation. It did have a massive helping of class-based discrimination though. The game ran on the drama caused by class discrimination. I could use that to put Amy’s mind at ease. 

“How long have you felt this way?” Amy asked. I snapped back to the conversation.

I considered how to answer before I spoke. Less than one hour seemed like a callous answer. And one she wouldn’t believe in any case. I’d never been undressed by another woman like that before. The effect had been electric. I shook my head.

“Long enough. Too long.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, “So, you like me?”

I made a guess based on what I knew about how the rival treated servants in the game. I looked her in the eyes, “How much have we spoken these last three years? Be honest.”

“Conversation? Not commands and instructions? We’ve spoken more today than in the whole three years combined.”

I nodded, “Exactly. So, I admit that I’m attracted to you. Yes. Do I like you? I think so. You’re nice. But have we spoken enough to know that with any certainty?” 

Amy bit her lip and didn’t answer immediately. I tried to figure out what she wasn’t saying, and then a thought hit me.

“Wait. Amy, do you like me?” I could hear the disbelief in my voice.

“Maybe,” Amy said.

“But I’ve been terrible towards you!”

“That doesn’t make you less beautiful, Lady Ren. And I see you every day. It’s hard to ignore how good you look. And you’ve always been less severe to me than you are to the other maids.”

“And I didn’t even notice your interest until I pulled my head out of my behind. And even if I had, what good does that do?” 

Amy sighed, “But you could have told me.”

“And then what? I take you as a lover. Have you become my ladybird? How does that help you? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Ladybird was a term for an illicit lover, and was commonly used in the Moonlight Hearts game. I knew she would understand it. Amy turned and looked out the window. I considered things again. In all the endings where the rival gets a suitor, she ended up with a man. There was no ending where she ended up with the only female romance option: Fiona. I thought about that, and a ball of frustration knotted itself in my stomach. 

“I’m going to end up marrying some man, either a nice idiot or a useful monster. Neither option is a happy one.”

“You don’t like men?” Amy asked without turning around.

I shook my head, “No. I don’t understand the attraction at all. Only the fairer sex interests me.”

“That sounds so limiting,” Amy said. 

“I guess. But my point is that pursuing anything with you would tie you up in that mess as well. And that seemed too cruel.”

“May I ask a rude question?”

“Of course.”

“When did you change your opinion on cruelty and how to treat your maid?”

She wasn’t holding back. But I guess that was only fair. But how to answer her? I’m not your lady. I replaced your lady and am currently driving her body around like a rental car. Not the best response. 

“I don’t know exactly. I don’t even know how it happened. It crystallized when I woke up this morning. I couldn’t go on being the person I was anymore. I wasn’t her anymore.”

That was as close to the truth as I could manage without letting Amy think I was crazy. 

“Would you rather have a different maid?”

“No.” I paused, “But I’d understand if you would prefer to serve another member of the household.”

A knock sounded on my bedroom door, “Is lady Karen coming down?”

I recognized the voice from the game. It was the rival’s father: Jean Octavian. My father now. 

Amy raised her voice, “My apologies Lord Octavian. We are dealing with some wardrobe difficulties. A lady’s clothes can be quite troublesome.”

“Fine, but hurry it up.”

Amy turned back to me, “I am not going to abandon you after that speech. I don’t know what to do about this. But I do know your father will skin you and fire me if we don’t get down there in the next five minutes.” 

Amy helped me into my gown. She then helped me put on my shoes: a pair of gold slingback shoes with kitten heels.

“I’m going to tower over the boys, even in short heels like this,” I noted.

“I wish I had that problem,” Amy said, “You look so regal my lady.”

I smiled, “Oh, there are benefits but there are drawbacks too. The fragile male ego is one of those drawbacks.”

“But at least you don’t like the boys,” Amy said, “That must make it easier to handle.”

“It does. Although I know it means that I’m destined for a loveless political marriage. Although my behavior can’t have helped matters.”

Amy coughed, “Let’s get your jewelry on Lady Ren.”

If I hadn’t felt like a princess before this point, I felt like one now. Amy handed me a pair of gold chandelier style earrings. The jeweler had set them with sparkling orange tourmaline gemstones. I put on the earrings. Amy produced a necklace, a gold sautoir style affair with a rose cut orange tourmaline in the center. The chain included gold roses that increased in size towards the gem at the center. The chain looked like a princess length, about sixteen inches. Next Amy handed me a pair of gold cuff bracelets. They consisted of three thick lines braided together. And last, Amy handed me a gold ring with a half rose cut red garnet. I slid the bracelets on, and then placed the ring on my right index finger.   

“Okay, Lady Ren, any last-minute thoughts or changes?” Amy asked.

“Changes? No. Thoughts? I need to be more grateful for all you do.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you. Then I guess that means you’re good to go. Best hurry, we don’t want people waiting on you again.”

I nodded, “I don’t want people waiting on me at all, not any longer.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. I stepped out of my room. 

- - -

By DD Ward and Margaret Lovelace

ddwardiswriting.blogspot.com

[puppypeter]

These are all dark fics, READ THE TAGS before reading the fics. It is your responsibility to check whether what you are about to read is something that you can stomach. While most of these fics are based around trauma, recovery etc many feature triggering scenes or flashbacks as well as darker themes. Please be safe and don’t read them if they can be triggering for you! Proceed with caution! Most of them are Hydra Trash, but still not just the ugly bits as I like there to be a plot. Hiding them below the cut:

between scylla and charybdis | 21590 words

Sam Wilson has been witness to a lot of things he wishes he could unsee. Civilian families shot dead in their cars because of miscommunications at checkpoints. Riley’s body spiralling to the ground in a smoke-plumed plummet. His own face in his bathroom mirror after waking up hung-over as hell at two in the afternoon, the day after the anniversary of Riley’s death, year after year after year.

And now, in an abandoned bunker on the outskirts of Boston, a seemingly unremarkable manila folder at the bottom of a filing cabinet.

Berceuse | 10730 words

There are strange, new things Bucky needs from Steve.

Dreamers Often Lie | 11040 words

As far as Bucky remembers, sex is something that is painful and terrifying if you wake up while it's happening. As the Asset, sleeping through sex was a rare treat. When Steve lets Bucky know he's interested in a sexual relationship, what Steve doesn't know is that they have fundamentally different ideas of what that entails.

despite the threatening sky and the shuddering earth (they remained) | 71532 words

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

Fire And Water For Your Love | 77084 words

When the Avengers investigate an abandoned HYDRA base on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., they unexpectedly encounter a dark-haired man with a torn metal arm, who leads them to an even more shocking discovery deeper inside the base. The Avengers must reconcile what they have found with the lies S.H.I.E.L.D. has been telling for decades.

Give An Inch | 5070 words

The Captain has a warm smile and clear, open eyes. The Soldier knows these are tricks. He's fallen for them before and he won't do it again.

Humans As Gods | 4818 words

"HYDRA's scientists had been delighted to find their serum-reversal procedure had worked. Their jubilation was dampened by the discovery that Steve's smaller self might no longer be Captain America-sized but was still 100% Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers was now mad enough to spit nails. A minor oversight in the design of the containment area meant that smaller-Steve had simply wriggled out of the now ridiculously-oversized restraints like an angry ferret escaping a paper bag, and punched the nearest technician in the nuts.

Chaos ensued."

HYDRA scientists successfully de-serum Captain America, only to discover that they are utterly unprepared for Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier follows his instructions to the letter. This works out just great.

The Only One That Needs To Know | 6571 words

Bucky can't control his body. He can only control what secrets he keeps.

I Was Wearing My Blue Coat | 11503 words

Following exposure of his past as the Winter Soldier, anonymous postings of explicit video footage, 63 charges of murder and the wrath of the Internet, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes finally steps into the limelight and tells his story to Zenat Patel of the New York Times.

Compliance Will Be Rewarded | 4767 words

Someone told him once: "Compliance will be rewarded," and he remembers pressing his head against a man’s leg in open supplication. He remembers hands in his hair, and a gentle grip on the back of his neck. He remembers a man telling him "so good, so good for me aren't you?" And he remembers nodding his head in a desperate attempt to be exactly as good as he was supposed to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bucky Barnes is physically free from Hydra, but the hold on his mind lingers still. All he wants is to go home, and he'll do anything he can to get there.

To Burn Your Kingdom Down | 12370 words

The Avengers go after a Hydra splinter cell with a nasty habit of brutalizing their prisoners. Steve has some ugly history with them, and when a rescue mission gone wrong leaves him and Sam in enemy hands, the situation gets uglier still.

Worth The Wound | 7709 words

The asset knows that maintenance is better than punishment. But with Steve, maintenance becomes more pleasant, soft and gentle and everything he could dream of. It was only natural that he decided to prolong that maintenance a little longer.

The Spaces In-Between | 6971 words | Part 1 of What We Tried So Hard To Hide Away

"Memories are like buckets of water: they weigh on the heart and the brain until the body fails. You're blessed to stay forgetful and young, Soldier."

Sometimes blessings feel like curses.

Illuminate The Scene | 7086 words | Part 2 of What We Tried So Hard To Hide Away

The doctors had wanted to keep the Soldier. Shock him and freeze him until he was fixed, or tear him to scrap if he couldn’t be repaired so that he wouldn’t be an entirely wasted investment. Steve is the only thing stopping them.

When the Soldier can't trust his own body, how can he trust anything?

All These Riots Of Broken Sound | 83790 words | Part 1 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

When Steve and the team return to Avengers tower to find Bucky gone, they must venture into B.A.R.F. to figure out what triggered him to leave and hunt those who wronged him. Trapped in a simulation of Bucky's worst memories with rogue HYDRA agents waiting to strike, 100 years of secrets, lies, pain and love drive the team to their limit and push Steve towards a realisation that is a century in the making.

I Was Lost But Left A Trace | 3585 words | Part 2 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

Disorientated, the Asset reached up to wipe at the moisture on its cheeks and was shocked to find it clear, instead of the crimson it has been expecting. It didn’t understand why this misidentification had caused uproarious laughter from the technicians.

“It is not blood,” the Asset told him, “but it is still a malfunction.”

This sobered the technician a little, and he nodded tightly.

“Yes. It is. But we will fix you.”

I’ll Always Be Blamed For The Sun Going Down | 9907 words | Part 3 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

He knows he’s in the right place. He has heard the guys at the docks laugh and joke about the queers who come out after dark, looking to earn a little extra cash. He has seen the johns, when he’s been out late enough, skulking in the shadows like predators hunting for their next meal, looking for something in particular. Sometimes they look at him.

A small, rusty pen knife that his father had picked up in Europe during the Great War sits heavy in the breast pocket of his jacket. Just in case.

Book Of The Moon | 16019 words | Part 4 of Forever Is A Close And Honest Friend

In 1929, Bucky Barnes falls in love for the first time and resigns himself to never telling a soul, let alone Steve, the object of his affections. In 1943, half a world away from the man he can never have and fighting for his life and his sanity, something new begins to bloom.

Habeas Corpus | 18054 words

An unexpected incident in the field leaves Steve Rogers facing the infiltration of a Hydra base and retrieval of important intelligence, all while pretending to be the Winter Soldier. Unfortunately, there are important aspects of the Soldier's past that Bucky hasn't disclosed, and Steve has no idea what he's really walking into.

Bullies | 14979 words

Written for the MCU trash meme prompt:

I wanna see Steve being messed with by his secretly-HYDRA coworker buddies. I want them generally fucking with him, "accidentally" doing terrible things to him or getting Steve into awful situations, telling jokes that aren't really jokes, gaslighting, performing sexual-assault hazing under the guise that "that's what people do now," pressuring him into other sex shit, anything, just fuck Steve up.

Steve isn't failing to fully catch on because he's dumb or oblivious: it's just that he is Steve, so he wants to believe the best of everybody, and he doesn't want to believe that he could be working for/with bullies and that (as Natasha says) he essentially died for nothing.

Not Unwanted, Not Unloved | 50320 words

They'd resigned themselves to never becoming parents - until Bucky gets pregnant and drops off the grid without even a whisper to his mate about his condition. Steve will still raze the earth to find him, but that doesn't mean he likes what he finds.

The Tones That Tremble Down Your Spine | 13889 words

Tony tells him they’re planning a party for Steve’s birthday. He knows how parties are supposed to go.

Lacuna | 62875 words

The Winter Soldier doesn't remember Steve Rogers, but he needs Rogers' help.

OR: The one where Bucky doesn't remember Steve, but falls in love with him anyway.

Not A Perfect Soldier | 93354 words

In a world where HYDRA was wiped out in the '40s, Steve is found by the Army rather than SHIELD. General Thaddeus Ross wants a perfectly obedient super-soldier at his command, and to that end, he sets out to break Steve to his will. As Steve struggles to come to terms with all he has lost, his life in captivity is only made bearable by the presence of another prisoner-- another super-soldier known only as "Soldat". Then the Avengers strike a deal with Ross to "borrow" him for missions, and Steve is faced with a team who dislikes him, an organization he doesn't trust, and the question of what he's willing to do to escape Ross's clutches.

For Want Of Him | 103174 words

It's the twenty-first century, and Steve Rogers has never been more alone. Everything he knew, everyone he loved, is now gone, and a dark, bitter loneliness claws at him, raking bleeding gashes into his heart. And then there's Brock Rumlow. Rumlow is like salt in his wounds; vicious, and cruel. But his dark brown hair and teasing smirk reminds Steve of someone long dead, and his New York accent sounds like home...He's a soldier like him...he understands. And Steve makes the fatal mistake of trusting him.

The Same Measure | 4943 words

The Winter Soldier was never allowed to stop unless an injury was too grievous.

To Be Unmade | 5114 words | Part 1 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

For the asset, things only ever get worse. The external scars fade quickly enough. The internal ones dig deeper and deeper.

But the internal scars are called love, and doesn't that make them worth the hurt?

Do Not Put In The Icebox | 7143 words | Part 2 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

When the asset malfunctions on a mission, Rumlow and Rollins learn more than they ever wanted to know about Pierce's hobbies.

And then everyone has pancakes.

The Knowing Makes It Worse | 4130 words | Part 3 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

No is a bad word and invites punishment.

Or, Alexander Pierce is a very bad man who delights in manipulating and degrading the asset.

Love Is For Children | 5303 words | Part 4 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

Bucky understands how the game works. He can't understand why it makes Steve cry.

But Natasha and the other Avengers are there to help.

I Just Wanted To Be Sure Of You | 4461 words | Part 5 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

Bucky has Bucky Bear; it's only fair for Natasha to have something of her own.

Visiting a toy store wasn't strictly necessary, but if Tony wants to throw money around, no one's going to complain.

“Till The End Of The Line | 6069 words | Part 6 of Alexander Pierce Should Have Died Slower

It's hard to take a friendship right back up when so much has changed over seventy years.

Particularly when HYDRA's conditioning resurfaces.

*if you feel that any of these fics shouldn’t be in this list please just send me a message! :) I have read them all but over the past 1+ years so some of them I might not remember all the details of :)

[sams-sass]

Secrets in the Snow

Chapter One: The Frost

Hey Hey! Here is the first chapter to my new winter/Christmas fic series. I hope you guys like it! 

Read: 

Chapter 2: The Mountains Call

Chapter 3: The Winds Whisper

Chapter 4: The Fires Kiss

Chapter 5: The Hearts Desire

Summary: You and Sam find yourselves trapped in a cabin for Christmas. Fluff ensues. 

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, Christmas fluff

Parings: Sam x Reader

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

The other cars' red brake lights in the drive-through were blurry from the rain pouring down as you stared out the windshield. Your arms were crossed on top of one another and leaning against the leather front seat, your chin resting on them peacefully. Your body was folded into itself, legs spread apart, and back stretched. Dean was in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel while the other flipped through the radio stations. Sam was on your other side, his hands curled around a lore book. The line moved, and Dean looked up to drive the car forward.

"Y/N, what do you want?" He asked you, his face turning toward you slightly.

"Usual." You mumbled against your arms.

"You got it, kiddo." He said as he pulled the impala up to the window and rolled the window down, practically yelling the order over the pounding rain.

"It's coming down out there." You said, lifting your head slightly.

"Yes, it is." Sam agreed, his face turning towards you, a small smirk on his face. Dean pulled up to the next window and took the food the woman handed him, passing it over to Sam, who was waiting with his hands out. He looked in the bag and found your food first, giving it to you over his shoulder while still looking in the bag. Dean took the drinks from her and gently placed them in the middle of the two boys before pulling away. He pulled into the parking lot and took his food from Sam in their perfect synchrony of movements. It was moments like this with the two of them that made you forget about the bad for a moment. Classic rock coming from the radio, Sam's nose buried in a book, Dean moaning around his burger even though he eats one once a day. The harmony of the three of you together, no monsters in sight. Just pure relaxation. You leaned against the back door and stretched your legs out on the backseat. You unwrapped your food and dug in, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand in between bites because, as usual, Dean forgot to ask for napkins.

"So, where are we going?" Dean asked Sam, balling up his food wrapper and tossing it into the bag.

"Wyoming. From what it seems like, they have a werewolf problem." Sam took a sip of his drink, not looking up from the map. You balled up your wrapper and threw it into the bag as well, taking a large gulp of drink and once again poking your head between the boys.

"Where in Wyoming?" You asked.

"Lander," Sam answered.

"Ah, so right in the mountains." You nodded, laying your head to the side and looking up at Sam's profile. He turned and smiled at you.

"I see you're using that geography book I got you." He sounded proud, making you feel proud too. The moment was cut short by Dean making exaggerated gagging sounds. You whipped your head around and landed a swift punch to his arm.

"Ow!" He shouted, grabbing his arm before falling into a fit of laughter. Acting like children made you laugh, too, chipping away at the weight on all of your shoulders.

 --------------------

The loud rumble of the impala's engine sounded throughout the quiet and sleepy mountainside town. Your drive here had been beautiful, sweeping landscapes with racing rivers and snowcapped mountains that took your breath away. You all climbed out of the car and stretched out your tired limbs. You lugged your bag over your shoulder and made your way into the motel room, letting the crisp air fill your lungs. You stopped walking and tilted your head up slightly, looking up at a cloudless sky that seemed to go on forever. Your lips parted at how large the sky looked when no buildings were cutting into it, just endless blue. You made your way into the motel room and threw your bag down on the couch, leaning against the wall as you made your plan.

"Alright, since this is a pretty small town and we already know they have a werewolf problem, let's see where they could be hiding," Dean said, spreading the map over the small table and leaning on his hands.

"Well, if I were a werewolf, I would hide in the mountains. Small town, someone is going to find out sooner or later. I would hide where it would be harder for them to find me." Sam said, one long finger coming to point at the surrounding mountains out on the map.

"I agree." You said, pushing off the wall and coming to stand next to Sam.  

"We could canvas the locals, see if there is something in the mountains worth looking into." Dean nodded, standing up straight.

"Sounds good to me." You said, watching Sam nod his head in agreement.

About an hour later, the three of you walked into a local bar and sat down at a booth. The entire place was decorated for Christmas. Lights were wrapped around almost every surface. Green wreaths with red bows, dawned many of the walls. Pinecones with fake snow sprinkled on them sat in bowls along the mantle above the fireplace. A large Christmas tree sat in the corner; its ornaments and tinsel made a feeling of nostalgia settle within you. Sam sat next to you, his large body squishing into yours, making you giggle. He always looked so big compared to everything else. Dean brought back three drinks and placed them in the center of the table. You grabbed yours and took some sips. Sam moved, and you could feel the heat from his skin, warming yours.

"Alright, I'm gonna canvas the bartender," Dean said after taking a long drag from his beer. Sam scoffed next to you, and you rolled your eyes.

"Have fun." You said, raising an eyebrow at him and letting a knowing smirk sit on your face, folding your hands on the table. Dean sent you a wink and his most charming smile before making his way over to the bar with a confident strut.

"I'm just gonna-uh," Sam mumbled awkwardly, pointing at Dean's empty seat. You wrinkled your forehead in confusion, tilting your head to the side.

"Oh! Yeah, of course." You said as you realized he was telling you he was moving away from you, there was a small part of you that didn't want him to. He slid across from you and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright, who should we talk to?" He asked, looking around the rustic bar. You looked up at him and let a small smile pull at your lips.

"Uh.." You mumbled as you looked around at the crowd. You spotted a man in a black long sleeve shirt, a vest over his chest. His jeans were worn in, slightly dirty, and torn in places. His hands told you that he worked with them every day of his life. He moved his baseball cap, scratching his brown curls before placing the hat back on his head. "I'm going to talk to him," you said, pointing to the man, "he looks like he goes in the woods." You said, taking more swigs of your drink and looking back at Sam for a moment. He followed your previous gaze and looked at the man you were talking about. He turned around to you and pressed his lips together.

"If you need me, I'll be around." He assured you, eyes connecting with yours.

"I know, Sammy." You said in an even and peaceful tone, your shoulders relaxing. "See you around." You smiled as you stood up and made your way across the bar. You didn't see how Sam's eyes lingered on you for longer than necessary, how his hope drained slightly when you sauntered over to him, eyes wide and lips smiling, how his fists clenched when you grabbed his arm, your head was thrown back in laughter. He couldn't stop looking at you; no matter how hard he tried, his eyes always wandered around to you and your enticing personality. He couldn't pull himself away from the torture of you looking at you with another man.

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

You licked your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. He leaned in a little closer to you; his scent of body odor and beer invaded your nose quickly. You resisted the urge to turn away from him, instead of burying your nose in your drink and taking a large swig. He had told you his name at some point. Jeremy, was it? You didn't know, nor did you care. You just wanted to go back to the hotel and hang with your boys.

"Hey, do you know about any properties in the mountains?" You asked, lowering your head and looking up at him from under your lashes.

"Properties?" He asked, clearly confused and disinterested.

"Yeah, like properties with a lot of land? I could be in the market to move here." You blinked and tried to give him your most seductive smile.

"Oh, well, if it's land you want, there is the old McCall farm. No one has lived up there for a long time, and it has like 150 acres or something. We used to sneak up there when I was in high school, just to drink and party and such. The views from there are absolutely incredible." He said, his elbows coming to rest on the table. You ran your finger along the rim of your glass, collecting the moisture.

"Thank you." You said, sitting up slightly.

"No problem. Maybe I could take you up there to check it out?" He asked you, leaning in even closer and giving you a crooked grin.

"Uh, I don't know. I'm here with some friends." You looked around the bar and found Sam's eyes, sending him your signal by tapping three times on your cheek with your index finger. Within a few seconds, you felt your phone buzz. You acted surprised and pulled it from your pocket, looking at the screen with false confusion on your face.

Sam: Come back here.

"Something wrong?" Jeremy asked you, genuine concern crossed his face and made you actually feel bad for him.

"No, just my friends wanna head home." You said, standing up. "Thanks for the help."

"Ok, well, goodnight." He said with a dorky grin.

"Night." You said before walking back through the bar towards Sam, looking for Dean as you went. A hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you toward them, making you squeak in surprise. You practically fell into Dean's chest, his arm coming around your shoulders. You quickly relaxed into his familiar touch and wrapped your arm around his waist.

"Hey, bud." You said, smiling up at him.

"Hey, kid. You ready to go?" He asked you; his breath smelt like tequila, and he still had some salt around his lips, causing you to giggle. You nodded, unwrapping yourself from his embrace, and made your way over to Sam on the other side of the bar. He was waiting with your jacket in his large hands. He held it up, and you slid your arms in the holes, feeling the immediate warmth against your skin. The three of you made your way back to the motel, and you told the boys about the farm. You all decided to check it out now; make sure that was the place and know how many there were. Sam was once again looking over the map in the passenger seat. His hair was softly blowing from the heat coming out of the vents. You smiled to yourself, looking up at him out of the corner of your eye.

The old farm took you about 40 minutes to get to by the old dirt roads. Dean muttered under his breath the whole time about "mud in the undercarriage" and how baby was a "beautiful creature who didn't deserve this shit." Jeremy was right about the amount of land. The property seemed to stretch on forever. Its rolling hills with untrimmed grass made you feel so small against its massive landscape. You all climbed out of the car and made your way to the house as silently as you could. You peaked through a window, holding your breath not to make any noise, and looked around to see…nothing. No lights were on. No sound could be heard anywhere. There was just nothing. You turned to the boys and shrugged your shoulders. That's when you heard it, the low rumble of a growl. You all turned and spotted the werewolf sprinting full speed at you. His eyes were reflecting with the glow of the moon. He was headed straight for you, not even paying attention to the boys as he charged. You reached into the waistband of your pants and aimed at his heart. The shot was loud in your ears, echoing around your skull. You swallowed and lowered your weapon, the smoke showing against the night sky. He dropped instantly—the silver taking its effect.

"Nice sho-." Dean was cut off by the other werewolf; none of you saw. He sunk his massive claws into Dean's leg. Blood seeped through his torn jeans, and his body crumpled into itself. He groaned and grabbed at his torn flesh. You heard Sam pull in a loud breath before running over to his brother and collecting him into his arms. You aimed your gun again at the other wolf and fired. Missed. He kept running; he was too fast. You realized there was no way you could catch up to him and lowered your gun. You ran over to Dean, placing your arms around him to help Sam lift him into the car. You grabbed a towel out of the back and tied it around his leg, apologizing after he screamed in pain. Sam drove back to the motel. Tires kicked up dirt the entire way. You and Sam brought Dean inside and placed him onto one of the beds. It was bad. His wounds were deep and harsh.

"Hey, Dean, it's ok. We are gonna take care of you." You said to him gently, removing the towel as you spoke. It took an hour and a half. You and Sam were continually switching places, one of you stitching while the other wiped the blood away. Finally, it was done. Dean's eyes were rolling in his head from blood loss and exhaustion by the time you were done. Your fingers ached from holding the needle for so long. Sam's hands were caked in blood. Dean fell back and was almost instantly asleep. You took a breath, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your forearm.

"Thanks for the help, Y/N," Sam said, using a wet rag to clean his hands.

"Of course, we're a team." You stretched out your aching fingers while you grabbed clothes from your bag.

"This means it's up to us now," Sam replied, leaning on the sink counter.

"I know." This thought had crossed your mind too. Dean was in no shape to hunt for a while. You bit your lip and fully turned to face Sam. "We're hiking tomorrow, aren't we?" You asked him.

"Yeah." He sounded exhausted. You could hear the heaviness of his voice.

"Well then, we better get some rest." You said with a nod. You and Sam got cleaned up and laid down for the night. The couch cushions were lumpy and awkward under your body. You tried to roll onto your side, but that only made it slightly better. Dean was already snoring, and you could tell by his breathing that Sam was well on his way. You closed your eyes and pulled a deep breath into your lungs. It wasn't too long before the exhaustion of the day pulled you down into the black as well.

You and Sam finished packing your bags, taking extra clothing, food, water, and a GPS tracker.

"Hey, Y/N, what socks do you have on?" Sam asked you from his bed.

"Just my normal socks." You responded over your shoulder, throwing more things into your backpack.

"No, no, no, it's freezing out there. Here, take my wool socks." He said, turning to you with his hand stretched out. You took the socks and sent a small smile his way. You sat down on the couch and pulled them onto your feet. They were ridiculously large on you, but they were really warm and comfortable. You stuffed your feet back into your boots and grabbed your backpack. You threw the bag over your shoulders. You said bye to Dean. He gave you a small kiss on the cheek and wished you luck. You saw Sam send him a small wave before closing the door completely. You and Sam set forward on your hike up into the mountains. You were about a fourth of the way when you looked up at the sky.

"Hey, Sam! I don't like the looks of those clouds." You called to him, pointing up at the heavy clouds rolling in.

"Huh? Oh, no. I checked the weather report. They were only calling for a ten percent chance of precipitation." He responded with a half-smile before he kept walking. You continued behind him, but apprehension still sank into you.

 ----------------------

It took you five hours to get to the farm, giving yourself breaks for eating and hydrating. Your feet ached in your shoes. Your shoulders were screaming from the weight of the backpack, and your knees felt like they were about to give in at any moment. Your breath was fast in your lungs, hard breaths in and out. Due to your exhaustion, you almost missed the air's change how it grew thick with moisture and smelt of humidity. You glanced up to the sky again, seeing that the grey clouds had taken over the blue. The temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees as well, sending a chill through your bones. Wind through the trees blew your hair around you, and a worry made itself known within your gut. Sam seemed to notice the change, as well. His steps became smaller. Eyes turning to the sky. The first flake fell…then it seemed as if they all came at once. The surrounding air was filled with snowflakes that seemed to be coming from every direction. The wind picked up, and you could barely keep your eyes open. It was so loud, howling in your ears and slapping against any exposed skin. The snow was sticking to the ground and fast. Your boots were already covered in white powder, and you knew your jeans wouldn't hold up to the conditions. This was not a pretty snow. The flakes did not cascade on their way down, getting stuck on branches as they fell. It was not a scenic snowfall. This was a full-on blizzard, and you and Sam were trapped right in the middle of it.

"Ten percent, my ass!" You shouted over the screaming wind. Sam turned and gave you a "what do you want me to do about it?" expression.

"We have to find shelter." He said back.

"Shouldn't we head back?" You asked, wrapping your coat around you a little tighter.

"Not in this; looks like we are staying here tonight." Sam pointed to a cabin. It was on the land of the farm, but not quite near the house. It would be perfect for keeping an eye on the place for the werewolf's return. You looked at the cabin, back to him, then back at the house, before looking back at him and shrugging your shoulders.

"Alright." You said with a defeated sigh. You made your way into the cabin, peaking in the windows before using your lock pick to get inside. The first thing you noticed was the silence within the walls. It made your boots sound impossibly loud against the wood floors. You looked around at the bare cabin. Just an old couch sat in the middle of the living room; a bookshelf was against the left wall leading into the kitchen. The cabinets had a few cans still in them, some plates and glasses, but nothing to make a home with.

"How long do you think it's been since people have been here?" Sam asked you while he looked around the cabin too. You swiped at the counter and looked at the considerable amount of dust on your finger.

"I don't know. Months maybe." You took your backpack off and placed it on the floor.

"We should get a fire going," Sam announced, making his way back outside. You decided to stay in and take inventory of what you had. You opened cabinets and doors, finding everything you could. You found blankets and pillows, giving them a smell before placing them on the couch. Next, you looked at each can of food. Most were expired, but you found a few cans that were still good. You shook out the blankets, getting as much dust out as you could. You then found a broom and swept away all the dust and debris in front of the fireplace, making room for the blankets. Sam came back about a half-hour later with wood.

"Find much?" You asked, looking behind him to see if there was any more.

"Most was wet, but I found a pile, and the ones underneath were good." He knelt in front of the fireplace, placing the logs in one at a time. His cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold. His hair was sprinkled with snow, and his lips were extra pink against the grey backdrop. You shook your head, not letting yourself go there, and knelt next to him, searching your bag for a lighter. You handed it to him and watched him light the wood on fire. You instantly felt warmer just watching the yellow flames begin to dance. You didn't want to get upset. You didn't want to let your mind wander to the worst of thoughts, but you could feel the "what ifs" creeping in slowly and surely. What if you were stuck here for longer than just tonight. What if you run out of food? How will you shower? Wash your clothes? You looked over at Sam and could tell he was thinking the same things.

"Sam, I'm nervous." You confessed, turning towards him.

"Me too," He didn't lie to you. "but we can do this, I promise. We just have to get through tonight." He took you by the shoulders and forced you to look into his eyes, setting his jaw and nodding once. You found comfort in his assurance. You found peace within his green and gold eyes, nodding to yourself and biting your lip. You and Sam were trapped in a cabin while a blizzard raged overnight. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: @watermelonlipstick​ @melancauliflowers​ @strawqerrybby​ @spnfanficpond​ @calaofnoldor​

[keanureevesisbae]

Protection Chapter 4

Summary: Mia is deeply hurt by August, only she is the one with a slight problem now: her heater is broken.

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: I hope everyone had a lovely few days! please let me know what you think about this chapter. I love to read about it 🤗

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter 

That Saturday I had my second to last game and I scored not one, not two, but three goals. Some even said I might’ve set a record for the fastest going goals in the history of female soccer. That might have something to do with me being still so damn mad at August.

I mean, I know I said I was going to accept his hot and cold attitude, since there would be a kind man underneath that harsh exterior, but after being hurt like that, I just figured that I couldn’t accept it anymore. He was harsh and borderline mean to me.

I don’t understand him anymore, but what I do know is that him being like that to me, is probably not going to change. Maybe I’m being a baby and totally overreacting, but I decided that it is best for my own wellbeing if I not talk to him anymore and so far, it’s working. Despite August always being home, I only bumped into him once and that for being next door neighbors.

Yesterday we both stepped into the elevator, but since I know him a bit, I was just sure he wouldn’t start a conversation with me.

I was right. However, I had to go against all my own impulses and you can almost say reflexes to not start a conversation with him.

August told me he doesn’t do apologies, so I shouldn’t be expecting one from him.

When I wake up that Sunday, a day after my game, I’m hit with a painful cold. Normally, Bobo sleeps on top of my blankets, but now he is securely curled up underneath them. Why is it this cold in here? I slip on some thick socks (that feels like two large ice cubs) and rush to my thermostat.

Only to discover it’s not working?!

‘Shit, shit, no,’ I whine. I really can’t use that right now. I mean, I can’t ever use it, but right now I really don’t want it. I check the card that hangs next to the thermostat and it informs me I can call the mechanic at nine on a Sunday.

It’s seven now, which is absolutely fantastic.

While my body is slowly freezing up and my nipples are the evidence of the cold temperatures (I’m really happy I’m all by myself now), I go to the bathroom to check if my shower can provide me with some warmish water. I grab the shower head and I wait until the water turns even slightly warm.

It doesn’t.

Great, so even a shower can’t keep me warm. I desperately need a shower, my sore muscles need some relaxation. I turn off the water and I walk to my bedroom. After I put on a bra and some more layers, I jump around, desperately trying to keep myself warm, but it’s useless. It’s what? Minus a billion degrees in here? I’m never gonna warm up, even if I wanted to.

I look over at the wall, the one that separates my apartment from August’s. I could do it, you know. I could just go over there and demand I can stay over at his place. I mean, that’s what he does and considers normal.

I can do that too. I can demand some shelter for a few moments. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Right?

Nah, it’s not. I’m too damn proud to do such thing.

The two hours go by really slow, but at least I got myself a good work out in, because I was desperately trying to keep warm. and I curled up underneath my blankets, but it was of no use. When I finally can call the mechanic, the shithead on the other line told me he couldn’t come in until three in the afternoon. Six whole hours in this freezing cold? That is something I simply cannot do. I want a hot shower and just chill in my sweats all day. I deserve that after last night’s game.

I grab some clothes, my shampoo and skincare products and pick up Bobo, who feels like a hot water bottle, but is not enough to keep me warm. I close the door of my apartment and with my elbow I knock on August’s door. It takes awhile before he opens the door, but when he does so, he frowns and looks visibly confused.

Probably because I’m holding Bobo and have a big bag with me.

‘What do you want?’

Always the gentleman. I should’ve thought this through, but I think the frostbite has reached my brain before I could do so. ‘I have a problem,’ I say. ‘My heater is broken and the mechanic comes at three.’

He leans against the doorframe. August looks different and I think it’s because of the grey sweatpants. I never really pecked him for a guy who wore something like that, matched with a thick hoodie. ‘Okay?’

Demand shelter, Mia, you can do it. ‘You should give me shelter,’ I say. Okay, that was’t exactly what I was aiming for, but it’s a start. ‘I cannot handle six hours in the freezing cold and I also don’t have hot water, so I can’t shower. Before you ask: ‘Why would I do this?’, remember, I did the same for you and I paid for the court side tickets.’

‘Tickets you bought before you even knew you were going to take me with you,’ he retorts. He sighs deeply. ‘Does the animal has to come as well?’

‘The animal is very sweet,’ I tell him and almost on cue Bobo starts to hiss. ‘Okay, maybe not to you, but please… Just let me stay here for six hours. If you do so, I might forgive you for being a total ass to me last Wednesday.’

‘I wasn’t an ass to you,’ he says, but when I cock my eyebrow, he looks kinda caught. ‘Okay, I maybe was an ass to you sometimes.’

‘All the time,’ I interrupt in.

‘Not the entire time. Just the ending,’ he tells me. ‘Okay, okay, please, come in, Mia and the creepy cat. Make yourself at home.’

At first I’m afraid he is being sarcastic (I mean, we’re talking about August Walker and it didn’t sound like it came from the heart), but when he actually steps aside, I realize he is serious. ‘Thank you,’ I say with a smile and I walk into his pretty boring apartment. I’ll let it slide for now, because he just moved in. I place Bobo on the ground and he struts through the apartment, avoiding August. Being here feels like I’m being wrapped up in a warm blanket.

August walks passed me to the kitchen and I decide to walk after him. ‘Are we going to talk about Wednesday?’ I ask him.

‘No.’

Figured. ‘Come on, August. Just… We should talk about this, to clear the air.’

‘I don’t want to talk.’ He places his hands on the counter and I don’t know where I’ve got the guts from, but I dare to step closer to him.

‘I bet there was a reason why you were like that this Wednesday,’ I continue. ‘You can talk to me, you know?’

‘I don’t want to talk about my feelings, especially not with you,’ he barks out.

Weirdly enough, this doesn’t hurt me, because I think he doesn’t mean it. ‘August,’ I whisper, ‘please. I just want to know why you continue to hurt me, when I’m nothing but nice to you, minus maybe the pedophile comment.

He clenches his jaw. ‘You want coffee?’

Why is he ignoring me? ‘Sure,’ I say, because I can actually use a cup. ‘Can’t you just try to be nice to me, without it being sandwiched in between insults? I’m not forcing you to go skipping with me in a park and make flower crowns with me, while feeding the ducks. I’m just asking you to cut the insulting crap and be nice to me.’

August actually turns his back to me and I let out a sigh. What was I even thinking?

‘I can try.’

Did I just hear that correctly? ‘What?’ I ask. ‘You can try?’

‘I can.’ He pours in some coffee for me and hands me a mug.

‘Thank you,’ I say with a gentle smile. I carefully place my hand on his underarm and he looks up, nearly snapping his neck in the process. ‘I really want to get to know you,’ I say to him in a soft tone. ‘But only if you allow it, okay?’

He nods. ‘Yes, okay,’ he says.

‘You want to get to know me?’ I ask with a chuckle.

‘Weirdly enough: yes.’

I roll my eyes. ‘August.’

‘Wait, wait, wait, I can do better,’ he says. ‘Yes, I want to get to know you too.’ He cocks an eyebrow. ‘Better?’

I laugh. ‘Yes, much better.’

◎ ◎ ◎

Since August’s shower provides me with hot water, I might overdo it by standing underneath the warm water for at least half an hour. Yes, I’m that type of guest. I quickly dry my hair, put on some moisturizer and get dressed, before I walk to the living room.

‘Did you clean up in here?’ I ask August, noticing the place is a whole lot cleaner than it was before I took my shower. ‘Are you trying to impress me, August?’

He scoffs, placing his feet on the coffee table. He looks like a mocking kindergartner, it’s  almost endearing.

‘Where is Bobo?’ I ask him, when I sat down next to him and look around.

‘In my bed,’ August answers with a shrug.

That caught me a bit off guard. My cat is in his bed? ‘And you don’t mind?’ I ask. ‘Or are you too afraid to shoo him away?’

He doesn’t want to—I can see it in his eyes—but he smiles. ‘Maybe a bit of both. Besides, he was hissing at me, so I was too afraid to get him off the bed.’

I chuckle. I shiver a bit, as I’m slowly losing the warmth from the shower. August stands up from the couch and wanders through the place. Only to come back with a blanket. He drapes it over me and I’m genuinely surprised. ‘What is this?’ I ask him, though I know exactly what this is.

‘You were cold,’ he says, ‘so I got you a blanket.’

I feel my cheeks heating up. ‘You can be very nice, did you know that?’

August looks at me for a few milliseconds, before he averts his gaze. I realize this may have been too much of a compliment. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘You want to watch some tv?’

‘Sure.’ He grabs the remote and turns on his television.

Was August watching the sports channel?

The only channel that broadcasts the women’s national football league?

‘Did you watch the game last night?’ I ask him.

‘I might’ve,’ he admits, his cheeks a little red. Oh my, my brooding neighbor August Walker is blushing!

‘Next week I have my last game, before the winter break. You want to watch? It’s free and I can arrange a nice spot for you. Special VIP treatment.’

‘Really?’ he asks. ‘Even after I was an absolute asshole to you?’

It’s nice of him to acknowledge that. ‘Even after that.’

‘I would like that.’

Are we having a moment now or is this me hallucinating? August looks into my eyes and doesn’t turn away. His light orbs are obviously hiding so much and it breaks my heart to think he has been through so much. ‘What are you thinking about?’

August shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Liar.’

He smiles. It makes him look beautiful, approachable and absolutely breathtaking. ‘I was thinking about giving you a compliment about the game last night and whether or not I should add an insult to it.’

I laugh. ‘Well, you can ditch the insult. I’m not sure if I can take it right now.’

‘You are by far the best player on your team,’ he says. ‘Maybe this is an insult to your teammates, but I think you would be the only female player that could actually beat the best male players.’

I bite my bottom lip, as I feel my stomach twists and turns. ‘That’s really sweet,’ I admit. ‘I bet you don’t want me to give you a hug as a thank you, right?’

August leans back in the couch. ‘Why would you want to hug me?’

That’s not a no, which is an improvement. ‘I barely got hugs when I grew up,’ I say. ‘I don’t know if you are aware of my sob worthy backstory. It’s pretty much all over the internet.’

‘I might’ve looked up some bits, he admits in all honesty, which I appreciate. ‘Lots of foster families.’

I nod. ‘I mean, it was mostly me. The families were nice enough, but I was simply afraid, because I knew that there was a chance I would leave again. What if I attached, you know? Saying goodbye would be harder.’

He nods, almost as if he understands.

‘However, my soccer team was pretty much the same team for years. I grew attached to them and hugs were totally normal. It was a way of communicating, really. Since that moment, I appreciate them. It’s a way to let someone know I appreciate them. If that makes sense.’

August nods again. ‘Back when I grew up, I never got hugs.’

For some reason, I see a young and pouty August in front of my eyes. Desperate for some human contact, only to be deprived by it.

‘I just never was in a setting where hugs were acceptable. Not when I was younger, not now.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize for stuff you had nothing to do with,’ he says and he sounds like the same old August I have come to know. He lets out a deep sigh, one that nearly sounds like a growl. ‘You can give me a hug.’

‘That doesn’t sound very sincere.’

‘I am very sincere,’ he says. ‘I mean it.’

This is adorable, I think to myself. ‘Well, you have to know that once I hug you, you are in it for the real deal. I may or may not hug you every chance I see you.’

August laughs. ‘Then I just have to live with that.’

I push the blankets off of me, before I nearly jump him. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and while he is slightly awkward, he places his hands on my back and actually engages in the hug. ‘You are very huggable,’ I say.

‘You too.’

I pull my face back, so I can look at him. ‘Remember,’ I say, ‘you can put your walls down around me. I would even really like that, to get to know you.’

August moistens his lips, before he whispers: ‘I would like that as well.’

◎ ◎ ◎

After the mechanic fixed my heater and left, August and I ordered pizza. Now, we sit on my couch and watch some YouTube compilation of me playing soccer. That wasn’t even my idea.

It was August’s idea.

Ever since our hug, I notice he is trying his best to be nice and to me, that’s what matters the most. While I don’t understand his struggle, I do appreciate the effort.

I just shouldn’t be attracted to someone who hurt me twice within a week of knowing me, but I can’t help but feel a little something deep inside of me, when I look at August sitting this relaxed on my couch.

‘You want my crusts?’ I ask him, holding out my plate to him.

‘Of course.’

I can’t help but scoot a little closer to him, so I can hand him the plate a bit better. Maybe it’s because I’m touch starved, maybe it’s because I never had this much male attention (insults or not) before. It’s just really nice being around a man, especially August. I didn’t want to admit it, but I enjoyed every moment of him being overprotective of me in the stadium and how he wiped my hands clean in the restaurant.

That never happened to me before.

‘You want my last piece?’ August asks me, holding up his slice.

‘Are you sure?’ I ask, already taking it out of his hands.

‘Postive.’

Before I take a bite, I say: ‘You can have this crust again, though.’

He smiles. ‘I was hoping for it.’

We eat in silence, staring at the television, but I’m not even paying attention. My mind is full of thoughts about August and the questions I want to ask later on when we get to know one another better. ‘Here is my crust,’ I say.

‘You know, Mia, you eat shockingly fast.’

I scoff. ‘I do not.’

‘You totally do,’ he argues. ‘And you are also the world’s messiest eater. I don’t know how you do it, but you got sauce on your forehead.’ He leans over to my coffee table and grabs some napkins. ‘Sit still, will you.’

‘I am sitting still!’

‘You’re not. You are fidgety.’

I roll my eyes. ‘First I’m a fast eater, then a messy one and I don’t sit still. I was about to offer you some dessert, but now I’m not so sure, since you are being so damn mean to me right now.’

‘I’m not mean to you,’ he says, his voice all of the sudden a lot lower. He places his hand in the back of my neck, before gently cleaning the corners of my mouth and my forehead, letting out a tsk in a process. August is so close right now, I’m nearly going cross eyed. His rough thumb slowly caresses the delicate skin in my neck. I can feel his warm breath against my lips.

‘You want dessert?’ I ask him after I cleared my throat. ‘I have some chocolate pudding. We could eat that.’

August nods. ‘Yeah, I would like that,’ he says, letting me go. ‘Let me help you.’ He stands up as well, holding the plates in his hands. Together we walk to my kitchen and I start preparing the pudding for the both of us.

However, I still feel his hand in my neck. Back when I was in high school in the Netherlands, I was never really in favor of the boys. Besides, I moved a lot and I was pretty  much invisible. There was this one time, where it took the teacher almost three weeks to notice me.

Being touched like that, it is a rarity in my dating history. Sure, I’ve had a few kisses, but other than that, I never engaged in anything. Now I’m twenty five and I want it.

So badly.

I look up, only to discover August was already looking at me. ‘What?’ I ask him.

He shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’

We eat the pudding in silence and when it is eight ‘o clock, he decides to leave. We may barely spoken to one another and when we did, it was pretty shallow, really. But I do feel like I got to know August better and he is willing to open himself up to me.

I walk him to the door and I say: ‘Are you willing to hug me goodbye?’

‘I’ll probably see you tomorrow, Mia,’ he says. ‘It’s not like I’m leaving anytime soon.’ Then he seems to realize what he is missing out on. While he rolls his eyes, I spot a grin on his face and he spreads his arms. ‘Come here.’

I let out an excited squeal and I jump up, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He laughs and wraps one arm around my waist, holding me against him.

‘You happy now?’ he asks.

I pull back my face. ‘Delighted, August Walker.’

He places me back on the ground. ‘See you tomorrow?’

‘You bet. Now you’ve hugged me. let me in your place and allowed Bobo in your bed, I think I’m gonna be over all the time.’

◎ ◎ ◎

The entire Monday morning I spend baking. I want to thank August for yesterday and I figured to see if the saying “nothing says loving like something from the oven” is true. I think it might be. I know I always appreciated when mister Toriello made me a pie.

I walk out of my apartment to knock on his door, only to discover his door is slightly ajar. I push it open and peek inside. ‘August?’ I ask with the steaming pie still in my hands. I walk inside, but he isn’t here. Maybe he is out and didn’t close the door right, however that seems so out of character. Leaving his door open like that… That’s weird.

I place the pie on his kitchen island and find a piece of paper to write something on it.

I place the note next to plate and I want to leave the apartment, but my eyes fall on something. It’s one of those yellowish files, you see in programs like NCIS. I know you shouldn’t peek in other peoples stuff and usually I don’t do such thing.

However I can’t help it right now, as the file is like a magnet that pulls me in.

I pull out the file and it confirms my suspicions. That was my name indeed I saw from afar  and this file has my DMV photo attached to it with a paperclip.

Why does August have this? I mean, I don’t even know what he does for a living, but why would he have this? What kind of job would require all this information about me?

Oh my, is he a stalker? I know that’s not a profession, but still…

I open the file and see an entire timeline of my life. The car accident, transcripts of my interviews with specialists, my football career. He is even up to date on my Instagram account… I even see he figured out the name of the man who was gawking at me during the game.

What is this?

‘What are you doing here?’ I hear August’s voice behind me. I look over my shoulder and see him standing in the doorway. He looks tired and a bit sweaty. What has he been doing? ‘What do you have there?’

I turn around, as I hold up the yellow folder. ‘Is there a specific reason you have my entire life compiled in one file?’

[fragileizywriting]

friends (part two)

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

This… this is not fun.

He wants to be in bed with Marinette.

He wants to be under the thick covers on a cold and freezing morning and curl into her warmth and never leave. Is it the cat part of him, or the demon part of him that means this? After all, demons don’t like the cold— it burns through the hellfire that covers their soul and makes them all almost insufferable. His dad, too, is inconvenienced by any amount of freeze— he doesn’t get snippy but he’s seen the way that frown has transformed his father’s face into a disgruntled god.

But cats are no different, either— making it a habit to curl up in the warmest place and hide until it’s warm enough to move. Winters are hard for Chat when he’s not in hell, and Marinette always teases him for him retracting into his cat form almost for days at a time, trying to use his fur to keep the frost from seeping into his body. The cold and Chat Noir do not do so good.

Whatever it is that makes him hate this, he listens to it, souring his mood by thinking of all the things he’s missing without Marinette near.

Why hadn’t they just invited Marinette along? It’s not like she doesn’t ever come with them sometimes. She enjoys the experience of being on Luka’s boat, even if it is to collect ingredients on her own, and Chat Noir has always very much enjoyed her company. If Luka’s feeling up to it, which he often is, he goes collecting for her. Marinette’s list is never that long, given that she stocks up on everything she can get her hands on, but sometimes she’s in need of more.

Algae, rocks, a specific crystal that regrows every two weeks or so. Snails, any bottom-feeders that Luka can lure and trap for her, and definitely whatever type of ocean or lake plant she’s looking for. Every time Luka resurfaces with a new item, Marinette is so quick to smile and so quick to thank him, turning and spinning around on the deck to show Chat the new item before she puts it in a jar for storage.

But without her, this whole fishing moment is just… exhausting.

Truly, of all things he’s done in the past week and a half— this takes the cake as both the most mundane and the most unnecessary thing to do.

He’s built fence posts, he’s seen his mother and almost passed out from dehydration— he’s seen his father and gotten his whole world tilted onto its side and backwards— not to mention the bite marks and suture in his skin. He’s kissed Marinette— done more than just that, actually— and finds himself rubbing at the tattoo on his chest the more and more he thinks about being away from her. The seal burns purple against his hand, reminding him that he’s far from his witch’s magic, and that his entire body and soul misses her.

Today’s fishing is just too much.

Luka agrees with him— he knows it— because the naga’s eyes are closed as the sun beats down on their shoulders, warming their skin and bodies to the point of laziness. Chat can barely keep his eyes open, looking out to the lake, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier as the sun continues to bake them alive.

Just their luck. The two people who struggle the most to focus when there’s a patch of sun are now subjugated to an entire afternoon of it— what he wouldn’t give to just transform into his cat form and lounge for the rest of the day, yearning to be in his witch’s lap as she pets through his fur.

“Why is it so sunny?” Chat complains into the silence, trying not to close his eyes for too long. This is perfect napping weather— all he has to do is just rest his head and… “Of all days for it to be ridiculously sunny.”

“It’s good for the festival,” Luka answers, looking just as out of it as he is. It’s laughable, of course, that a water creature such as Luka would absolutely go frozen stiff at the prospect of baking under the sun. Even though he’s not a snake— or at least, that’s what Luka always argues whenever he brings it up— he certainly acts like one. He looks ready to lay down and coil up, let his blood be warmed up by the sun, and stay that way for days.

“What’s going on with the weather this week?” He sniffs, not exactly stopping himself from laying back down on the deck of Luka’s boat. The Liberty doesn’t even budge under their weight— she’s a solid, heavy barge that is more long than tall— it offers barely any protection from the elements coming from the sky. It’s a floating platform, essentially, which is perfect for nagas who frequently spend most of their time in the water and have a tough time climbing up the sides of their boats from how slippery they are— and the boat is also long enough to house a superfluous amount of nagas, as well as their long tails comfortably, should they feel the need to curl up instead of letting their tails hang off the boat.

And it fits the fish as well.

Lots and lots of barrels of fish.

“The constellations are starting to move.” Luka answers, almost sounding a bit too serious. The tip of Luka’s tail sways in the water with the gentle current that is too soft to genuinely make a dent in the barge’s lazy course to the middle of the lake. His plumes open instinctually wherever his tail meets the water— a sway of fins that only come out when there is enough moisture. He is more sea serpent this way, than an actual snake— and his tail glitters with sparks of gold underneath the clear water. Fish swim by next to him, curious as to whose fins are swaying like a tree in a breeze, and Chat Noir admits— even if it’s to himself and safely away in his head— that he understands why nagas consider themselves sea serpents instead of just snakes. “There’s a celestial storm coming. Did you not know?”

“This sounds like a horoscope,” Chat doesn’t let the idea settle into his head. “Celestial storm? Don’t pull at my tail, Luka. You won’t believe that my parents are gods, but you’ll believe in celestial storms?”

He snorts. “No one believes you when you say your parents are two divinities.”

“At least it’s more believable than hearing you talk about how a ‘ tornado will come from Orion—’ or ‘ an earthquake has been predicted because of Antares��’”

Luka smiles good-humouredly. “Idiot, nothing of that sort. Naga use constellations to guide themselves across the sea, you pruned lion.”

“‘Pruned lion’,” Chat mutters, resting his clawed hands against his chest. Rubbing and rubbing and rubbing away at the seal. “I’ll show you a ‘pruned lion’.”

“There’s not much paper we can use on the sea. Clay is a good substitute, but they’re too heavy when using as maps, so we navigate by using stars. We can tell when stars aren’t in their place,” Luka continues, as if he’s barely heard him. “And they are most definitely not in their places. Just last night, eight northern constellations moved closer south.”

Chat’s feet dangle off the edge of the platform that makes the Liberty, and his toes sink into the water. It’s lukewarm, heated by the sun that beats down and down and down, but much easier and cooler than the damp and still air above.

He has half a mind to dunk himself body and whole into the water just to cool off, but knows that his hair will dry in the shape of a dandelion if he does that, so it’s a stern no. There’s no way in hell he’s going to worry about how his hair dries while trying to fish with a naga by his side. Besides, getting ready for the festival will take him a lot longer if he has to tame his hair— he doesn’t mind getting brushed by Marinette when she corners him, but his fur usually snags into knots and it’s painful. “Fine, fine. I believe you— you don’t need to get all technical on me. I’ve just never heard of a celestial storm before.”

“Probably not, since you don’t need to use stars to see like we do. The celestial storm just brings indication that there will be a large magical gathering soon— it’s nothing inherently serious.”

Interesting. “You mean like the festival?”

“Exactly. It’s something to be cautious of, that’s all— it just ends up confusing lots of naga who are trying to travel somewhere new for the first time. There might be a lot more naga at the festival than usual, since the stars are pointing in this direction.”

“That’s not too bad— no one has anything against your kind, anyway. Witches and magic-users from all places are coming here to see the infamous Ladybug, after all— they want to get her good wishes on behalf of my mother— so it’s not like a big deal to see more of you.”

There’s laughter in his voice. “‘The one who can cast good fortune on even the sick and the dying’, yes, I know. But unfortunately, no— the magical gathering isn’t the reason for the stars warping. It’s something bigger than that. Bigger than her. Constellations only move when sages or gods show up.”

Well. Well well well. He doesn’t really need to think about it, now does he?

“How long have they been moving?”

“They only started four days ago.”

“Have they shifted back?”

“No.” Chat doesn’t need to look at him to know that there’s a question forming on his face. He knows Luka too well by now. “Your questions are oddly specific for someone that never heard of this storm before.”

“Well, good to hear. You don’t need to worry about all that— but thank you for the confirmation.” He spreads his good arm out as far as he can reach it. He ends up hitting Luka in the chest, and the naga hisses out, startled— but other than that, they match each other by slowly cooking in the heat. Luka’s heartbeat is slow against his palm, and Chat has no real reason to pull away, so he just leaves it there on his jacket. “Everything will go back to what it once was after the festival.”

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in horoscopes. Why are you fortune-telling?”

“Because my dad isn’t going to set the festival on fire just because he’s up here.” Maybe. There’s a strong likelihood he won’t, given that he’s already caused too much mischief.

“Right, right. Your ‘father’. You think Plagg is here?”

“The stars said so, didn’t they?” He flashes a smile, even though they’re not making eye contact. It’s instinctual to try to get a rise out of the man sitting next to him. “Relax. I won’t let him set fire to things— Marinette’s been making all of those charms for the past three months, it won’t go to waste.”

“Remind me to get a handful of them, since I’m going to be spending most of it next to you,” The driest thing in the world is hearing Luka’s voice go flat. “The last thing I need is to catch fire from your terrible luck.”

“Wh— rude. I don’t have bad luck, that’s just a myth— but I’ll gladly walk underneath a ladder for you in order to give you what you deserve. Anyway, I thought you were going to find yourself someone new to fancy? What was the whole point of the molting?”

“The two people that I actually cared to court are currently taken. I’m not disappointed, but I’m rather bored of humans otherwise.” Luka’s breath deepens as if he’s falling asleep at the idea of spending that much energy finding someone else. “If someone were to approach, I’ll at least give them the benefit of listening, but you won’t find me looking for new people.”

“You’d make a good familiar to whatever witch shows up to you tonight,” Chat oof!s hard when Luka’s hand does the exact same and hits him on the chest. He snorts on instinct, thinking a second or two longer on the idea. “Do you have an animal form like I do?”

“I’d rather not tell you, just in case you get ideas. But I would hope that she would like me for more than just a pet, unlike Marinette.”

He ignores his comment. “Most magic users can create some sort of animal form for themselves, no? Humans can’t, but I’m sure a naga could. Are you sure you don’t have a snake form?”

“I’m still not telling you the answer.”

“I’m imagining a faceless witch wearing you like a scarf as she brews,” For some reason, he imagines a white snake wrapped around a neck, even though Luka’s tail is very much blue. “You’d be happy getting to laze around while your lady works.”

“I should give it a try with Marinette one day. You wouldn’t mind sharing, would you, kitty-cat? After all, she doesn’t mind sharing you with me.”

“Funny.” He tries his best not to laugh, but he’s weak to the comedy of this whole day. It’s beyond painful to keep the laughter in, of how this day has been just another bizarre domino in the whole scheme of the week.

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” Luka sighs. “I was beginning to worry you actually hated me. Ever since this morning you’ve been snippier to me than usual— you’re not actually worried I pose a threat of some kind, do you?”

Wait. “Are you insecure?”

“You two are my closest friends.” Luka doesn’t meet his eyes when Chat lifts up from his spot to look down at him with furrowed brows. “After Adrien passed, I didn’t have many people, you know.”

Wait. “Hold on, you knew Adrien that well?”

“I didn’t know you knew who that was.” Luka raises a brow.

“Marinette talks about him.” Never mind the other things…

“He was my first friend when I was very young.” He shrugs, still giving Chat the stink eye like he doesn’t actually believe him. “Naga aren’t as scary as people think, but humans are prejudiced to their own kind all of the time, so it’s not hard to believe that they won’t be to nonhumans too. Adrien brought me into the friend group before he got sick.”

Adrien, Adrien, Adrien. Always Adrien, isn’t it? “Was he the closest friend you had?”

“Probably. Nino and I were always really good friends, back in the day. But Marinette and I got rather close after Adrien’s passing. I would see her almost every day if I decided to stay nearby.”

Oh. Oh. “No wonder you were so uncomfortable with the idea of her moving a demon into her house.”

His eyes go flat. “A girl I liked suddenly bringing a demon home? Anyone would’ve been worried.”

Chat can’t force himself to stop chuckling. “I guess I can see why you were… not the nicest person to me at first.”

“She’s never been afraid of you, but I think that just made me even more worried.” Luka gestures towards Chat’s direction, as if that helps explain better. “It doesn’t take much brainpower to realize what a Ladybug needs a Chat Noir for. Forgive me for not buying the little nonchalant act between the two of you, but I can read the little pearl like the back of my hand, after all.”

“So you know about the miraculous cure.”

“Yes. Anyone with reading eyes can put two and two together, kitty-cat. Information isn’t kept that hushed about it.”

He ignores the needling smile gracing Luka’s features. “How well exactly did you know Adrien?”

“Well enough to know that his sickness was strange. His death was stranger. The smell on Marinette’s clothes was horrid, when she’d ran into me in the woods while stricken with grief and crying. We were all terrified by it, obviously, but Marinette seemed to be the most affected— probably because she was the one to try to see him the day he died. Nino, Marinette, and I were the most affected.” He sighs. “I don’t think Nino’s ever actually talked about it that much, but they were best friends.”

“Smell.” Chat winces. “What smell?”

“Same smell that’s coming off your stitches on your arm. I recognize the smell of hellfire anywhere, it sticks to my nose for weeks. I’ll never forget the first time I smelled it sticking to Marinette’s clothes.” Luka laughs bitterly. “Running down the path in the woods towards the ocean like she was crazed. Death clinging to her dress like she was his daughter.”

“Hellfire. You smelled hellfire? Are you sure?”

Luka’s looking at him curiously, now. “I’m positive. What’s on your mind?”

Adrien’s room had been covered with the smell of… hellfire? That’s just further proof that something definitely happened— one more thing pointing to his own relation to Adrien. One more damning evidence that his past life could be tied to Marinette’s wish. If only he could get his memories back to actually prove it as fact, though…

He flattens his ears across his head, looking back out on the water. “Don’t— don’t mention this to anyone what I’m about to tell you. Promise me you won’t. This can’t start a crowd.”

Luka’s eyes turn to gold as he squints. “Of course.”

“Marinette and I found out that there could’ve been foulness in his death. Odor or otherwise.”

The naga pauses. “Are you saying a demon of some kind could’ve been the reason for the smell?”

“I don’t want to tell you something only for it to be wrong later, but the basic answer is that Adrien most likely didn’t die from an illness after all.” He licks his lips.

“You’re saying that Adrien’s father might have summoned a demon for some reason?”

“No. I have no idea what it could be, but, if there was hellfire involved, there’s definitely something to do with hell in this poor boy’s death. We don’t have all of the information yet, but I think it’s a little bit more difficult than just pointing fingers.”

Luka’s quiet for a long time. There are gears turning in his head too, no doubt, trying to piece together all of the information. “Gabriel could… most likely be at the festival tonight.”

His head snaps up. “What? He will?”

“A couple of my kind saw his ship sailing close by the shore and where our dens are. He left— or, rather, fled, now that there’s an implication that he could’ve been responsible for something to do with Adrien— town years ago, and never came back. It’s been completely silent from him, deciding to even move countries, but I think he’s here for a blessing of some kind by a Ladybug.”

“Shit.”

“Agreed.”

“Shit.”

Luka sighs. “It’s just speculation, of course. I have no idea if he even knows that Marinette is Ladybug, never mind the fact that he might not be stopping by after all. He could just be here to visit family friends, and is using the festivities as a genuine and good excuse. What will you two do? Confront him?”

“I don’t know.” Chat answers honestly. “I genuinely don’t know. My dad doesn’t know much of the story, either— and he’s usually on top of his game on paying attention to these types of things, but got distracted the day it all happened. It’s not often you hear of a human getting caught in the crossfire of hell matters— but we’re all stumped, so it’s not like we can pin it directly on Gabriel with no reason. I’m going to need more information.”

Luka is surprisingly not as agitated with the whole thing as he’d expected. He’d expected surprise, or confusion, not genuine contemplation like he is now. The naga hums at the back of his throat, attempting to piece things together himself. “Do you think Adrien is still out there, maybe?”

“Well… He’s not dead,” Well. Are demons considered alive in the first place? Is this a moral or philosophical question? At what point is Chat Noir even considered alive? And if he really was Adrien, would he consider Adrien to be dead in this case? Rebirthed as Chat Noir? His head hurts. “As far as we know. Maybe in a sort of limbo state. What a mess.”

“This sounds a lot more confusing than I thought it would be. I can’t imagine this is any easy on the two of you. Adrien was my best friend and it’s hurting me to hear about it, I can’t imagine what it’s doing to the little witch.”

“She’s been… a little bit confused about it, too. I can’t wait for the festival and get her to relax about it— yesterday it was nonstop. The both of us, honestly, need to stop thinking about this for just a bit. You and I should keep an eye out for Gabriel just in case. I don’t know what he looks like, but, anything that’ll get us closer to the truth I’ll do it.”

But Luka’s smile is kind, and Chat can sense he’s trying to skirt the subject away and get him to think of other things. “Sure. I didn’t have plans, anyway, so that’s fine. And I’m sure you two managed to distract each other at some point yesterday, right?”

“By the grace of my mother,” Chat mutters under his breath. “This entire week has been monstrous to us, Luka. Every day has been a discovery, I don’t even know what to do or how to handle it. Not to mention that even my father thinks you and I are a good match together, did you know that? The amount of years I’ve aged each day in this disaster of a week would’ve turned a human into dust by now.”

Luka turns, belly-side down, hiding away his pale under-scales in favor of showing his long blue-and-diamond-patterned back. He ends up dunking more of his tail into the water, and those ghost-like fins blossom from underneath his scales like a billowing sheet. The water is hazy from all the glittering gold and those glossy, feathery fins. “Perhaps I’ll listen more often to what you have to say about your family, after all. Is he truly the king of the underworld?”

“Shut up,” Chat really can’t stop himself from laughing, because he doesn’t have any emotional handle on any of this. “If you have any luck, you might see him visit the festival and actually find out. Maybe I’ll have all my friends meet him, so that you all can stop making fun of me when I say it.”

“What in the world is the king doing here?”

“Visiting his son, you noodle.” He slips his eyes shut.

Ah, this is more natural territory for them both, isn’t it? He can almost feel how easy it is for the two of them to slip back into banter. “Careful, now. You’re implying that I’m tasty.”

“And also very easily chewable, what do you think about that?” He’s bit into Luka’s tail a few times, and each time he’s felt how the muscles had shifted under those hard scales. It’s amazing his teeth can even penetrate the scales from how genuinely hardened they are, but he supposes that anything is possible with a jaw strength like his. He cracks back open one of his eyes, looking at Luka, who continues to just look at him with humor swimming on his face. “Hey, how come you aren’t fishing?”

“I am fishing, you idiot.”

“Bullshit. Where’s your fishing pole?”

“I’m not fishing with a pole today.”

“What?” This gets Chat Noir to sit back up, looking around. He blinks hard in the sunlight, willing his eyes to focus without hurting his vision. His pole at the far end of the barge is completely still, resting in a small divot carved into the boat, the fishing wire still swaying with nothing grabbing onto the bait. He narrows his eyes at the single pole, looking around for Luka’s, which is no doubt somewhere on the boat, only to come up with nothing. “Have you been using your net this entire time?”

“And if I have?”

“I thought we said no fishing with nets this time.”

“We said no fishing with Marinette this time.” Luka’s eyes are absolutely vibrant and gold as Chat Noir turns to look back at him in the eyes. He looks a little bit more awake than he does, but that’s probably because Luka’s cooling off in the water with most of his body in it, while Chat continues to bake. “You and I get too distracted around the little pearl, you especially more now. And the festival needs fish— the last time I went pole fishing with you, I got a hook stuck in my dorsal fin.”

“That was your own fault, noodle.”

“Again with calling me tasty,” Luka sighs. “Honestly, Chat Noir, it’s a miracle Marinette’s fallen in love with you when you’re so keen on flirting with me, instead.”

“At least I don’t injure myself while flirting with her, and don’t realize that my hook was next to one of my fins before trying to cast out my line.” He rolls his eyes. He remembers the nasty gash, and how the translucent fin had bled for what looked like to be far too long for a simple cut, and how Marinette had spent so long carefully stitching the feathery membranes back together with suture, willing for the fins to heal. There’s a scar still left behind on that fin, but it’s hard to see unless he’s close enough to really look at the little veins and how they’re slightly wobbly.

Luka snorts. “Of course, of course.”

“That’s what you get for flirting with my Lady.”

“So childish. You’d think I’d be allowed to talk to a good friend of mine without her familiar puffing up his chest.” Luka sighs, unraveling his jacket on the waist. The pearls on his sleeves shine all sorts of colors as his shoulders shift, and he folds the garment carefully with his long claws. Every bead is delicately sown in, and he knows that Marinette has obsessively looked over the pattern work, as well as the stitchwork, with amazement and gluttony.

Would she be happy if he bought a naga jacket for her? Maybe in a dark red color, or a white as similar as Luka’s and a red sash? Something pearlescent, though— a plain white jacket wouldn’t match the paleness of her skin. It would look as if she’s wearing nothing at all.

“Loverboy, I’m going to go check up on my net. Stop swimming in your thoughts and focus on fishing. Cast yours as well, won’t you?”

He registers that he’s been drifting off into thought, rubbing at his tattoo across his chest, still thinking of her. He thinks about what Luka’s said for a little while, trying to remember if he’d been making a point, only to realize: “I didn’t bring mine.”

“Use my spare, then.” Luka laughs. “I’ll be back in a second— try not to get lonely, kitty-cat, okay?”

Luka slips off the boat entirely with a gentle splash noise. Chat watches with mild interest as Luka’s long and elaborate tail starts to plume again, filling out with all sorts of fins now that he’s entirely in the water, disappearing under the boat into the shade where no doubt many fish are hiding. He reminds Chat very dimly of a betta fish, with how gentle and fanish the fins are. No doubt that naga are incredibly good hunters in the water, but Chat Noir can’t help but wonder why they look so delicate and so easily tearable once they’re subjected to a humid environment.

He looks back to the empty barrels behind him with a sigh. Maybe his mother will bless him with good fortune, although, in all honesty— it’s doubtful. Very doubtful. He’s just going to have to do this by hand, it seems, to which he sends a quick prayer to his father— hopeful that instead of blessing him with good luck, he gives Luka enough bad luck for him to win.

And maybe he’ll be able to stop thinking of it for a few more minutes, too.

She finally finishes with the first stack of charms when Alya ends up knocking on the door. There’s a breeze gentle enough to kiss her cheeks brushing up against the windows— she’s let the panels of the house open enough to catch the draft. It’s light, as gentle as a cloud against her skin as she works, and barely stirs the fire from its slow attempt to reignite from the coals. The breeze is good for her heart, she supposes— every once in a while stopping in her attempt to complete her task in order to bask in how content she feels.

Her heart is full.

Of thoughts of Chat Noir, of thoughts of them, of thoughts of being happy. The thoughts she hadn’t given the chance to breed and fester are suddenly in full swing in her chest and mind, allowing her to gaze longingly out the window, wondering about him. There are many things to do in order to get the festival up and ready, and many of them will have to be done at the fields on the other side of town, but she’s certain that she’ll be able to finish a second or third stack of charms before she has to slip out of the cottage and go start the physical preparations.

Alya’s here to collect her, no doubt, just like Luka had said she would.

She’s brought Nino along, too, and Marinette is quick to grin and pull the two close enough to smother them into her shoulders. “Hello!”

“Hello there, Mari!” Nino twirls her, pressing their foreheads together. As like many people in her life, Nino is much taller than her— he makes up for it by bending his back as much as possible to be at her height. “I haven’t seen you in so long. How have you both been?”

“We’ve been well,” She laughs, cupping his cheeks with her hands. He lets her, eyes squinting behind his glasses, looking at her with friendly affection. “Much much better now, recently. The rain finally letting up is much better for the farm— oh, but I’ve missed you both. When was the last time we spoke?”

“Far too long.” He muses, breaking away enough to allow Alya to crush her into another hug. Her friend’s arms are warm, and comforting, and so definitely sweet. Living in the cottage away from town is mostly good, and allows her to work on her potions in peace— but it doesn’t allow her to see her friends as much as she wants to. The two of them are always so busy running their tavern, and renovations to Marinette’s own shop have made her daily check-in to their eatery almost impossible. “Where is Chat? Don’t think I forgot about him— I haven’t seen him in forever, either. Where is that cat?”

“Out fishing with Luka, unfortunately. They’re at the lake, if you’d like to go join them?”

“Absolutely not,” Nino breaks out into laughter as he unlaces his boots. “The last thing I need is to be caught in the crossfire between the two of them. It’s usually fine, I enjoy their banter and their desperate attempts to find reasons to touch each other without making it weird, but I’m trying to look my best for the festival.”

“And I’m sure you can’t do that when you’re in the middle of getting your hair scorched off.” Marinette can’t stop laughing.

“You and everyone else,” Alya rolls her eyes, letting go of her so she can breathe and not cough into her sleeve. Alya hugs like she has a vendetta. “What are you trying to look good for, anyway?”

“The more presentable I look, the more likely people are willing to give us tips in the end, my dearest.” He waggles his brows. Oh, the two of them are so lovely— Marinette watches with a yearning and heartful gaze as Nino bends Alya back in his arms, dipping her low, a firm arm underneath her waist. Even with only one shoe on, and his feather in his cap dangling dangerously low to brushing against their faces through the entire action, he’s nothing short of having heart eyes for the woman in his arms instead of dissolving into giggles like Marinette is. “I may be a good player, but we all know that only the truly most handsome get the money at the end of the day.”

“Then it’s good fortune for us that I have the most handsomest man in the world by my side,” Alya smiles so warmly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Oh, the two of them— Marinette is helpless to give a little sigh at how perfect the two of them are. “We’ll be rich in no time.”

Love. Love love love.

By far one of the most important things that Marinette has ever been able to witness firsthand is the way the two of them look at each other— her heart is ready to explode. She hasn’t touched the cookies in a couple of days, still trying to get the bitter taste of love sick out of her mouth and away, and looking at the cookies gives her a slight nausea, but the core principle is still there.

Love.

She’s so giddy and warm.

“Oh! Come on, come into the house for breakfast, join me at the table. I’ll get a new pot of tea out, does that sound good?” It’ll be good for her, too— it’s a good thing she has those herbs on hand, or else she would be worried about any developments in her body she isn’t ready to have— the problem now, of course, will be to make sure neither of them pick up on her dropping additional leaves into her cup. Alya is persistent and keen and notices just about everything there is to notice, which means that unless she’s genuinely distracted by Nino, it’ll be impossible to dissuade her from asking questions.

Marinette readies herself, turns to the kitchen, and beckons the two of them to finish unlacing their boots while sitting the iron kettle on the oven to heat.

“Awh, I’m sorry, Mari. We’ve already eaten breakfast,” Nino has to help Alya, of course, because her petticoats are far too long and her stays are too thick with boning for her to bend properly for her feet.

“Oh? That’s alright. I think I have something you both will enjoy snacking on while I continue working on my stuff.” Marinette grins when they finally make it to the table. She moves the charms away and clears most of the space for there to be enough room for the three of them— she drops the unfinished charms into a corded bag, for now, tying the little string. “So. Do you remember the lover cookies?”

“Do I? The same cookies that made Nino realize that he did, in fact, have feelings for me?”

“Hard to imagine a time that you two didn’t date,” Marinette giggles. “But yes, those exactly.”

“I always knew I loved you,” Nino pouts. “My problem was I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Telling me ‘I love you’ would’ve been enough, you know.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Nino sighs. “We were all so caught up with the loss of Adrien that I didn’t know how to do anything.”

Marinette stops wiping at the table with her apron. Alya and Nino always remind her that she’s not the only one who misses their old friend. She never wanted to bring Adrien back because of her love— she wants to bring him back for everyone’s sake. Luka, Nino, Alya— their friends miss him. So dearly and so much— and talk about him as if he’s simply moved town, instead of being gone forever— but she’s never actually… explained that she plans on bringing him back. And now with the complicated mess of Chat Noir possibly being Adrien…

Oh, her head hurts. Just when she thought she could survive five more minutes not thinking about this tangled web. It’s as difficult to navigate as Plagg’s magic.

“Right, yes— I remember.”

“Mari?” Alya tilts her head, looking at how she massages her temples. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes— yes I’m okay. I just wish he were here.” Marinette smiles small, trying her best to ignore the way the seals on her ears burn. The two of them look at her with knowing gazes— they know she’s consumed some of the cookies herself. What they don’t know is that her heartache is actually pointing in an entirely different direction… or, perhaps, the same direction after all— just the person has a different name now. “I miss his laughter. I miss him— so I made lover honey cookies a couple of days ago, but I’m still in the process of making more, along with the charms. Would you two like to try them?”

Nino looked pained. “Are you making them for the festival?”

“Just in honor of our friend,” Marinette shares a private smile with herself. “It was his favorite, after all. It’s almost been ten years since he’s been gone.”

Alya’s eyes widen, looking down at the plate that Marinette puts in front of her with wide eyes. “Oh, how interesting. A cat shape?”

“Chat’s idea,” Marinette eagerly waits for them to try some, smiling a little bit wider. The cookies don’t snap in their mouths— still moist enough and sweet enough that it’s more of a chew than a crunch. The two of them hum appreciatively as Marinette takes a bit of time to pat off her apron clean of dirt. “What do you two think? Still good?”

“This tastes wonderful.” Alya sighs. “How is it that you make things taste like a whole fantasy? I feel like I’m biting into a cloud.”

“Guess it’s just part of my luck,” She giggles. “What do you think, Nino?”

“I think that, if I weren’t already with Alya, I’d confess my love to her on the spot all over again.” Nino’s face pinks. “This cookie is so strong. Did Chat try some?”

“He did.” She tries to hide her blushing and focuses instead on some dried-up flour on the edge of the table. “We both got love sick from all the cookies we ate. We probably ate a whole batch and a half, honestly— don’t do it. You’ll get overwhelmed with love.”

Alya hums with the cookie in her mouth, sharing a look with Nino. “Oh, really?”

“There’s no need to act all mysterious,” She shies, hiding her hands behind her, wringing her fingers through the laces of her apron. She looks to the single fire lily in the vase, how beautiful the blossom’s orange petals are, smiling to herself. “The cookies don’t make you feel love, but rather just amplify the feeling, and you two definitely know that. It wasn’t hard to put the context of his purring together with why we were getting overwhelmed.”

“Y—” Their eyes widen. Alya gasps. “So— he— you—”

Are there stars in her eyes? It feels like there are stars in her eyes. “We… talked about it.”

And other things. Lots of other things. Where was that bag of herbs, again?

“Chat Noir finally managed to confess?” Nino has to sit down from shock. “Holy hell!”

She sets out three tea trays, ignoring the way Alya looks at her knowingly when she sprinkles ginger root into one of the porcelain cups. Alya will accost her for that one later, that much is certain. “Wait, you— uhm. You knew?”

“Everyone does! Everyone knows that your familiar’s affections for you are much more than just friendly. Chat Noir has always— always— had his eyes on you, and has never concealed it.” Alya rolls her eyes. There’s a glitter in her smile, something that wasn’t there before, just proving to Marinette that she is absolutely going to get hounded the moment the two of them are alone. “I didn’t even need gossip for that one. His eyes follow you everywhere.”

“Oh. So, everyone, huh?” She blushes.

“Anyone with eyes can tell, yes.” Alya takes a seat next to Nino. She grabs for another cookie, nibbling on the tail, “Everyone could tell your affections for him, too. I was hoping something good would come out of it. Good to see that everything is well, in the end!”

“So are you two… together?” Nino doesn’t let Marinette steam behind her hands for very long. “Actually actually?”

“Uhm— well— I hope so. I think so. We talked about it—” Alya’s snorts cut her off, hiding a ‘yeah, and more’ under her breath. Marinette steams harder. “Uhm— and I really do think we’ll be together for a long time.”

“Is that even allowed for demons?”

“I don’t think we’re breaking any rules,” She rubs at her earlobes. Yet another thing to consider… “Uhm. Maybe I’ll have to talk to him about it. Who knows? He could be fine, considering his father—”

“Is 'the king of hell'.” Alya curls her smile. “And so, with a kiss, Marinette has accepted his propaganda.”

They have no idea how confusing it gets, do they? To know that Chat Noir could absolutely be telling the truth, and furthermore— the shenanigans that Plagg caused? She snorts behind a hand, thinking of how to even begin breaching the topic of a god stopping by to prank a witch and his demon son. Even if he really isn’t the king of hell, he’s certainly showing that he’s living up to the name… she can’t stop giggling. “Let’s hope he’s telling the truth. Why don’t you two enjoy some more cookies while I work on more of my charms? Or should we go to the field now?”

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[ruzek-halstead]

bundled up

pairing: jay halstead x hailey upton

during one of chicago's coldest winter nights, the power and heat in hailey's building is out. jay humbly offers his apartment - until his power goes out as well.

“get your ass back in this bed because you are not sleeping on the couch.”

masterlist || ao3

warnings: swearing, fluffery

considering both jay and hailey were both born and raised in chicago, they were no strangers to the cold winters. however, it did not make them any less bearable.

today happened to be a chilly friday, where temperatures plummeted down to the negative forties with the windchill. the power was out in many parts of the city and a number of chicagoans were stranded without heat and water. it’s ugly out there, but the districts have all pooled together to help whoever they could. with the help of the fire department, they made it through the worst.

or so hailey thinks.

she groans as she checks her phone. it is a little past nine at night and the unit had a hell of a day hitting the streets. all hailey wants to do is crack open a bottle of wine, take a nice hot bath and go to bed early. instead, she receives a text from her landlord informing her that the power is out in their neighbourhood and there is currently no heat.

hailey’s head hits the wood of her desk just thinking about the icebox that is currently her apartment.

jay peaks his eyes over his computer monitor upon hearing her distressed sounds. “you good?” he asks with a hint of amusement.

the rest of the team had already left for the night, after jay and hailey lost a bet earlier that day. both partners didn’t believe the power would go out because of the cold and the rest of their team bet them a week’s worth of paperwork. needless to say, Jay and hailey lost, and they are prepared for quite a few late nights in the near future.

“apparently my power is out and so is my heat,” she replies, paperwork completely forgotten. “do i even have enough blankets to survive the night?” she adds dramatically. “oh my god, i’m going to have to put on every article of clothing i own.”

on that note, jay checks his phone to make sure his apartment was still intact. “hey, don’t worry about it,” he tells her comfortingly; her eyes flit up to meet his. “you can come home with me tonight.”

“oh no, no,” hailey shakes her head, “that’s alright.”

jay furrows his brows. “you literally just implied you’ll freeze if you go back home.”

“i was being dramatic,” she waves him off, “i'll be fine. thanks for the offer though, i appreciate it.”

jay checks his phone again; it’s nine-thirty and no new messages. “alright, i'm done with paperwork for the night,” he gently pushes the endless piles further into his desk. “come on, let’s go.”

jay is up and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and hailey is watching him with an exasperated expression. “jay, i’m going home. i’ll be fine.”

"i'm sure you will be,” he says nonchalantly. “but i'm offering you a warm bed and free whiskey. what more could you want?”

“what i want is to not be a bother and go home,” she stands her ground against his bewildered look. “plus, i don’t have any of my stuff with me and if i have to go get stuff, i may as well stay there,” she explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

jay raises a suspicious eyebrow. “i know you always have an overnight bag in your locker.”

hailey pauses in her mission to get into her winter coat and hopes jay doesn’t notice it; of course, he does. “jay, seriously, i don’t want to be a bother.”

“the only thing that’s bothering me right now is your refusal to let me help you when it literally comes at no cost to me,” he replies, his features entirely serious. hailey is being extra resistant, and he isn’t sure why. “i promise i'll be the perfect gentleman, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

hailey shakes her head. “no, that’s not what…” she trails off, her voice quiet. jay dips his head to catch her eyes; she is being even more mysterious than usual. “okay, i’ll take you up on your offer. but,” she says sharply as he starts to grin victoriously, “this is for one night only, okay? i'm not trying to put anyone out.”

jay rolls his eyes but is still satisfied she changed her mind. “right, because that’s what you’re doing,” he adds sarcastically, and she punches his shoulder in retaliation. he can tell she hates to be a bother, but he wishes he could convey how she is the least bothersome part of his life.

they stop by the locker room so hailey can pick up her bag before they agree to meet back at his place. he’s already mapping out things to do or say to make her feel more comfortable and has a pretty decent list by the time he reaches home.

his apartment is nice and toasty when they arrive and relatively clean. he was never a messy guy and he doesn’t have that much in his apartment to begin with. he takes both their jackets and hangs them in the hall closet, watching out of the corner of his eye how hailey looks small and uncomfortable in his living room. he frowns; she should feel comfortable in every aspect of his life.

“hey, relax, okay?” he tells her on his walk back to the kitchen. his hands land on her shoulder and her blue eyes bore into his nervously. “you're not in my way and you’re always welcome here, you know that.”

he's used to confident and sassy hailey and he wants her back.

“you want something to drink?” he asks. “whiskey?”

his hand is already on the bottle but hailey surprises him by entering his kitchen and taking a hold of his coffee maker. “can i actually make some coffee?” jay smiles at her first sign of comfort and nods with enthusiasm. “that walk from the car to the front door just about killed me.”

“you want to take a shower while the coffee brews?” he asks after a few minutes of scrolling on his phone.

hailey's eyes light up. “yes, i would love that!”

he motions for her to follow him and leads her into his room; the bathroom attached to his room is the only one with a shower.

“this is jay halstead’s bedroom?” hailey teases in a higher-pitched tone. she’s smirking wildly and all he can do is roll his eyes. “everything is black, and you only have the basics. why am i not surprised?”

now it’s his turn to smirk. “i'm a very simple man, upton.”

she shakes her head in response.

“here's the shower,” he explains, popping in to turn the lights on. “fresh towel on the rack and extras in the closet over there,” he points. “i'll leave you to it. do you need anything else?”

hailey sets her bag down in the bathroom and quickly rummages through it. “no, i think i'm okay,” she says and looks up at him. “thank you, jay,” she smiles softly.

jay suddenly finds it hard to swallow and is rushing to exit the room. “yeah, no problem,” he responds quickly. “i'll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

she nods and he’s gone.

his bathroom is very simple but clean. he has his shaving essentials on the corner of his counter, and she’s surprised to see he has a face scrub as well as a moisturizer. but then again, he literally has perfect skin, so she isn’t surprised. she expects to find a 3 in 1 shampoo, conditioner and body wash but is pleasantly surprised when she sees multiple bottles.

she takes her time showering but is still wary of the time. she debates whether or not to use his body wash but ultimately decides smelling like him wouldn’t be so bad. she does have a pair of pyjamas in her overnight bag, but they consist of an oversized dunder-mifflin tee and casual sleeping shorts. she’s not sure if jay had ever seen her bare legs (what with all the black jeans and all) but he was definitely about to. hailey brushes her hair and scrunches it with her fingers before gathering her dirty clothes and folding them into her bag.

when she pads back into the kitchen in her bare feet, jay has his back to her as he prepares their coffees. after years, he knows almost all her preferences, the first being her coffee order. she hums in delight after her first sip.

jay struggles to not drop the mug when he turns around and sees her oversized shirt and shorts. he was expecting anything, but definitely not that. she looks comfortable and tiny and his heart swells with affection. he has to forcefully remind himself that they are partners and nothing else. It’s getting harder to differentiate.

they stand, sipping their coffee in comfortable silence. it’s perfect and hailey wonders why she put up such a fight in the first place, but then the lights go off and everything is black.

jay swears and she hears his coffee mug scraping against the counter. there is an immediate chill as the heater stops functioning and hailey suddenly regrets being barefoot in shorts. jay goes in search of the fuse box to maybe have some luck but to no avail. instead, he lights up a few candles he has stashed in his linen closet and grabs all the flashlights he owns. the candles do a good job of illuminating the kitchen, so he can still admire hailey and her adorableness in his kitchen.

“shit, i'm sorry,” he chuckles. “looks like it’s a lose-lose situation tonight.”

hailey shuffles in her feet and jay prepares himself. “should i go? i mean, it’s the same thing as my place.”

“nonsense,” jay shakes his head. “i have enough blankets here for the both of us.”

jay finds his way back to the linen closet and grabs all the blankets he owns. will absolutely loves fleece blankets and takes any opportunity to gift them, usually to jay, who rolls his eyes and asks why he can’t just gift him a bottle of alcohol like a normal sibling. jay will never admit that the blankets actually came in handy tonight.

“come on, i’ll set you up in my room.”

hailey follows jay down the corridor and back to his room, where he is laying out multiple blankets. he leaves a few in his hands and stands near the door. “let me know if you need anything,” he says with a smile, “i'll just be on the couch.”

hailey sputters and Jay raises an eyebrow. “you are not sleeping on the couch! the whole point of me staying here is that i wouldn’t be a bother.”

“you're not a bother,” he says for the umpteenth time with an eyeroll.

“then get your ass in this bed because you’re not sleeping on the couch,” she replies, and her sass is finally back; he finds himself smirking.

jay relents, setting down the rest of the blankets. “you’re sure?”

“yes,” she sasses with an eyeroll; she has to make up for lost time. “this bed is big enough for both of us and you promised you’d be a gentleman.”

he holds up his hands in surrender. “absolutely.”

jay excuses himself to the bathroom to change into a pair of sweats. he carries a flashlight with him to provide light. he originally intended to take a shower but can only imagine how disastrous showering in the dark would be. he normally sleeps in much less clothing but it’s cold and he wants hailey to be comfortable, so he slips on a t-shirt as well. when he exits the bathroom and shines his light towards the bed, he spots hailey already curled into the blankets. He notices her blonde hair first and then her trembling body.

he automatically adds the remainder of the blankets on the bed and watches as hailey sits up momentarily. “cold?” He asks with a small smile.

“yes,” she says quietly, but then thinks better of it. “what are you waiting for, halstead? are you going to offer me a hoodie or do I have to go searching for one?”

he is amazed with how comfortable she’s become, and he finds himself smirking as he rummages through his drawers. he pulls out an old sweater from his academy days and throws it at her.  “anything else, your highness?” His sarcasm is on point today.

hailey pulls on the sweater, her blonde hair getting ruffled in the process. “honestly?” she raises an eyebrow. “i just want you to get in bed and keep me warm.”

his eyes widen at her forwardness, but he catches the slight nervousness in the way she bites her lip. she doesn’t have to ask him twice though, as he slips into his side of the bed.

before he has the chance to do anything, hailey turns to him in the dark. "is this okay?” she asks quietly as she cuddles closer.

his hands find her waist to pull her as close as possible and hailey can feel his sweatpants as her bare legs tangle with his. “more than okay. it really is cold,” he whispers, chuckling.

“yeah,” she replies, and he can feel her breath on his collarbone. “i guess this is better than staying in my apartment all alone."

“are you kidding me?” jay laughs. “hell yeah it is. i'm an amazing cuddler.”

he can feel hailey’s hands against his chest. “wasn’t aware we had the cuddling type of relationship.”

jay pauses. “to be honest, i don’t know where i stand with you. like ever. you scare the hell out of me.”

hailey pulls back slightly; she wants to see his face but it’s so dark. “scared of me? i'm like half your size; how can you be scared?”

“you can be very intimidating when you want to be, hailey,” he replies. “but it’s scary. when you don’t know where the other person stands.”

she nods. “i guess so, yeah.”

“i know we’re partners, and we’re supposed to trust each other unconditionally and maybe I’m reading into it too much —”

“you’re not, jay,” she interrupts. “i think i always knew i was going to fall for you eventually. i mean, how could i not?” she continued, oblivious to the fact jay literally stopped breathing. “i’ve trusted you since the day i met you. you have the biggest heart and honestly, i strive to be even half the cop you are every day.”

jay curses again. “shit, hailey,” they’re still tangled together. “it kills me that you don’t appreciate everything you are because you are the best cop i know. and i'll admit it, i didn’t want to work with another female cop because we all remember how that worked out last time,” he chuckles to cover the awkwardness he’s feeling. “but you snuck up on me. what with all your sass and your stubbornness.”

hailey is smiling so wide and it’s a shame Jay can’t see it. she pushes into him, forcing him to roll over on his back and she follows him on his chest. her hands reach up to his face, tracing the smile on his lips.

“i know you love my sass,” she starts. “and who are you calling stubborn, you hardass?”

jay’s hands are on her waist, holding her steady. “fair enough,” he chuckles.

“jay, i love this right now,” hailey says quietly, “i love being here with you and i genuinely see the potential here. but at the same time, we’re partners and our jobs demand so much of us.”

the giddiness he was feeling starts deflating.

“but i don’t want to put the brakes on us,” this catches his attention. “i like you too much for that. i just want to take it slow. see where it takes us. are you alright with that?”

the happiness he was feeling earlier returns at full force and he finds himself grabbing her hips and rolling them over so he’s hovering over her. she’s giggling and honestly, if that is the last sound he ever hears, he’ll die happily. “i'm more than alright with that,” he answers her question. he can dimly see her face and the shine in her gaze. “when taking things slow, how long should i wait before i kiss you?”

hailey smirks and he can see a dim outline. “i think you’re already a few months overdue.”

he wastes no more time in pressing his lips to hers. he tastes of coffee and so does she, and it’s absolutely perfect. there is no urgency, just bliss. this has been a long time coming and now that it’s finally here, all they can do is enjoy it.

“i could get used to that,” hailey mumbles against his lips. his heart literally skips a beat. “i really want to get used to that.”

hailey dives in for more and he lets her. she can do whatever she wants with him, he’ll let her.

“still cold?” he asks after they pull away and he pulls her into their initial position.

hailey chuckles. “that’s not exactly the word i would use.”

jay smirks but he keeps his cool; they’re taking it slow.

“goodnight, hailey.”

he presses a kiss to her temple.

“goodnight, halstead. dream a little dream of me.”

hailey cuddles closer, her lips hovering over his neck.

“i could do that, but i’ve got the real deal right here,” he squeezes her hip. “and i don’t plan on letting go anytime soon.”

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.VII

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A brand new chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with the incredible @gen-syz-art as my artist ✨

cw: blood, injury

__________________

The rain ends a few hours into the afternoon.

Geralt allows himself to stay for a while longer, helping Jaskier with his dogs, but after both Lucio and Asra are bathed and dried, their soft fur impeccably white again, he knows that he can’t stay any longer.

If he does, it will only make it harder to leave later.

When he asks Jaskier if he’ll walk him to the gates, the younger man looks like he wants to ask him to stay for another night but he doesn’t. Just nods and smiles.

If he did ask, Geralt isn’t sure he would’ve been able to say “no”.

He tries not to think about it as he fastens the clasps and belts on Roach’s saddle, the mare well-rested and ready to be back on the Path. She nips at his hair affectionately, snorting when he keeps getting it back, and it’s a comfortable, familiar pattern that almost makes him forget that he still doesn’t know where he’s going. Gelibol, yes, but what then?

Jaskier waits for him in the garden, his hair curling slightly with the moisture in the air. In the blue-grey light breaking through the storm clouds that are still lining the sky, his off-white silk chemise seems to be glowing.

Geralt thinks he looks beautiful and bites his lip not to say it.

“The nearest town with an inn in the direction of Gelibol is only four hours away,” Jaskier says as they’re walking to the gates. “If the storm doesn’t return, you’ll be there by sunset.”

Geralt nods.

Gelibol is ten days away. He knows he’ll be sleeping under the stars every night until he gets there, but he doesn’t tell Jaskier because it doesn’t seem necessary.

“After you leave there, you’re going to go back south?” Jaskier asks.

They’re walking side by side, close enough to touch, but Geralt keeps his hands to himself even as his fingers brush over Jaskier’s.

Because he’s leaving. Because witchers aren’t supposed to have this. Because he isn’t supposed to have this. 

All he ever does is hurt people that come too close. 

And, though he hates admitting it, with them, he hurts himself.

“Back south,” he nods, keeping his hands busy with Roach’s reins.

He wants one more touch before he leaves but, of course, he can’t have it.

Except that they now reach the gates and suddenly, none of that matters anymore, because Jaskier throws his arms around Geralt’s neck and pulls him into an embrace, his entire body pressed close to the witcher’s.

“Come visit me on your way back?” he asks, without letting go.

Despite himself, Geralt wraps his arms around him. Despite himself, he says:

“I will.”

Jaskier smells of sweet woodsmoke, and dried herbs, and rain. And a little of his dogs that they’ve washed together.

Geralt pulls him closer, breathes him in, that scent filling his lungs from one wall to the other. Jaskier’s hair is soft against his cheek, and if Geralt holds him for a little longer than he should, he doesn’t pull back.  

“Be careful on the Path,” the younger man smiles when Geralt makes himself take a step back. “I would prefer to have you back here in one piece.”

***

The rain catches up with him an hour after the sun sets.

Roach snorts and flicks her ears, shaking out her main with displeasure, and though they’re not as far as Geralt had planned, he has to give in and stop under a shelter of trees, the heavy pine paws so close together that in the daytime they barely let any light, let alone water through.

When they were passing the town Jaskier had told him about, barely a few hours ago, Geralt did consider stopping for the night, and the inn wasn’t expensive, but it was just too loud, and with this storm in his chest, he just wants to be alone.

He’s not used to not knowing what he feels. Not used to not knowing what he wants.

And he’s not exactly used to wanting, either.

Life on the Path is easy: he spends the winters up in Kaer Morhen, with his family, and then comes down from the mountains to spend three seasons riding through the Kingdoms. He finds contracts, takes them, gets paid if he’s lucky. He sleeps in cheap inns and under the stars. He makes an occasional visit to a brothel, if they’re willing to have him. Most of those that do can’t be called anything more than a whorehouse.

It’s not perfect, but it’s easy. It’s familiar.

He’s used to the hard, narrow beds, to the watered-down ale and to people that want him only because he’s paying for it. Everyone has to get by, after all.

He doesn’t want anything other than a place to sleep at night to then wake up and be back on the Path in the morning.

Or, at least, he tells himself that he doesn’t.

He’s a witcher, there is no place in his life for… whatever it was, back in the mansion. He’s not supposed to sleep in canopy beds with silk sheets and fur blankets, he’s not supposed to dine at a table that could fit eighteen people.

He’s not supposed to have a man that might very well be a prince of Redania flirt with him, and he’s not supposed to play along.

And it’s unfair how good it feels to have that.

Because it makes him want it.

Makes him want to return after the trip to Gelibol, see Jaskier again, indulge him in those little games and see where they can lead to.

It’s an ache somewhere deep in his chest, and no matter how much Geralt would give to get rid of it, he doesn’t seem to be able to.

“I shouldn’t go back,” he says to Roach because it feels like his words have more weight to them when they’re spoken out loud. “I will only make it worse. For both of us.”

Roach snorts at him, unimpressed, and shakes out her mane in what Geralt is sure is a deliberate attempt to get water all over him.

“Yeah, well,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I love you, too.”

***

They’re a little over a day away from Gelibol when Geralt overhears an innkeeper telling his wife about a monster that had been stealing people from the town. He tells her not to go into the woods alone and not to let children out of the house, for just that morning the hunters have found another mutilated body.

Maybe, this time around finding a contract is going to be easier than most.

Geralt isn’t exactly looking forward to Gelibol itself, because the only big town in the North that he likes is Oxenfurt, and taking on a contract without having to come close to the city gates sounds more than attractive.

He finishes his ale, face hidden under the hood of his cloak, and, when the innkeeper comes to take the empty tankard, says:

“I’ve heard you’ve got a monster in the woods.”

The innkeeper flinches from either not having expected Geralt to speak or from the sound of his voice itself, but then clears his throat and nods without ever meeting Geralt’s eyes.

“We do,” he says. “At first we thought it’s just another gang of bandits, snatching people away and killing them just because they can, but then we started stumbling across the bodies. No man can do such things.”

Geralt can almost feel the shiver that goes through the man.

“I’ve only seen two,” he goes on, keeping his eyes on the tankard that he takes from behind the bar, wiping at it with a cloth absentmindedly. “I’m only an innkeeper, I’m no hunter. But my wife’s brother is. He and the others have been bringing the bodies back - whenever they can find them - to give them a proper burial, and sometimes we don’t even know if they’re really ours. Chests torn open, faces slashed and gnawed, hearts torn out - we could only recognise them by what was left of their clothes.”

The description is familiar.

But there are multiple monsters that Geralt knows to treat their prey like that. He’ll need more information to know for sure, but it’s already clear that this is everything that the innkeeper can tell him.

“Who’s the alderman here?” he asks, keeping his tone even if not cold.

The innkeeper sets the tankard aside, still not avoiding Geralt’s eyes, glowing softly under the darkness of his hood.

“Jorund,” he says, dragging his hand over the back of his neck in an unconscious nervous gesture. “He lives in the east end of the town, keeps two draft horses, you won’t miss him.”

With every breath he takes, Geralt can feel the scent of his fear.

A sharp mix of adrenaline and cortisol, another reminder of who he is, of how he will never have a place anywhere other than Kaer Morhen.

And another reminder of Jaskier, of how he never smells of fear when Geralt is close, only of dried herbs and something familiar and sweet.

Geralt shakes his head, getting the image of him out of his mind. Now is not the time.

He’s got a monster to find.

***

Jorund, to his credit, does look Geralt in the eyes.

He doesn’t tell him much more than the innkeeper did, though he’d seen all seven bodies, but he summons one of the hunters and it’s him that finally answers the questions of where the bodies were found.

It’s a little north of the town, no more than half an hour, but far enough into the woods that there is a sufficient distance between the main road that leads out of town and the hiding place of whatever monster it is that they’re dealing with. All the bodies were found in roughly the same area, which tells Geralt that the beast is territorial, not wandering, making his life a little easier. The hunter also tells him that there are caves in those areas and that that’s the most probable place of the monster’s burrow. Which… narrows the circle of options but not enough.  

“Take me there,” Geralt says, and the horror that ghosts over the hunter’s face is unmistakable.

He sighs but manages to hold himself back from rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll find the place myself. If you’ve got something to pay me with.”

The alderman’s face twists in a mix of annoyance and despair. He sends the hunter out of the room and holds his arms across his chest. Geralt suspects that it’s supposed to give more authority to his look but they both know that it’s not working.

“This is a small town,” Jorund starts but Geralt had heard all of that one too many times.

“Which is why every life matters even more,” he nods, cutting the alderman short. “And you have seven bodies already.”

Jorund grits his teeth but the flash of fire in his eyes is gone as soon as Geralt shrugs and turns towards the door.

“Wait!” he says, taking a quick step towards the witcher but not daring to grab his shoulder. “Alright. How much do you want?”

Geralt bites back a grin. Works every time.

“Two hundred,” he says, having weighed the risks long before the question was spoken. “If there’s one beast. Three fifty if there are two.”

There aren’t. He knows there aren’t. But this way when he comes back with a trophy, the alderman will be beside himself with relief for only having to pay two hundred, and there will be no further arguments. A little trick learned from Vesemir.

Jorund studies a potted plant by the door intently for some time, then finally, he sighs and nods.

“Have it your way, Witcher.”

***

It doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for. Geralt can feel the scent of blood long before he sees the stains.

He leaves Roach at the edge of the woods, patting her affectionately on the neck and telling the mare to wait for him, and heads deeper into the forest, calm and ready as always, his every sense heightened.

The first stain of blood that he finds, dried and more black than crimson, is about half a mile away from the road. It’s the middle of summer, and the grass of the forest floor is still fresh and bright, and the dark patch stands out sharply against it. From its placement - right under an old and wide pine - Geralt can tell that whoever this blood belonged to was on the ground, their back against the trunk of the tree, possibly in an attempt to catch their breath.

But this isn’t where they died.

There’s not enough blood for them to have bled out on the spot, and when Geralt moves a little deeper into the woods, listening to everything his senses are telling him, he finds more stains, smaller and consistent, marking someone’s footsteps.

There are also smears on the tree trunks, where whoever it was holding onto them, and it’s easy to track the scent.

It doesn’t lead him to the caves, like he’d hoped, but when he finally comes across the place where the body had been found - or what was left of it - under the long-familiar scent of death, he feels something else. Something just as familiar.

Geralt runs his hand down a tree trunk marked with deep claws, rubs his fingers together in consideration. There aren’t many monsters that have claws like that and kill only to rip out the heart.

He leans down, getting a better look at the last stain, this one bigger than all the previous ones, and it’s almost immediately that he notices a patch of coarse, dark-grey fur.

A werewolf.

Geralt curses through his teeth. Werewolves are never an easy fight. They’re always solitary, that’s true, but they’re fast, and they can summon all the nearby wolves when in danger. And then it’s more luck than skill that decides the outcome.    

Two hundred crowns for a werewolf. Not nearly enough.

He should’ve known better.

But now there isn’t much left to do other than go through with it. After all, two hundred is better than nothing, and if he doesn’t take the contract, there are going to be more deaths. There are seven bodies already, all in the last month, and there are women and children in the town.

No, he’s got little choice.

The full moon is in four days. If he manages to get himself a room until then without having to pay for it, it might not be that bad.

***

The innkeeper takes one look at him and places a key on the bartop.

“Jorund told us you’ve agreed to kill it,” he says, sniffling from the dust he’s wiping off the shelves. “The beast.”

Geralt hums an affirmative, reaching for the key that looks like a thousand other ones he’d been given in inns like this one.

“It's a werewolf,” he says, turning towards the staircase. “Tell your wife and the others to stay away from the woods until he’s dealt with.”

If the innkeeper has got something to say about it, Geralt doesn’t listen. It’s getting late, the moon already high in the dark sky, and he’s been on the road for four days. All he wants now is some rest.

The room he’s given is nothing special but it’s also not the worst, and the double bed looks comfortable enough for him to almost look forward to spending the next five nights in it.

Geralt contemplates for a moment whether or not he should go back down and order a bath but quickly decides that he doesn’t have the energy for that tonight. It’s always only after he stops that tiredness catches up with him, and these past nights were quiet but not necessarily peaceful. His mind kept wandering back towards the mansion, and that would keep him up for hours, annoying Roach with his tossing and turning.

At least, tonight he doesn’t have to listen to his surroundings for any signs of danger. There might be a werewolf in the woods, but as long as Geralt is not there with it, he’s got nothing to worry about.

Worn out by the ache in his chest more than by the road, Geralt quickly sheds his armour and slips under the covers of the bed, deeming himself clean enough from the swim in the river the night before.

After the silk and furs of the bed in the mansion, the threadbare blanket feels scratchy and cold but Geralt pushes the thought of that aside, closing his eyes and taking in a deep, calming breath.

The thoughts that he cannot keep at bay, however, are those of Jaskier.

It’s frustrating, thinking about someone this much.

Especially in the way that Geralt is thinking about him.

He still doesn’t know if he should go back, even though he’d promised that he would, and it doesn’t make matters any easier than he desperately wants to. What had started with him just thinking about how kind Jaskier is towards him, how he manages to get the witcher to talk ten times more than he usually would, how he looks him in the eyes with no fear, had grown into Geralt thinking about his scent, his hands, his lips.

He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Jaskier like that, wasn’t even allowed, he knew, but he couldn’t get those thoughts out of his head.

The warmth of his hands, his long, thin fingers that Geralt wished he could feel running down his shoulders and chest; his delicate wrist, always hidden under the silk of his shirts, with an intricate pattern of thin blue veins running down towards the base of his palms.

His lips, plush and just the perfect shade of red.

Geralt turns to his other side, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself, but he can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him, feel those lips on his own, catch the lower one between his teeth and then lick over the bite.

Some distant part of him thinks that maybe this is what Jaskier wanted, with all those little touches and smiles and teasing words, and that makes the fire both in Geralt’s chest and low in his abdomen grow hotter.

The window by the bed is open, letting in the cool night breeze, but Geralt still feels like there’s not enough air in the room.

Despite the tiredness, it still takes him hours to fall asleep.

***

The next three days are the same as they always are when he’s on a longer hunt.

Geralt leaves early in the mornings, returning to the woods and scanning through them for more blood, more marks, more fur, until finally, on the day of the full moon, he comes across the caves.

This werewolf must be an old one, an experienced one, because he knows how to keep his hiding place unknown, leaving no direct traces leading to it: no blood, no paw prints, no claw marks on the trees - nothing.

So it’s a curse, Geralt thinks, Those who are born werewolves usually have much more of an animal to them when they turn, and hiding their burrow with so much careful precision would require the mindset closer to that of a human.

That would also explain the cruelty with which the victims were killed.

When a person is cursed with lycanthropy, they have no control over it - unlike those who are born into it and can control their shapeshifting - and the rage that comes with the insatiable hunger drives them mad. If the curse is especially cruel, they will still partially have their human consciousness to them when they turn, realising what they’re doing but being unable to do anything about it.

Geralt could try to break the curse, he’d done it before, though not with werewolves, but he’d have to get him to listen, first, and that is never as easy as Geralt could hope.

And now that he realises that the lycanthropy is not hereditary, he knows that waiting for the full moon had been the single worst decision he could’ve made.  

Cursed werewolves are dependent on the moon cycle, and cannot turn on any other nights other than when it’s the full moon. Except that there are seven bodies, all of them found during some point in the last month, which can only mean that this werewolf is cursed to be in his wolf form permanently, and on the full moon, he will only grow stronger.

“Fuck,” Geralt hisses through clenched teeth, hands balling into fists with powerless anger.

He should’ve fucking known.

Now it’s more of a death sentence than a contract, but if he waits for the full moon to pass, for the werewolf to get weaker again, there are going to be more deaths - he knows it because it’s inevitable - and that blood will be on his hands.

Even if he gets Jorund to tell everyone to stay in their homes, doors bolted and windows shut, the werewolf is going to find someone else to kill. A merchant on the road, a farmer working in the fields until dark, a runaway child.

And with them, he’s also going to rip apart every animal he can find, leaving the town with no milk, no meat and no horses to put into plows.

Jorund had said that the first body had been found twenty-seven days ago, just a little short of a full moon cycle.

They are terrified of what the werewolf had done to his victims but they have not seen what lycanthropes are capable of on the full moon, when both their abilities and their hunger are at their highest. They probably can’t even imagine it.

No, Geralt will have to deal with him tonight, or at least try to.

Any other options aren’t options at all.

***

By the time Geralt gets back to the inn, there are a little over ten hours until nightfall.

He spends most of those hours preparing: sharpens his silver sword until merely a touch is enough to draw blood, coats the blade with cursed oil, gets silver crossbow bolts out of his bags.

All the elixirs he will need are set in a neat row on the small table the room comes with, and though Geralt is not at all looking forward to taking them, over so many years he’d almost grown immune to the taste.

Very distantly, he wonders what will happen to Roach if he dies, but he chases those thoughts away. No need for them now.

Mutations and the long years on the Path have long erased any fear that he used to feel when he was younger, and when Geralt rides out of the town - just as the sun dips below the horizon - he’s calm and prepared, like he always is.

***

The hunt starts more or less as planned.

Geralt leaves Roach where she will be relatively safe, double-checks his elixirs and the straps of his armour, and steps into the dark woods, a little south of the caves.

The forest is quiet around him - an unmistakable sign of something big and dangerous lurking in the woods - and that silence makes it easier for Geralt to track the werewolf, for even the smartest beasts cannot move completely without sound, especially ones of that size.

Geralt knows that the werewolf is aware of his presence, he’s too smart not to be, and as the night grows closer, it gets more and more apparent that the only thing that matters is the timing. Either Geralt is going to be fast enough to find him and start a fight before midnight, or the town will be lost.    

Luckily, after a few hours of following the deliberately confusing tracks, Geralt picks up the werewolf’s scent.

It’s an unmistakable mix of blood, rot and wet dog.

He downs a Thunder and moves faster, his blood slowly growing hotter in his veins with the elixir taking effect.

Bare minutes before midnight, Geralt finds himself at a clearing in the woods, the full moon bright and cold above his head, and just as he stops to take in a deeper breath, the trail of scent fainter here, with nothing to cling to, there is a loud, blood-freezing howl to his right, and the next second the werewolf steps out of the woods, his teeth bared and dripping with drool.

Geralt’s fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword.

“I can break the curse,” he says slowly, each word carefully measured. “There don’t have to be any more deaths.”

The werewolf growls at him, his eyes glowing dangerously. There’s some distance between the two of them but Geralt knows that it will only take him a second to close it in.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Geralt goes on but his entire body is ready to fight off an attack should it come. “But I cannot let you take any more lives.”

That seems to break it.

The werewolf charges at him, and Geralt’s hopes of resolving everything without a fight are gone.

He evades the wolf’s claws with a pirouette and throws a Moon Dust bomb under his hind legs just as he turns around. A bright flash of silver is almost blinding but Geralt doesn’t have any time to lose.

He moves fast, using the momentary disorientation of the beast to his advantage, the edge of his sword slicing cleanly through the wolf’s shoulder. He howls in pain and fury, twisting around to lash at Geralt’s thigh but the witcher is already out of his reach.

It’s not his first werewolf, and he knows the pattern, but with every new wound the monster gets angrier, and in barely a few minutes, Geralt can barely keep up with him.

Thunder burns through his veins like fire, and the rest of the world completely dissolves, like all he can comprehend is this patch of grass in the middle of the woods, and everything else is lost in the darkness.

The grass is slick with blood within minutes, making it harder to move.

The werewolf roars, and Geralt knows it’s human speech but the words are too incoherent, too distorted to make out. The best regroups and jumps, closing in the distance between them with one leap, and the protective shield of Quen around the witchers shatters with a flash of golden light.

Signs require a lot of energy, and he needs time between them, so he can only cast one.

He chooses Igni.

The wolf howls in pain as his coarse fur catches fire, making regeneration impossible, and charges at Geralt in blind fury. The witcher evades his claws twice, backing away quickly, but the beast is too smart not to break the pattern.

He raises one of his enormous clawed paws again, striking quickly, and just as Geralt blocks the attack with his sword, the silver digging deep into the werewolf’s flesh, he strikes with his other paw, the claws ripping through Geralt’s thigh.

Pain rips through his body like fire, and Geralt clenches his jaw not to scream.

Blood pouring down his leg, he twists his sword, yanking it down and moving out of the werewolf's immediate reach, the wound on his arm deep enough for Geralt to see the bone.

There’s no time for a Swallow, and he still doesn’t have enough energy to cast Quen over himself without it making his head spin, so all he can do is keep fighting.

He throws a Dancing Star at the beast, shielding his eyes as the bomb erupts. And that is when he gets his chance.

The power of the blast knocks the werewolf off his feet, and despite the blazing pain in his thigh, Geralt manages to make it to him in time to press the tip of his sword to the middle of his chest.

“Let me help you,” he says, voice hoarse with the adrenaline of the fight. “I can lift the curse.”

The werewolf bares his teeth but stays on the ground, though from the way his paws are clenching and unclenching Geralt can tell that it’s taking him every bit of humanity he’s still got not to charge again.

“You can be human again,” Geralt pushes. “You can start a new life and forget all this like a fever dream.”

There’s a flash of something like hope in the werewolf’s eyes but then he throws his head back and laughs - a growling, animalistic sound full of mockery.

“You think I can forget this?” he roars, clear enough for Geralt to make out the words. “I have ripped seven people to shreds.”

If Geralt wants to say something to that, he doesn’t let him.

“Kill me now, Witcher, don’t play hero,” the werewolf growls, snapping his teeth. “Or it’s going to be you that dies tonight. And after that - the entire town.”

Geralt clenches his jaw until it hurts.

If the werewolf still has enough of his human self in him to talk, then he still has hope, he can still be saved, and there is nothing that Geralt hates more than killing those that still have other options. But just as he’s about to say it, the werewolf jerks under the blade of his sword, and Geralt’s reflexes work faster than his mind.

He sinks the sword into the werewolf’s chest until the blade digs into the ground, and as he takes in his last breath, blood bubbling in his throat, the wolf almost looks grateful.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

There’s a Reason for Everything

Characters: Loki Laufeyson x Fire Goddess!Reader, Thor Odinson, Steve Rogers, Vision, Wanda Maximoff, other minor characters

Word Count: 1,870

Warnings: heatstroke, super fluffy

Request by @previouslyforgotten​: Ok so your request are open. Yay! Okay so this one is a little like dumb but it’s been an idea in my head for awhile. So the reader is from Asgard and she has fire powers and she hates the summer time bc when it gets real hot she has these ‘heat waves’ where the room may not be hot but she’s like sweating and can’t breathe bc she feels it’s real hot. ‘N maybe this takes place in the avengers tower? Since Loki’s body runs cold, he’d come and cool her down. So he’d come cool her down and it’s been like this since they were kids. So one day she comes down to the kitchen and Tony is like “you don’t look so good” and she’s like bout to pass out ‘n maybe like Thor knows exactly whats goin on so he catches her and calls 4 Loki and Loki comes in n grabs her and once they leave the room Thor explains to everyone what happened n it’s just fluff.

Summary: Every summer, you experience the worst kind of heatstrokes, so much so that you need the only Frost Giant you know to help you feel better. Luckily for you, he loves helping you.

Squares Filled: heatstroke for @badthingshappenbingo​ // healer for @marvelfluffbingo​ // showing you care without words for @fluffbingo​

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

You’ve always been different than the other people on Asgard. Your father was born and raised here, but your mother came from an entirely different galaxy. She stopped at Asgard for reasons you still don’t know, met your father, fell in love, had you, then left immediately. Your father is the one who raised you, and now that you have time to think about it, it is the best thing that he could have given you. Your mother wanted to take you with her to wherever she was going, but your father fought for you.

Thank God he won because you wouldn’t have met your two best friends in the entire universe. Your father was very close to the royal family, so you practically grew up with Thor and Loki. You three did everything together--they were your best friends. However, you were always closer to Loki than with Thor.

What makes you different than everyone else on Asgard is that your mother was a fire queen. She was called that where she lived, and she happened to pass on her gene to you. Maybe that’s why she wanted to take you with her. Nonetheless, you have the exact powers as she did. Your father didn’t have any powers at all, so you take after your mother in every way possible.

While having fire powers is great, it absolutely sucks during the summer months. Your get overheated, your body goes into shock from the amount of heat you produce, no one wants to be near you when you get like this, and you suffer in silence while everyone else stays cool. Air conditioning and fans don’t help you in the slightest. The only thing that has gotten you a moment of relief is an ice bath, but that only lasts for so long because you melt all the ice.

It’s great having your powers in the winter months since you provide most of the heat to all of Asgard during that time. The other two seasons are perfect for you--not too hot yet, not too cold. It’s a pain in the ass to deal with, but there is always one thing you know for sure will work on keeping you cool.

It’s Loki.

He’s a frost giant which means he’s practically chilled to the bone. He doesn’t get hot at all, and when you two were little, he would always make fun of you for it. He’d tease you and barely give you a moment of relief before taking it all away and letting you suffer. You’d cry and beg for him to stay by you, but he’d never listen. The only way that he would is if his mother told him to stop being so mean to you.

As you grew older, that became a whole different thing completely. He didn’t get so mean whenever you asked for his company. He’d do it with a smile and let you cuddle him while he read a book. He’d keep cold thoughts and his body temperature low just so you wouldn’t suffer any longer.

This kind of became the thing that only the two of you would share. During the summer months, no one would barely see you or Loki since you two had run off to be alone. During the winter months, Loki would cling to you in a desperate attempt to get some warmth. He’s always hated his heritage and where he came from, so you do your best to distract him from that.

Through this intimate way to stay cool, you two formed a bond you’d share with no one else. Loki is your rock, the person you go to when you’re overheating, the person who would listen to all your troubles, and the person who would turn your nightmares into dreams. The longer you two stayed together, the more his feelings for you have grown.

Not only is he the only person who can keep you cool long enough, but he’s also the only one you want to do this with. If anyone else came up to you and offered to provide you with infinite coldness, you wouldn’t take it because then Loki wouldn’t get to do what he does every summer. He holds, pets your hair, tells you stories, and warms your heart.

It took you a long time to figure out what exactly he makes you feel, but you know now that it’s love. You love Loki, and despite never saying it, he knows it. You could be halfway across the universe from him and he’d still know it.

It’s not halfway, but you do spend your days on Earth with the rest of the Avengers. Loki is on Asgard, and Thor likes to come visit every once in a while, with news about Asgard and Loki. It’s peaceful to know that Loki is doing okay even though he had such bad intentions from the start. All of Asgard has forgiven him, and it looks like all of Earth is coming to that realization soon too.

You’ve only been here for almost a year, and it’s been so hectic that you hadn’t even realized it’s summer now. The average temperature in New York is 84 degrees, but it can get up to 108 degrees. There are other parts of the world that get even hotter, and you’re thankful that you’re not there during their summer months. However, New York is known for its humidity, so it makes the heat even worse with that much moisture in the air. It’s why you don’t go out at all during the summer.

Tony likes to keep his tower cool, and you’re so thankful for that. But it doesn’t stop the heat from spreading even in the chilliest of rooms. You wake up on the first day of summer just covered in sweat. You have to drink so much water because you’re sweating it all out, but there isn’t any water in your room. You’ll have to go to the kitchen if you’re going to even think about surviving in this heat.

Your steps are slow, your breathing is ragged, and your entire body is red as if you’ve been out in the sun for too long. Not yet a sunburn, but enough to let whoever looks at you know that you’re hot. You pass by the thermometer on the wall, and it says it’s 70 degrees inside the tower. 70 isn’t enough to keep you cool. You’d go to Antarctica, but you’re finding it very hard to make it to the kitchen right now.

Tony, Wanda, Natasha, Steve, Vison, and Thor are all in the kitchen just chatting away, so they don’t see you when you stumble in. Your vision is getting blurrier by the second, and your breathing is picking up. Your body temperature is increasing tremendously--almost to a point where you can cook things on your skin.

“I don’t think it counts that Vison can pick up the hammer. He’s not even a person,” Tony states.

“Do you think my magic can pick it up?” Wanda asks.

“You’re not worthy,” Steve shakes his head.

“That’s rude of you to assume,” she jokes.

“Go ahead, little witch, try. Many have and many have failed. Actually, all of them have failed,” Thor laughs.

You stumble into the closest thing near you, and that captures everyone’s attention.

“Whoa, you don’t look so good,” Tony states as everyone else gets up to help.

They don’t know you act this way since they’ve never dealt with you in the summer months before, but Thor knows this all too well. Your knees give out below you, and Thor is right by your side to catch you as soon as you fall. You’re burning his skin, but he sets you down gently before letting go of you.

“What’s wrong with her?” Natasha asks.

“Heimdall, I need Loki. It’s Y/N, she’s overheating again. Please hurry,” he says to the air.

Heimdall hears this quite clear, and he’s already sending for someone to get Loki.

“What’s going on, Thor?” Steve asks.

“Don’t touch her or you might burst into flames. It happened to me once. I’ll explain once Loki gets here but get anything that’s cold. The colder the better. Go!”

Everyone disperses at his command, and Thor moves your hair away from your face. Due to your powers activating, your hair is starting to turn into a fiery orange and red, but it’s faint. The longer you go without being cooled down, the more your hair will turn to flames. The Avengers bring you things that are cold, but none of it is enough to keep you satisfied. Everything melts too quickly as soon as it touches your skin.

Loki doesn’t take long to get to Earth as soon as he hears you’re overheating. He knows exactly where you are because he asks Heimdall every night to check up on you. He rushes into the tower and over to your unconscious body on the ground. Thor backs up to let Loki do his job while everyone else watches from behind him.

“I’ve got you, darling,” Loki whispers as he picks you up bridal style.

He briefly meets Thor’s eyes before taking you away. All the Avengers in the room look at Thor for an explanation. He begins his story with the first time you set him on fire.

Loki brings you to your bathroom so he can spoon you while in the tub. He’s afraid you might set everything on fire in your room. The bathtub is porcelain, so he doesn’t have to worry about you setting it on fire. He strips down to his boxers and you to your bra and panties. With that, he gets you and he settled into the tub with you right in front of him. He usually doesn’t do this, but he doesn’t know how long you’ve been overheating for, so he wants to make sure before he moves this to the bed.

His body is ice cold against your heated one, but it does the trick in cooling you down. He doesn’t let go of you until you open your eyes. Once your body is at a normal-ish temperature for you, you groan and sway your head to the right.

“Loki?” you whisper as you open your eyes.

“I’m right here, darling.”

“What happened? Did I overheat again?”

“I’m afraid so. Don’t worry, I came just in time. Didn’t want you to set the tower on fire,” he tries to make light of the situation.

“I missed you,” you mutter as his body cools down yours. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I can’t for the next few months. Who knows when you might overheat again.”

“I’m serious. I don’t ever want to be apart from you again.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into your ear.

He kisses the side of your head, and you sigh in relief from how cold his lips are. Maybe there’s a reason why he’s the only one who can do this for you. Maybe there’s a reason why opposites attract because you two balance each other out.

Hot and Cold.

Ice and Fire.

Two hearts as one.

If you want to be tagged, add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@miraclesoflove​ @darkprincessloki92​ @007zada​ @bluedazefangirl​ @cherrygeek86​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @kendall-michele​ @niall2017​ @scorpionchild81​ @kiwihoee​ @gh0stgurl​ @sammypotato67​ @justalonely-nerd​ @casseythebee​ @scorpionchild81​

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

The Gift

(I’m giving some January weather ❄️ to the characters in my July ☀️. This prompt is incredibly sweet, and I realize it didn’t include a request for *coconuts*. That said, sexual content slipped into this fic regardless because ...Hayffie 🔥. Anyway, I hope the ending feels sweet enough to offset other intensities.)

***

After years of hiking up her skirts and unzipping bodices, loosening corsets and slipping them down just enough, unbuckling garters and sliding thongs to the side, they were playing now with nakedness.

Total nakedness.

It had happened a few times, and Effie was still adjusting to the sensations. The vulnerability of her skin fully against his was one thing. Her heart open to him was another.

Their first time face-to-face, unencumbered by clothing was intense. They started kissing and didn’t stop until they came, moaning into each other’s mouths. It was almost too much. The eroticism, the intimacy, the deliciousness all broke down her boundaries. Effie was definitely on board with nakedness DURING sex.

The textures AFTER still felt awkward to her. His body became a furnace, drenching her in sweat, especially when he’d been on top. And she loved having him on top. With her legs wrapped around him, she could take subtle control of the pace, the depth, their closeness.

Complete nakedness was freeing; it was also messy and overwhelming. Having sex with Haymitch had always been contending with chaos, but now...

Now.

“I need to breathe,” she gasped as the pulsing slowed inside her.

He thrust once more, milking the last drops of pleasure, then rolling off of her.

“Fuck. That was...”

“I know. ...God.”

Catching his breath, he slid his hand along her sternum, down to her waist where he curled his fingers around her side.

“Honey, don’t touch me right now. Your hands are sopping fire.”

He let go, still panting. “You’re hot too, sweetheart.”

An anxiety she didn’t understand crept over her. “EVERYTHING is wet. I need to take a shower. We need to change the sheets.”

He chuckled, “I’d say loosen your corset, but I already took it off.”

“Haymitch, don’t tease. You know this is new for me.”

He did know. “It’s kind of like taking your virginity.” He grinned. “Can’t help wanting you wet, and can’t help wanting to touch you when you’re like this.”

Effie scoffed at the notion of herself as a virgin. “That ship sailed over 20 years ago.” Lying apart, she’d cooled enough to reach for his hand and interlace their fingers. “But the sentiment is charming.”

He pulled her knuckles to his lips. “I’ve been a lot of things, but *charming* isn’t one.”

Effie shivered as the moisture evaporated from her skin. She went from hot to cold in body and emotions faster than he could flip a coin. He’d stopped trying to figure her out long ago.

“I’m going to go take a shower. Will you turn up the heater?”

“About that...” Haymitch hesitated, knowing she’d be pissed. “The heater wouldn’t turn on this morning.”

Effie sat straight up, dropped his hand and glared. He tried to stay focused on her eyes rather than the beads of sweat dripping between her breasts. His attention was divided.

“It’s January! There’s snow on the ground, and your heater is broken?! Couldn’t you have mentioned that detail BEFORE I got on the train? You could have come to my apartment instead, then we’d be warm right now!”

“We warmed up real good on our own, honey. ...Besides, the train was already halfway here by the time I woke up today.”

“So he says — an hour before we die from hypothermia!”

Haymitch reached for her waist again. His hand was still warm, and this time she welcomed the touch.

“Let’s take a shower and talk about all the things we can do tonight to prevent hypothermia.”

“You think this is amusing!”

“We have a fireplace, wood in the shed, a forest next door, and a town full of coal. This is 12. We can manage a weekend without a furnace.” He spoke gently, tracing circles on her hip.

Her anxiousness lessened, but she was still vexed at him for not waking up before noon and for not knowing how to repair a furnace. Though in all these years, annoyance had never stopped her from wanting more of him.

“The water better be warm.” She reached for his hand and pulled him up with her.

***

Effie’s teeth chattered later as she rummaged through her bag with towels wrapped around her body and her hair.

“I brought nothing warm to wear!”

Haymitch lazed on the edge of the bed, avoiding the spots where the sheets were still damp. “What about the 5 layers of clothes I took off when you walked through the door?”

“That’s outside attire.” Effie was miffed by his unyielding ignorance regarding even the most basic matters of fashion. A pair of leggings was the best she could find. “I wasn’t exactly planning on wearing much inside.”

“Sorry the furnace fucked up such a fine plan.” He was enjoying the view of her wearing nothing but towels, but he didn’t want her shaking, at least not from cold. “Let’s get you warm. Look through my drawers and wear anything you want. I’ll go make coffee and build a fire.”

Effie looked wary. She was all too familiar with the limits of his wardrobe. Though she did slip on his shirts when he left them at her place. They smelled like him and felt like him and, though she wouldn’t admit it, they helped ease the loneliness she always experienced after he’d gone.

He caressed her ass through the towel. “...Or you can just wear this all evening. You choose.”

She turned her head and kissed him as he passed her on his way out. She just got here, and she hated the loneliness she was already anticipating at the thought of leaving tomorrow. She refused to waste this time together fuming about a broken heater.

She closed each drawer quickly after opening it. “All your clothes are grey!” she hollered downstairs, “Grey is not even a color!”

He muttered under his breath, “Grey is too a goddamn color.” Then he hollered back up to her. “Feel free to stay in the towel!”

She opened the drawers again and dug deeper, determined to find something she hadn’t seen at first glance. A white sleeve poked out from between layers of grey. Effie pulled out the shirt and recognized it immediately, though she hadn’t seen it in years. He’d worn it the night before the third Quarter Quell — the first time he kissed her, as she was falling apart.

She slipped it on now over bare breasts and snuggled up in the memory and the scent of him. The shirt was soft and thin. She needed another layer, a sweater maybe. She kept digging.

In the back of the bottom drawer she felt something velvet and silky. A blazer perhaps? Reaping Day attire? Why would Haymitch of all people hold on to something like that? As she pulled it out, she realized it wasn’t a jacket but a shawl — a red velvet shawl, embroidered with swirls of golden thread and trimmed with silk. The fabric was old, smooth and beautiful. It smelled like cedar laid over memories.

Effie felt a degree of reverence as she slipped the shawl over her shoulders, hoping it wouldn’t fall apart. The construction proved to be sturdy, clearly hand-sewn by a talented seamster.

What meaning did this have for Haymitch to keep in a dresser in his bedroom? “Look through my drawers and wear anything you want,” he’d said. Could he possibly have meant this glorious piece of art? Effie intended to find out.

A pair of his thick woolen socks completed the ensemble with her leggings, his shirt, and the shawl. Effie blow dried her hair, and applied light layers of mascara and lipstick. Then she followed the fragrance of coffee downstairs.

The house was already warming up from the fire burning in the hearth. Haymitch was mixing their coffee with shots of bourbon and spoonfuls of honey and cream. With his back to her he asked, “Did you find some color?”

“That depends... Is this okay?”

***

He turned around and saw her.

He flashed back to winter mornings in the Seam when coal burned in the stove of his childhood. As the house grew warm, his mother would take off her shawl and drape it across the back of the rocking chair. His little brother would toddle out in footed pajamas, climb up in the chair and wrap up in the shawl.

“Careful, dear, that’s precious to Mama,” she’d say, “But not as precious as my boys.” She’d kiss Haymitch on his forehead as he brought eggs in from the goose house. “Wipe that snow off your boots before stepping off the mat. This house may not be much, but we don’t need to be entirely uncivilized. Then she’d sit with his brother in her lap and rock him a few times until the griddle was hot enough to fry the eggs.

When these kinds of memories showed up, they usually kicked him in the teeth, but Effie looking all beautiful softened the blow. A swallow of bourbon helped too.

“I wasn’t sure...” Seeing the pain now in his expression, she felt she’d made a mistake. “I can go change...”

He crossed the kitchen in three steps, kissed her forehead, then buried his face in her hair. He held her tight, and she returned the pressure of his embrace, feeling how much he needed this connection. She held him in silence, asking no questions.

“This is precious,” he said, not letting go of her.

“The shawl?”

He pulled back just enough to see her face, and nodded. “...But not as precious as my girl.”

My girl?... My girl... The words echoed in her chest. She felt them pushing and drawing out something new. “...Me?”

“Nobody else, sweetheart.”

For once in her life, Effie was speechless.

“No expectations,” Haymitch clarified, “I just don’t wanna feel this shit and pretend like I don’t.”

She’d loved him from her earliest memories, all the while pretending with other words and fucking other men who didn’t matter.

“I don’t want to pretend either.” She tasted the whiskey on his tongue. There was nothing simple about this. “I don’t want to be naked with anyone else. I don’t want anybody else inside me.”

He wanted to be inside her again, right now, on the sofa in front of the fire, but there was more to consider. “Are you warm enough? Did you eat on the train or are you hungry? Peeta brought over some fancy things.”

“Come here,” she said, easing away from him and moving toward the counter. She added a few items to the platter of Peeta’s croissants: butter, a knife, and the jar of honey. “Bring the drinks and follow me.”

Haymitch put the bottle of bourbon in the crook of his elbow and held the mugs of coffee in his hands.

She led them to the sofa. Mind reader, he thought.

She pulled an end table between them and the fireplace and laid down the platter. Before he could set the drinks beside it, she chastised him. “Coasters!”

“Coasters?” Fuck. She always did know how to delay a mood. “Not sure where they are.”

Effie went back to the kitchen and searched the cabinets for saucers. Those would substitute in a pinch. “We might be without central heating, but we don’t need to be entirely uncivilized.”

The coffee was still too hot to drink, so she curled up next to him on the sofa. He traced the golden swirls down her arm, caressing her through the velvet. “This shawl was my mother’s.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I wondered.”

“She sewed all of our clothes.”

“She was an incredible seamstress. This stitching is remarkable.”

“Nobody’s worn that in 30 years. ...I wrapped up in it once, after they were killed. But the memories were too painful, so I put it away. Never took it out again.”

“Haymitch...” She covered his hand with hers. “If I’d known, I never would have... Should I put it back?”

“No, honey. Such a pretty thing shouldn’t be in a drawer. You’re giving it life again.”

“Life has these ways of sleeping, you know? Sometimes I think there’s nothing left, and then suddenly it’s filling me up again.”

I feel it when you’re here, he didn’t say.

I don’t want to leave tomorrow, she didn’t say either.

They weren’t pretending, and they weren’t being entirely open either. Nakedness takes time to reach its full expression.

***

The next day Effie folded the shawl and laid it at the foot of the bed. She dressed in her layers of *outside attire* and took the train back to her heated apartment and her sleeping life.

She unzipped her bag and found inside a brown paper sack, haphazardly crumpled shut. On the outside, Haymitch had written, “Stay warm.”

Effie opened the sack more carefully than it had been closed. She pulled out a piece of notepaper folded in half. On the front he’d written, “For my girl.” She flipped the paper open, and the note within read, “It’s yours. Thanks for making me feel alive. — H”

She knew what she’d find at the bottom of the sack. Red velvet swirling with gold. She could barely see it through her tears. It held fragrances now of coffee and whiskey, croissants with honey, and Haymitch’s hands on her. She slipped the shawl over her shoulders. It was almost too much.

It was perfect.

[bethestaryouareradio]

Water Matters

“When the well is dry, we know the worth of water.” Benjamin Franklin

We turned on the spigot. A trickle. Seconds later, nothing. 

For over a hundred years the deep well had served three houses, several barns, and all the gardens on our Napa County ranch without a problem. This summer, the well is empty. The bucolic lake built by my Dad and brothers in the former horse pasture served as a family playground, fishing area, and farm irrigation reservoir for decades. In 2021, it is a big basin of cracked clay. There is no water.

In the San Joaquin Valley, an area known to be the breadbasket of fruit and nuts for America, the aquifers and canals are depleted. It is projected that by 2040, 535,000 acres of agricultural production will be lost. If the drought persists and water is not available, double that amount of land will not be planted resulting in food shortages around the country.

Seventy-one percent of the earth is covered in water. Over 96 percent of that water is saline, represented by our oceans and seas. The human body consists of sixty percent water. H2O is a vital nutrient to the life of every cell. People can survive without food for several days, but without water, organ failure commences around the third day of dehydration.

Water matters and water is scarce. Climate change is resulting in rising temperatures and when the soil gets warmer, heat waves worsen. Fifty-five percent of the West is experiencing extreme drought conditions. Some scientists have declared the summer of 2021 the worst drought in over 1200 years. 

What is a gardener to do? 

 Because of the efforts to reduce water usage as well as the higher costs of water, many people have asked me if it would be best to “let their landscape go”.  My rapid reaction is a decisive “NO!” Besides the financial burden of relandscaping, maintaining a garden during a drought is essential not only for the aesthetics and beauty a garden provides but for keeping your home cooler and contributing to a fire safety zone. If you let your plants and trees die, your parched landscape could become a fire hazard. 

Here are ways to minimize watering while keeping your plants alive.

1. Weed your garden thoroughly as weeds are huge drinkers.

2. Mulch to conserve water. Add three inches of good quality mulch to your entire landscape to suffocate weed growth, conserve water, prevent evaporation, and reduce the heat to the soil.

3. Check for leaks in your sprinkler system. If you find a spike in your water bill, you probably have a broken pipe somewhere.

4. Water deeply and infrequently. Once or twice a week will suffice. Most plants need about one inch of water weekly. Check your soil to make sure that the water is penetrating the soil. Dry soil sheds water as run-off. If this happens, water twice, five minutes apart until the soil is saturated. Deep watering encourages a healthy root system while frequent short showers are wasteful and not beneficial to plant growth.

5. Water early in the morning or early evening when moisture will be retained.

6. Refrain from fertilizing in the summer months as feeding promotes thirsty hyper-growth.

7. Mow your lawns without using the bag. Grass clippings supply nutrients to the lawn with less water usage. 

8. Don’t worry about keeping your lawn super-green. Just keep it alive and it will re-green when the weather is wetter.

9. Use soaker hoses around plants to eliminate evaporation. Trees can be especially vulnerable during a drought.  Use a deep soaker wand to supply water to the roots.

10. Don’t put your irrigation on a schedule. Instead, check your soil moisture and monitor your plants. Turn your system on when it is necessary but do make sure to run it to keep the system free of invading insects, roots, and stagnant water.

For both firewise and waterwise gardening, permeable surfaces in your hardscape such as decomposed granite, gravel, stones, and mulch are advisable. They provide a fire-safe zone and allow rainwater to percolate into the soil without runoff. For a list of plants that are both fire and drought resistant, re-read my article located at https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1508/Digging-Deep-with-Goddess-Gardener-Cynthia-Brian-Fire-retardant-and-fire-resistant-plantings.html.

11. Summer is not the time to plant but to plan. Any specimen planted in August will require regular and concentrated watering to establish strong roots. Late fall before frosts will be optimal for sowing.

12. Recycle your household water. Keep a bucket in your shower and bowls in your sinks to catch the water from your faucet. Use it on your houseplants or pour it into your garden. When you steam or boil vegetables, allow the water to cool, then use it on your plants. 

13. Minimize your personal water usage. Turn off the water when brushing teeth or when soaping up in the shower. For toilets, we may be approaching the former drought mantra “if it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.”  This is obviously a personal choice.

14. Adjust your expectations for your garden. Accept the fact that your garden may not be as green, lush, and colorful as it would normally be if water scarcity was not an issue. Plants wilt to conserve energy. Many plants are resilient and can deal with hot weather. They will bounce back with winter rains.

During the past two months, I have been busy personally repairing broken PVC pipes, valves, sprinklers, and hoses as hiring anyone to assist has been impossible. Between the marauding deer, shifting soils, and invading roots, the work is endless, arduous, intensive, and necessary. I have also implemented the tips that I am suggesting. 

Taking a long, relaxing shower used to be my reward after a day of digging, weeding, pruning, repairing, building, and planting, but for the past few years I’ve resorted to three-minute scrubs to save water.

Living in Lamorinda, we are fortunate to be able to turn on our faucets and have water. Farmers throughout the state are not so lucky. Continue to grow edibles as growing your own groceries will become more critical as the drought continues. 

As for now, on our family ranch and vineyards we are buying water.  Last year’s grape harvest was 100% destroyed by smoke taint. Because of the three-digit temperatures experienced thus far, we have already lost 20% of our Cabernet. I pray for a winter of maximum snowfall.

Water is life. It’s precious. Don’t waste, conserve. 

MARK YOUR CALENDARS!

Saturday, September 25th, Be the Star You Are!® will participate in the first live event at the Pear and Wine Festival with a booth sponsored by the Lamorinda Weekly. Details at https://www.bethestaryouare.org/copy-of-events

Happy Gardening. Happy Growing. 

Photos and more: https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1512/Digging-Deep-with-Goddess-Gardener-Cynthia-Brian-Water-matters.html

Cynthia Brian, The Goddess Gardener, is available for hire to help you prepare for your spring garden. Raised in the vineyards of Napa County, Cynthia is a New York Times best-selling author, actor, radio personality, speaker, media and writing coach as well as the Founder and Executive Director of Be the Star You Are!® 501 c3. Tune into Cynthia’s StarStyle® Radio Broadcast at www.StarStyleRadio.com.

Buy copies of her books, including, Chicken Soup for the Gardener’s Soul, Growing with the Goddess Gardener, and Be the Star You Are! www.cynthiabrian.com/online-store. Receive a FREE inspirational music DVD and special savings.

Hire Cynthia for writing projects, garden consults, and inspirational lectures.

Cynthia@GoddessGardener.com

www.GoddessGardener.com

[virgilantejustice]

A Winter’s Journey

Hi @turbovickiii!!!! I really hope you like this, your prompts really helped me get out of a rut, and I just really hope you enjoy this. And, of course, a merry Christmas!!

I don't believe I need to add any warnings, but let me know if I'm wrong.

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

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

The air was cold. Spitefully cold. Far colder than it needed to be. 

Roman muttered to himself as he trudged through the full six inches of snow that covered the path to the cabin. Spitefully cold.

Why on earth they had decided to rent a cabin for Christmas was beyond him. It had been his idea of course, but that doesn't mean that the others should have /listened. Why didn't one of them point out that his car could break down halfway down the several mile long track through the middle of nowhere slap bang in the middle of a snowstorm?! Obviously that was going to happen!

But, Roman would be damned if he didnt make it to that damn cabin, even if he had to walk the four miles left. Again, an absolutely terrible idea, but Roman never was the logical one, and Logan was waiting for him there, and he couldn't wait to hear his beloved tell him what a total idiot he'd been.

Arms crossed firmly across his chest, teeth chattering, feet numb in their snow filled boots, Roman marched with a stony expression of (slightly exaggerated) grimness. He did think at one point that he should probably make a pun about romans, y’know, marching, get it? But the cold is freezing his creative flow! His brain was slowing down! He could practically hear Logan's voice in his ear telling him that he was being ridiculous, but he didn't care.

Finally, after several thousand years of trudging down that blasted track, Roman saw a wooden structure. Small, slightly run down, but it was shelter.

“Thank the Gods,” Roman breathed into his hands, the slight warmth making his hands feel a little less icy.

He breathed out again, deeply, through his mouth. There was just something about how the air seized the moisture that he exhaled and turned it into his own little cloud. For all his bitterness towards the bitter cold at that particular moment, Roman saw beauty in that little puff of mist. He saw beauty in most things, and certainly in every season, but there was something about winter that captivated him as he walked down the snow covered path. The crunch of the gentle flakes under his boots, the swirls of frost on the gnarled bark of the trees, the jagged lacework of cracks in every frozen puddle. To be fair, I suppose it is expected to see more beauty when your arduous voyage is nearing its end.

“See," he grumbled through chattering teeth, “we could work together, you beautiful bitch.” He was referring to winter, of course, because addressing an entire season is a perfectly normal thing to do, at least it is in Roman’s eyes.

It seemed to him that he quickened his pace in excitement when he saw the reddish-brown walnut wood walls, but in all honesty, that last straight was as painfully slow as the rest

He was practically falling over himself by the time he reached the heavy wooden door of the cabin, and he silently prayed that there weren't /two remote, wooden cabins down this road and the right one was actually a further two miles, because, well, just no.

Fingers too numb to turn the handle, Roman sort of just whacked his hands against the door, wincing when his brittle skin, dried out from the cold, cracked with each impact. He prayed again (wow, twice in a day after a lifetime of agnosticism, it's funny what the cold’ll do to you) that Logan had in fact already arrived.

“Good lord, what happened to you?!” 

Logan opened the door, and, frankly, looked a little more shocked than was /strictly necessary (at least in Roman’s opinion).

“And a merry Christmas eve to you too, my darling,” Roman replied indignantly, gently pushing Logan out of the way and soaking in the warmth of the cabin. A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes a fire crackled softly in the grate, casting warm, dancing patterns across the inside of his eyelids as he turned, exposing his whole body to the heat, like a pig on a spit, happy to roast for a while.

A hand on his arm roused Roman to open his eyes to meet a pair of bespectacled ones. He leaned forwards for some kind of hello kiss, but Logan stopped him with a warm hand to his chest and a raised eyebrow. Logan looked at Roman’s lips. “You're bleeding,” he said plainly, turning towards the corner of the room sectioned off by a countertop which they optimistically called the kitchen. 

Roman peeked his tongue over his lips and felt a split down the bottom one. "So i am,” he said, equally as plainly (in proportion to their usual levels of exuberance, of course). The ice that had slowly begun to build up in his eyelashes was melting, and nature's own tears dripped down his face. He licked them from where they settled in the corners of his lips.

"Here," Logan said, handing him a damp paper towel, but when Roman reached out to take it, Logan clasped his hands with surprising urgency. "Your knuckles!" He said, looking increasingly concerned as Roman's icy fingers sucked the warmth from his own.

Roman looked down and was almost surprised himself that he hadn't been in some kind of fight, judging by the cracked and shredded skin on his hands.

"You should see the other guy," he chuckled, but Logan gave him a stern look.

"Hand cream and mittens," he said, somewhat absently as he began to look for the aforementioned items. "And for goodness sake get changed, you're soaked through."

"Care to help me with that," Roman smirked as he came up behind Logan and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

"Stop stealing my body heat and go!"

Rolling his eyes, Roman grabbed his bag and found one of the bedrooms (it wasn't hard, seeing as the two bedrooms made up half of the rooms in the house).

He rummaged through his rucksack, felt something soft and pulled. A pair of thick pyjama trousers, hoisted out by the ankle, were followed by a pyjama top that, by some cruel twist of fate (or perhaps Roman was just really bad at packing) did not match. Roman glared at the non-matching pyjamas as if it would make one of them change colour. 

They did not change colour. 

Disgusting.

Huffing and puffing, Roman pulled on the hateful garments, then shivered. Please say I packed a hoodie, he thought as he delved once more into the breach of his rucksack, once more, please easy I packed a hoodie.

His fingers touched something soft and he grabbed it and he pulled.

His bag pulled back.

He pulled harder, grunting with the effort, but his bag held on tight in its cruel game of tug-of-war.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked, standing with his arms folded in the doorway, his tone incredulous.

“This fiendish bag won't yield my hoodie!” Roman glared at the bag for a moment longer before shivering again. “I’m cold,” he said quietly.

“Of course you are,'' Logan sighed, coming forward and, somehow, and with no effort on his part at all, extracted the somewhat stretched hoodie from the bag and threw it gently to Roman.

He missed Roman entirely, so Roman picked it up off of the ground and slipped it over his head, hiding the unmatched pyjamas.

“Come on, you ridiculous human being you, your hot chocolate is getting cold.”

“No! Not the cocoa! You fiend!” Roman addressed winter as a season again, leaving Logan standing in the doorway, a little perplexed, but let's be honest, not surprised to be so.

Roman wanted to drink his hot chocolate then and there (I mean, who wouldn't) but Logan maintained that it could be reheated and stubbornly pushed the lotion into Roman’s hands.

Logan glared until he had put on so much hand cream that his skin stubbornly refused to absorb any more, leaving a slick over his hands that Logan immediately shoved into mittens. 

Roman winced at the strange, slimy feeling that that combination induced, but Logan continued to glare, so Roman quietly submitted.

"I've never felt more beautiful," Roman sighed, leaning back across Logan's legs and delicately resting the back of one slimy, mittened hand on his forehead.

"You're always beautiful," Logan said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from Roman's forehead and pretending not to be looking at him as his cheeks turned just a little but pink.

Roman didn't say anything. He thought he would, it seemed like the kind of time that he would, but he didn't.

---------

The rest of the evening was spent on the sofa. Roman finally got his hot chocolate, and Logan listened and nodded as he excitedly went on about some new idea or another, smiling in the right places as he had learned to do, but Roman could see that his eyes were somewhere else.

“What are you thinking about, my darling?”

Logan had a strange expression on his face, part confusion, and then a whole mix of other emotions that Roman couldn't quite make out.

“Why did you walk here?” he finally replied. “Virgil and Patton broke down in almost the same place, but they're waiting for a repair service. Why did you figuratively freeze yourself solid walking four miles through a snowstorm?”

Roman looked up at his lover's face, the harsh edges softened by the glow of the fire, and he genuinely felt his chest seize with the love for that ridiculous nerd that resided there.

“Because I knew that you would be here,” he answered plainly.

Logan let out one of those short, breathy laughs of incredulity and said, “you're a fool. I've fallen in love with a fool.”

---------

As the night crept in and the light faded, Logan read by the flickering light of the fire, as Roman had persisted that they should by no means turn on the lights. (the conversation went something like this:

“But it makes no sens-”

“But the aesTHETIC!”)

Roman began reading, but soon abandoned that in pursuit of just laying with his head in Logan's lap with his eyes closed. It was warm and quiet and Virgil and Patton still hadn't arrived, but apparently the repair person had just arrived and was giving them a lift. 

The door opened with its characteristically deafening squeak, and Roman was just about to lift his head to greet his friends when he heard, “sshh! He’s sleeping!”

Feeling nice and sneaky, Roman decided not to pick Logan upon this just yet.

Virgil snickered, Patton squealed, the door closed.

“Don't say a word," Logan muttered dangerously.

"I didn't say anything, dude." Roman could imagine Virgil holding his hands up in surrender with a smirk and hand to pretend to shift in his sleep to hide a grin.

"You two are just so darn adorable!" Although clearly intentionally breathy, Patton’s excited words could barely be called a whisper.

A weight shifted on the sofa and Roman felt a new hand brush some of the hair from his face and tried extra hard to look as asleep as he possibly could. Patton, he was willing to bet. Virgil always preferred to fling his legs over the arms of the armchair across the room.

"He walked halfway here," Logan murmured, sounding fond, but ultimately unimpressed. 

“Goodness gracious, the poor thing.”

“Idiot.”

Roman bit his tongue.

“This is gonna be the best Christmas ever!”

“If we don’t freeze to death first.” Roman heard Virgil clamber up from his chair, presumably in search of blankets.

“You gave it your best shot,” Logan muttered, just loud enough for Roman to hear (if he was awake of course). Roman decided that asleep people could still squeeze gently and affirmatively on people's hands, so he did. Logan didn't stop stroking his hair, so he figured that he got away with it.

“Could I have one too please my Spooky Sweetheart?”

“Sure thing. Logan?”

“No thank you, I'm evoking William Harvey at this precise moment.”

Silence.

“William Harvey? Civil War doctor? Bodies for blankets- you know what, never mind.”

Presumably Virgil came back with the (non-corpse, thanks for that image, darling) blankets, and the soft chatter slowly dissolved into gentle, steady breathing of sleep.

Roman suddenly felt a wave of contentment wash over him. Drowsily, he felt around for Logan's hand and brought it close to his face. It was warm. He heard Logan sigh somewhere above him, but felt his fingers gently cup his chin. 

Real sleep crept closer and closer, and he knew that when he woke up, Christmas day would be ever so, ever so sweet.

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

Taglist (tellme if you want to be added or removed):

@celeste-tyrrell @uwillbeefoundtonight @stop-it-anxiety @soakinforsif @combine-the-kitchens @randomavengersquotes

[erisbaek]

Stucky Fic Rec [Part Two]

Here is part two of the fic rec, as promised by today! I don’t know how many parts this will be since I am constantly reading new fics, and adding them. Every fic added to this rec I have read, and would recommend, therefore they are my personal preference (meaning typically longer than 10k, and very few - if any - shrinkyclinks and ABO) Same as last time, I will provide the Google Doc link where I update the rec regularly, but if you’d prefer it formatted here, it is under the cut!

Google Doc Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/10wqr5s-CzkFzLidQgt-y4-cjudHWwVeVPWCedMjK7t0/edit

If you want to recommend fics, you can do that as well! I only add fics that I’ve read. 

Watch Them Rolling Back

         Word Count: 16.9k          Rating: Teen and Up          Notable Tags: Post Infinity War, Canon Divergence          Warnings: Temporary Character Death          Synopsis: Bucky was just here, he was right here. This can’t be all that’s left. Well, it’s not all that’s left, not quite. There, in the pile of ash that used to be Bucky Barnes, already drifting to scatter across the soil of Wakanda, to dissipate in the air, to be nothing but dust on Steve’s hands and in his gasping mouth and in his lungs—left there, in that ash and dirt, are his gun, and his left arm, gleaming dully in the sunshine.

Hey Bartender, Pour ‘Em Hot Tonight

           Word Count: 22.9k            Rating: Mature            Notable Tags: Bartender!Bucky, Patron!Steve           Warnings: Smut           Synopsis: Steve looks down and catches sight of a bright pink drink in a hurricane glass. Moisture is beaded on the outside, and the cool feel of it is nice on Steve’s sweaty hand as he picks up the monstrosity Sam has ordered for him.

“What the hell is this?” Steve asks, a disbelieving smile on his face. “You couldn’t just order me a beer?” “You said to surprise you,” Sam smirks. “And you made me wait.” “But what is it?” Steve repeats, and is answered by a deep, unfamiliar voice. “It’s a Singapore Sling,” the man behind the bar is smiling. “Not what you were expecting?” In which Bucky is a bartender and Steve is immediately smitten. He's not the only one.

Roommate Wanted 

            Word Count: 61.7k             Rating: Teen and Up             Notable Tags: Roomate!AU, Secret Identity             Warnings: None             Synopsis: As Captain America, he’s one of New York’s finest heroes. But as regular old Steve Rogers? Nothing more than a struggling graphic designer who can't quite pay rent anymore. The solution? Get a roommate. Enter Bucky Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, ex-brainwashed assassin turned hero trying to make up for his violent past. He needs a place to stay - preferably with a roommate who wouldn't mind his weird hours. Seems like the perfect match. Only problem? Neither knows the other is a hero.

These Streets

          Word Count: 5.4k                        Rating: Mature           Notable Tags: Cop!Steve            Warnings: Smut           Synopsis: The life and times of Police Officer Steve Rogers and his dealings with the not so classy residents of his local precinct, including Bucky Barnes, the rough muscle with the dreamy blue eyes.

(A Silent Prayer) Like Dreamers Do

             Word Count: 12.5k             Rating: Mature             Notable Tags: Soulmate!AU, Shrunkyclunks              Warnings: None             Synopsis: Everyone has a soulmate. Everyone. Since the counsel has been keeping records, there has been one exception to that rule, and considering the man, no one was very surprised. After all, Captain America, ne Steve Rogers, was the exception to all the rules. So when he plunged into the Atlantic in a plane loaded with enough explosives to take out the entire Eastern Seaboard, the nation mourned him, but the counsel breathed a sigh of relief. Their perfect record - a soulmate for everyone - was intact. When Bucky is five or six or seven, he has his first bonding dream.

The Tipping Point

             Word Count: 16.8k              Rating: Teen and Up              Notable Tags: Not CACW Compliant, Touch Starved              Warnings: None              Synopsis: Bucky shows up at Steve's door a week after he pulled him out of the Potomac. He brings his cat with him. Eventually, they stay.

Victims and Victories

             Word Count: 14.7k              Rating: Explicit             Notable Tags: Army!Steve,, Mechanic!Bucky             Warnings: Past Abusive Relationship, Mentions of R*pe/Non-Con, Assault              Synopsis: Steve Rogers is an Army Special Forces Captain. Bucky Barnes, former marine sniper, restores and sells old cars in his spare time. They meet one day when Steve is on a run and Bucky is running from his abusive ex. Steve turns out to be exactly what Bucky needs.

Strange Visitor (From Another Time)

             Word Count: 51.1k              Rating: Explicit               Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Hidden Identity, Reporter!Bucky, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers              Warnings: Slight Smut             Synopsis: James Barnes, rising star reporter of the New York Bulletin, has a plan. One, find out all there is to know about New York's newest vigilante Nomad, starting with his true identity. Two, write a masterful piece about it. Three, win a Pulitzer and become the envy of all his peers. Four, enjoy. Or, you know, something like that. One thing's for certain, though: he sure as hell isn't going to let that fucking asshole newbie Grant O'Connor steal his spotlight.

I Will Remember You

          Word Count: 15.4k           Rating: Teen and Up           Notable Tags: Temporary Amnesia           Warnings: None           Synopsis: Bucky is James now, and it takes Steve losing his memory to bring them back together He stares at the man, curious and wondering. “Who are you?”  “James Barnes.”  The man’s voice, and the way he shapes his consonants—soft and smooth and just a touch foreign—is almost, but not quite, familiar.  “Are we friends too?” he asks. “Yeah.” Huh. The way his body’s responding to James doesn’t seem very friend-like.

Travelling Light 

           Word Count: 56.8k            Notable Tags: Angel!Bucky, Dark Fantasy, Bonding            Warnings: Canonical Character Death, Smut            Synopsis: When Steve wakes up, it is a surprise. The last thing he remembers is the bottom of the lake, sharp teeth and yellow eyes, and the cold pressure of not being able to breathe. But he isn’t dead. He didn’t drown. He is not in the water anymore. Instead, he is warm, very much alive, and wrapped in a cocoon of feathers. He’s also naked. And with a man lying right next to him.

La Belle et la Bête

             Word Count: 66.7k              Rating: Explicit               Notable Tags: Beauty and the Beast!AU, Forced Marriage, Veteran!Bucky              Warnings: Body Horror, Smut              Synopsis: Steven Rogers was born in 18th century Ireland to a mother who knew herbs and the old ways. After she passes, Steve asks for aid and gets more than he bargained for. He’s cursed into the form of a beast by day and given 300 years to prove to the fae enchantress that such a thing as true love exists. If he can’t prove it, he’ll be whisked back to her realm and be forced to marry her. He can try to find love with whomever he wants, but they have to fall in love with him without seeing his human face for a year and a day. He spends hundreds of years searching, but so far, no one seems worth the risk. Bucky Barnes is a grumpy war vet whose sister is dying. Desperate, he goes in search of a flower that can save her, but the cost is higher than he anticipated: His sister’s life in exchange for his. When he returns to keep his side of the bargain, nothing in the mansion is what it seems.

Captain America and the Great Pygmalion Debacle

             Word Count: 31.7k              Rating: Explicit               Notable Tags: Friends to Lovers, Slow Build              Warnings: Smut              Synopsis: Bucky absolutely refuses to cut his hair and for the life of him Steve can't understand why. The reason? There's nothing in this world Bucky loves more than having Steve brush it...

Breath I’ll Take, and Breath I’ll Give

              Word Count: 17.1k               Rating: Mature               Notable Tags: Post CATWS               Warnings: PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts               Synopsis: It's starting to get harder for Steve to find reasons to get out of bed in the morning.

Lucky Seven

              Word Count: 94.3k               Rating: Explicit               Notable Tags:  Shrunkyclunks, Mechanic!Bucky, Russian!Bucky, Slow Burn                Warnings: Smut               Synopsis: Captain America trashes his motorcycle a lot. Tony says he'll fix it, then never gets around to it and just buys him a new one. Steve, the Depression-era kid, can't stand the waste and goes looking for somewhere near him in Brooklyn where he can get his bike fixed. That's how he finds Red Star Bike Repair, and the hot Russian-immigrant bike racer who runs it: all long hair and muscles and tattoos. And for the first time since he woke from the ice, Steve feels a connection to someone; a comfort in the other man's silences and his space, an attraction in his sheer skill at racing. But James Barnes isn't exactly who he seems…

The Arsonist’s Choir

            Word Count: 11.9k             Rating: Explicit             Notable Tags: Post CACW, (Kind of) Fake Marriage             Warnings: Smut             Synopsis: "It's Bucky," Steve added, helplessly. The buyer was now sitting at Mikhailov's table, but the mission seemed unimportant. "He's been arrested. In Texas. And, uh, apparently, we're married." "Congratulations," Natasha replied, with a small grin. "Are you registered anywhere?"

What a Dizzy Dance

          Word Count: 30.7k           Rating: Explicit           Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Model!Bucky, Neighbours!AU           Warnings: Smut           Synopsis: An AU where Bucky is a model but Steve is still Steve. They live next to each other and Bucky keeps accidentally stealing Steve's cat.

Separating Me From You

         Word Count: 14.8k          Rating: Mature          Notable Tags: Post CATWS          Warnings: None          Synopsis: After Bucky's recovery, in the face of SHIELD's rebirth, and as all the Avengers have found themselves at a comfortable place with themselves and each other, it should have occurred to Steve that something would go wrong. However, he could have never guessed that trouble would come in the form of the US Army deciding that, because Steve had signed himself over for Project Rebirth, he was technically still the property of the US Government. Property that they wanted to claim.

The Sweetest Spark

         Word Count: 73.1k          Rating: Explicit          Notable Tags: Modern!AU, Age Difference, No Powers          Warnings: Smut          Synopsis: Steve Rogers runs a successful business. He has great friends and a great life. It seems like he has it all. So why is he sitting in a diner on a Friday night alone? Maybe he's just a little lonely. Maybe Bucky Barnes can help with that. ----- It wasn’t just how he looked. Of course, the fact that he was ridiculously stunning was what Steve had noticed first when he’d spotted him across the diner and had left him staring with his mouth open before he’d realised what he was doing, but how could he not?...

A Memory Like a Haunting

           Word Count: 28.6k            Rating: Explicit            Notable Tags: Time Travel            Warnings: Smut            Synopsis: “Why is Bucky’s line disconnected?” Steve asks. “Steve, who are you talking about?” Clint asks. Steve glares at him. “Bucky. You know. The Winter Soldier. My boyfriend. Long hair, metal arm. Come on, guys, this isn’t funny.” “No one is laughing,” Natasha replies. “There is no one called the ‘Winter Soldier,’ and if you have a boyfriend, you certainly haven’t introduced him to us.” “JARVIS, can you tell me if Bucky is in the building?” he asks instead of responding to Nat. There is a long pause and then JARVIS’ clear voice comes down from the ceiling. “I have no records of anyone who goes by the name ‘Bucky’ entering the building.” Or: Steve wakes from a nightmare only to find that Bucky no longer exists.

Honeymoon Cabin

          Word Count: 16.8k           Rating: Explicit           Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Post Avengers, Veteran!Bucky           Warnings: Smut            Synopsis: After a misunderstanding about the rental availability of the famed Honeymoon Cabin, two lonely men end up falling in love during a winter snowstorm that strands them in the same place.

[noorakardemmomesaetre]

Through The Snowfall 

Or Read It On AO3 

Pairing: Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones

Summary: The Coopers and Andrews have rented the same cabin in the woods every holiday season since their kids were two years old. 

And with Archie and Betty leaving for college in just a few months, Betty is determined to make this Christmas a memorable one…by telling Archie how she really feels.

What she doesn’t plan for is Archie bringing his best friend. 

Or the way her gaze is suddenly lingering on the wild dark curls peeking out from beneath a crown beanie rather than the ginger spikes she’d set her sights on so long ago.

Chapter One: Moonlight 

She wrings her hands together in front of her body as she takes a shallow breath and straightens her shoulders. 

“Archie,” she begins softly, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth nervously before releasing it to continue. “I like you. Like really like you. I have for a long time now.” 

Her reflection stares back at her blankly and if that’s any indication as to how this confession is going to go she’d rather shove her hand in a garbage disposal. 

Shaking her head, Betty turns on the faucet and splashes the cool water on her heated cheeks in an effort to relax. When that’s not enough, she turns to the clawfoot bathtub behind her and begins running the water, tossing in a lavender rose bath bomb. There are dried petals laced throughout and watching them rise to the top of the now swirling purple water begins to calm her nerves. 

She can do this. 

She’s spent two weeks of every winter holiday break with Archie Andrews for the past fifteen years, since they were both running about this very same cabin in their diapers and ugly toddler-sized Christmas sweaters. 

Though they had never been able to spend more time together than that, they’d grown closer every winter and a few years ago they’d declared themselves the best of friends. This had lead to the occasional impromptu FaceTime conversation, encouraging texts before her school paper article releases and his important football games, and even a phone call before bed if either of them were feeling especially anxious. 

Her family had moved to Connecticut, away from their hometown of Riverdale, when she was two years old due to her father’s new job. Archie and his family had remained in Riverdale, which had only broken her mother, Alice, and Archie’s mother, Mary’s, hearts. They’d quickly decided they couldn’t bear not to come up with an annual reason for the families to spend an extended amount of time together and after several glasses of wine and much research, the ladies had decided on a yearly holiday trip to a little upscale town outside of Whistler, Canada. 

She peels off her pajamas and undergarments as soon as the water fills the tub and the hot water is exactly what she needs to quiet her overactive mind. She tilts her head back against the tub rim and runs her fingers absentmindedly through the colorful bubbles atop the water.  

The chime of her cell phone interrupts her efforts and she glances at the device resting on the small side table near the tub. 

Reaching out to see who the message is from, a small smile forms on her lips when she recognizes the name. 

V: Is three full suitcases too many for this winter wonderland vacation? Be honest. 

Betty rolls her eyes and chuckles to herself as she imagines her - and she means this in the kindest of ways - high maintenance best friend dragging all of these suitcases up their snowed in cabin driveway. 

B: I’d strongly advise cutting back to two. 

V: Please tell me you’re joking. 

B: Are you packing with Cher? Only she could convince you to pack that much for a two week trip 

V: Fine. Cutting back to two and a carry on! 

Betty smiles and closes her eyes once more, about to set her phone back on the nightstand when the sound of her phone pings once more. 

Cher: @ me next time, Betty Dearest. 

B: 😘

Betty grins at the fact that her best friends are currently together and turns the sound off of her phone in an effort to focus on the relaxation she’d drawn this bath for in the first place. 

The steam from the tub has been rising against her face and she welcomes the warmth and the invigorated way it makes her skin feel. She’s wondering whether she should apply a deep clean clay face mask - one can never look too refreshed and moisturized when professing their longtime feelings for their even longertime friend - when she spots her phone lighting up out of the corner of her eye. 

Groaning, she’s about to flip it over until her heart begins to thump erratically. 

Archie: packing to see u tomorrow 

B: Shouldn’t you already be packed? I thought your plane was leaving around noon! 

Archie: it is! considered packing in the morn but gotta get in that last work out u know 

Betty smiles to herself, knowing she hasn’t seen him in an entire year and she’s sure football has been working wonders on his already impressive body. Although, she’s never been that interested in overly muscular guys…but this is Archie. It’s different. Right? She brushes the thought away as she runs her tongue along her bottom lip and decides whether she should take a little risk with this next text. 

B: I’m excited to see you tomorrow :)

Archie: same. see u then ;) 

She tries not to overanalyze the winky face emoji as she sinks further into her now lukewarm bath. 

__________________

Veronica arrives promptly at 3:00PM and Betty rushes out the front door the moment she sees Veronica’s private driver pull into the driveway. She looks like a picturesque beauty snow queen as she steps from the car in a lovely periwinkle snow jacket and matching beret, but the second she sees Betty, she squeals excitedly. 

They throw their arms around each other in a tight hug as though they hadn’t just seen each other at school a few days ago. Veronica had agreed to come with Betty on vacation this year as soon as Betty had asked and she knows it’s because Veronica’s home life is currently a parental war zone. 

She also knows she’ll have to ask more about that later. 

“Oh, Betty! This cabin is absolutely gorgeous! I can already feel how cozy it is from here,” she says approvingly as she waves for her driver to follow behind her with her bags. 

Betty wonders if she should help him, but he seems to have an understanding with Veronica and follows suit. 

“It’s so wonderful! Mom has the fire going and wait until you see our bathroom,” Betty gushes as Veronica loops her arm through hers. “We even have a clawfoot bathtub!” 

They make their way inside and Veronica tips her driver an amount of money in cash that Betty’s only seen a couple of times in her entire life. Alice rushes over to squeeze Veronica tightly while berating her for not wearing a heavier jacket with these freezing temperatures. 

Hal brings her into a quick hug and lets her know that he’s got a pot roast cooking in the crockpot for dinner, if she’s interested. 

Betty’s laying on her stomach across Veronica’s bed in their large shared room on the second floor of the cabin, her ankles crossed as she swings her feet gently back and forth. Veronica is unpacking and chattering on about the latest drama with her parents before she shakes her head.

“Okay, enough of that! When is the infamous Archie Andrews coming?” 

Betty’s cheeks warm as she rests her head against a pillow and looks up at her best friend. “Around 8:00PM, I think? That’s when we’re expecting them anyways.” 

“I’m so excited to meet the boy you haven’t stopped gushing about since you fell for him three years ago,” Veronica says, giving her a teasing smile. “He better be everything you’ve amped him up to be.”

“No pressure,” Betty groans, tugging the pillow from beneath her and smacking her friend with it. Veronica laughs and tosses a pair of rolled up pantyhose at Betty’s head. 

“Do you think you’ll tell him tonight?”

“Of course. The earlier I tell him the more time we get to spend together,” Betty replies happily before grimacing. “Or the longer amount of time I have to face rejection.” 

“He won’t reject you.” Veronica arches an eyebrow dramatically and purses her lips as she says, “unless he’s a complete idiot.” 

Betty laughs just as Alice waltzes into their bedroom and she fights the urge to ask her mother if she has any idea knocking exists. 

“Elizabeth, darling, have you told Veronica about the Snowflake Soirée?” 

“Not yet, Mother.”

“Oh, do tell, Mrs. Cooper!” Veronica sits down next to Betty, crosses her legs, and smiles up at Alice, clearly excited about the prospect of an event. 

“Every Christmas Eve, everyone in this little town dresses to the nines and heads down the road for an upscale evening party. There’s dinner, decorations, dancing, champagne!” Alice is currently opening her drawers and refolding the sweaters Betty already folded yesterday and she curls her fingers into fists to keep from snapping. 

“That sounds absolutely wonderful! B, you could go with Archie!” Veronica claps her hands excitedly as Betty’s eyes widen in her direction, attempting to send an ohmygod, not in front of my mom, V! message. 

Alice finishes with the last of Betty’s sweaters before flashing Veronica a bright smile of approval. “That is a great idea, Veronica. Elizabeth, be sure to straighten your shoulders when the Andrews arrive, slouching makes you look lazy and indifferent.” 

She plants a kiss atop Betty’s head before waltzing out of their bedroom door and Betty’s nails are now threatening to pierce the skin of her palms. 

“She makes my mother look like a nominee for Mommy of the Year,” Veronica scoffs, making Betty chuckle as Veronica reaches over to clasp her hands in hers, somewhat effectively releasing the tension in her fingers. 

“Do you want to FaceTime Cher?” she asks in an attempt to distract Betty from her mother’s whirlwind appearance. “She and Toni are dying to see the cabin and you know they’ve been snowed in at Thistle House for the past two days.” 

FaceTiming Cheryl and her girlfriend, Toni, lightens Betty’s mood until she forgets about her mother’s controlling ways and can only think about the impending arrival of the Andrews. 

__________________

Betty and Veronica are sitting on the loveseat admiring the cabin’s over-the-top holiday decorations and sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows from festive mugs when the Andrews pull into the driveway in their rental Jeep. 

Betty pulls at her black tights anxiously as her father swings open the front door. 

“Fred! It’s been far too long, my friend!” The men embrace as Betty and Veronica stand and Betty finds herself smiling. Fred Andrews has always been nothing but kind to her and today is no different. He greets her with a bear hug before turning to hug Veronica, a girl he’s never even met. 

“How are you, Betty?” he asks and she knows the question is genuine. 

“I’m good, Mr. Andrews! Excited for these next couple of weeks off.”

“I already told Mary I’ll be sleeping until 11:00AM everyday,” he says with a look of defiance and the girls can’t help but giggle as Mary comes bustling into the house with a few containers of home baked Christmas cookies. 

“And I’ve already told him he will absolutely not be doing that,” Mary says loudly, making Fred huff teasingly before heading back out to bring in their bags. Mary hugs Betty and introduces herself to Veronica before adding, “honestly, he couldn’t sleep that late if he tried.”

Betty’s trying to focus on what Archie’s parents are saying, but her eyes dart to the front door at any sign of movement and she tucks a few loose strands of hair behind her ear nervously. 

“I see him!” Veronica whispers excitedly, standing on her tiptoes to see through the branches of the elaborate and large Christmas tree Alice and Hal had been working on all morning. 

Archie barrels through the door, not a moment later, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a wide smile on his face. Betty’s heartbeat quickens and her face breaks into a wide grin at the sight of him. 

But he looks...different. 

His muscles are large and defined now from his football training and instead of the cropped haircut she’s used to, his hair is coiffed to perfection. He spots her out of the corner of his eye and his entire face lights up. 

“Betty!” He makes his way over and quickly wraps her in a huge hug, his arms and body enveloping her petite frame. She giggles into his chest, happy that, at the very least, he smells familiar. Like a dash of men’s cologne and spearmint. “Still rockin that ponytail?” 

He releases her and she rolls her eyes, shoving him playfully. “Archie, this is my best friend, Veronica Lodge.” 

She’s now hyper-aware of her ponytail swinging gently behind her, brushing her shoulders. Does he not like the ponytail? Should she wear her hair down more often? But the ponytail is her signature look…

Her thoughts are interrupted as an unfamiliar feeling of dread settles in the pit of her stomach. Veronica has stepped forward, slipping her hand in his in a formal greeting that Archie seems all too eager to take part in. 

“Veronica? Betty’s told me a lot about you.” 

“Oh, I’m sure she has,” Veronica answers easily, tilting her head and smiling that 100 watt Lodge smile. He smiles back, but there’s a curiosity behind his eyes that makes Betty’s fingers close into fists once again. 

It’s not that she hadn’t thought about this predicament occurring when she’d invited Veronica, but she had convinced herself that Archie’s wandering eye only applied when she wasn’t in the room. Standing right next to him. 

“Shit.” 

There’s a commotion near the front door and Betty immediately turns around to find another guy their age attempting to pull what looks to be the Andrews’ small wagon overfilled with gifts through the front door. 

“Oh, son, I should’ve helped you with that!” Fred and Hal immediately move to where the guy has managed to get it halfway through the front door.

Archie is laughing as he watches the scene unfold, his eyes glittering in amusement. “Oh, Betty, you remember me telling you I was bringing Jughead, right?” 

Betty’s eyebrows furrow because she absolutely does not remember this. She does remember that Jughead is Archie’s best friend from home, but she’s never actually met or seen the guy. 

“Jughead, come meet the girls!” 

Jughead drops his own duffel bag near the front door, shaking hands with Hal and Fred before he turns around and shakes his head in fake irritation at his best friend’s lack of assistance with the wagon. 

Betty’s mouth parts. 

She’d always assumed that a boy named “Jughead” could only be some weird Jeffrey Dahmer-esque kid covered in dirt who curses loudly and demands extra meat with every meal. 

But Jughead is nothing like what she had spent the last few years imagining whenever Archie spoke of him. 

He’s handsome. 

Tall and lean with a smile that tugs on the corners of his mouth as though his happiness is a secret only a few are privileged to know. A worn gray beanie in what looks like a misshapen crown rests atop his head in an attempt to tame the wild dark waves peeking from beneath it and falling just above his eyes. 

“Hey, you must be Betty Cooper,” he says as he closes the space between them, tugging his snow-dusted gloves off and shoving them into the pockets of his flannel jacket before offering his hand to shake. “My sole competition for Archie’s friendship.” 

Veronica nudges her and she finally blinks, registering the introduction. She slides her hand into his and, despite the fact that he’d just had gloves on, is surprised to find that his hand is warm and soft. She smiles at him and shakes her head causing her ponytail to swing gently once again. 

“That’s sweet that you think you’re any competition at all.” 

He chuckles good-naturedly, his free hand moving to tug at one of the points on his crown beanie and her heart suddenly feels warm. She’d made him laugh. 

“I guess we’ll have to let Archie decide.” 

“Then I guess we’ll never know.” 

“Touché.” His playful smile widens at their shared knowledge of Archie’s indecisiveness being an obvious character trait.

After another few seconds her gaze follows his to where their hands are still currently interlocked in what could now be debatably referred to as the longest first meeting handshake of all time. 

His grip is warm but lax, as though he’s waiting for her to make the move to break the contact and she feels her cheeks burn. 

She immediately drops his hand and turns to Archie and Veronica, who are now both watching them with curious expressions. 

“This is my best friend, Veronica Lodge.” Betty introduces them and quickly moves next to Archie in order to put some space between herself and his best friend.

“Is that Alice’s famous hot chocolate?” Archie asks suddenly and Alice confirms from across the room that it is and that both of the boys should come grab a mug. 

They make their way over to the kitchen and Betty swallows audibly, touching the ends of her ponytail that fall against her shoulder. She’s watching Archie talk animatedly as he adds marshmallows to his mug, his arms flexing in his long-sleeved Under Armour shirt even from the small movement. 

But then her gaze shifts to where Jughead has shrugged out of his large flannel jacket, nodding along with whatever Archie’s saying as he grabs one of the cookies from Mary’s tupperware. 

“He is good looking,” Veronica observes next to her and it takes a moment for Betty to realize who she’s talking about. 

Archie. 

“Yeah, he is,” she confirms, turning back to the small table where they’d left their own mugs of hot chocolate resting. 

“So...are you still planning to profess your love for him tonight?” 

Laughter from the kitchen fills the air and Betty immediately looks in the direction of the sound, the tips of her ears burning. Jughead. 

“Um...no,” she decides suddenly, ignoring the look of confusion crossing Veronica’s face. “Maybe not tonight.” 

___________________

happy december everyone! ☃️❄️

thank you for giving this little holiday fic a chance! it’s been a ton of fun to write and i hope it adds a little Christmas cheer to your holiday season. 

i strongly advise enjoying with a mug of hot chocolate - extra marshmallows 

xx B