#the windows frosted you just can’t tell trust me

[tunamuffiin]

🚂

[lila-lou]

✨Family✨

Summary: This Christmas is your first with Emily, Beau’s teenage daughter. Between her shy smiles and sharp wit, she’s learning to trust you, and you’re creating a home together.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Beau x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 3377

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, filling the air with a cozy warmth that made the chill of the Montana winter seem far away. Emily stood next to you, carefully arranging cookies on a tray. Her focus was intense, her tongue poking out slightly as she concentrated on making each cookie look just right. It was the kind of detail about her that always made you smile—a reminder that, even at sixteen, she still had that playful spark beneath her teenage independence.

“You think Dad’s gonna notice if I sneak one of these?”, she asked, glancing at you with a sly grin.

You laughed, rolling out another batch of dough. “Oh, he’ll notice. Beau’s got a sixth sense when it comes to cookies. Besides, don’t you want to save some for tonight?”.

Emily groaned dramatically, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “Fine. But the gingerbread man with the crooked smile is mine. Calling it now”.

Through the frosted kitchen window, you could see Beau and Cole outside in the snow. Your three-year-old son was bundled up so tightly in his navy-blue coat and matching hat that he looked like a tiny snowball himself. He was giggling uncontrollably as Beau helped him roll a massive snowball for the base of their snowman. Beau’s laughter was just as loud, echoing across the yard, a warm contrast to the cold landscape. You could see the way his breath fogged in the air as he crouched down, ruffling Cole’s hair every time he clapped his mittens together in excitement.

Emily noticed you watching them and sighed, setting the spatula down. “They’re having way more fun than we are. Why do we get kitchen duty?”.

You smirked and nudged her playfully with your elbow. “Because you agreed cookies were more important than frostbite”.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “That was before I realized how boring baking is. I don’t know how you do this for fun”.

“It’s not boring if you put your heart into it”, you teased. “Besides, you can’t tell me those cookies don’t look amazing. You’re doing great”.

Emily looked at the tray, a hint of pride creeping into her expression. “Yeah, I guess they do. And I’ll admit… it’s kinda nice being here”. Her voice softened at the end, almost like she was testing the words out.

You paused, glancing at her carefully. It hadn’t been an easy adjustment for Emily. This was her first Christmas with you, Beau, and Cole—her first away from her mom. While she didn’t talk about it much, you could tell it weighed on her. The little things gave her away: the far-off look she got sometimes, the way she’d hesitate before fully relaxing around you.

“I’m glad you’re here”, you said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s different, but it wouldn’t feel right without you”.

Emily shrugged, but you caught the flicker of a smile. “Thanks. I mean, it’s not bad or anything… I just—”. She stopped herself and focused back on the cookies. “It’s nice to feel like part of something, you know?”.

Your heart ached for her in that moment. She’d been through so much this past year, but she’d held it together with a strength that amazed you. “You are part of something”, you said gently. “And we wouldn’t trade you for the world”.

Emily didn’t respond, but her shoulders relaxed just a little, and that was enough.

Outside, Beau lifted Cole onto his shoulders, spinning him around as the little boy shouted with glee. The snowman project had apparently been abandoned in favor of an impromptu snowball fight, with Beau pretending to dodge the tiny handfuls of snow Cole tossed at him. The sight made you laugh, and Emily turned to the window, her expression softening as she watched her dad and Cole.

“They’re such dorks”, she said, but there was no malice in her voice—just affection.

“That they are”, you agreed, sliding the tray of cookies into the oven. “But they’re our dorks”.

Emily smiled, a small, genuine one that made you feel like maybe things were starting to fall into place. This Christmas might not be what any of you had imagined, but for the first time, it felt like the start of something real, something good.

Eventually, you set the rolling pin down, brushing flour off your hands as a mischievous grin spread across your face. Emily looked up, raising a curious brow.

“What?”, she asked, watching as you wiped your hands on a towel.

You nodded toward the door, your grin growing. “Come on”, you said, a playful spark in your voice. “Let’s show them what a real snowball fight looks like”.

Emily’s face lit up, and for the first time all day, she looked completely carefree. “Oh, you’re on”, she said, already tugging her sleeves down to head for her coat.

The two of you quickly bundled up, Emily grabbing a pair of mismatched gloves and tugging them on as you zipped up your jacket. The moment you stepped outside, the icy air nipped at your cheeks, but the laughter from Beau and Cole made it easy to forget the cold. They were crouched behind a pile of snow, clearly in the middle of their “battle”. Cole had a snowball in each hand, and Beau was dramatically shielding himself, shouting, “Mercy! Mercy!”, as Cole pelted him with what looked like more powder than ice.

“They’re not even going to see it coming”, you whispered to Emily, who crouched beside you, already scooping up a handful of snow.

“Divide and conquer?”, she suggested, her grin matching yours.

“Always”, you replied.

Together, you moved swiftly, using the yard’s uneven snow piles as cover. You watched as Emily targeted Beau first, her snowball hitting him square in the shoulder. He whipped around, stunned.

“What the—”, he started, before you launched your own snowball, catching him in the chest.

“Reinforcements?!”, Beau shouted, laughing as he scrambled to grab snow. “Oh, you two are in trouble now!”.

Cole, catching on to the new dynamic, screamed with delight. “Get ‘em, Daddy!”.

But Emily was fast. She ducked behind a snowbank, expertly avoiding Beau’s counterattack. Meanwhile, you were busy distracting him, tossing snowball after snowball, laughing so hard you could barely aim.

“You think you can take me down?”, Beau called, his Southern drawl coming out in full force as he lobbed a snowball in your direction. “I’m the king of snowball fights!”.

“King? You’ve already been dethroned!”, you shouted back, dodging his throw and quickly crafting another snowball.

Emily, ever the opportunist, took advantage of Beau’s focus on you. She came out of nowhere, launching a snowball right at the back of his head. The soft thud of snow hitting his hat was met with a stunned silence before he turned slowly, his mouth open in mock betrayal.

“Et tu, Emily?”, he said dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded.

“Every man—or dad—for himself!”, Emily shouted, laughing so hard she could barely keep her balance.

Meanwhile, Cole was toddling over to you with his own version of a snowball, which was really just a clump of powdery fluff. He tossed it at your leg, giggling uncontrollably. “Gotcha, Mommy!”.

“Oh no, I’m hit!”, you cried, pretending to stumble backward into the snow. Cole squealed with joy, climbing onto your legs to “finish the job”.

Beau took the opportunity to scoop Emily into his arms, spinning her around as she shrieked, “No fair! No fair!”. The laughter echoed across the yard, a perfect mix of chaos and joy.

By the time you all called a truce, your cheeks were red, your gloves soaked, and your sides ached from laughing. Beau walked over, his arm slinging around your shoulders as Cole clung to his leg, still chattering about his “big win”. Emily joined you, shaking the snow out of her hair and grinning like she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Well”, Beau said, his voice warm and low, “I don’t know about you, but I think that might’ve been the best snowball fight this family’s ever seen”.

“It’s the only snowball fight this family’s ever seen”, Emily pointed out, but the teasing tone in her voice made it clear she’d loved every second.

You leaned into Beau, glancing at the three of them, your little makeshift family. “Well, I guess we’ve set the bar pretty high, haven’t we?”.

Beau smiled down at you, his eyes soft. “Good thing we’ve got plenty more years to top it”.

And as the four of you trudged back inside, shedding wet coats and boots, you couldn’t help but feel it: the warmth, the laughter, the love. This was Christmas. This was home.

Inside, the warmth of the house quickly thawed the chill from your cheeks. Snow clung stubbornly to Cole’s little hat and mittens, and his face was flushed bright red from the cold and laughter. Beau grinned as he scooped him up, effortlessly hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Cole squealed, kicking his legs playfully as Beau said, “Alright, buddy, time to get you warmed up and in some dry clothes before you turn into a popsicle”.

You followed them up the stairs with Emily trailing behind, her footsteps light and quiet as she watched the scene unfold. Beau pushed the bathroom door open with his elbow, still holding Cole, and plopped him down on the edge of the tub. The little boy wiggled as you knelt down next to him, gently brushing the snowflakes from his hair.

“Hold still, Cole”, you said, laughing as he squirmed. “We’re trying to help you, you know”.

“But I’m not cold!”, Cole protested, giggling as Beau wrestled with the tiny, wet socks that clung stubbornly to his feet.

“Not cold, huh?”, Beau teased, holding up one soggy sock like it was evidence in a trial. “Then what do you call this, Mr. Snowman? A fashion statement?”.

Cole’s laughter filled the small bathroom as he tried to kick his feet free, but Beau caught them easily, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve been like this since you were born, you know. Always wiggling around, never staying still”.

“Cause I’m fast!”, Cole declared proudly, pumping his little fists in the air.

“You’re definitely something”, Beau muttered, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he finally got the last sock off. “Now, let’s get you into some dry clothes before you speed your way into a cold”.

Emily leaned casually against the doorway, her arms crossed as she watched the two of you fuss over Cole. There was something soft in her expression, though she tried to mask it with her usual teenage coolness.

“You two are such parents”, she said, her tone laced with mock judgment.

You glanced back at her with a smirk. “Is that a bad thing?”.

Emily shrugged, but there was no edge to it. “No. Just… funny, I guess. You’re both so good at it”.

Her words made you pause for a moment, your heart swelling. It wasn’t often that Emily said things like that—openly kind and vulnerable. You met her gaze and gave her a warm smile. “Well, we’ve had a lot of practice with this one”, you said, nodding toward Cole, who was now giggling uncontrollably as Beau tickled his belly while trying to pull his shirt over his head.

Beau looked up at Emily, his grin wide. “And for the record, I’d say we’re pretty good at being your parents too. Even if you don’t let us put your socks on”.

Emily rolled her eyes, but you caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting back a smile. “I think I can manage my socks, thanks”.

“Good to know”, Beau replied, finally managing to get Cole into a clean, dry shirt. He scooped the little boy back into his arms and stood, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Cole’s head. “There. Warm and toasty, just like a marshmallow”.

“I’m a marshmallow!”, Cole shouted, making you and Beau laugh.

Emily chuckled too, though she tried to hide it behind a shake of her head. “You’re all ridiculous”, she said, turning toward the hallway.

You stood, brushing your hands on your jeans, and caught up with her as Beau carried Cole back down. “Ridiculous, maybe”, you said softly, nudging her shoulder with yours. “But happy. And that’s what matters, right?”.

Emily glanced at you, her expression softening again, though she quickly masked it with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sappy on me, okay?”.

“Too late”, you teased, following her down the hall. But deep down, you knew she felt it too—this warmth, this connection, this new sense of family.

As the evening settled in, the house glowed with the soft light of the Christmas tree, its twinkling bulbs casting warm colors across the room. The scent of cinnamon lingered from earlier in the day, mixing with the woodsy aroma of the tree. The four of you were sprawled on the couch, cozied under a thick, patchwork blanket.

Beau, of course, had taken up the role of ultimate family snuggler. He sat in the middle, his left arm wrapped firmly around Emily, who had only agreed to the arrangement after a dramatic eye-roll and a mumbled, “Fine, but just this once”. Despite her protests, she leaned into him, her head resting lightly against his shoulder.

You lay on his other side, his right arm draped around your shoulders as you nestled close, your legs tucked up under you. Cole, ever the little king of chaos, had stretched himself out across both your laps. His head rested on Emily’s knee, his little hands clutching his favorite stuffed dinosaur, while his feet occasionally kicked up as he babbled about the cookies he’d eaten and the snowman that “almost stayed up”.

“Almost doesn’t count, little man”, Beau teased, ruffling Cole’s messy hair. “Next time, we’re getting it to stand no matter what. That’s a promise”.

Cole giggled, his voice sleepy but full of excitement. “You’re gonna help me, Daddy?”.

“Always”, Beau said, his voice soft and steady. “Always, buddy”.

You smiled at the exchange, feeling the warmth of Beau’s hand rubbing small circles on your shoulder. This was it—the quiet, perfect moment you’d been hoping for all day. Emily glanced at you briefly, catching your expression, and she smirked in that way only a teenager could.

“What?”, she asked, her tone playful but curious.

“Nothing”, you said softly, though the smile on your face betrayed you. “Just… this”.

Beau’s hand stilled for a moment, and he looked down at you, his gaze filled with a tenderness that never failed to make your chest ache. “Yeah”, he said quietly, “this is pretty good, isn’t it?”.

Emily groaned in mock disgust. “Oh, come on. You two are so gross sometimes”.

“You love it”, Beau said, leaning down to plant a quick, noisy kiss on the top of her head. She wrinkled her nose but didn’t pull away, and you noticed the small smile tugging at her lips.

“Do not”, she muttered, clearly lying.

Cole let out a loud yawn, his little arms stretching wide as he snuggled deeper into the blanket. “I love it”, he announced proudly, his words slightly muffled by the stuffed dinosaur he was still clutching.

As the evening wore on, Cole’s babbling grew softer, his eyelids drooping as the warmth of the blanket and the steady rhythm of Beau’s voice lulled him closer to sleep. He shifted, nestling deeper into the crook of your lap, his stuffed dinosaur still clutched tightly to his chest. You brushed a hand gently over his hair, smoothing down the messy tufts that stuck up from his earlier adventures in the snow.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Cole’s sleepy voice broke the quiet moment. “Emmy?”, he asked softly, his words slurring a little with tiredness.

Emily’s head popped up, her eyes widening slightly as she looked down at him. “Yeah, bud?”, she replied, her voice uncertain but kind.

“Will you read me a bedtime story tonight?”, Cole asked, his little voice so sweet and tentative it made your heart squeeze.

Emily blinked, caught off guard. “Me? Not Mommy or Daddy?”.

Cole shook his head against your knee, yawning widely. “I want you. Please, Emmy?”.

The room fell quiet for a moment, everyone waiting for Emily’s response. She glanced at you, then at Beau, like she wasn’t sure she was the right choice. Beau’s expression was warm and encouraging, and he gave her a little nudge with his elbow. “Looks like you’ve got a fan, kiddo”, he said softly, his tone teasing but gentle.

Emily hesitated for only a moment longer before giving a small shrug, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her. “Yeah, okay. Sure, I’ll read to you”, she said, her voice carefully casual.

Cole’s sleepy face lit up in a soft smile. “Yay”, he murmured.

As Emily and Cole disappeared upstairs, their voices trailing off as Emily tried to convince Cole that she wasn’t going to do all the silly voices, you turned back toward Beau, who was already shifting under the blanket. Before you could say a word, he stood up, effortlessly scooping you into his arms with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Beau!”, you laughed, clutching at his shoulders. “What are you doing?”.

“Kid’s occupied, we’ve got at least twenty minutes”, he said, his voice low and teasing as he headed toward the basement stairs. “I’m taking advantage of a rare opportunity”.

“For what?!”, you giggled, your heart racing more from the way he was looking at you than the movement.

“To spend some uninterrupted time with my wife”, he replied, his drawl making the words feel softer and warmer than they already were. “That’s what Christmas miracles are all about, right?”.

You couldn’t help but laugh, resting your head against his shoulder as he descended the stairs. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”.

“Yeah”, he said, his grin widening. “But also horny".

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he nudged the guest room door open with his foot and stepped inside. The room was small but cozy, its faint glow coming from the single lamp on the nightstand. Beau set you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your waist as he leaned in, his face just inches from yours.

“Finally”, he murmured, his voice dropping even lower. “A little peace and quiet”.

You raised a brow, still smiling. “You think twenty minutes is enough for peace and quiet? With our kids upstairs?”.

Beau smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll take what I can get. Besides, I don’t need long to remind you how much I love you”.

The warmth in his voice melted any teasing retort you might have had. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “You’re pretty good at that, you know”.

“Good”, he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. “Because I plan on doing it for the rest of my life”.

And for a moment, the world upstairs faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the quiet, perfect stillness of the moment. It wasn’t long, of course, before the faint sound of Cole’s giggles echoed down the stairs, followed by Emily’s exaggerated sigh as she tried to coax him to sleep. But for those few minutes, it was enough—just you and Beau, tucked away from the chaos, stealing a little piece of Christmas magic for yourselves.

———————————

A/N: Let´s welcome Beau to the family. Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[holdinbacksecrets]

uninhibited (and drunk) voicemails from seventeen

forever sending gratitude and love to j @un-love for helping assign these

seungcheol: “i watched you tonight with another man. he held your hand and kissed your forehead. he drank your tea first to check the temperature. he made you laugh. for real. i know because you covered your mouth, still feeling insecure about how far it opens when the reaction can’t be avoided—when the something said was so funny it surprised you. you’re wearing red. your arms were exposed for a while, and i felt my eyes prick with tears at the sight of more tattoos on your skin. ones i didn’t know about. maybe ones you mentioned when they were still just possibilities in your head. not once did i think i wouldn’t see them actualized. not once did i imagine another man’s fingers brushing the ink through the motion of draping his jacket around your shoulders.”

jeonghan: “i’m at home and alone, and it’s wrong to call you. it’s so unfair to call you. i didn’t know how to tell you that the wanting is scary. that the way we love each other is impossible—not for a second do i believe it’s possible to have again, and i’m fucking afraid, probably because i know how much you’ve grown. the thought of letting you down leaves a sour taste, and i’m trying not to be so fucking afraid.”

joshua: “i’m sobering up now, sitting on my mom’s back porch. earlier, i was trying to describe the color of your hair. the best i could come up with was blue frosting like the cupcakes she made for my 10th birthday party. isn’t that outrageous? embarrassing? in my head was a poem, but the alcohol released the silliest set of words i could’ve possibly used to describe a part of you.”

jun: “everything is weird. everyone is strange to me today except for you. i’m drunk. i lost my shoes at some point in the night i think. i can’t recognize anyone around me. their voices don’t sound familiar. i wish you were here. i wish you’d tell me this is miserable for you too; it’s not worth it anymore. would you tell me the truth if i asked? sorry. what a stupid question. i don’t know anyone more honest.”

soonyoung: “i should’ve watched you all day more often. i dream about that. i wanted to, but something always had my attention or interrupted its focus on you. i’m laying here with my eyes closed, imagining all the moments i did watch and wondering if every single one pieced together could consume an entire day.”

wonwoo: “is it ok that i still have your spare key? i’d like to believe it’s something you’d ask to get back, but i wonder if that call isn’t worth making. if the idea of seeing me makes you anxious. but you trust me. out of everyone to still have access to your home, it’s ok that it’s me. i feel sad thinking about it.”

jihoon: “you baked cookies. i froze half of them. there’s one left, and i’m debating whether or not to eat it today. it’s freezing outside, and any view through my window is ruined by the snow. it feels like the perfect night for a cookie with what’s left of my second americano like i can risk losing sleep, but what will be left from you if i give in? everything else feels lifeless—it’s been so long since you’ve touch the clothes and read the books.”

seokmin: “i’m going to a wedding tomorrow. your old neighbor is getting married, and i thought about so many things when he sent me the invitation. i thought he was in love with you for the longest time. remember that? it took me months to admit. then he told me he’s just protective, and i realized there are so many people who see us and care without us ever knowing. so i wondered about a what if between us… what if our paths crossing was shallow and they never intertwined? what if you were just a woman in the grocery store who i’d see once in a while if the timing was right? how long would i think about you before forgetting your face, before forgetting i ever saw you? unless i never would and end up talking about you in my old age to adult children who only know i loved their mother.”

mingyu: “is it ok to call you in the middle of the night? you told me i could. years have passed since that conversation. *laughs* is it strange to think about us back then? how we started on a park bench, basically dated for two years on a park bench. i still think about how your approach to reach me gave away your feelings. you started poised, avoiding eye contact. then it became goofy looks and confident strides before calling my name and skipping to singing the song stuck in your head while you ran to me. i can’t help but wonder what would it look like now?”

minghao: “if you listen to this voicemail, can you tell me what you want? whatever comes to mind after hearing the question. from something small to something weird and the the thing you believe is better left unsaid as if i’d judge the answer, but i won’t. i have no reason to judge you. all i have is curiosity and love and hope for your every day, every want, every touch, every song you sing, every picture you hang, and every night spent barefoot on the balcony- i want to marry you.”

seungkwan: “there’s something on my mind. i’ve wanted to tell you all day. i thought about it at breakfast and started texting you before my manager called and interrupted. so here it is: i used to not understand how tired you’d be with me around. i thought i was boring you for the longest time until i visited my sisters. they exchanged a knowing smile before telling me you’re completely comfortable, that you feel safe enough to slip into the kind of vulnerability that only sleepiness and sleep allow, with your guard lowered, and your heart open. i appreciate how much of you i’ve seen, how deeply i know you—knew you… know you? hmm…”

hansol: “are you traveling? i hope you’re traveling. i know it’s something you promised to do at the start of your 26th year. where did you go? … are you taking lots of pictures? … how does the moon look? that’s your souvenir: the moon in the sky a thousand miles away from home. when you told me the moon thing, i realized i knew nothing about you, and i wanted to know everything.”

chan: “you were in the audience tonight? i didn’t… i wasn’t… thank you for coming. i mailed a ticket, but it was returned to sender. *clears throat* you’re the only person i couldn’t shake wanting to be there. do you know what i mean? people from our pasts we wish could still be present, especially for things they witnessed in early stages. i could shake off all the other absences… old friends, a mentor, but you… *sigh* no way.”

[universitypenguin]

Chapter 19

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Princess tries to make things right with Lloyd. An arrest is made in the case and fur flies when Detective Roth meets Lloyd for the first time.

Word Count: 4,643

Masterlist

Warnings: References to stalking, murder, serial killings, criminal investigations into violent crimes

Author’s Note: The winds from the outer bands of Hurricane Hillary are just starting to blow up to my area and it knocked out my electricity for a few hours (thanks, Spectrum Internet! 😤) Fortunately, it’s back on now and I can finally post this chapter!

Chapter XIX

Sunlight gleamed off the slow-moving Shenandoah River and reflected across the valley. Lloyd’s cabin was perched overlooking the basin where the river wound around a bend and slowed to a crawl. From your current position on the front porch, the river looked more like a sheet of glass than a body of water. Lloyd had brought you here after you’d been released from the hospital. Landon arrived the next day with a suitcase of your clothes and took up quarters in the basement. His presence had been a welcome relief from the thick fog of tension hanging over the cabin.

“Are you going to talk to him soon?” Landon asked.

You tucked your knees under your chin, wrapped your arms around them, and stared at the ex-SEAL without really seeing him. The idea of apologizing had been circulating on a loop in your head for the past seventy-two hours.

“I don’t know what to say. It’s like there’s a wall of ice between us.”

“Yeah. I didn’t realize a person could get frostbite in the middle of August until I spent a few hours with you two. Is this how you normally fight?”

“No. Lloyd usually blows up. The only person I’ve seen act like this is Zach. And we know how that usually goes.”

Landon winced. There was no softening the burnt of Zach’s temper. Reason and appeasement had no effect on it - once he turned into Jack Frost all you could do was wait until he de-thawed. Landon leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“Finding out the way he did was hard on him.”

You shut your eyes as if doing so would block out the truth of his statement.

“I know. Not telling him was wrong, but the risk of him losing control and doing something reckless was too much. I was trying to protect him.”

Landon’s eyes softened. “Everyone knows how much you try to shield Lloyd, but you can’t always stand between him and the rest of the world.”

“I’ve seen him spiral before. I don’t want to do anything that would send him down that path again… but here we are. He’s barely looked at me for more than three seconds in the last few days and he’s treating me like a barely tolerable houseguest.”

“You have to talk to him. It’s been three days and quite frankly, I’m sick of walking on eggshells around you two. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. That’s why you’re not seeing an explosion of temper.”

“He’s never been like this before and I don’t know what to say. I’ve been trying to figure it out for days.”

Landon shot you a sardonic look. “Princess, get it through your thick skull: Lloyd isn’t angry, he’s hurt. You’ve never seen him like this before because you’re the only one who could make him feel like this.”

“Trust me, underneath that hurt, he’s angry. Lloyd is always angry.”

“Fear lies at the center of anger. He’s afraid your relationship is broken and that’s why he can’t look at you. Come on, take one for the team - and by team I mean myself. Go talk to him.”

“How do I face him after what I did?”

“He won’t bite,” Landon said.

“No, but his razor blade tongue should be registered as a weapon.”

Landon’s phone buzzed on the unfinished porch railing. He checked the message.

“If you’re going to apologize anytime soon, do it now. Zach is on his way up with Bishop. They just stopped in town for gas and they’ll be here in thirty minutes or so.”

You glanced through the window into the living room where Lloyd sat on the couch, laptop in front of him, scowling. Your stomach pitched at the prospect of the conversation you needed to have.

Landon stood up, his chair scraping against the unfinished planks of the porch floor. “I’ll take a walk down to the river and give you guys some privacy.”

“You’re leaving me alone with him?!”

“You made this mess, you clean it up.”

“If you hear screaming, come rescue me,” you muttered.

Landon crossed the yard to the trail leading down to the river basin and disappeared into the thick wilderness.

You were suddenly alone. Your hands clenched until your fingernails dug into your palms. There wouldn’t be a good time to do this. You’d never feel ready for it, and Landon was right - walking on eggshells was exhausting. You pushed to your feet, pulse thrumming in double time and turned the knob on the cabin door with trembling fingers, steeling yourself for the ugly confrontation.

Lloyd didn’t look up when you shut the door. He was too engrossed in his laptop. You paused and took in his furrowed brow as he tapped the down arrow to scroll through a page. Finally, when it became clear he wasn’t going to acknowledge your presence until you demanded it, you stepped forward.

“Lloyd? I need to talk to you.”

His finger paused on the keyboard and even though he didn’t look up, you pressed forward.

“I didn’t tell you about the stalker because I thought Aiden was behind the messages and I didn’t want you to react impulsively. I figured he was upset about losing his job and had decided to take his frustration out on me. That’s why I got in touch with his father. It seemed like the most efficient way to handle things.”

Before you could continue, Lloyd’s scowl deepened, and he resumed tapping the keyboard.

“Where’s the transcript of my interviews with Dr. Nguyen? I thought I saved them to my files.”

“The interviews? Um… there should be a copy in your email.”

He grunted and began typing. A few clicks later, his chin tilted up.

“Found it.”

You pressed a hand to your hot cheek, took a deep breath, and marshaled your courage.

“Lloyd, I’m trying to talk to you. I want to explain-”

He wasn’t listening. His fingers were dancing over the keyboard and he was blatantly ignoring you. Peaking over his shoulder you saw the website of the local news station pulled up on the laptop.

“I need to catch this broadcast,” Lloyd said tersely.

Your shoulders slumped. Repressing a sigh, you sat down and decided to wait him out.

The anchor’s voice filled the small living room, announcing their lead story - a thunderstorm warning and flood watch. You settled in as they turned to their human interest story about Harmony High School students giving back to the community with a fundraiser for the local food bank. Then the ‘Breaking News’ banner appeared on screen and you sat up straighter as you read it.

“Now, to the latest developments in a breaking news story. The arrest of a suspected serial killer has stunned the community of Harmony, Virginia. Leo McKenzie, an evidence clerk with the State Police, has been taken into custody and charged with twelve counts of murder.”

You gasped.

“Hush, I’m trying to listen,” Lloyd said.

“The case drags up ghosts of the past. In 2003, Dr. Shun Nguyen attracted international attention to the town of Harmony when he was arrested and charged with the murder of his girlfriend. Nguyen was widely considered to be responsible for the rash of disappearances of several local women between 1999 and 2001, culminating in the murder of his girlfriend in 2002. However, his conviction for that crime was overturned in 2013…”

The reporter droned on as you watched, growing confused as the cameras showed the Fairfax County Sheriff arresting a man in his mid-sixties with graying blond hair. He was stocky and dressed in a rumpled green button down and khaki slacks. His expression was slack with shock as he was escorted to a Sheriff’s cruiser.

“McKenzie’s arrest has cast a fresh spotlight on these unsolved cases, igniting painful memories for the families affected. We’ll keep you updated on this developing story throughout the night. Stay tuned for more right here on-”

Lloyd muted the video. You turned to him and for the first time in days he met your gaze.

“Leo McKenzie? The guy who leaked information for the Rolling Stone article?”

“He’s not a bad suspect,” Lloyd said. “Zach found evidence that he’s tampered with evidence before. Plus, he went out of his way to de-stabilize our relationship with the Roth when he contacted Peter Shaw and framed us for leaking confidential information.”

“You think he’s the killer?”

“No. There’s a few holes in the logic, but I’m waiting to see if those can be resolved. The fact that he leaked information to journalists and tried to manipulate the narrative around the case is significant.”

You tried not to be surprised at how quickly Lloyd had gotten up to speed in a few days.

“This was a calculated move,” Lloyd said, his gaze returning to the muted news cast. “There’s enough agencies gunning for the credit on this case that it wouldn’t have taken much more than a well-timed tip-off to persuade the Fairfax Sheriff to make an arrest.”

You nodded. “Right.”

“It’s impressive, really,” Lloyd mused. “Zach is quite the strategist. I hadn’t planned on making a maneuver this bold, but if it gets McKenzie off the street…”

Your mouth fell open. “Zach is behind the arrest?”

“He didn’t run it by me, but I suspect this is what he’s coming up here to discuss. Leo McKenzie crossed him with that journalist and even though it probably wasn’t intended as a personal slight, Zach’s not the forgiving kind.”

“And I thought I was pissed off by Roth’s decision,” you murmured.

“Zach didn’t blame Roth. He went for the root cause of the problem: McKenzie.”

Put like that, the connection between Zach’s interference and Leo’s arrest was undoubtable. You glanced at the clock and saw that he’d be arriving soon. The deadline refocused you on your goal.

“Lloyd, as I was saying, I want to explain why I didn’t tell you what was going on. When I thought Aiden was responsible, I didn’t want to put you in a situation where you’d react before we’d gathered all the facts. I thought what I was doing was appropriate, but in retrospect…”

He stood up and paced to the window and stood there, staring at the driveway. You heard the crunch of wheels over gravel and understood what he was watching for. Zach had arrived. Your eyes closed on a wave of regret.

Great. Lloyd wasn’t listening to a word you had just said.

“Zach brought company.”

*****

Bishop and Detective Roth arrived with Zach.

They shuffled into the living room with the rugged-faced detective trailing behind. He was dressed exactly the same as he’d been the last two times you’d seen him. A white collared shirt, striped red tie, and his holstered weapon prominently displayed on his right hip. His nod of greeting to you was barely perceptible. In response, you crossed your arms over your chest.

Childish, perhaps, but you were still irritated with him and he was interrupting your conversation with Lloyd. Bishop made introductions and Lloyd and Roth immediately began sizing each other up like boxers dancing around a ring.

“I looked into your previous work, Mr. Hansen. You’re quite the character. It seems your investigative techniques involve more theatrics than actual evidence gathering.”

“And your speciality seems to be old cases and old gossip. Slow and methodical hasn’t paid off in the Nguyen case, now, has it?”

“Slow and methodical is standard procedure and I’m a standard procedure kind of guy. It helps me maintain my credibility, which reminds me, your kidnapping conviction got you disbarred, didn’t it?”

Lloyd smirked. “So, you’ve been through my international portfolio as well.”

Roth studied him with an inscrutable expression, then the corner of his lip twitched. “What did you have to do with Leo McKenzie’s arrest? The Sheriff wasn’t supposed to take him into custody until next week.”

“I’d love to take credit but it wasn’t me. However, McKenzie is at the top of my suspect list.”

“What position?” Roth asked.

“Second place.”

Bishop lips pursed. “I can’t believe Sheriff Cerano swept in and arrested him so quickly, considering the history of this case.”

“He’s got enough evidence to hold him, thanks to my team,” Detective Roth said.

“What are the charges?” Zach asked.

“Tampering with evidence, improper release of classified information, and other charges related to his conduct as an evidence clerk. I’d like to apologize for jumping to conclusions and accusing the two of you.”

You uncrossed your arms.

“Are we good?” Roth asked you.

You tilted your head. “Consider yourself on probationary forgiveness. I’ll let you know in a few days if it becomes permanent.”

Roth looked at Lloyd. “Is she always so hardheaded?”

“Sometimes. Usually it’s directed at me, so this is a nice change of pace. Let’s sit down and compare notes.”

Despite the earlier verbal sparring, or perhaps because of it, Lloyd and Roth put aside their differences and shifted into professional mode as everyone assembled in the living room.

“I consider Leo McKenzie our prime suspect,” Detective Roth said.

Bishop scowled. “Why?”

“There’s long term storage of the surveillance camera footage in the evidence lockers. We were able to confirm that McKenzie wasn’t at work on the night of April 18th.”

“Was he scheduled to work?” Zach asked.

“Yes, swing shift, but he swapped with a co-worker. The co-worker reports McKenzie told them he was going to a concert,’” Roth said.

Lloyd crossed his legs. “A concert in the middle of the week? That’s ridiculous. Is there any other evidence against him?”

“He owns a .22 caliber rifle and matches the description of the person Mr. Corbin saw at Shun’s house on that same night, April 18th. He’s been known to smoke occasionally and frequented the same coffee shop where Julia’s book club met.”

“What about access to the chemicals to dissolve her corpse?” Lloyd asked.

“His work as an evidence clerk might explain that,” Bishop said.

“Technically speaking, all the ingredients he needed are available over the counter,” Roth said.

Lloyd grunted. “What about knowledge of the area where the bodies were dumped?”

“He kayaks up there every summer and his uncle used to work in the concrete industry,” Roth said. “At the moment he’s our top suspect. The Sheriff was preparing to arrest him on charges of improperly handling evidence and obstruction of justice. That’s sufficient to hold him for a long while. Virginia law enforcement jointly decided that everyone would be safer if he was off the streets.”

“So, if you have your man, why are you here?” Lloyd said.

“Because knowing he had the opportunity, means, and access to commit a crime isn’t the same thing as being able to prove he did it. That’s why I need your help. We have a window of opportunity to prove a solid case against him, but it won’t be easy. Bishop and I have discussed it with my superiors and we’re inviting you down to Harmony on a full-time basis to assist with the investigation. You’ll even get your own shared office.”

“It’s the conference room, isn’t it?” Zach asked.

“A windowless conference room,” Roth said, his lips twitching into a smirk.

The Detective’s gaze shifted to you and he tilted his head. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’m very interested in seeing the database you were working on for the case.”

*****

The guests stayed for dinner but left quickly afterwards to get back before the storm made landfall. Lloyd took a walk down to the river and you retreated to the living room where Landon was relaxing with his feet up.

“I take it apologizing didn’t go well?”

You sighed. “It didn’t go at all.”

“How come?”

“He wouldn’t hear me out. I managed three half apologies but he wouldn’t let me finish.”

“Are you going to try again, or call it a night?” Landon asked.

Your shoulders straightened. Where was your spine? Sure, all things considered, you weren’t at the top of your game this week, but the ability to make Lloyd listen was a skill you’d mastered a long time ago. If you couldn’t get through to him, then you had lost more of your self-confidence than you’d realized.

“I’m going down to the river.”

“Have fun…”

Lloyd was easy to find. He was on a bench by the water with a legal pad on his knee, reading a handful of loose leaf pages. As he read, he paused every now and then to consult his legal pad and twirl a pen around his fingers. You paused at the bottom of the concrete stairs that led down to the river basin and watched him from a distance.

His alabaster complexion was darker than usual from a summer of golfing and the week spent on the ranch. His thick hair ruffled a little in the wind because he hadn’t worn as much hair gel at the cabin, choosing to smooth his hair back instead of plastering it into place like usual.

You liked the more relaxed look on him. You wished the image matched his mood but the rigidity in his shoulders proved he was just as tense as he’d been since Tuesday.

When you approached he tucked the pages into his legal pad and clipped the pen to the pad. You sat down on the far end of the bench, leaving an arm’s length between you. The wind carried the scent of pine trees and the smell of rain hung in the air as storm clouds amassed in the southeast. The atmosphere between you held a quiet tension, an undercurrent of repressed anger. The gusting winds that rustled the leaves seemed to echo the mood. You shivered as a gust of wind cut through your blouse.

Lloyd leaned back. “You didn’t need to come all the way down here. It’s getting cold.”

“I’m fine,” you said, wrapping your arms around your torso. “I wanted to apologize. I guess my timing this afternoon wasn’t great. I was only halfway through when Zach arrived.”

“I was still too pissed at you to listen.”

“I gathered as much. I’m sorry for not telling you about the stalking. It was wrong of me to cover it up, especially for as long as I did.”

He sighed, eyes drifting to fixate on the water. “What was it? You thought I’d over react?”

Your hands twisted in your lap. “Yes. Your temper is a force of nature and you don’t have a great sense of self-preservation under the best conditions. You dive headfirst into danger without considering the consequences or your odds of survival.”

“Princess, I’ve faced much worse threats than a vertically challenged lunatic with sharp elbows. I can handle myself. Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do worry about you! I know you can take care of yourself, but as your friend it’s my job to protect you, too - including from yourself! When I decided not to tell you what was going on, that’s what I thought I was doing. After what happened on Tuesday, I know how wrong that was. I’m sorry for hurting you by holding back something I should’ve shared with you as soon as I was aware of it.”

“What was the other half of your apology? I think we got to about this point before I cut you off.”

“I’m sorry for not trusting you to respond with restraint and assuming you’d fly off the handle. Overall, you’ve taken this a lot more calmly than I thought you would.”

His left eyebrow arched. “Calmly? If you hadn’t willingly gotten in the car on Tuesday afternoon, I’d have thrown you in the trunk.”

“And compared to what I thought you might do, that was a very restrained reaction.”

Lloyd snorted. “Don’t be so sure. If Aiden had been your stalker I’d gladly have taken him apart with my bare hands. That’s part of what pissed me off. Your reasons for not telling me were valid. As much as I wanted to tear into you for it, I can’t deny that point. I guess I feel more disappointed than anything. I’ve always struggled with honesty, but with you, it was easy. I didn’t realize that trust was a one-way street.”

You groaned. “If this is you ‘not tearing into me’ I’d hate to have seen what you had in mind earlier.”

He shifted closer and a thick arm curled around your shoulders. You snuggled into his chest as another gust of wind kicked up.

“I really am sorry,” you said. “I’ll say it as many times as you want.”

“Since I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder for the past three days, I think we can call it even.”

You squeezed his waist and burrowed into his arms. “I promise to be more honest with you, even when I’m worried about your reaction.”

His lips brushed your temple. “I’ll try not to sulk so long next time you decide to bottle things up.”

“Is that a whiff of skepticism I’m sensing? You don’t think I’ll be honest?”

“You protect others, Princess. It’s in your nature. But your takeaway from this experience needs to be that lies of omission aren’t how you protect me, or yourself. I need you and I…”

Love you.

Your heart leapt as you filled in the next words, holding your breath to hear him say them for the first time.

“Was that a drop of rain?” Lloyd said.

*****

You and Lloyd made it back to the front porch of the cabin just as the clouds opened up and poured rain down in buckets. Both of you had escaped the worst of the onslaught, but droplets went flying when Lloyd shook out his hair. You squealed when the water hit your face.

“Sorry, honey,” he said, and held open the door for you.

There was no sight of Landon in the living room, so you assumed he’d retreated to the basement.

Lloyd led you upstairs to the loft which housed the master bedroom. He tossed his legal pad on the bed and went to retrieve towels from the bathroom. You stripped off your wet clothes in the closet and found a clean t-shirt of Lloyd's to slip on. When he came out of the bathroom with the towels, you were sitting on the bed leafing through his legal pad.

“Who’s Tate Corbin?”

“You remember Nguyen’s across the street neighbor? Mr. Corbin?”

“Yes. These notes are about him?”

Lloyd rubbed the towel across his damp hair.

“Yeah. Corbin doesn’t have a file, officially at least, so I’ve spent the past couple days putting one together.”

“Why?”

“Because after l reviewed everything Zach has collected on McKenzie, there was one glaring problem. Leo McKenzie isn’t good at chemistry. He failed the class in high school and took the easiest science credit he could in college: Biology 101 for general studies. He passed with a C minus.”

“Not everyone can be a scientific genius.”

“I doubt our killer is a scientific genius, but they know the basics of chemicals, either by trade or education. The brittle bones that were observed in Julia’s remains and the lack of bodies from the remains from the other nine victims points to a chemical dissolution process of some kind. Leo McKenzie doesn’t have the knowledge to perform that kind of a reaction.”

You made a face of disgust at the imagery his words brought to mind and scanned through the file.

“It says he wasn’t named as a person of interest in 2002. Why wasn’t he a suspect?”

“Actually, the first responding officer did raise suspicions about Mr. Corbin. When he answered the door the next evening - this wasn’t long after Shun was taken in for his first round of questioning - he appeared sweaty and pale. Mr. Corbin attributed it to being on a new blood pressure medication.”

“Did he work with chemicals?” you asked.

“He was a merchant marine in the 50s and 60s, working for companies like Odfjell and Stolt-Nielsen.”

“What does that have to do with the case?”

Lloyd’s grin widened. “Odfjell and Stolt-Nielsen were chemical tanker companies. left the industry in the late 60s and settled down in Fredericksburg. He got married, had two kids, and in 1975 the family moved to Harmony where Corbin started a contracting business. His specialty was laying foundations. Between the physical nature of his work and a penchant for jogging and hiking, Corbin stayed in excellent shape. He even hiked the Appalachian Trail from start to finish in 2003.”

“This is interesting, but what about the evidence Roth and Zach collected against Leo?”

Lloyd shrugged. “He’s worth investigating. I’m open to the possibility that he’s the killer, if evidence comes to light that he knew enough chemistry to dissolve a body. But the way Shun reacted when you questioned him about who the killer might be has stuck in my head. He was clearly afraid of someone, so I’ve been trying to figure out who.”

“Right, I noticed that too. He was visibly shaken when I told him about the second body.”

“Shun’s social circle wasn’t extensive, which narrows the potential suspects to his coworkers and a handful of other associates. When I couldn’t establish a connection between Shun and Leo, I kept searching, which led me to Tate Corbin. The guy is a towering ex-sailor with a linebacker’s shoulders. If he posed a threat to Shun, it could explain why Shun didn’t fight the charges harder or point the finger at another suspect.”

You flipped to Corbin’s demographics page and checked the data. “But Tate is eighty-three years old now. Why wouldn’t Shun just take his story to the media?”

“Remember his reaction to hearing about the second body? Someone - probably the killer - put the fear of God in him. Besides, to Corbin, age is just a number. He’s still running half marathons and 10ks.”

“Holy smoke. Do you have his times? Like, is he any good?”

“He’s placing ahead of runners who are a third of his age. The cincher for me is that there’s only one person whose presence at the house on the evening of April 18th can be verified. By his own admission, Tate was at the crime scene and reported seeing a ‘very large man’ lurking around. Conveniently, Tate Corbin is a very large man.”

“You think he lied to the police?”

Lloyd chuckled. “I don’t think he anticipated the interrogation. When he was caught off guard, his brain couldn’t compose an entirely fictional story, so instead of lying outright, he just bent the truth.”

“Should we bring Roth into the loop?”

“Let’s continue piecing things together over the weekend. We’ll let the news about Leo circulate and make sure Tate has a chance to see it. And since we’re relocating to Roth’s conference room on Monday, we can present our findings to him then. I want to have a clearer picture of the case against Tate to make sure he merits our attention before we discuss it with Roth.”

You looked down, pretending to read, and hid a smile at Lloyd’s final comment. Evidently, Roth’s barb about theatrics had stuck its target.

“That sounds like a plan. I think working together will be good for you two.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. He’s such an asshole.”

“Mmmhhh. A real piece of work.”

Irrespective of the investigation, Monday promised to be an exciting day. The anticipation of the clash between Lloyd and Roth brought a real smile to your face for the first time in days. And as fiery as their reaction to each other might be, you had a suspicion that they might turn out to be an excellent team - if they didn’t kill each other first.

*****

Next - Chapter XX

*****

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me

@patzammit

@badassbaker

@meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@thiskindahotkindamusic

@jesgisborne

@charmingprincess

@amiets2

@seitmai

@elle14-blog1

@chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-doctor-help

@jesevans

@openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen

@adoreyouusugar

@awkwardgiraffe726

@pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire

@liecastillo

@marantha

@literaturelove

@babyevansblog

@lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

@thegirlnextdoorssister

@ladygrey03

@cynic-spirit

@rosedpetal

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@bambamwolf87

@yiiiikesmish

@calwitch

@peachiestevie

@texmexdarling

@here4thefanfics

@rogersbarber

@spikeluv84

@dear-fifi

@crayongirl-linz

@bigcreatorwombatdreamer

[hheaven-sentt]

in the woods somewhere

summary: he's gone, and you're cold | joel miller x gn!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: this is just straight angst, strong language, violence, mentions of grief and loss (mentions? girl that's the whole plot), barely beta'd, romance if you squint

notes: i saw one edit on tiktok that gave me a brain worm and this happened. have a look on ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boots on snow. The crunch beneath your feet spurs you forward with each step. There’s blood, oh God, there’s so much blood.

The lights haven’t been on in days. The whole house is colder than the frigid air outside, the windows frosted up from the ice storm that hit two nights ago. Two nights. The fireplace holds logs that he touched. His mugs are still on the counter. His jacket sits, foreign and empty, across the back of the couch. A lone pair of boots stares you down. Your whole body hurts, aches with a feeling that you can’t place and can’t describe in any way other than pain. You run your hand along the banister of the stairs, eyeing the dents and marks made from when you moved in.

Maria does her best. You can’t blame her. If it were her, you’d do the same thing. Deep down, you wish she’d leave you alone. The air is stale against your skin, runs cold in your lungs. There’s a stabbing pain at the base of your neck that you can’t make go away. You haven’t cried, not yet. You know it’s coming, can feel it every time someone approaches the house forlornly and leaves flowers with a melancholy note at your doorstep. They always linger for a moment more, as if they know you’re drifting like a ghost between rooms, watching from the window. The yard is covered in vases and jars, littered with papers and trinkets, all of which he’ll never see.

You didn’t say anything when Ellie left. You squeezed her hand, gave her a knowing look, and that was it. There was nothing left to say. You’d long since given up on getting between the two of them, this was for her to do. You trusted her. It didn’t matter that your bones ran cold and your blood stopped moving when her horse disappeared into the frost without so much as a glance backward. She didn’t care if she didn’t make it back. You bite back the feeling that, maybe, you didn’t care either.

You don’t blame her, it’s not her fault. You know that. Sometimes, it just feels like everything that’s happened leads back to Ellie. It begins and ends with her. You’re not stupid enough to ignore that, but you’re not evil enough to acknowledge it either. You love Ellie as if she were your own blood, have had the pleasure of knowing her, and yet, you find yourself wondering if things would be easier if she stayed away. There’s nothing left to say.

Boots on snow. The crunch beneath your feet spurs you forward with each step. There’s blood, oh God, there’s so much blood. Ellie is screaming, hollering without purpose, making her throat hoarse with each wail. You stand still in the doorway, staring endlessly at the sheet they haphazardly draped over his form.

You don’t want the pity stares. You don’t want the sympathy. It’s unnecessary. It won’t bring him back. It won’t give you just a little more time.

He’s a lump beneath the sheet, crumpled and frail. You feel the bile in your throat, bubbling like a burning soup. You can’t break here, not while everyone’s watching. Ellie yells at you, demands to know why you’re so calm.

“How can you just stand there?” she screams. She’s powered by rage.

You’re angry, too. You scream into your pillow, throw things, wail until your breath gives out and you collapse. It quiets your mind, for a moment, to be angry. You can almost hear him telling you to calm down. You can feel his large hands brush over your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before he asks if you want to lie down. You always accept.

Jamie’s at your door. She never comes to call this early, so you know it must be something important. There’s a storm in full swing on the outskirts of town. She barely gets a word out before you’re putting on your boots. Boots on snow. The crunch beneath your feet spurs you forward with each step. There’s blood, oh God, there’s so much blood. When you kneel down beside him, Maria doesn’t let you look at him. You place a delicate hand on his back–it’s stiff and unmoving, and so very cold. You feel a pain in your chest.

You try to remember what he sounds like. The low timbre voice that’s honey sweetened and made especially for you. He was warm. He was everything.

He kissed you goodbye that morning. Promised he’d be home later with a good story and the blanket Maria had made. His coffee mug was still hot when he left. His body was still warm.

Nights are the worst. The house is too quiet, each creak fools you into thinking he’s just walked through the door. Each time the house settles, you bolt upright, believing, just for a moment, that he’s home. You want nothing more than for that to be true. It never is.

A day later, and his smell is almost gone. You’ve cleaned up the mugs finally, set them back into their place beside the stove where he likes them. His muddy footprints have been scrubbed clean from the floorboards. You shove his coat in the closet. For a moment, it feels like his coat is holding onto you, begging you to not let go. You slam the door shut. Tears prick at the back of your eyes, your nose twitches. You take a breath, and keep going.

Boots on snow. You’re sprinting to the stables before you can think. Careening through the woods, something at the back of your mind wants to believe he’s alive.

You pack his things away. You push them to the deepest corners of your mind before they threaten to swallow you whole. Sometimes, you think that if you close your eyes and think hard enough, he’ll come through the door and shake snow all over the floor you just cleaned. He’ll smile and apologize while you pretend to be angry, and then he’ll kiss you. Everything will be as it was. 

“Promise you’ll pick up that blanket from Maria on your way in,” you say. His chest rumbles with a chuckle.

Pressing his lips to your hairline he says, “Promise. Tommy said he’d remind me, too,”

“Be safe,” you say, laughing and pushing him toward the door. “Come home,”

“Wouldn’t dream of stayin’ away,” he says, giving you a smile.

It’s not survivor's guilt. You don’t feel guilty for living while he doesn’t. You don’t wish it would’ve been you. The thing is, you didn’t want it to be either of you. You wanted to finish your life here. You wanted to grow old, something that wasn’t in the cards just a few years ago. You wanted him. Trading places wouldn’t solve anything, it would just shift the anger.

“You need to get out of this house,” Maria says, sipping coffee at the table. She’s using one of your mugs; no one touches his except for him.

“I need to clean,” you say. “Then I can rest,”

And clean you do. You clean until the house doesn’t look like it’s lived in anymore. Aside from the pictures, there’s no indication that anyone has ever set foot in the house. 

Ellie’s worse for wear when you see her next. You’re surprised when she hugs you. It’s bone crushing, threatens to kill you. And you cry. You haven’t cried, not yet, but you do now. You cry for everything that’s happened. Ellie grips the back of your shirt like she’s making sure you’re still real. You don’t feel real. You feel like a hollow mannequin posing as yourself, imitating your words and mannerisms. But you cry like a person.

You brush hairs away from her face, taking her in between the blur of tears. She’s missing a piece of herself. Hell, you are, too.

Dina gets more swollen as the days pass. You don’t visit. Tommy relays the information with a solemn tone, one that says just go say something. You don’t have anything to say. There’s nothing to talk about. The bridge that held you and Ellie together is six feet under, and you’re not strong and constant like Tommy, you can’t bring her closer just by existing.

You cry more now, spending days locked in your room where you do nothing but cry and scream. The nightmares take hold in the day time, any time you find yourself able to catch a wink of sleep. You only ever see him, crumpled as a pulp on the floor of an old house, a house you’d never been to and to which you’ll never return. The house is the most insignificant part. You can’t place anything in the room, you don’t know the layout of the interior. You probably wouldn’t recognize it if you walked past it. But you know where he lies. You know the way the blood spreads out across the floorboards, still wet and glistening after however many hours. You know the pain that charges through your body at the sight of him–or lack thereof. You know how Tommy cries, screams and hollers as if that would wake him up. You’d recognize those facts anywhere.

Boots on snow, slower this time. There’s a few horses scattered around you, one carrying him, limp and frail, across its back. You walk beside it. Maria still won’t let you look at him, but you think it might be easier to pretend you know what he looks like. You stare at your feet as you walk. Every now and then, his hand comes into view. It’s rigid now, incapable of wrapping around yours as you so long for it to. There’s blood streaming up his wrist where his glove meets the skin. You wonder if he fought back. Ellie said there were at least ten of them. You wonder if he fought back.

You know that he didn’t fight back, at least not hard enough to win. Maybe he thought things would work out and someone would come to his aid. Maybe he’d accepted the prospect of death and was content to let go. You’ll never know why he didn’t fight, and even if you did, you don’t think you could understand it. Why wouldn’t he put up a fight? How could he think he’d done enough in the world to let go that easily, that painfully? You wonder what you would say to him if you could see him. Would you yell? Would you beg him to stay?

What would be the point?

Tommy was stupid, you know that. It was stupid of him to think he could take on an entire city by himself. You don’t blame him, though. If you had a little bit more guts, you would’ve, too. Instead, you locked yourself away and cried. In the end, neither decision mattered.

The snow mostly melted in the days following. There’s sludge beneath your feet as you approach him. It’s not him, not really, but what are graves if not a symbol for the living? You run your hand along the top of the stone. It’s cold to the touch, same as he has been for the last few days. He’ll never be warm again. You feel like you won’t either.

You feel stupid for not lighting the fire. The house is frigid, locking up your joints from the cold. But he always got the wood. You feel wrong getting rid of it. He wanted to provide for you, keep you warm, and it feels wrong to use that up so eagerly. Months have rolled by and the same stupid logs from the night before the world ended sit lonesome in your fireplace. It’s barely spring. You don’t want to lose the comfort of the winter.

You don’t want to lose any more than you already have. 

[web-novel-polls]

Less Popular Danmei Character Tournament

CWs: animal mention, animal death mention, death mention, pet death

Cui Buqu from Peerless

Submission: He’s mean, he’s disabled and unapologetic about it, he’s a genius and all his braincells escape him when faced with his rival, he’s a secret agent and has no martial arts, he’s deeply in love and will never say so unless pushed, he will liken his rival to his sun and then tell him he’s the most annoying person he’s ever met. He’s a bastard little fox <3 

Helian Yi from Lord Seventh / Qi Ye 

Qi Ye tells the story of Prince Jing Beiyuan’s seventh life, which is a repeat of his first life. All of his first five lives have been tied to Helian Yi - he helped him ascend the throne in their first life, he was an insect crushed by Helian Yi in his second life, he was a beloved dog killed to feed Helian Yi’s family in his third life, he was a neglected jasmine plant in his fourth life, he was a fox skinned by Helian Ye in his fifth life - but in the first and seventh lives, Helian Yi’s the Crown Prince of the Jin Empire while Jing Beiyuan is the Prince Nan’ning (a title; he’s not related to Helian Yi as far as I know). In their seventh life, Helian Yi seems to be treating him very well (from what I’ve read), but he’s not the love interest. 

He’s also in Faraway Wanderers (for, like, one chapter) and technically is Prince Jin in Word of Honor (but they’re pretty much completely different characters). Zhou Zishu is his most trusted aid who formed Heaven’s Window and then left. 

Idk, I haven’t gotten that far in Qi Ye; he sounds like the villain, but he’s really just Sad - Idk if he’s in love with Jing Beiyuan or what, but he’s SAD, okay? From what I can tell, he cares for Jing Beiyuan but can’t be with him because of his position as Crown Prince, but don’t quote me on that

“In that instant, Helian Yi suddenly wanted to take him into his arms, suddenly wanted to wholly throw out and disregard the home, nation, and world that weighed down on his mind and body, no longer brooding on and wishing for a liaison he didn’t dare to have. He wanted to say, from now on, come earthly blades of wind and swords of frost, I will do everything I can to block them or you. There is only one person in this life and this world for me, even without this extensive, partially mountainous, mostly oceanic king’s land.” - Source 

[spurious-result]

Chapter 4 is up! ❤

SNEAK PEEK: The touch is familiar.  So much so that there is no reflexive jolt of alarm; no startled tensing of the muscles in his lower legs, one hand reaching out to grab the would-be assailant’s forearm and twist before he’s come fully awake.  “Easy.”  Something cool and wet, pressed against the abraded skin of his knuckles.  Fuck.  He flexes the hand, gingerly.  Controls his breathing.  “Hey, you’re fine.  Just me.” Right. (It took longer than he’d like to admit after Zanzibarland – measured in years that felt like decades; the subtle background noise of tapping fingers on a computer keyboard, and the fragile, trusting warmth of another body in striking distance while he sleeps – but those hair-trigger PTSD days are behind him now.  Mostly.) He curls his fingers a little; turning his hand to face upright, just enough to brush the underside of his partner’s bony wrist.  Somewhere above him, Otacon huffs out an acknowledging breath – gentle.   Careful, still, in a way Snake doesn’t like.    “The meet-up was more eventful than we were hoping, I take it?” There isn’t much he can say to that, so he keeps his eyes closed.  He feels… what?  Something in the exhausted sag of the sofa springs, groaning like rusted hinges when he shifts his weight, feels more like day-old powder snow than he’d been prepared for; the way it flattens at the pressure points, packed whisper-smooth and yielding around the contours of his body. If he doesn’t look, he can just about imagine the mildewed, cold-weather smell of dog fur mixed with polyurethane wood varnish.  Braided wool rug; frosted double-pane windows.  Paraffin wax and shredded paper in the woodstove. He realizes, distantly, that he has no idea what time it is. “How’d you get in?” “Got the passcode from Raiden, same as you.”  Otacon’s hands are practiced at this, now; feeling carefully along the metacarpal bones for any instability.  Nothing broken, this time.  Dabbing the wet cloth – a dish towel, maybe? – down into the crevices between his fingers, to get at the stubborn flakes of dried blood that itch like bits of sandpaper when he tries to make a fist.  “Honestly, I figured you’d have me pinned to the wall before I got the door shut behind me, but – ”  Half-smile at this; Snake can hear it in his voice.  Can’t quite tell if he’s joking.  “I mean, quieter is probably better.  Right?” “Right.”  He’d slept straight through footsteps on the iron grate outside, evidently.  The muffled click of the doorjamb.  This disturbs him more than it should. 

[skylarmoon71]

Timeless Wells (Flash) - Speedster Chapter 7

The severity of your situation has the entire team looking down at your unconscious form on the bed.

“She’s stable for now.” Caitlin informs, removing her gloves.

“What happened, she just collapsed. It’s like she had a daydream and it made her snap.”

“Night terrors.” Joe interrupts.

They all turn to him.

“I worked on a case with the FBI ten years ago. The detective that I worked with never recovered. First he’d have trouble sleeping, but it got worse. He started getting daytime terrors. It got so bad that he had to resign. He wasn’t able to differentiate between reality and fantasy. She’s suffering.”

None of them liked the sound of that.

“Because of her speed, it makes this more dangerous. Her heart rate is already accelerated due to the speed force. If she keeps having these seizures it could kill her. “

Barry swallowed. Now evaluating his actions, he can’t help but feel like he has played a huge part enabling your trauma.

“It’s my fault.” 

Barry confesses.

“We know why you don’t trust her.”

Chester states. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Thawne would forever be Barry’s biggest weakness. His blindspot. Rational thinking often went out the window when that speedster was involved.

“So I’m going to die.”

Your eyes opened, gaining everyone’s attention. Caitlin looked relieved, moving over to check you, but you raised your hand. You ripped the IV from your arm and her expression was a bit panicked.

“What are you doing!”

You stand, tilting your head to the right. The crack that follows makes Cisco tense. He’d seen that action so many times. Never under good circumstances.

“I spent the last month trying to prove that I’m not just another evil counterpart only to be dealt this hand.”

You couldn’t believe it. Was this truly your destiny, to die this way. Known for nothing but being the replica of Barry Allen’s ultimate enemy. The villain, killer, manipulator. Moving away from them, Iris wants to convince you that there was still a way they could help you. Joe stood in front of her. A bit put off by the hollowness of your eyes. Right now, sympathies probably would not help.

There’s a remnant of blood on your shirt from where you removed the IV.

“I’m a murderer aren’t I? This is what I deserve.”

Barry knew that at this point it was his fault. He never trusted you. Not at all. But from the expression on your face, Barry could tell that this was the last straw. The hurt on your face was so strong.

“(Y/N) listen to me I’m sorry-”

“No you’re not."

Your tone holds hate.

Now it’s clear. He always said that Eobard turned himself into a monster. Maybe that was true for his former enemy.

But this time..

This time he was the one who created you.

Iris shifted closer to Barry, and Cisco looked ready for anything. Killer Frost lifted her hands. They didn’t like the way different parts of your body began to vibrate.

“If you want to make me a monster..”

Barry swallowed, because the red glow that ignited in your eyes was very familiar.

“Then I’ll become a monster.”

Your voice was no longer leveled. That deep demonic treble followed.

Barry wasn’t even offered a step. You blasted out of the room at a speed he wasn’t even aware you could tap into. The bracelet on your wrist now lay on the floor, a mess of crumbled metal. Everyone present was sent hurtling in a different direction from the residual shockwave.

The glass doors around broke, and some of the computers shorted throughout the room. The lights above their heads flickered on and off. Barry lifted his head off the ground when he was finally able to collect himself.

“What have I done..” 

[novaauster]

Could you tell me about the last snow?

Alright, kiddo, but after, you have to go to sleep. I have to get back to work. Let me remember... It was Daylight Savings Day in March-- I guess you don’t know what that is-- and the day before had been bright and sunny, I could walk around outside in sweatpants and a T-shirt. The weather changes fast, I know. First I heard the tapping, like a fingertip at my window, pulling me out of sleep again and again. I guess that was the hail? 

Does snow feel like hail?

A little. Only... softer. My mom--your granny--woke me up because we were going to get brunch with your great-grandad, and she pulled up my window blinds and said Look outside. I pushed myself up on one elbow, squinting with my bad eyes and against the watery sunlight, and I said Is it snowing? I was shocked. The winter was hot, the mornings barely frosted-over and the afternoons turning my car into an oven when I drove home from school. The spring should’ve been hot too. She said I knew the snow was coming, but I didn’t think it would. You never trust the weather reports these days, not for our city. 

You can’t trust them anywhere.

No, not now, you can’t. 

Did you know it was the last snow?

Immediately. The winter was hot, I’ve said, and I’d looked through my phone’s photos (yes, those grainy 2D things), and 5 years earlier, it snowed enough to make a snowman. 

A snowman?

I guess they don’t teach you about those. Just the blizzards and the famines. It’s... when there’s enough snow to roll it up in a big ball, like a beachball, and

Like when you pour water on sand?

Yes--are you playing in the desert sand with our water?

Yes?

So that’s why the water bill’s gone up. That and the price-gouging. Okay. Well. After I saw the snow, I went and got dressed, and when I came back to the window, it was raining. There was just ice on the stairs.

That’s it?

That’s it. Go to sleep, kiddo.

Goodnight.

[dumbgothbunny]

Dollhouse

Part 6

A/N: this is a dark fic! Please read TWs in the Masterlist! (:

Series Masterlist

After Blues absence you make sure to cherish every second you have with him. When he isn’t around your thoughts are consumed with him. You’re thankful he gives your box of crayons back, along with a new sketch book and a pack of mechanical pencils. You’re not supposed to have any objects that could prove useful as a weapon- you know this. Blue knows this- so the fact he trusts you enough to give you pencils speaks volumes. You’re able to make proper sketches now, still nothing show stopping, an artist you are not, but they’re better than the little crayon doodles still hidden away in your desk.

He had been correct in saying that your new sheets and blanket would help you sleep. They’re much softer and make the stiff mattress a tad bit more comfortable. The pillow he’d brought you stays clutched to your chest throughout the night, nose buried into the surface as you sleep. Blue’s walked in a few mornings to see you nuzzling it against your face, it’s quite the site. He stays with you on some nights, fucking you into the mattress and practically breaking your back with the force of his hips. Sometimes he’ll bathe you after- taking time to shave your body if needed. You’d been so nervous the first time he’d done it, but as he gazes at your skin with tenderness, one hand gently holding your leg, or your arm, or gently stretching the skin around your public area, while slowly, carefully caressing the blade against your flesh, it’s impossible to feel anything but adoration. Sometimes he’ll even trail kisses along the areas he’s groomed afterward. He’d accidentally cut you once, right over your shin. It wasn’t too bad, just a small cut that oozed a tad. Blue bent, latching his lips to your leg, tongue cleaning every drop that dared escape. Things were going so well, better than you’d ever actually thought possible.

You’re cuddled up to the pillow Blue gifted you, staring at the window. It’s made of reinforced frosted glass - you can’t actually see outside. You’re thankful for that though, your head is pounding and any more light would have probably popped your brain like a zit. You’d only been up for about ten minutes before your door opens, Blue strolling in with breakfast and your medicine. He hands you a bottle of chocolate milk- oh! that’s a first- and the usual food from the kitchen. As he turns to set your tray down you quickly stuff the tiny pill between the hem of your sheet, concealing it into the mattress. You chug down some of the milk, smiling and handing the tiny paper cup back to him.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me, Crybaby. So I think today we’re going to try something new.”

You instantly perk at that, lips tugging into the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. The actual embodiment of sunshine.

“I think you’ve earned an hour in the recess yard. It’s been awhile since you’ve been outside.”

Whatever you’d been expecting it wasn’t that. He strolls over to your small little table, perching on top of it and crossing his arms and ankles.

“Consider it a reward for your good behavior.”

Blue helps you step into a pair of sandals, offering his shoulder as you lose your balance slightly. Your head swims, and for a moment you think you might pass out.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, blinking a few times to clear your unfocused vision.

“Yeah I stood up too fast. I’m just so excited”

You don’t tell him about your headache, refusing to spoil this special moment he’s got planned. It’s felt like ages since you’ve felt the sun on your skin.

It’s impossibly bright, the warmth instantly seeping into your skin the moment he opens a large set of double doors. There’s a wide open field, a few trees set towards the back, a large greenhouse off to the side, set with rows of veggies all in various stages of growth. Birds sing from the trees, fat bees buzz around little flower-like weeds that poke up from the ground in some places. A chain fence towers along the perimeter, keeping you contained from the outside world. There’s a few tables scattered about, but no one is around. It’s completely deserted.

“I wanted you to have it all to yourself for a bit.”

Your fingers intertwine with his, a grin spread from ear to ear, and then you’re kicking off Your sandals, running as fast as your legs will take you. Blue crosses his arms, head tilted as you practically dive into a wildflower patch, rolling against the earth. Your dress rides up, exposing a thigh to him, your legs spread and you stretch, snapping him out of his concentration. He sighs, shaking his head while shrugging off his lab coat and toeing his work shoes off. He sets them on one of the unoccupied tables neatly. Blue strides over to where you’re now flat on your back, a hand hovering over your eyes to shield from the sun while you gaze at the clouds. A fat bumble bee decides to land on the tip of your nose, rubbing his plush little body against your skin. Blue drops to his knees beside you, sending the small creature on its way. He eyes the several security cameras set around the premises, checking just to make sure despite having been the one to turn them off.

His fingertip trails along your ear and jaw, a strong hand knocking your knees apart. When you give him a questioning look he only grins.

“Gotta let my sweet Crybaby soak up all the sun she can”

You yelp as his hands hike up the sides of your dress, exposing your bare pussy to him. There’s still love bites littering your skin, almost glowing in the sun.

“B-But what if someone see’s?”

He chuckles at your sudden worry. Shaking his head and looking at you from between your legs. Dropping to his tummy, he worms his way up.

“Cameras are dead- gave fair warning the yard was taken for an hour today. No one will wander out.”

You seem to find his answer satisfactory, settling back against the grass and mewling in content as he playfully licks at your bare thigh.

“No panties today? naughty girl.”

He watches as you react to his words, legs falling to the side, your slick opening blossoming for him with words alone. Nails dig into his scalp as he descends on you, at first he’s stroking your clit with his nose, sneaking his tongue inside of you every few moments, earning sweet little mewls from your parted lips. Your body arches off the ground, a sob ripping from your throat when his strong arms wrap around your legs, tugging you up with him as he repositions himself on his knees. Your hands cover your face, shame and embarrassment mixing with the white hot pleasure boiling over in your tummy. The sun heats your skin, as does the intense pleasure from Blues assault. He’s hunched over you, pure strength keeping you hiked up to his lips, only your shoulders and head still rest on the ground. The hem of your dress falls against your face, your teeth clenching into the fabric to quiet the way you’re moaning for him like a bitch in heat. It feels so good- his tongue, the way he’s just holding you like a toy- how he’s grunting and humming and moaning your nickname into your cunt, followed by words of praise- you’re so close that it’s dizzying. Blue gently nibbles at your clit, a finger massaging your labia. Your nails dig into the grass, jaw clenching as you cum on his lips. Blue licks you clean, careful not to overstimulate your already swollen folds before lowering you down and slowly crawling up your body- chest to chest.

“Tastes just like sunshine. Knew getting you out here would be good for you”

Smoothing your hair back while gazing at your half lidded expression, Blue plants a kiss on your lips. On instinct your mouth opens, inviting him inside. It’s an invitation that he eagerly accepts, the sweet tang of yourself mixed with his saliva has you clenching around nothing. You’ve just cum- but fuck you need more. A strong hand pushes up against your thigh, exposing you to him yet again. It’s a sight he’ll never forget- your dress bunched up- no panties- skin exposed for him to see in the sunlight- you’re glistening. Blue doesn’t break your kiss, not when he tugs you forward , dragging your back across the grass, not when he’s pulling his hard cock out of his pants, and definitely not when he’s pushing himself into you with a wet squelch. The noise you make is downright pornographic, your insides fluttering against him. he loves how your body takes him, splitting open around him and throbbing before trying to completely suck against him- to choke everything he has out of him and into you. You’re a greedy little thing- sucking around him and gasping for more, nimble fingers tugging at his short buzz cut. His hips begin to roll in a sensual motion, each movement sending electricity up your spine. You gasp, opening your eyes to stare directly into his. Your pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from kissing; parted as soft noises bubble up from your throat. Each thrust sends your body jolting forward, breasts straining against the softer fabric of one of the new night dresses he’d brought to you- nipples pebbled. He groans, nostrils flaring as you watch him take you, your brows furrowed from pleasure.

“P-please - Please fuck I want more Blue give me more-“

He nods, taking his lip between his teeth before picking up his pace, hiking your leg farther up, the other wrapped around his waist. You sob as he practically punches the air from your lungs with each thrust, meeting each of his quick pushes with your own. Blue loves it when you fuck him back. A growl vibrates from deep within his chest, his arms grabbing you and pulling you up into his lap- never once breaking contact. He’s panting, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead and neck. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him close to you as his hips begin to falter. Your insides squeeze, trails of slick oozing onto him and his thighs. His mouth drops open, eyes wide as you begin to bounce on him with so much force and speed he’s seeing stars. Where the fuck had you learned to ride dick so well? Your nails dig into his shirt, your lower half pulsating.

“Mnnn those novels you gave me-“

You begin, voice barley audible; strangled from pleasure.

“T-taught me some things”

You whimper as you desperately rock your hips just right against him, his blunt head pushing deeper against a devastatingly sensitive area. Blue takes hold of your hair, knuckles white from the force of his grip. It doesn’t bother you, instead it only urges you on. He’s close- so close.

“Cum in me, Baby Blue….”

It’s a whisper against his lips.

“Cum in your sweet little Crybaby- right here in the yard”

He gasps, a strangled cry of “fuck” ripping from his vocal cords as he does what you ask. You can feel it, incredibly warm as he empties completely inside of you. In fact, your entire body is warm you realize. You’re panting against him, suddenly feeling quite dizzy. Maybe the heat and sunshine had been a good idea, but in smaller doses.

“Blue I -“

You gently push against his chest, standing over his lap, teetering back as your vision blurs, black speckles dotting your vision. A wave of vertigo washes over you and before you know it you’re falling into the grass, only to be caught by his quick thinking. Sturdy, tanned arms pull you safely against his chest, he checks you over, wide brown eyes taking in everything.

“What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”

You shake your head, insistent regretting it.

“I just have a headache and I’m light headed is all… I love being outside though… I didnt wanna ruin it…”

Blue presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before pushing himself up, helping you stand slowly and steady yourself.

“It is warm out here today, isn’t it, baby?”

His voice is a soft, tender coo, his palms gently caressing each of your cheeks. You nod into his touch, closing your eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Blue lets you lean on him, strong arms keeping you from shaking as you slip back into your sandals.

“Let’s get you back inside. I’ll bring you some water and a snack”

A snack? Blue had never given you snacks before.

He escorts you back to your room, laying you down against your cool sheets. After making sure you’re okay- which you swear to him you’re fine, he dismisses himself. You groan, pressing your fingertips to your throbbing forehead. Maybe you should have told him earlier- the sunlight and heat probably didn’t make whatever was going on with you better.

Blue is back just as quickly as he left, a large bottle of water in one hand and Tupperware in the other, a wrapped snack cake stacked on top. You watch curiously as he approaches you, dropping to his knees in front of your bed. Like this he’s almost you’re height, eyes level. He does look worried, the furrow of his brow and downward tilt of his mouth give away his discontent. Blue sets everything on the floor minus the container and a plastic fork. A delightful aroma invades your senses as is fingers pry off the lid.

“What is that?”

“Don’t ask questions Crybaby. Open up.”

Your jaw drops, lips parting in obedience. You’re so far gone that Blue could openly feed you poison and you’d take it happily, if just to see him smile.

“That’s a good girl. I made this for dinner last night”

The fork is already laying against your tongue, the familiar taste of pasta and sauce gracing your tastebuds. It’s so good- better than anything you’ve tasted in a while.

“W-Wait Blue this-“

He shakes his head, pushing the fork back into your mouth after spearing a few more noodles.

“I’m sharing it with you, see?”

He takes a bite after feeding you, assuring you that this is, in fact, okay. Despite the smile on his face your heart sinks.

“But Blue you’ll get hungry”

“There’s vending machines in the lounge. It’s fine Crybaby now enjoy my kindness before I decide you need a spanking for disobedience.”

You shut your mouth around his presented fork. How could he flawlessly transition from being so loving to cruel and back in such sort time?

Blue takes a few bites here and there between feeding you. He chuckles when a bit of sauce gets stuck to your lip, leaning in and wiping it away with his thumb before sticking it past his lips. Your face feels as if it’s on fire. The act, even as simple as it was, is extremely intimate; his eyes are half lidded, looking at you with complete adoration. You’re more than thankful when he presses the bottle of water to your lips, gulping so eagerly that you spill from the sides of your mouth. Blue laughs when you choke, water going everywhere. He pulls it from you mouth.

“Slow down, Baby. You can have all the water you want”

You nod, presenting you mouth for him once more. This time you do as he says, taking slower sips, savoring how cool and crisp it is on your tongue. Once finished he sets the now half drank bottle down, picking up the small snack cake.

“My favorite. Want you to try some?”

You nod, watching closely as he unwraps the confection, mouth watering at the lemony tang that fills the air. Much like before Blue takes the time to break off piece by piece, feeding you with his fingers -which you happily lick and suck the lemon icing off once finished. He grins as he finishes his own half. Blue tosses the wrapper beside him, leaning in and slotting his lips up against yours. He groans, the taste of his favorite treat mixing with your saliva. A sweet yelp is swallowed by his mouth when he crawls forward between your legs, mounting the bed with a leg on each side of the edge. His lips part, tongue expertly navigating the inside of your mouth. You taste delicious, sweet as sin and sugar. A palm gropes at your breasts, causing you to wince and flench under his touch. It’s tender. Blue brings his hand back, his lips releasing your tongue with a soft wet pop. You whimper stay the loss.

“Did that hurt you?”

You shake your head, biting at your lip while looking up at him with wide eyes.

“J-just a little sore. All my muscles are. But I feel better after eating and drinking.”

Blue places a much more intimate kiss against the Cupid-bow of your mouth before pushing himself off the mattress.

“I have an appointment today. I’ll be back in time for dinner, okay?”

You nod, stretching your arms up and out to him from your bed. He steps forward and pulls you up off the mattress, muscles flexing under tanned skin. Blue places a kiss on your forehead, on your cheek, and then one long, tender kiss on your slick lips. A palm rests in the back of the your head, the other around your waist, holding you in position. Once he’s satisfied enough, Blue gently lays you back.

“I think I’ll take a nap.”

“Dream of me?”

You grin, eyes already half lidded.

“I always do, Blue.”

Your admission sends butterflies through his Stomach and up into his chest. He gives a final small smile, touching his lips as if to blow a kiss. You grin and wiggle your fingers back at him, watching as he turns and leaves, eyes focused on the plump curve of his backside.

[the-swedes-knees]

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent. 

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

[liriostigre]

hey! I wanted to ask what your favorite poetry books are? I have a few but I want to read new and interesting stuff, and I trust your taste :D

hiii ♡

tbh i only started reading poetry collections like,, last year. i'm subscribed to poetryfoundation's newsletter (poem of the day) so i usually just read random poems

anyway, i'm not sure my recs could be considered new (cause i'm gonna start with Mary Oliver ♡) but feel free to message me if you want to know the themes, style, feeling (vibes, if you will) or anything you want to know about these collections. for now, i'm linking my favorite poems in each collection, i hope this helps you choose! ♡

here you go:

Dream Work —Mary Oliver (“Wild Geese.” “Dogfish.”)

Red Bird —Mary Oliver (“Summer Morning.” “Love Sorrow.”)

Blue Horses —Mary Oliver (“To Be Human Is to Sing Your Own Song.” “Loneliness.” “Little Crazy Love Song.”)

The Wild Iris —Louise Glück (“Sunset.” “Retreating Light.”)

Haruko/Love Poems —June Jordan (“On a New Year’s Eve.” “Mendocino Memory.” “Toward a City That Sings.” *under the cut)

Extracting the Stone of Madness —Alejandra Pizarnik (“Primitive Eyes.” “Summer Goodbyes.” *under the cut)

Ariel —Sylvia Plath (“Tulips.” “The Rival.”)

Prelude to Bruise —Saeed Jones (“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat.” *under the cut)

Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth —Alice Walker (“Coming Back from Seeing Your People.” *under the cut)

I Must Be Living Twice —Eileen Myles (“Edward the Confessor.” *under the cut)

Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth —Warsan Shire (“Conversations About Home (at the Deportation Centre.”)

The Black Unicorn —Audre Lorde (“Hanging Fire.” “Sister Outsider.”)

Bright Dead Things —Ada Limón (“The Riveter.” “Glow.”)

Night Sky With Exit Wounds —Ocean Vuong (“Thanksgiving 2006.” “Logophobia.”)

Postcolonial Love Poem —Natalie Diaz (“Manhattan Is a Lenape Word.”)

Crush —Richard Siken (“Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out.”)

Once —Alice Walker (“So We've Come at Last to Freud.”)

“Toward a City That Sings” by June Jordan

Into the topaz the crystalline signals of Manhattan the nightplane lowers my body scintillate with longing to lie positive beside the electric waters of your flesh and I will never tell you the meaning of this poem: Just say, ‘She wrote it and I recognize the reference.’ Please let it go at that. Although it is all the willingness you lend the world as when you picked it up the garbage scattering the cool formalities of Madison Avenue after midnight (where we walked for miles as though we knew the woods well enough to ignore the darkness) although it is all the willingness you lend the world that makes me want to clean up everything in sight (myself included)

for your possible discovery

“Primitive Eyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

Where fear neither speaks in stories or poems, nor gives shape to terrors or triumphs.

My name, my pronoun — a grey void.

I’m familiar with the full range of fear. I know what it’s like to start singing and to set off slowly through the narrow mountain pass that leads back to the stranger in me, to my own emigrant.

I write to ward off fear and the clawing wind that lodges in my throat.

And in the morning, when you are afraid of finding yourself dead (of there being no more images): the silence of compression, the silence of existence itself. This is how the years fly by. This is how we lost that beautiful animal happiness.

“Summer Goodbyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

The soft rumor of spreading weeds. The sound of things ruined by the wind. They come to me as if I were the heart of all that exists. I would like to be dead, and also to go inside another heart.

“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat” by Saeed Jones

I. Drugged, I dreamed you a plume of ash, great rush of wrecked air through the towns of my stupor. And when the ocean in your blood went toxic, I thought fire was what we needed: serrated light through the skin, grenade in the chest—pulled linchpin. I saw us breathing on the other side of after. But a blackout is not night; orange-bottled dreams are not sleep. II. I was a cross-legged boy in the third lifetime, empire of blocks in my lap while you walked through the door of your silence, hunting knife in one hand, flask in the other. I waited for you until I forgot to breathe, my want turning me colors only tongues of amaryllis could answer for. It owned me, that hunger, tendriled its way into my name for you. III. In a city made of rain each door, a silence; each lock, a mouth, I walked daily through the spit-slick streets, harbingers on my hands in henna: there will be no after Black-and-blue-garbed strangers, they called me Cassandra. (I had such a body then.) Umbrellas in hand, they listened while they unlistened. there will be no no. after

the world will end no.

you are the reason it no. ends

you no. IV. I didn’t exactly mean to survive myself. Half this life I’ve spent falling out of fourth-story windows. Pigeons for hair, wind for feet. Sometimes I sing “Stormy Weather” on the way down. Today, “Strange Fruit.” Each time, strangers find me drawing my own chalk outline on the sidewalk, cursing with a mouth full of iron, furious at my pulse. V. After ruin, after shards of glass like misplaced stars, after dredge, after the black bite of frost:        you are the after, you are the first hour in a life without clocks; the name of whatever falls from the clouds now is you (it is not rain), a song in a dead language, an unlit earth, a coast broken— how was I to know every word was your name?

“Coming Back from Seeing Your People” by Alice Walker

Coming back From seeing your people You were So wonderfully Full Of yourself.

But now You have supped With vampires They have fed Feasted On you.

They arise Bright-eyed Fit.

You alone have lost Not only Your sleep But also Your glow The luster of Affection Heart welcome Your people Sent home With you.

Beloved You must learn To walk alone To hold The precious Silence To bring home And keep the precious Little That is left Of yourself.

“Edward the Confessor” by Eileen Myles

I have a confession to make I wish there were some role in society I could fulfill I could be a confessor I have a confession to make I have this way when I step into the bakery on 2nd Ave. of wanting to be the only really nice person in the store so the harried sales woman with several toned hair will like me. I do this in all kinds of stores, coffee shops xerox shops, everywhere I go. And invariably I leave my keys, xeroxing, my coffee from the last place I am being so nice. I try so hard to make a great impression on these neutral strangers right down to the perfect warm smile I get entirely lost and stagger back out onto the street, bereft of something major. It’s really leaning too hard on the everyday. My mother was the kind of woman who dragging us into stores always seemed to charm the pants off the cashier. She was such a great person, so human though at home she was such a bitch, I mean really distant. I imitate her and I don’t do it well. She didn’t leave her wallet or us in a store. I’m just a pale imitation it is simply not my style to open the hearts of strangers to my true personhood. I hope you accept this tiny confession of what I am currently going through. And if you are experiencing something of a similar nature tell someone, not me, but tell someone. It’s the new human program to be in. It would be nice for at least these final moments if we could sigh with the relief of being in the same program with all the other humans whispering in school. I can’t quite locate the terror, but I am trying to be my mother or Edward the Confessor smiling down on you with up-praying hands. I am looking down at the tips of my boots as I step across the balcony of the church excited to be allowed to say these things. Outside my church is a relationship. On 11th street this guy and this woman are selling the woman so they can get more dope. All their things are there, rags and loaves of bread and make-up. And there was— this was incredible. Two men lying by the door of the church giving each other blow-jobs. They were sort of street guys, one black one white. I said hey you can’t do that here. They jumped up, one spit come out of his mouth. If you don’t get out of here I’ll call the cops. Don’t call the cops we’ll go, we’ll leave. That was a shock. That was more than I expected to see in a day. Something about seeing the guy spit come out of his mouth. He didn’t have to do that. I guess I scared him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was scared too.

[archived-kin]

kaeya isn't as smooth as anyone thinks (and that's okay)

note from kin: basically i saw the ‘kaeya is flirty and constantly flusters reader who has a giant crush on him’ trope and went ‘but what if KAEYA was the one with the giant crush’

quick background: reader is the ‘strong, silent, stoic’ type, has a cryo vision, and works alongside barbara in the church of favonius as a medic

i couldn’t think of a gender neutral way for you to be addressed that sounded natural so i just had you be called your name throughout the piece, but just know that barbara would be addressing you with older sibling honourifics and kaeya would use some sort of respectful title (but in like. a flirty way)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, kaeya, barbara, bennett

pairing(s): kaeya/reader,

warning(s): non-descriptive blood/mild injury

genre: fluff

“Master Kaeya!” Barbara exclaims as a familiar cavalry captain strides into the cathedral, dripping blood all over the freshly-polished tiles. “What happened this time?!”

“Just a run-in with some hilichurls,” He says with a nonchalant shrug, swiping away a bead of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?!” She hurriedly ushers him into the hospital wing, hands already beginning to sparkle with Hydro healing magic. “You— you’re bleeding extremely heavily! I need to get these wounds closed up as soon as possible—”

“Relax,” Kaeya placates, giving one of her pigtails a playful tug as she frantically flits about him like an agitated butterfly. “I don’t feel a thing. It’s all superficial, really…”

“Still…!” She hurries over to one of the cupboards and fumbles around for a roll of bandages. “Please sit down! This won’t take a moment...!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” He says, holding up his hands. “Is [Name] in today?”

“Yes, they agreed to watch over Bennett while I took care of our patients…” She answers, still rummaging about feverishly, then suddenly pauses, and Kaeya grins slightly. She’s seen right through him. “Ah, wait… Master Kaeya, is this what I think it is?”

Kaeya laughs as she looks up at him with large, reproachful blue eyes, hands set firmly on her hips. Maybe he’d be intimidated if Barbara didn’t have the face of a baby lamb. It’s just kind of adorable. “Perhaps.”

She blows out a breath, cheeks puffing up, then shakes her head with a resigned sort of smile. “I don’t think [Name] will appreciate you disturbing them…”

“I won’t be disturbing anyone,” Kaeya says with a cheeky sort of grin, raising his hand as if showing off the gash in his forearm. “I’m a patient, after all. So, where will [Name] and Bennett be?”

“In the west wing,” Barbara answers, dropping her hands, though the soft blue glow remains.

“To the west wing we go, then,” He replies, and strides off with a flick of his cape. Barbara follows hurriedly, clutching the roll of bandages to her chest.

You’re sat by the window when Kaeya pokes his head in through the door, flicking through a book. The sunlight streaming in behind you seems to illuminate the pale colour of your robes to an ethereal glow, and Kaeya can’t help but silently compare the sight to the illustrations of divine celestial beings he’s seen in books. He takes a deep breath, briefly pressing his hand to his chest, then moves to greet you.

You seem to notice his presence before he can, however, raising your head from your book and practically pinning him to the spot with those clear eyes. “...Master Kaeya.”

He smiles, unable to help the slightly goofy quality of his expression. Archon knows that Lisa would never let him live it down if she saw him now. “[Name].”

“Hi, Mr Kaeya!” Bennett exclaims, attempting to raise a bandage-wrapped hand in greeting, but having to drop it as its sling goes taut. Kaeya offers a brief wave in response, but he’s far too absorbed in looking at you to say anything more.

You stare at him in silence, eyes moving down to the patches of red staining his sleeve, then back up at the scratch on his left cheek. Your expression is unmoving, cold, even, but he still has to try hard not to overheat under the sheer intensity of your gaze. Any flirty quips that he might have thought of trying on you just dry up in his mouth as soon as they come.

“What happened?” You ask finally.

“Master Kaeya says he encountered some hilichurls,” Barbara answers for him, slipping into the room and standing beside him. Bennett grins enthusiastically as soon as he sees her, and she responds with a sweet smile of her own.

You raise an eyebrow at him, and Kaeya can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. “Hilichurls?”

“They were rather... aggressive,” He answers, folding his arms and shifting his weight to his left leg. “And there were quite a lot of them as well.”

You blink slowly. “I would have thought that the Cavalry Captain would be sufficiently capable to ward them off.”

“Well, when you’re surrounded on all sides, there’s not much you can do,” Kaeya shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. He’s not going to admit that he’d stood there and allowed them to get in a few good hits just so he’d have a good reason to come by.

You sigh and close your book, setting it on the windowsill beside you. “I suppose you’ll need some healing.”

“Please,” He responds with a chuckle, inclining his head. You nod and get to your feet.

“Keep an eye on Bennett,” You instruct Barbara, who quickly moves over to take your place beside the unlucky adventurer’s bed. “I trust that he’ll be well under your care.”

“Of course!” She nods, beaming as you gently pat her on the shoulder. “You can count on me!”

You nod, the faintest of smiles crossing your face. Kaeya almost feels as if he shouldn’t be witnessing such a sight, but he can’t help but stare in subtly open-mouthed awe until the smile disappears, and you begin leading him back into the east wing.

“How deep are the wounds?” You ask monotonously as you guide him to one of the chairs. He sits down without needing to be told, obediently holding out his right arm and allowing you to unfasten the cuffs and pull back his sleeves.

“Not deep enough to be too painful,” He answers, shivering slightly as he feels your cold fingers press into the skin around the wound, carefully prodding about to see the extent of the damage. “I’m sure that you’ll make quick work of it.”

His compliment doesn’t seem to affect you in the slightest - quite frankly, it’s a little disheartening how little you seem to care. “Then why didn’t you have Barbara heal your wounds for you? Do you think she is incapable?”

“No, not at all!” Kaeya hurries to answer, unnerved by the sudden narrowing of your normally calm eyes. “I just… rather like seeing you. That’s all.”

Your hands pause for the briefest of moments before returning to their work. Is Kaeya imagining the surprise that flashes across your face? “...is that so?”

“Of course...” He tries to offer a suave sort of smile, only to grimace when he feels you pinch the raw edges of his wound together in preparation to seal it.

You’re silent for a while, though Kaeya can’t quite tell if it’s because you’re absorbed in your work or if you’re thinking about something else. He tries not to stare, he really does, but you draw his eye with such deep compulsion that he can't seem to tear his eyes away.

Finally, your stern expression softening ever so slightly, you say, “...then you are welcome to come by whenever you please, injuries or not.”

He jolts so hard that he almost rips the wound open again as soon as you’ve sealed it, feeling a hot flush rise to his face. His mouth falls open, and he aggressively snaps it shut again as you look back up at him. “I…”

“Bennett has been rather vocal about his suspicions as to the frequency of your visits,” You say steadily and factually, a ghost of a smile tugging on your mouth. “I wasn’t sure whether to believe him before, but…”

“O-oh?” Kaeya pinches subtly at his own leg in an effort to snap himself back to his senses. Where on earth has all his charm and poise gone? He feels like a young boy again, stumbling over his words as his heart hammers like a drum in his heart. “What exactly has Bennett been saying?”

“He seems to be under the impression that you’re getting yourself injured deliberately,” You answer, and Kaeya mentally slaps himself. Of course he’d been too obvious. But, really, how else is he supposed to find an excuse to see you so often when you’re otherwise always so busy with patients?

“...I suppose I’ve been caught.” He raises his free hand to rub almost bashfully at the back of his neck. “Is it such a crime to want a reason to visit?”

You look him directly in the eyes, and he has to fight the urge not to throw his arms around you right then and there. How can one’s gaze be so blank and yet so warm at the same time? “Perhaps it would be better if you weren’t injured.”

“It’s the only way to make sure you’ll see me,” He chuckles. “You hardly ever seem to leave the hospital wing.”

You pause and frown slightly, as if confused, and the sight is so endearing that Kaeya doesn’t think his heart has ever felt so full. “...I don’t think I spend all my time here…”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever even seen you out on the streets,” He continues, fighting back a grin as you bring a hand to your chin, still looking rather puzzled. He pauses, taking in a breath, then asks, “Why don’t you stop by Angel’s Share in the evening some day?”

Your frown smooths out slightly, and you cock your head to the side. “...will you be there?”

His cheeks heat up again. “Of course - if you’d like me to be.”

You nod thoughtfully, pulling back from his arm. The wound is little more than a thin scar now. “I would.”

You shake your hand out briefly, coating it once again in your special brand of healing Cryo energy, and raise your frost-covered palm to the scratch in Kaeya’s cheek, only to see that he’s already staring intently at you. It’s almost unnerving how intense the glacial blue colour of his eyes is - so deep that you could almost be frozen in them completely, like a fly trapped in amber.

He moves the hand of his uninjured arm up to your own cheek, slowly, almost as if he’s in a trance. You can’t quite read the expression on his face - the gentle slope of his brows, the soft corners of his eyes, his ever-so-slightly ajar mouth - but it’s compelling in such a way that you can’t pull your gaze from his.

Almost abruptly, he smiles bright, eyes closing, and he leans forward. You freeze in place as he throws his uninjured arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, turning to press the softest of kisses to the side of your head.

“Kaeya?” You whisper, and his grip tightens slightly. He doesn’t respond, only laughs quietly, almost giddily, a deep sound that seems to reverberate through both your body and his.

You slowly raise your own arms and wrap them around him in turn, leaning into his touch. Kaeya laughs again, and this time you can’t help but smile, pressing yourself further into his embrace.

Footsteps and voices are approaching from somewhere far in the distance, and perhaps you hear a knock on the door, but in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. For now, the patients and healing can wait.

[soulmate-game]

Well, here is the stupid thing I was alluding to. It’s mostly a filler chapter, but yeah.

Harley’s Plea for Help, Chapter 3

“Well, that took a while,” a relatively deep female voice smoothly drawled. The plants placed right next to the window pulled away, no longer blocking the pathway inside. The two figures who were perched right outside the windowsill took the invitation and climbed inside, the shorter of the two looking at the woman who had spoken and smiling widely.

“Auntie Ivy!” Marinette happily exclaimed, making the redhead across from her grin back.

“That’s me. It sure is nice to actually see you in person, little Marigold,” she held out her arms for a hug, which Marinette instantly ran in to accept. “Video calls are never quite enough, are they? You’re so tiny! Are you sure you eat alright?”

“Auntie Ivyyyyyy,” Marinette whined, knowing full well that Ivy was just teasing her.

“So, what took you all so long?” Ivy asked Red Hood, even as she kept her arms wrapped around her soon-to-be daughter in law. “Usually you bats are all about getting back on the streets to punch people, we didn’t think you’d be bringing her in at almost one in the morning.”

Hood shrugged, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Your little garden fairy nearly gave us the slip. Went straight out the back exit instead of doin’ anything showy like we half expected and we almost missed her.”

“I stopped as soon as I noticed who they were, I swear!” Marinette pulled away from Ivy, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t expect Momma to send them to babysit me before our first full day being in Gotham. In hindsight, though, I really should have.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Ivy agreed with a smirk, ruffling Marinette’s hair and making her pigtails go a little crooked. “And I know for a fact that you’ve done some stunts off your balcony back in Paris, so at least I know you can be responsible and hold yourself back from doing the same here. Must get that from me, because we both know it doesn’t come from Harley.”

Marinette and Hood both had to laugh at that. Being responsible was definitely not a trait that Marinette could have inherited from anybody in her family tree, that was for sure.

“Are ya makin’ fun of me in front of my daughter?” the comically scandalized voice announced the arrival of one Harley Quinn, who walked into the room in white onesie pajamas with a poker print on them. All of the “joker” cards were crossed out heavily with red sharpie, and a few of them had black-sharpie devil horns and handlebar mustaches vandalizing them. Marinette even caught one such card with a googly eye on it, the matching eye having fallen off and leaving only a small circle of since-dried hot glue where it used to be. “If you guys are gonna be that way, fine! Ivy dyes her hair!”

“No she doesn’t,” Marinette deadpanned, clearly fighting against a giant grin. The corners of her lips gave her away, they never stopped twitching with repressed mirth. “But you do. I got the pictures to prove—- aah!” Harley tackled her daughter to the ground, attacking her with tickles immediately.

“Take it back! My hair is naturally blond!”

“Yeah, naturally— hahahahaha! Sandy blonde! You— hahaha! Have just as much brown— stop I can’t breathe! hahahaha!— as yellow!”

“Hmph,” Harley finally backed off, crossing her eyes and looking away from Marinette with an exaggerated pout. “How dare you reveal my darkest secret?”

“I was a natural redhead even before I got my powers,” was all Ivy had to say, looking all too amused at this turn of events. “Your original costume completely covered your hair.”

“Don’t worry, Harley,” Red Hood butted in, reminding the three girls that he was still here. His tone suggested that he was definitely smiling under his helmet. “We found out about your hair dye years ago.”

“I just cover up the brown parts! It’s not like I’m changin’ much,” she argued before standing up again. “Thanks for gettin’ my cupcake back safely, little birdie. Oh, that's right! I made cupcakes! Hang on, lemme grab one for your trip back!” with that, she span on her heels and ran back further into the apartment. Marinette dashed over to Hood, immediately shoving him to the window.

“Quick, save yourself! Momma can’t bake for her life!” she whispered urgently. “I’ll say you were called away for an emergency, just hurry!”

“It’s not even a lie, getting away from Harley’s baking is an emergency,” Ivy agreed, waving as the vigilante took their advice and fled. It was only three seconds later that Harley slid back into the room, nearly falling due to the feet of her onesie having pretty much zero friction. Her face immediately fell when she saw that her victim was gone, leaving her standing there with a cupcake that was about twice as much frosting as actual cake, covered in sprinkles like a kid’s craft project that was smothered in glitter. The frosting was also shapeless, just heaped on the cake like a half-melted scoop of ice cream. She sighed in despair.

“There goes my chance of giving a bat diabetes. You guys warned him, didn’t ya?”

They both nodded shamelessly. “We’re not that cruel, Harley,” Ivy defended, getting up from her spot on her cushioned armchair and wrapping an arm around her fiance’s waist before she kissed the top of her head gently. “Hood got our little Marigold back safe and sound, and he’s even started a garden at his apartment. He doesn’t deserve to be poisoned by you.”

“I thought you said he got a single cactus at the flea market last month,” Harley deadpanned, making Ivy shrug.

“Might as well be a garden for him, and it’s something he’s not likely to kill so that’s a plus to me. He’s actually taking really good care of the little baby.”

“Speaking of garden!” Marinette gently took the sad excuse of a pastry away from her mom and sat it down on a side table before ushering both of them over to the living room and onto the sofa. “My garden back home is growing so big, I don’t think I can keep everything much longer. I barely have room to walk on the terrace, with all the vines and leaves and branches. Got any ideas of what I can do?”

“Of course! Do you have pictures, Marigold?”

—*—*—*—*—*

Slipping back through her hotel window at six in the morning was risky, since it involved climbing the wall and hoping nobody saw, but her classmates were so unpredictable that it was the only way she could be sure nobody would find out that she had violated curfew and snuck out. Of course, having Red Robin waiting outside her mom’s apartment’s terrace to escort her back helped. At least she knew that no street cams would record her comings or goings, and his grappling hook made the whole scale-the-hotel-wall business much more efficient.

Once she was inside, she sighed happily. “Thanks, now—“ her apology was cut off as Red Robin held up a finger to tell her to wait.

“Hold that thought, be right back. Don’t move.”

Thinking, rightfully, that something was wrong, Marinette obeyed. She watched Red Robin leap off of her hotel balcony and disappear into the streets. Immediately, she began a search to make sure her room had been left untampered— everything important had been packed in the backpack that she had taken to her mom’s place, but still. Could never be too careful. By the time she finished checking for bugs or any signs of snooping, Red Robin landed back on her balcony.

“Here we go.”

Turning to face him, Marinette opened her mouth to ask what the problem had been— only to tear up a little and walk over to the vigilante.

“Oh, my hero. Truly, my one and only savior. Knight in shining red Kevlar. I’m running on two hours of sleep and you have read my mind!” The pigtailed drama queen eagerly took the coffee that he offered her, and he sipped from a larger cup that looked like he had grabbed it from the same place. Marinette almost instantly sighed in gratitude when the hot drink lightly scalded her tongue. This. This was the elixir of life.

To his credit, Red Robin was able to restrain himself to merely an amused smirk. Probably because he was running on just as little sleep as she was. “Sorry it’s only a small, I figured it was best to have something you could finish quickly and easily hide the evidence for. If you need more caffeine, I happen to know that Wayne Enterprises has a very good coffee shop in their main hall. You’ll be touring there today, right?” He asked, taking another sip as he waited for the answer that he already knew.

Marinette nodded absently, drinking in the euphoria of her coffee as she tried to both savor it yet finish it as quickly as safely possible. When she came up for air, she said; “Yeah, that’s right. We’re touring Wayne Enterprises for most of the day, having lunch there, and leaving for dinner after the tour. Then we have a visit to the Gotham Museum of Fine Art, and we’ll stay there until about eight-thirty before heading back to the hotel.”

Red Robin nodded, then turned and looked out the window at the slowly rising sun. Sunrise was always a bit later in Gotham, partly because of the abundance of high-rises and partly because of the thick cloud cover and ever-present fog on the edges of the city making everything seem darker than it should have been. He had to be at work soon himself, which is why he had been chosen to escort her to the hotel in the first place, but that meant that he had to be heading off.

“Alright. We arranged for a bodyguard we trust to keep an eye on your class during the WE tour, but he doesn't know who you are or that we’re the ones who asked. We’re still in the process of arranging someone to shadow you after the tour, but we’ll tell you about that once it’s solidified. Until then, follow the usual self-defense procedures if you suspect anyone of following you. You have the panic button we gave you?”

Marinette nodded, gulping down the last of her coffee and carefully putting it in her room’s tiny trash can. “Got it. Thanks, again. Seriously,” she met his eyes— or, probably did since they were hidden behind that weird white film that the whole Batfam had covering the eyeholes of their masks. “I mean it. For listening to me, for listening to Mom. It means a lot. I’ll keep the panic button on me, and I’ll use it if I think I can’t handle a situation on my own. I’ll cooperate with the people you get to watch over the class, and I’ll do my best to not get into any trouble. No promises, but I’ll do my best,” she maintained eye contact until Red Robin nodded, hiding his expression behind his coffee cup. After a second, he cleared his throat.

“Well then. We’ll contact you once we have anything to say about your intel. Until then, I gotta go. And by the way?”

Marinette tilted her head curiously as Red Robin paused for just a moment on her balcony railing, aiming a smirk back at her. “Yeah?”

“Welcome to Gotham.”

And if she couldn’t help but smile widely as he grappled off into the fog-veiled sunrise? Well, only she had to know. She wasted no time closing and locking the glass balcony door, and pulling the curtains over it completely. Once that was done, she couldn’t help but do a little shimmy of Joy. She was caffeinated, she met Auntie Ivy in person for the first time, she got to sleep next to her momma— and she was in Gotham! Technically her hometown— or town she was conceived in? Didn’t matter. Point was, even with the chaos and dark energy clouding the very air, she couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in that city. Like that was where she was always meant to end up, where she could thrive and the environment that she was made to thrive in. The environment that she was born to start fixing.

She beamed at herself in her bathroom mirror as she gave herself one more once-over. Yeah, so far her visit to Gotham was going much better than she could have hoped. Now, she just had to make sure it stayed that way.

Three businesslike raps sounded against the door to her room, just in time for Marinette to feed Tikki one more cookie and straighten her purse on her shoulder. Madame Mendelieve’s voice called out from the other side of the door in her usual no-nonsense bark;

“Dupain-Cheng! Room check! It’s time to get up, we’re meeting down in the lobby in ten minutes.”

Marinette ran up to the door, not quite able to contain her energy, and swung it open with her trademark large, beaming smile.

“Way ahead of you, Madame Mendelieve!”

Her science teacher blinked, adjusting her glasses on her nose as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Ah. You’re already awake and ready?”

Marinette giggled and nodded. “Yup! I was so excited for the tour that I could barely sleep! Does the hotel breakfast include free coffee?”

—*—*—*—*—*

The hotel breakfast did, in fact, include coffee. What it did not include, however, was free coffee that Marinette could reasonably stomach. Especially after the heaven in a cup that Red Robin had gotten for her earlier, the watered down motor oil in the hotel lobby had been unbearable. She had barely managed two sips before regretfully throwing the rest away. Which is what brought her to stand in line at the very same coffee shop that Red Robin had mentioned was in the main hall of Wayne Enterprises, as the rest of her class mingled and waited for their teachers to check their tour group in and their tour guide to arrive.

“Hmm. Sorry, this is my first time ordering here,” she apologized when she reached the counter, gaining a slight lopsided grin from the barista at the register. “Um, I usually like strong coffee, with a lot of caffeine, but I also like something sweet. I don’t need anything too complicated though, do you have any recommendations?”

The barista gave her a customer service smile that seemed just a tad softer at the edges than usual. “Sure! So, we can add an extra shot or two of espresso to any of our drinks, to make it stronger and give it an extra kick. If you’re looking for good sweet flavors, the classics are our white chocolate or caramel. But we also have a seasonal syrup right now that I personally love, which is our cinnamon butterscotch. Did you wanna try that?”

Marinette smiled widely. “That sounds delicious! Then, if I could have your largest size café latte, hot, with… two extra shots and that syrup? Does that sound good?”

The barista actually let loose a soft laugh, already keying in the order. “If you’re a coffee lover and a sweet tooth at the same time, then you’ll love it. If not, come back during your tour’s lunch break and I’ll make you something else.”

Marinette made a little more small talk as she handed over the proper cash for the order, and grabbed her drink after just another minute’s wait. She turned around, taking a sip of the unsurprisingly heavenly coffee and started off to join her class.

Only to realize none of them were where she had left them. She sighed, starting to reach into her purse to see if anyone had texted her about where they were going, but a heavy presence stopped her. She could feel him approaching from in front of her, slightly to her right, but she couldn’t hear him at all. On guard, she straightened up and turned to observe the potential threat.

A security guard. Marinette blinked, running over what she had been told earlier that morning. Was he..?

He seemed to notice her instinctually defensive posture because he raised his hands to show he meant no harm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he apologized. “I’m the guard that was assigned to your tour group. I offered to stay behind until you got your coffee while the rest of your group went ahead and got the run-down on all the boring rules and whatnot of the tour. Figured you’d already know everything they had to say anyway, you’re the class president right?”

Marinette relaxed her posture, nodding and sending the man a relieved smile. “Yeah, that’s right. Well, that explains why they left without me then. Usually Madame Mendelieve is strict about following rules though, how’d you convince her to go on without me?”

The man chuckled, jerking his head to show that she should follow him as he began to lead the way to a side door. Marinette kept her guard up just in case, but wasn’t too worried. If nothing else, she was still in the middle of a super crowded building and the other security guards around didn’t seem concerned. She could easily yell for help if she needed to.

“Well, can’t you tell it was my devilish charm?” He teased, grinning. He waited until she rolled her eyes to continue; “but really, I’m like a second tour guide. She made me show a lotta proof that I’m actually assigned to you guys and not just faking it, not that I can blame her. Eventually she saw the logic in my suggestion and agreed. See, there they are,” he pointed casually ahead of them in the large side hallway they had entered. Sure enough, near the end of the hallway was her class at what looked to be the tail-end of a standard rules-and-guidelines speech from the tour guide. “By the way,” the guard spoke up again, holding his hand out. “My name’s Jason. You’ll be seeing me more often, since I’m supposed to guard you guys for all of your visits to the Tower. Call me if you need help with anything, ‘kay kid?”

Marinette grinned, now positive that this guy really was the guard that Red Robin had said was assigned to her class. She switched the hand she was holding her coffee in so that she could properly grab Jason’s hand for a shake.

“Got it, Monsieur Jason. Let’s both hope I don’t end up needing your help though, I think that would be easier on both of us,” she joked, earning a chuckle from the large man. And— yeah, now that she was relaxed, he really was big, wasn’t he? Then again, Marinette didn’t always realize when people were a bit larger or more buff than they should be. Living with her dad had seriously skewed her perception of the normal size of an adult male (which, she learned when she was seven, most definitely was not almost seven feet tall and muscled enough to make a pro wrestler jealous). But she would like to think she had gotten better in that aspect, and Jason was definitely a big guy. A little over six feet tall, she thought, and though the guard outfit hid a good portion of his physique, she could tell he carried enough muscle to do serious damage if he wanted to.

With a wave, she left him to join her class and sipped at her latte. She had figured that the Bat Clan’s criteria for civilians that they would put to guard her class had to be high, but now she had to wonder just how high. Most police officers or security guards were fit, sure, but not like Jason. Casting a quick glance back at him, she confirmed that he had quite a few faded but visible scars. Again, more than your average officer even for Gotham. Who had they tasked with her class’ safety, exactly?

An elbow in her side distracted her from her thoughts, forcing her to blink and stop her cup from going back to her lips. The grin of none other than Adrien Agreste greeted her when she snapped out of her own head long enough to pay attention to her surroundings. He jerked his head to indicate that the class was already starting to move off.

“Come on, Mari or you’ll get left behind again,” he teased. She grinned back at him, rolling her eyes but falling into step beside him as they followed at the back of their class. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gonna marry that coffee. You haven’t zoned out that badly in years,” his tone was light and cheery, but Marinette didn’t miss the concern in his emerald eyes. She sighed, gently bumping her shoulders against his in silent reassurance.

“I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. But this really is good coffee. Elixir of the gods,” then, just to provoke him, she took a giant gulp of the still steaming hot drink. Adrien grimaced in pained sympathy even though Marinette didn’t seem affected at all.

“Oww, Marineeeeeeeeeette,” he whined. “Don’t do that, my throat hurts just watching you guzzle hot coffee like that,” he complained, rubbing at his neck to make his point clear.

“Wimp,” she teased, unrepentant. Adrien just groaned dramatically.

“I’m not a wimp, you’re just concerningly used to burning your throat from the inside out,” he accused. “Anyway, how’d it go?” He was being deliberately vague, but it was obvious to her what he meant. He was only one she had told about visiting her mom, after all, just in case she needed a quick getaway.

In fact, he was the only one of her friends that she had even told about her biological parents. Alix knew too, but only because of time shenanigans. Marinette was fine with it now, but still.

“It went great,” she smiled widely at him, keeping her voice low but casual. “If I have a chance, I’ll introduce you sometime during the trip. I have a feeling you’ll love Auntie Selina, but I have to meet her first. All I have so far are stories.”

“Fair enough,” Adrien agreed easily. “But you don’t have to, you know that right? I’d love to meet your family, but I’m also fine just being your pseudo-brother like I have been up until now. I know it might be a bit… uncomfortable, for you.”

“Nah,” Marinette shrugged. “Nerve wracking, maybe. But that’s also about half the things that I do in my life period, anxiety is no joke. I’ll catastrophize for a while, but I know you’ll love them and they’ll love you.”

“Sounds like they have paw-some taste,” he didn’t even miss a beat with his puns, earning a playful glare for his efforts.

“Never mind. You’re a heathen. Disowned. Who are you?”

“Mariiiiii,” he whined, causing them both to laugh for a while before focusing on the tour.

So far, so good, Marinette thought.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 1 Part 2

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman @deathssilentapproach-blog @user00000003 @frieddonutsweets @blur-of-colours @prettylittlebutterflie @ladyqnoirr @a-star-with-a-human-name @mizzy-pop @laurcad123 @dorkus-minimus @chocolatecatstheron @tazanna-blythe @golden-promises @literaryhiraeth @asrainterstellar @hewantedbeefintheparkinglot @miraculous-trinity-leo @missanalysis @lovelyautumnsunflower @lolieg @ann0631 @whitetiger1249 @meow-now @toodaloo-kangaroo

[calpops]

forgotten | c.h.

Its not unusual for your birthday to be forgotten by many; it’s never a surprise to receive last minute, half hearted texts from friends or belated cards from family. It’s always been easy to let it roll off your back when you have Calum by your side. But the first year he forgets your special day, it crushes you.

aka it’s my birthday and I’ll post relatable angst if I want to :)

1.8k words

my masterlist | feedback and reblogs mean the world

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

* * *

Calum comes home with a heavy feeling in his chest as he notices all the lights are out. It’s only just past eight; usually there would be at least one glowing window lit up by lamp light with you sat with a book in wait for him. Tonight it’s dark and quiet as he enters the house. Soft music doesn’t spill around the corners. The tv isn’t a muffled call to your bedroom. Duke’s paws don’t even click as they come around the corner to greet him. It’s silent and empty and it all echoes around him as he slips off his shoes and goes in search of you.

The bedroom door is closed, no light spills under it. No noise breaks through the wood. His hand apprehensively reaches for the doorknob, trying to be quiet as the night falls on his shoulders. The door softly swings open with a sigh and as his eyes become accustomed to the dark he notices the shape under the covers. You’ve tucked yourself in, a spill of hair on the pillow, arms pulling the sheets taut up around your chin. Duke laying beside you, undisturbed and too uncaring to move from his perch. Calum smiles, soft and serene as he winds way around the bed to kiss you goodnight.

He stops short at the sight of you. Moonlight glimmers against tear tracks down your sullen cheeks. Red, puffy eyes stay tightly shut. Calum’s smile quickly turns to a frown, an ache consuming him as he drops to a knee and reaches gentle fingers out to stroke through your hair. He doesn’t understand why you’re feeling this way but it doesn’t stop him from consoling you. Your eyes flutter open slowly and as you register his presence you bite your lip as fresh tears gather in your eyes.

You pull away from him, bury yourself back under the covers and stay silent.

“Sweetheart, are you okay? What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Calum’s voice is soft and encouraging, trying to coax some words out of you. When you don’t speak, only slightly shake as his hands glide over your arms, Calum feels crestfallen. The silence threatens to swallow him whole. Usually, he knows what’s wrong, can pinpoint the reason for your emotions and pain.

“It’s nothing, okay, it’s just stupid.”

Your explanation is shaken and does little to instill faith in its reason. Calum shakes his head. He wants to tell you that there’s no such thing as a stupid reason for being upset but the words stall in his throat as he tries to climb in next to you but you make no room.

“It’s like this every year. I should be used to it by now.”

Your next explanation further drives Calum to worry. In a snap moment, like a wave crashing over his head, he finally understands. His hand darts to his phone in his pocket, your birthday lighting up the date on the screen. He lets out a broken and uneasy breath as all of the implications try to drown him.

He forgot your birthday. You’ve been alone all day.

“Sweetheart, I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers with a strain in his voice.

He can feel his own tears pooling in his eyes, shame and guilt assaulting all of his senses. He’s never missed your birthday before. Has always been there from the moment you woke up to the minute you fell asleep. You’ve confided your dislike of the day to him multiple times; he’s noted that he’s the only one who remembers. Cards from family come in days late, texts from friends are last minute and half hearted. All you’ve ever wanted, all you’ve ever asked for on your special day is to have him around.

You shudder out a broken breath, shift under the sheets but make no move to let him in or come closer.

“It’s okay. You’ve been busy at the studio. That comes first, I understand,” you whisper so lowly it’s barely audible but it still cuts deep against Calum’s racing heart.

“It’s not okay, it doesn’t come first,” he tries to reassure and tentatively reaches out for you again. This time, you don’t flinch away. He takes it as a good sign. “I’m going to make it up to you. I promise.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not the first person to forget, you won’t be the last. It’s always been like this.” You finally shift up and Calum opens his arms for you though there’s little hope in his chest that you might collide into his embrace. It takes you a moment, bleary eyes being rubbed and lip trembling, to get collected. Your gaze meets his. “I’m just glad you’re home now.”

His faith nearly knocks him off his knee as you collide into him and wrap your arms around his neck. Bury your face against the strength of his shoulder. Weep in a small but heart breaking way.

“I’m home,” he repeats and furrows his brows, knowing it’s not enough. His entire chest aches and his eyes burn but he holds his composure, knowing his guilt needs to be put on the back burner for you; it’s small in comparison to the emotions and abandonment that have sat with you all day. “I’ve got you sweetheart.”

He almost promises that he won’t let go, he won’t leave, but a plan burns through the back of his mind and he knows his departure is imminent. He takes solace in the fact you’re exhausted enough to be led back to laying down with heavy eyelids. He murmurs and hums to you until your eyes flutter closed and he’s sure you’re asleep by the sound of your even breathing.

He stands, stretches and keeps his eyes on you for as long as possible. When he finally cuts around the corner of the bed he pats Duke’s head.

“Stay right here. I’ll be back,” he whispers to the old dog, hoping if you wake again his presence will suffice until he’s back.

He’s not gone long. His plan is simple but he hopes it’s enough. You’ve never asked for anything, but the hopes of restoring your ruined day live in petals and icing and charms. He goes back into the house and makes a beeline for the bedroom, gently wakes you and guides you up.

“What are you doing?” you ask as you rub the sleep and leftover sadness from your eyes.

Calum shakes his head, winds his arms around you and helps you to your feet. Your wobbly at first, emotionally exhausted after all of the turmoil. You lean into his side and for the feeling of your warmth against him he’s grateful.

“Trying to make it right,” he answers as he guides you away from the bed and towards the door. “There’s still a few hours of your birthday left. Let me try, okay?”

You nod as you’re led out of the bedroom and to the dimly lit kitchen. Calum walks you to the bar where flowers, some with already dying petals, sit in a vase. A lone cupcake with a candle and flame sits alongside the flowers. A small breath leaves you at the effort. While Calum feels it’s lame, the last picks at the store on the shelf, his heart still hammers at the genuine appreciation in your eyes.

“Come sit,” he encourages as he props a stool around for you. You do as he bids and he looms behind you to softly sing happy birthday in your ear; each line punctuated by a small kiss to your neck, shoulder, cheek, anywhere his lips can reach. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. Make a wish.”

He brings the cupcake and the flaming candle towards you, gentle hands holding it within your breath’s reach. You turn to face him as you take the cupcake, his eyes soften as yours find his. You blow it out in one small huff and remove the candle. The frosting and cupcake are a bit stale but you share the treat with a few soft giggles and a swipe of chocolate to his nose. Though the petals are dying you pull the vase to the center of the counter before turning back to Calum to put yourself securely in his arms.

“I didn’t need the flowers or cupcake,” you start and before Calum can speak any words of you deserving more you continue on. “I just need you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to the top of your head. His fingers stroke through your hair and his hands come to settle on the small of your back. “I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again. You’ll always have me. Any day. Every day. I promise.”

You nod against his chest, your trust and faith in him infallible even after the day of desertion and misery.

“Then my wish came true,” you whisper as your cheeks blaze at the confession. Calum chuckles as you further hide against him. “You can’t laugh at me. It’s still my birthday.”

And even when the sun rises the next day, birthday long gone and the heartache of being alone starting to be forgotten, Calum wakes you with a surprise. You sit up to see him throwing your clothes in open luggage.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, eyebrows furrowed as you watch him neatly fold and then haphazardly throw garments in the bag.

“Packing your stuff.”

He doesn’t further explain and it prompts a, “why?” from you.

“So you have clothes to wear on our vacation.” He gives you a broad smile as the words roll off his tongue and he reaches behind him to throw papers onto the bed. They settle at your feet and you reach down to retrieve them, blurry words coming in and finally being processed. Boarding passes.

“Vacation?”

“Two weeks. Just us,” Calum explains as he goes back to packing your things for you. “We leave in an hour.”

The time limit pushes you up from the bed, his effort and act of grandeur making you throw yourself into his arms. Your clothes drop to the floor in favor of him bringing you closer.

“That’s more than I could have asked for,” you whisper with a crack in your voice.

Calum only smiles and finally says the words he’d been thinking for so long. “You deserve even more than this. Sorry it’s late. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

* * *

If you’d like to be added to my taglist just let me know!

Tagged: @rosecolouredash​ @who-do-you-love-5sos​ @caswinchester2000​ @malumsmermaid​ @babylon-corgis​ @gosh-im-short​ @feliznavidaddycal​ @loveroflrh​ @findingliam-o​ @flowerthug​ @g-l-pierce​ @cashtonasfuck​ @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​ @notinthesameguey​ @lukesfuckingbeard​  @treatallwithkindness​ @haikucal​ @wiildflower-xxx​ @egyptiangoldhood​ @drarryetcetera​ @another-lonely-heart​ @megz1985​ @idk-harry​ @wildflower-cth​ @idontneedanyone​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @myfavfanficsever​ @stormrider505​ @karajaynetoday​ @333-xx​ @calumshpod​ @calumsphile​ @calumrose​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @calumance​ @ahoodgirl​ @chicken-ona-stick​ @wish-you-were-here-hood​ @hoodhoran​ @wiiildflowerrr​ @saywhatnow07​ @lonelyheart5​ @fallingforyou123​  @youngblood199456​ @kingxnichole​@wontlastimokwiththat​ @hemmingslftv​ @itsagurl​ @in-superbloom @highstwildflower

[mrpenguinpants]

Childe: First Kiss HCs

I tend to make things gender neutral by not putting in pronouns and just using “you” but you can definitely read this as female^^ But I completely agree, I love this boy so much. He’s my favourite character to play (im so sorry razor) until Xiao comes out. I literally have a genshin team named “waiting for xiao” and it’s just Childe and Zhongli haha. 

---

Today’s appreciation post goes to childes-starconch. Fitting that this is a Childe fic but ty for your support^^ I always notice you pop up as soon as I post a fic and I really enjoy seeing you. Hopefully you read this since tumblr won’t let me tag people, for whatever reason I don’t know anymore, but just saying hey, I see you 💕💕

---

I’m just gonna piggy back off my last Childe fic. I’m sorry. 

Semi Part 1:  Fiance HCs [honestly, one of my favourites haha] 

Xiao Ver:  First Kiss HCs

Venti & Kaeya: Mistletoe HCs

Venti, Xingqiu, and Razor: Kissing HCs

[Masterlist]

---

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji​  @mikeysbike​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @twistedsunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​@youaskedfurret​ @snowy224 

@youaskedfurret​ @diaxfeliz​ @wintergreen-aix​ @dandelily​ @thegayrubberducky​ @lovelykittycatmeow​ @yuunoagivesmelife​  @dokidokisama @simpygrimoire @minakohasmanyhusbandos​ @strwbrry-lia    @tigerpriestess 

For some reason I can’t @ certain people. I’m talking to tumblr about it. 

---

Childe: First Kiss HCs

Childe was never one to shy away from affection, be it holding your hand in his or wrapping an arm around you, he was always happy to be close to you. He was always a bit territorial which lead to some embarrassing situations for you but it was from a good place in his heart. But when it came to public kisses, he preferred to keep it between you two. It felt too private of a moment that he didn’t want to broadcast to the rest of the Fatui, especially to the other Harbingers. That is to say, if he actually kissed you in the first place. For all the two braincells Childe had, one was fighting and the other was protecting his loved ones, just imagining kissing you was too much for him and he needed to go find some poor recruit and beat his inner problems out. The Fatui recruitment process would always dwindled down during his inner turmoil sessions that Scaramouche himself, had to throw his goddamn hat at Tartaglia, and yell at him to hurry up and fix his problem. It was clogging up the air. 

When he tried to think about it, it shouldn’t be this hard to simply lean in for a kiss. But it was his first and while Childe might run into whatever danger or prospect of a fight without a second thought, he didn’t want to ruin it. What if he accidently bonked his forehead with yours? He should remove his mask then right? Just in case? He’s only given forehead and cheek kisses to his younger siblings so it should be the same right? Yeah he could do this, this was just another battle for Tartaglia to conquer! 

But whenever he would see you or you would both sit and bask in each other’s presences. He couldn’t bring himself to initiate something or heck, even looking at your face made him a bit hot under the collar in sub-zero temperatures. He can almost hear Scaramouche and Signora laughing maniacally at him behind their hands. He’s the youngest of the Harbingers, he should get a “get out of jail for free” card that all youngest children have whenever they get into trouble. But in this case it’s murder. He quickly slaps his cheeks to get his mind off fighting for one second which startles you beside him. 

The first time you’ve seen Childe shy was when he first confessed to you, stuttering that he liked you and just really badly wanted to hold your hand without using the frost of Sneznaya as an excuse. You flushed pink but nodded that you returned his feeling and slipped your hand in his. Whatever shyness Childe had was quickly wiped off his face and he cheered and brought you in for an eskimo kiss. Rubbing your nose with his as he laughed in joy, the tips of his ears and cheeks still coloured pink. You always hold that memory dear to your heart because not only was it the start of your relationship, it was the first time you felt you were staring at Ajax. Not Childe. Not Tartaglia. Just Ajax. 

But now, you’re not to sure what to call this. Lately he seemed to be out of it, always staring off into space or frowning at some poor poor snowmen that did not deserve that much pressure.  Was being a harbinger starting to take it’s toll on him? Did something terrible happen to his family or was the Tsaritsa being too hard on him? You were beginning to get concerned because you’ve never seen this much mental turmoil in him. This never really happened before and he usually bounced back pretty fast. Would it be better if you left him be and he sorted it out himself? Would it be better if you asked? 

Childe is startled out of his thoughts of possible committed murder because he’s too scared to ask his own partner if kissing was something they could do, when he felt your hand slowly nudge his. No matter how many times he holds your hand, you’re always warm. It could be snow storming outside and the only heater he would need would be you. He offers a small but warm smile as he laces his fingers with yours. He remembers when you first started going out he was so scared about boundaries and what was okay. Brushing your fingers together and overall, not doing a good job at saying he wanted to hold hands that even he cringes slightly at his younger self - even though it wasn’t that long ago and he’s doing it again just with kisses - but now he borderline clings to you like some overgrown animal. Scaramouche’s words, not his. 

It’s still evening in Snezhnaya and the Tsaritsa herself seems to be taking a vacation because there’s only a light snow falling down between the two of you. You’re both sitting outside his house while his family is inside, warm and having fun playing games. He breathes in, closes his eyes, and let’s the world fade away just a second. He slowly brings his other hand to cup your cheek, his hands are always numb and the tiny pin pricks are dancing on his fingers again before they fade away too, and guides you towards him so he can place a small kiss on your fore head. Then tilts your face to the side so he can kiss your cheek. Brings his nose near yours to nuzzle against. Then hesitates when his lips hover above yours. 

“Ajax is there something bothering you?” you ask softly, you’re so close to each other that all you can see is him. The small puffs of breathe you both take bounce off each other’s face before evaporating into the air. You never really took the time to appreciate Ajax’s bright blue eyes. His pupil from this distance seems to be slitted too. 

“Hm? Ah no, of course not. Where did you get that idea?” he tries to laugh it off and tries to move back before you quickly bring your hand to the back of his head and nudge him forward so he stays in place. It wasn’t like him to run away from something, it was really starting to bother you what could get Ajax of all people to retreat from something. 

“You know if there’s anything that’s bothering you, you can talk to me right?” you asked as you brought both your hands to cup his face as you softly rubbed circles just under his ear. He closed his eyes and hmmed happily at your actions and nuzzled further into your hand before turning his head inward to kiss your palm. Before relaxing and parting his eyelids half way as he seemed to be back in concentration mode. Before awkwardly saying what was troubling him these past few days. 

“So wait, you mean to tell me that this entire time I was worried about you. How out of it you were and how many fights you’ve been getting into. Was because you wanted a kiss?” you asked dumfounded as he pouted but nodded. You sighed but bonked your foreheads together softly, “You’re such an idiot....C’mere.” 

“Wha-” 

You grab the scarf on his harbinger uniform and tug him forward as your lips slot over his. You kiss him hard and for a few seconds as Ajax just stares at you as his brain tries to catch up, before his eyes seem to dilate and he kisses you back just as hard. All his past worries are quickly thrown out the window as slowly pushes you on your back, cushioned by the soft snow, as he basks in the feeling. It’s a bit sloppy given this is both your first kisses but that’s what adds to the charm. You both have to separate at some point for oxygen but Childe looks like he’s ready to dive in again. 

“One more,” he pants as he goes in for another but you quickly place your hand in the way so he ends up kissing your palm. He whines but you chuckle at him, place a small kiss on the back of your palm of where his lips would be, and push him off you. You’re both still outside his families home and you aren’t in the mood to be caught in this kind of position. Especially not in front of his younger siblings. He rests his cheek on your shoulder and looks at you, trying to make his eyes bigger and look like a kicked puppy. You sigh as you give a small pet on his head, running your fingers through your hair. What a troublesome partner you’ve gotten. 

“Alright, one more.” 

---

My entire taglist was just made for the  “Enemies” to “Lovers” post and I still haven’t started hehe. Trust me, it’s coming. I’ve got requests for it and we’re slowly getting there. The entire time I’m writing this I’m just thinking “honey..no, that’s not how this works.” God you’re so dumb. I hate you. You’re my favourite character. Pour one out for Xiao, I was going to make this a crack fic too but ended up making it somewhat serious. 

So yeah, xiao is a cat and childe is a fox. In other news, water is wet. But I did actually google fox behaviors just for this shitpost. ALRIGHT TIME TO SPIN THE WHEEL OF “WILL TUMBLR BE NICE TO ME?” OR DO I NEED TO DOUBLE REPOST AGAIN.