Recap on The Decay of Angels

Above, our introduction to the villains that have dominated the Bungou Stray Dogs manga for a few years as of now. It tells us two main things: that they are terrorist, and that they are five. Of them, two are known: Dostoevsky, already introduced in the previous arc, and Gogol, who debuts in this chapter.

As of chapter 88, all of the five members are known, and a few of these identities have been puzzling for the public at large. So, I want to try and recap what we know of them, and maybe make a little sense of it (spoiler, I didn't, but I found a few interesting facts).

We already met Fyodor in the Cannibalism arc, and gained an idea of who he is, how he operates, and what he wants. He's the leader of his own organization, but fights his battles mostly indirectly, by manipulating others into fighting for him.

He aims at destroying Yokohama to find the famed Book, the one to rewrite reality, for the purported reason if creating a better world, one without the 'sin' of ability users. Why he does think like that, or exactly what kind of different world he does envision, is unknown to this day.

Later, in chapter 56, we are shown the Decay of Angel's deeds, four in one week, which our resident nerd Kunikida explains are related to four of the five signs of the imminent death of an angel (or 'deva' in the Buddhist conception):

They skinned a legislator's torso, made a shirt with the result, and put it back on him, all in five minutes = the angel's robes are soiled.

They melted off the face of a deputy commander in the coast guard with a corrosive poison = the angel's garland melts away.

They stuck an air compressor in the mouth of the secretary of a general in the ministry of defense, causing his blood vessels to pop out = the angel's radiance fades.

Lastly, an official for the military police was injected a drug that caused him to kill himself = the angel's armpits start to sweat.

Moreover, they're suspected to have ties in the government; turns out, Gogol was cosplaying as a secretary in there.

He takes hostage a bunch of government officials, and threatens to saw them in two ("losing delight in their heavenly thrones")

The next chapters are dedicated to introducing Nikolai Gogol: an eccentric individual with a powerful ability and the most likely perpetrator of all the aforementioned crimes (since Fyodor was in jail at the time and, as we'll see shortly, the other members aren't particularly suited to these kinds of jobs).

However, he admits that he does feel guilt for what he does, and it's the reason he keeps doing it: he wants to free himself from the concept of morality, from his own conscience.

While this is a rather interesting philosophy, it doesn't expand much on why and how he joined the Decay of Angels. Was he a 'normal' person with particular ideas on morality that were brought to the extreme by the other members in order to make him useful, or was he already a murderer, and joined the Decay to have a wider choice of targets?

Boh. We'll only know quando Asagiri si decide a recuperare il suo arco porca pupazza with time. Still, the important part is that he doesn't seem to share Fyodor's objectives, nor does he say anything about the greater plan and his ideas on it. This is the first indicator that the Decay is a rather fragmented group, everyone is in for his own goals.

However, the last interesting thing is that the plan involved his own death: those in the Decay have no problems sacrificing their own members (even if I have a little theory that Fyodor might have planned for his survival, but I'll talk about it in another post).

Next, a wounded Taneda adds an information about the Decay of Angels: of the three members still in the dark, one has the ability to exchange knowledge he wants for information the person he touches wants. Namely, they're looking for a book, one that makes so that what is written on it becomes the truth - something already hinted by Fyodor. They managed to locate one page of it, and used it to frame the Armed Detective Agency to create a chaos and instigate a sort of Ability Civil War to destroy the city.

Their 'knowledge broker' is revealed to be Sigma; a reveal that is quite a surprise for the reader, since the manager of the Sky Casino has been introduced rigging a game to allow a person desperately in need of money to win; a very positive introduction, for a member of a 'murder association'. Later, it's revealed that he didn't even want to stab Taneda, only scare him off.

In fact, he hasn't even joined them because of some ideal: Fyodor found him when he had no past nor family nor anywhere to go, and offered him a place to belong in exchange for his services. When it turns out that his colleagues in the Decay have planned his demise (and two!) and Atsushi shows him kindness, he promptly cooperates with the Agency; or tries to, before one of Fyodor's lackeys shoots him.

It's also revealed that the group has created some explosive coins, released to the population at large to make some other acts of terrorism.

After some other shenanigans, we are introduced to their boss: Ouchi Fukuchi, officially the war hero who wants to save the world from the 'terrorists' known as the Armed Detective Agency by instituting an international police force.

Unofficially, a former torturer sanctioned by the government, traumatized by what he found himself doing. He wants to take down every nation, throwing the world into anarchy, because he believes countries and governments responsible for wars; and he also wants to stick it to his childhood friend who wasn't with him on the battlefield and got a found family he didn't have, and so framed him as the leader of the terrorists.

His actual plan was to terrorize the population and the government enough that they would gladly let him create an international armed force at his commands, which he would actually have used to break down the concept of 'State'.

Lastly, the fifth member: Bram Stoker. Another interesting case: like Sigma, he doesn't have any particular ideal that brought him to the group; on the contrary, he dislikes them. He used to be known as a calamity for his ability to turn others into vampires, and swore to never do such a thing again. He breaks this promise because Fukuchi threatened to kill him otherwise, and already keeps him in a state of prisony; personally, he has no interest in destroying the world, and thinks Fukuchi should do it himself. Considering that he interacts only with him, and doesn't keep track of the time well, I wonder if he even knows the other people in the organization.

Another interesting thing, is that he is the first British author to get introduced, except for Agatha Christie, who is hinted to be the leader of an organization of European Ability Users, but hasn't made an appearence since chapter 12/Dead Apple, and insofar hasn't had any impact on the plot. Maybe Stoker will be the element that brings the 'Order of the Clocktower' in?

Anyways, here they are: a group of people with vastly different goals and mindsets, ready to send each other to death and put dents into the others' plan (Sigma being ready to tell everything to Atsushi, Fyodor likely putting intentional mistakes in the Page he redacted to undermine Fukuchi).

Honestly ... it's amazing such a branco di disagiati group of people that want so wildly different things managed to last so long, let alone do this much damage. I mean ... how and why these people came together? What do they have in common?

To try and find answers, I did a little research.

First of all, the name 'Decay of Angels' comes, surprise surprise, from a book.

'The Decay of the Angel' by Yukio Mishima is the last novel in a tetralogy that follows the story of Shigekuni Honda, law student in the first novel and retired judge in the last, as he spends his whole life looking for the reincarnation of his deceased schoolfriend, finding them in people that seem to inevitably meet an early death, and ultimately destroys himself.

In the last installment, Honda decides that the reincarnation is an orphan, Toru, that behind a nice and normal facade hides antisocial tendencies. The interesting thing is that Honda notices them, but dismisses them as 'guile': what makes him decide that Toru isn't the reincarnation of his friend is the fact that he doesn't die on a certain date. And after all he had decided that he could be his friend after noticing a similar mole pattern; both very superficial things to originate and conclude such a fixation.

So what? I don't know.

Is a reference on how Fukuchi envied his childhood friend Fukuzawa for never dirtying his hands the way he had to do, and for having a found family, or a 'path in life', and decided to do a distorted version of such, with a few criminals and a plan to destroy the current order? Not sure.

Let's move to the artist, then!

Yukio Mishima was something of a conservative, and he strongly opposed the westernization of Japan, arguing that it left its people rootless. By this, I mean that he founded a private militia, the Tatenokai, composed of a bunch of students recruited with the newspaper, who until the 1970 did not much more than physical exercise and worship of the Emperor.

On the 25th of November 1970, however, Mishima plus four (!) of them briefly seized control of the Self Defense Force headquarters and tried to encourage the soldiers in a coup d'etat. They failed; Mishima and Masakatsu Morita, one of said four followers, committed suicide by seppuku, the latter despite his commander's wishes. The other three ended up in prison.

So, we have a strong believer in the traditional values of the State; quite the opposite of the 'anarchist' Fukuchi.

However, Mishima does not appear as a character, even if, since he was a writer, he could very well have. Instead, a bunch of appearently unrelated figures compose the terrorist group.

Fukuchi Genichirou was a translator, journalist, and playwriter. He, too, was a conservative: in his youth, he wrote an article criticizing the government and was subsequently arrested; he was released for the intercession of an influent friend, but this is remembered as the first episode of suppression of free speech in the Meiji Restauration.

He later founded a very short-lived political party that pursued the sovereignity of the Emperor, enforcement of a Constitution established by the Emperor and election among limited people. This party disbanded after one year.

Fyodor Dostoevsky is best known as a novelist, short story writer and journalist. He was also involved in politics: initially, he was interested in socialism, fluctuating among several groups due to an interest in social reforms in favor of destitute people.

The last group he joined (despite having been described by Bakunin as essentially a bunch of posers) got him convicted for reading papers that criticized the Russian government and religion, and nearly sentenced to death; the letter by the Tsar that commuted the sentence in prison and hard labour arrived just as the convicts were right in front of the firing squad, leaving them all free to enjoy this deeply traumatizing experience. He was considered one of the most dangerous prisoners (he read some books). Later in life, he moved towards more conservative beliefs (conservative for Russian standards: he criticized both socialism and capitalism, idealized the monarchy, and asserted that every social problem could be solved with Orthodox Christianity); but he didn't try to take an active role in politics.

Nikolai Gogol was a novelist, short story writer, and playwriter of Ukrainian origins. Despite costantly satirizing the government in his works, he was a strong supporter of the tsarist monarchy and criticized those who wanted a costitutional monarchy.

Fittingly for 'a character with no past', researching Sigma was a real pain. Shoutout to @gravitycantstop for pointing me in what is probably the right direction.

Sigma was a pseudonym of Russian journalist and writer Sergey Nikolaevich Syromyatnikov. Appearently, decent information about him is available only in Russian. Now, one day I'll speak every language in the world, but insofar my knowledge of Russian is limited to 'vodka' and 'syrniki', so I can't say much about him. If anyone who reads this speaks Russian and can provide information, please do so!

[Edit: thanks to @heydeliah , now we know about RL Sigma's political inclinations: he was a conservative who supported an authocratic monarchy, just like the above two]

Lastly, Bram Stoker: he had a keen interest in Irish Affairs, was a strong supporter of the Liberal Party, which favoured social reforms, personal liberty, and reducing the powers of both the Crown and the Church of England. He supported Home Rule brought about by pacifist means, was an ardent monarchist, and believed Ireland should stay in the British Empire, which he saw as a force for good.

So? I'm not sure what to make of all of this. The only thing I can say is that a bunch of real-life right-wingers has been turned into essentially a bunch of far left extremists? Sure, Stoker has been around for too little to express any ideology besides 'fanculo 'sta merda I want to sleep', and the lack of information on Sigma means that I can't make theories on him. But still, it's the closest thing I could find that binded them all together.

I admit I'm still unsure about what this could mean. Surely they weren't the only boomers ante litteram strongly conservative authors Asagiri could find, so ... I guess we have to wait and see? I literally made this post as I went, trying to find a common denominator, and this was all I could manage.

Anyways, I hope this can be somehow interesting.

Thanks to anyone who bothered to read my ramblings!

Overly Protective Coworkers-Matt Brody

Matt's POV

I looked up as Y/N walked into the shack. I instantly smiled when she looked over at me.

"Morning, Matt."

"Morning, Y/N," I said, not sounding as relaxed as she did. "How was your weekend?"

"Not too bad," she shrugged. "Mainly just sat at home and ran a few errands. What about you?"

"I did absolutely nothing." I cringed when that sounded phony.

"Sometimes nothing is good," she winked. She sent me a smile before walking into the women's locker room.

"That was just sad."

I sighed as Mitch walked out of his office and sat on the corner of my desk.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, awkwardly clearing my throat.

He sent me a look before rolling his eyes. "You have a thing for Y/N."

"What? I don't. . . I wasn't. . ."

"Come on, man," he scoffed. "You have had a thing for Y/N since your first day. I'm pretty sure she distracted you during your training."

"My training?" It was my turn to scoff. "You mean that useless competition you made me compete in?"

He just smirked as he stood up and patted me on the back. I rolled my eyes and started gathering what I needed for my shift. Y/N and I have been put on the same shift since my second week. A part of me thinks Mitch did that on purpose just to torment me.

I looked up right as Y/N walked out of the locker room in her swimsuit. I couldn't stop watching her as she pulled her hair up effortlessly in a perfect ponytail. When I finally looked away from her, I saw Mitch smirking at me.

"You ready to save some lives, Brody?" She asked as I looked back over at her.

"Just call me Superman."

I heard Mitch groan, but I didn't focus on him because Y/N laughed. "Alright, Superman," she teased. "But no jumping off the boardwalk. I'm not diving in after you."

Without warning, Y/N grabbed the keys to the four-wheeler and tossed them to me. She sent me a wink as she walked outside. I cleared my throat and ignored Mitch's smirk as I slipped off my hoodie and followed Y/N outside.

My breath got caught in my throat as I glanced over and saw Y/N bend down to unhook the four-wheeler from the gas tank. I cleared my throat and jogged down the steps.

"You aren't taking the other one?" I asked when she didn't go to the four-wheeler she usually drives.

"Nope," she sighed. "Ronnie didn't plug it in after his shift last night, so I'm hitching a ride with you."

I smiled as I got on the four-wheeler and turned it on. I bit my lip when I felt Y/N grab my shoulders for stability as she got on behind me. I tried to ignore the chaos in my stomach as she straddled me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

"You ready, Superman?"

"Ready, Lois Lane."

I waited eagerly for her reaction. I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding when she laughed.

"I like that," she chuckled. "Partners in crime: Superman and Lois Lane."

                              * * * * *

Y/N continued to call me Superman and I continued to call her Lois Lane all week. Whenever we did in front of Mitch, he sent me a knowing smirk. Friday, I walked into the shack and overheard a conversation I wish I hadn't.

"Where is he taking you?" Summer asked Y/N.

"Well, we're meeting here and then getting dinner," Y/N explained. "He wants to walk down the boardwalk and get to know each other better.

I jumped when the girls all squealed. Ronnie walked in, almost bumping into me because I hadn't moved.

"What's going on?" He laughed as he nodded towards the girls.

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"Y/N is going on a date after work," Mitch said as he walked by us. He sent me a look before walking over to the girls.

"As long as he keeps his hands to himself," he jokingly warned, "I won't have a problem. I'll hunt him down and kick his ass."

"I'll be fine," Y/N chuckled. "I can handle myself."

"I know you can," Mitch winked. He sent me a teasing look before walking to his office. I waited until everybody had headed to their shift before walking over to Y/N.

"So umm. . . A date, huh?" I asked.

"Yeah," she chuckled. "Summer and CJ talked me into joining this dating app. I matched with this guy and we've been sorta talking. I don't know. He asked me out and. . . We'll see."

"That's. . . Cool," I said, not even sounding convincing to myself.

"Matt," she smiled. "I'll be fine, okay? It's just a date."

"With a stranger," I mumbled.

"Hey," she said, gently grabbing my arm. "I'll be fine. If anything happens. . ."

"You call me and I will come kick his ass," I said before I could stop myself.

"Matt," she giggled. "I'll be fine. Okay? I can handle myself."

"I know," I sighed. "I just. . ."

I cleared my throat when I didn't finish my sentence. She smiled as she pulled me into her chest and wrapped her arms around me. It took me a second before I wrapped my arms around her waist.

"I'll be fine," she reassured. "And if I do need help, I know who to call."

                              * * * * *

After work, I found myself on edge. I kept checking the clock on the wall, my stomach in knots the closer it got to 6. Y/N's date was supposed to meet her here at 6 and then take her to dinner.

My breath got caught in my throat when Y/N walked out of the locker room. She was wearing a short dress and her hair was flowing down her shoulders. I bit my lip when I noticed she put makeup on.

"So?" She asked, smoothing out her dress. "How do I look? Do you think he'll like it?"

"If he doesn't, he's an idiot."

"Thanks, Matt," she said, her voice changing slightly.

Y/N sighed and walked over to the couch, sitting on the armrest. As she played with the seam of her dress, I noticed her hands were shaking. I walked over and sat on the couch next to her.

"You okay?" I asked. When she didn't stop playing with her dress, I reached over and grabbed her hand.

"Y/N," I said softly.

"I hate that I agreed to this," she mumbled.

"Then don't go."

I cleared my throat when she looked up at me. I opened and closed my mouth, struggling to find a way to ease the tension.

"You don't have to go on a date with a stranger, Y/N. If you aren't comfortable with online dating then why did you agree to it?"

"I don't know," she sighed. I looked up and blushed when I noticed her still holding my hand. I forced myself to refocus when she kept continued, "The girls were so excited about it and I guess I just got swept up in it all."

"Well," I hesitated, trying to gather the courage. "If you want a way out, you could say you forgot you had plans with a coworker. Then maybe you and I could. . ."

I was cut off when Summer, CJ, and Stephanie came running into the shack, giggling and excitedly complimenting her. I jumped up and quickly went to my desk. I glanced back over at her to see her already looking at me, sending me an apologetic shrug. I opened my mouth but quickly shut it. I sighed as I headed into the locker room to get my stuff.

After stalling for ten minutes, I finally headed out to my motorcycle. As I left the shack, I looked up and froze. I watched as Y/N greeted a guy. I clenched my fists when he touched her arm.

"Wanna follow them?"

I jumped at the sudden voice. I looked over my shoulder to see Mitch locking the shack, his eyes on Y/N and her date.

"You serious?"

"Hell yeah," he chuckled. "Let's go."

                              * * * * *

Mitch and I followed Y/N throughout her date. We followed them to the beachfront restaurant. We followed them to the ice cream parlor. And we followed them as they walked down the boardwalk. We were currently hiding behind a cement slab as Y/N and her date stopped on the boardwalk. They sat on a bench and continued talking.

Suddenly, Y/N looked over her shoulder, straight at us. We quickly ducked, holding our breath in hopes that she didn't see us. When we thought the coast was clear, we slowly sat back up. We jumped when Y/N was right in front of us.

"Hey, Y/N," Mitch said, slightly stuttering. "How's your night going?"

"Why are you guys following me?"

"What makes you think we're following you?" I tried to act innocent.

She sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one foot. Mitch cleared his throat as we stood up.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he sighed. "We wanted to make sure he didn't do anything we didn't like. We were just trying to watch your back."

"I appreciate your concern," she chuckled. "Thank you for worrying, but I'm fine. In fact. . ."

She looked over her shoulder, a small sigh leaving her lips. When she looked back at us, she had an odd look on her face.

"The date's over."

"Really?" I asked, failing to not sound as relieved as I actually was.

"Was it because of us?" Mitch asked.

"No," she sighed. "The date ending before 8 had nothing to do with you two. It was very clear that the only thing he wanted was to hook up."

"I'm sorry, kiddo. Guys suck." Mitch sighed. Y/N laughed as she slightly shook her head. "Sorry again that we followed you. I'll see you Monday?"

"See you Monday," Y/N smiled. We watched as Mitch turned on his heel and left. When Y/N turned towards me, I scratched the back of my neck.

"So," she said, holding in a laugh, "I understand why Mitch followed me, but why did you?"

"Well," I said as I reached up and nervously scratched the back of my head.

"Let me present a hypothetical for you," she smirked, "then you can tell me whether or not it's accurate."

"Okay," I stuttered.

"Imagine two coworkers who have worked together for quite some time," she started to explain. "As they spend more time together, something changes. One friend gets asked out on a date and the other friend is nervous. Now he might be nervous because he's protective of his friend, but he could also be nervous because he's possessive of her. Maybe it's more than that. Maybe he has feelings for this friend?"

"Well. . . I thought. . . I wasn't sure. . ."

Y/N cut off my stuttering by standing on her toes and pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. As soon as she pulled away, that spot on my face burned. She set me a knowing look as she took a few steps back.

"Whenever he is ready and has the balls to ask out his "friend", I'm sure she'll say yes."

Three Times // JJ Maybank

word count: 3.6k

pairing: jj maybank x reader

warnings: child abuse, descriptions of injuries, underage drinking, cursing, honestly these poor kids wow

summary: the two instances where you flinch at jj’s touch and the one where he finally finds out what’s wrong.

requested by @jjobx​

masterlist

ask me stuff

--

The first time, JJ got suspicious.

You wanted to scream. Your voice was gone, lost somewhere in the chaos as you curled up on the floor of the kitchen. You wished you could leave, go back to California with your mom, but she was gone, and instead, you were stuck here with your shitty father and primadonna of a step-mother. It had started recently, the abuse. The first few months in the Outer Banks had been awesome. You were so excited to finally be on the coast with the remainder of your family but it changed faster than you could blink.

You never knew stating your opinion on what to have for dinner would end with bruises on your ribs and a bloody lip, but your dad never failed at making sure you knew your place. “Fuck,” You mumbled as you got to your feet and grabbed a paper towel to wipe off the blood from your face. Glancing at the clock, you knew you were late for movie night with your friends so you ran upstairs to cover up with some makeup before walking out.

A few days after moving in with your dad, you had met the resident Pogues: John B, JJ, Kiara, and Pope. Their friendship was unmatched, but they were quick to welcome you into their group with open arms. The five of you got along so well it was as if you had known them your entire life. It didn’t take long until you found yourself staring at JJ most of the time, curious as to what it was like to be wrapped up in his arms as more than friends. Luckily, he was open to letting you find out and the two of you had been dating since.

The usual chaotic energy was evident when you made it to John B’s house. You could hear JJ’s laugh as soon as you stepped on the screened-in porch followed by Kiara’s scream. It was evident what had happened, with Kie’s soaked hair and clothes while JJ held empty water bottles.

“You dick!” She screamed as she turned towards him to attack him for revenge. “That was freezing!”

While your boyfriend was busy defending himself, Pope greeted you with a drink. “What’s up?” He asked as he uncapped your spiked lemonade for you.

You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a smile before taking a drink. “The usual, Pope. I can’t wait to move out.”

Your friends weren’t strangers to the fact that your dad and step-monster were mean at times, but none of them knew the extent of everything. You chose clothing wisely and always covered anything up with makeup before getting close to them. Even when you and JJ spent time alone, you were careful about how much you revealed.

“Babe, help me!” JJ whined for your assistance as he continued to fight off Kie’s anger. You shook your head at his antics and continued to sit next to Pope just as John B entered the area.

“Absolute dumbass,” John B mumbled as he sat on your other side. He twisted his bandana around his neck before relaxing against the couch cushions. “You know not to fuck around with Kie, bro!”

Once Kiara managed to get JJ back enough to her standards, she let him go. With a satisfied smirk, she stepped back to admire her work. While JJ had managed to get her with water, she found it fitting to retaliate with the rest of her beer which covered his t-shirt and hair.

“Ah fuck,” JJ cursed as he pulled his shirt off his body and threw it on the ground. “Now I gotta shower, Kie.”

She didn’t even apologize and instead went inside to get another drink. JJ groaned and tried to dry his hair off as much as possible with his shirt before facing the three of you with a frown. You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped at the sight of him looking like a wet puppy.

“Come on.” You stood up and offered him your hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Whistling followed your words as Pope and John B winked at the two of you, leaving JJ to flip them off as he let you pull him inside. You walked into the back room to grab an extra shirt from the collection of clothing that was forming slowly. Honestly, each of you had a fair share of your stuff around John B’s house. You weren’t sure why, probably because you all spent so much time here anyway, but it was turning out to be convenient.

“Here.” You handed him a new shirt alongside a towel for him to shower. “Now go clean off so we can actually get drunk and enjoy the night.”

“You’re so good to me.” JJ took the items before setting them aside and turning back to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closure. You shook your head at him, leaning forward to kiss him lightly before moving back. JJ’s hands squeezed your hips but you jerked back at the sharp pain in your side from where your step-mother’s heel had connected with your body.

JJ let go instantly, his eyes filling with concern at your reaction. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“JJ, you’re fine, bub. Go shower.” You quickly made a move to get around him and head back outside, but his hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

“Talk to me,” He whispered as his thumb rubbed your cheek gently. “What happened?”

You shook your head and gave him a smile to try and reassure him. “I fell down the stairs earlier because I was moving too fast to get here. It’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”

Although he didn’t seem convinced, JJ let you walk away. He watched you disappear onto the porch again before he moved into the bathroom to shower. He wasn’t an idiot. As someone who fell at the hands of his father, he knew enough about the pain that followed and how often it had him flinching in someone’s grip. Now, he was worried, but if you weren’t going to tell him, he would have to figure it out himself.

--

The second time, JJ got frustrated.

You were laying out on the HMS Pogue next to Kiara, both of you tuning out the boys as you tried to tan. It was John B’s birthday, and despite your wishes to throw a small party, he really just wanted to spend the day with the four of you doing whatever he wanted to do. For him, that meant getting drunk on the boat by three and crashing on the couch to watch movies all night.

You had managed to avoid setting your dad off the entire week and you were hoping he would be in a good mood for you to invite your friends over for some pizza and movies. You never really asked much of him, or your step-mom Kimberly for that matter, but he somehow found a way to make it seem like you did.

Once you guys made your way back to shore, you pulled out your phone to call your dad while everyone unloaded the boat. Sending JJ a look, you stepped aside to be away from the noise for a few minutes.

“Hello?”

You took a deep breath. “Hey, Dad! Um, are you busy?”

You could hear him sigh. “Not at the moment, but I don’t have much free time. What do you want?”

“I was just wondering if I could have a few friends over to hang out, maybe spend the night? I was going to order pizza, and pay for it of course, but I just wanted to see if-”

“Goddamn it! I thought Rick handed this in. Y/N, look, I have to go. You know the rules, nobody at the house. Your ass better get home now or you’re grounded, do you hear me? And Kim said you didn’t even do your chores so you’re already on thin ice.”

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“Stupid bitch. Leaves her worthless daughter to come to me and become my problem. How the hell is that fair-”

You hung up, not wanting to hear another word he was saying into the phone. You turned around to see John B and JJ waiting for you to finish up. You quickly wiped the evidence of tears off your face before walking towards them.

“Everything okay?” John B asked as he recognized your upset expression.

You forced yourself to smile as you shook your head, shoving your phone into your pocket. “My dad needs me home. Something about people visiting. I’m so sorry, JB. I tried to reason with him but he’s just-”

“You’re good, Y/N.” John B stood up to give you a hug, rubbing your back as he did so. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“You were supposed to spend the day with us though!” JJ interrupted as he stood up. He was clearly upset about your departure and for some reason, he wanted to make sure you knew. “This is bullshit, Y/N! You’re seriously leaving early on his birthday.”

You shook your head, not needing JJ’s criticism at the moment either. Thankfully, John B came to your rescue. “Bro, leave it alone. There will be a million and one opportunities for us to watch movies together. It’s no big deal”

“It’s your birthday, man,” JJ continued to argue. “We promised we’d spend the day with you.”

You stepped back slowly, inching towards your car that was parked next to Kiara’s. “I’m sorry,” You mumbled as you watched your boyfriend try to reason. “I wish I could.” Without another word, you ran to the driver’s seat and climbed in. As the car came to life, you spared a glance out the window to see JJ glaring at you before driving away towards the place you barely considered home.

Kimberly had taken care of you herself once you arrived. It started with screaming about how you didn’t tell her you were leaving this morning, which you definitely did, she just didn’t listen. Then, it was pulling at your hair, followed by scratching the hell out of your arms and even your face with her razor sharp nails. It ended with her shoving you on the floor of the kitchen, telling you to clean the house until it was spotless or you’d regret it later.

You regretted not running away is what you told yourself as you showered later that night. Your knees were bruises from all of the cleaning and you swore Kimberly drew blood in multiple places with her devilish hands. It all ended with a lovely punch to the ribs from your dad once he found out that you didn’t clear your day’s events with them. Needless to say, you should’ve stayed at John B’s and never come home.

Crawling into bed, you let out a drained sigh at the feeling of your soft sheets and pillows. Nothing had ever felt more relaxing. You stayed there for a moment, just embracing the sound of silence that you had never found to be so peaceful. A second later, the silence was gone as someone knocked on the balcony doors.

With a quiet whimper, you pulled yourself out of bed to open your curtains to reveal JJ standing outside. You put a finger to your lips before opening the door slightly to let him in.

“What are you doing here?” You asked once you closed the door and turned to face him. Luckily, there was limited light meaning JJ wouldn’t see the true extent of what was going on behind your hair-covered face and long sleeves.

He shook his head as he kicked his shoes off and tossed his hat aside before flopping on your bed. “I wanted to see you. We didn’t get to spend much time together today.”

You frowned and moved to sit next to him. “I know. I’m sorry, Dad was just being really uptight about everything and-”

“Baby, it’s okay,” He said as he rolled on his side to face you. “Look, let’s not talk about it. I just wanna spend some time with you.”

You shuffled down to lay in his open arms, enjoying the smell of his cologne mixed with the weed he no doubt shared with Kiara at John B’s. You were grateful that JJ could sometimes see through the lines, even though he could be difficult at other moments.

“Missed you,” He hummed as he kissed your forehead, his lips moving down to press against your neck as he shifted to hover over you. Your hand lifted his chin up to meet your own as you locked your lips with his, moaning at the taste of his watermelon chapstick. You loved the little things about JJ, the things he probably wouldn’t even notice himself. Like the freckles on his face, or the dip of his collarbones in a white t-shirt.

JJ’s hands moved to your waist as his thumb rubbed a circle against your hip bone. The second his fingers wandered under your shirt however, it was game over. You gasped and pulled away, instantly sitting up as you shied from his touch.

“Y/N-”

“Sorry!” You interrupted as you put your head in your hands. “I just… I’m not in the mood, JJ.”

Completely flustered, JJ got off your bed to stand. “Not in the mood?” He repeated, “Y/N, what the hell is going on?”

“Keep your voice down,” You whispered as you feared your parents would hear.

“No!” JJ ignored your pleas. “You’ve been acting so weird lately, and now I think I know why. First, it was the other week when Kie dumped beer on me and you pulled away, then today leaving before movies, and now you’re not in the mood?” He mocked you as he waved his arms around angrily. “You’re cheating on me.”

“What?” You gasped as you got to your feet. “JJ, no. I swear that’s not what’s happening, I just-”

He cut you off, holding up his hand in front of you. “I don’t want to hear it. Until you tell me the truth, this, us. We’re done.”

You froze in your spot as he collected his stuff before walking out onto the balcony, slamming the door loudly behind him. You winced at the noise, praying it didn’t echo through the house. Your luck had run out, however, and the sound of stomping feet soon followed before your door was thrown open.

“What the hell was that?” Your dad shouted as he observed the room, noticing you were standing next to your bed silently. “Answer me!”

You shook your head as you pointed to the balcony. “I left the door open and the wind blew it shut!”

Your dad seemed to consider your answer for a moment before his eyes dropped to the floor. He took a few steps forward and bent down before standing up with a white necklace in his hand. You bit your tongue, instantly realizing it as the one JJ always wore.

“What’s this?” He asked as he turned to face you.

“It’s mine,” You answered quickly, “I made it.”

Your dad seemed to grow angry. “This isn’t your necklace. Was there somebody in here?’

“Dad, no, I didn’t-” You don’t even know why you bothered, he wouldn’t believe you anyway and instead of arguing, you just let him win.

If JJ had stayed on the balcony thirty seconds longer, he would’ve heard you cry. He would’ve heard the scream you let out from the pain your father inflicted on you, but he was gone. And instead, you were left to cry on your floor as you clutched the shark tooth necklace in your hand, wondering if you’d ever see him again.

--

The third time, JJ got answers.

You continued your life on but this time, it was without the Pogues. You hadn’t spoken or seen JJ, not that you really could considering you were grounded for lying. On top of that, you doubted he wanted to see you. He thought you were cheating on him, anyway. Why would he want to see you?

You left the rest of the group alone too, figuring they’d take JJ’s side over yours anyday. They had known him for so long, much longer than you, so you didn’t want to make them feel like they had to choose. You didn’t want to ruin their friendship because you failed at providing JJ the reassurance he needed.

The surprise came in the form of a text message. John B had asked you if you wanted to come get the stuff you left at his house, not knowing if you’d come back again. Although it was a sting to your already bruised heart, you knew this would be the final goodbye. Pulling yourself together, you waited until your dad and Kimberly were at work before sneaking out.

You twisted the shark tooth between your fingers as you drove silently, letting your mind wander until you pulled up to John B’s house. Thankfully, Kiara’s car was nowhere in sight, same with JJ’s bike, and you were hopefully it was only John B in the house.

“Hey,” You mumbled as you walked onto the porch. John B was laid out across the couch with an arm over his eyes as he waited for you to show up. When he looked at you, he swore it was a different person. Ever since you lost contact with JJ, you had taken it out on yourself. You looked so small, so weak compared to the last time he had seen you. He could only hope this plan would work.

“Your stuff’s inside,” He said after a moment while standing up. He watched you for a moment as if you would shatter into a thousand pieces in front of his eyes. “Come on.”

You followed him through the door to stand by the couch as he went in the back room to grab your stuff. A moment later, he reemerged with the pile in his hand. He stopped in front of you as you reached out to take the stuff from him. “Y/N, I’m really sorry for this.”

“Sorry for what? Ow!” You were tackled onto the couch as someone jumped onto you, pinning your arms above your head. Opening your eyes, you saw JJ hovering over you, his legs keeping yours down as he held you in place. “JJ, what the fuck?”

“What are you hiding?” He mumbled as he hand left your wrist to pull your shirt over your head. You screamed at the sudden motion, already feeling your body ache with the sharp movements as you tried to wiggle out of his grip.

“JJ, stop! You’re hurting her!” Kiara interjected as she attempted to pull him away. It was too late. JJ let go anyway, but he already found his answer. Your entire stomach was covered in bruises, not to mention the scrapes on your arms and bruised knees. He was in shock.

You pulled away from him, sitting up as you curled into a ball. You had wanted to tell JJ back when everything first started, but you feared you would get taken from your friends. That was the worst thing in your mind. You couldn’t lose JJ, or even Kiara, Pope, and John B to get away from your dad. They were the only people who you held close, who you could relate to and be honest with.

“Y/N…. what the hell?” JJ sat back on the couch in shock. Kiara placed a hand on his shoulder to give any form of comfort. Honestly, none of them expected this to be going on behind the scenes.

John B stepped forward and crouched down next to you, being careful as he placed his hand on your arm. “Y/N, can you tell us what happened?”

You shook your head as you tried to catch your breath. “My.. my dad and Kimberly aren’t the easiest people to be around. At first, it was fine. We were good and everything was good, but then they started getting mean and-and violent and I didn’t know what to do, okay! I just try to avoid them and please them and-”

John B pulled you into his chest, holding you in an attempt to calm you down. JJ was still trying to wrap his head around everything going on. He was no stranger to violent parents, but you had hid it so well he was shocked that he never knew. Sure, he had his suspicions, and he was worried, but he never would’ve thought it was this bad.

“Fuck. Y/N/N,” JJ mumbled as he reached forward to grab you from his friend and hold you in his arms. He never wanted this life for you. You didn’t deserve the pain of losing a parent just for another to not want you around. That wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair.

“I”m sorry,” You whispered as you held onto his t-shirt tightly. “I didn’t mean to make you mad or-or lie. I don’t want anyone to find out and then I’ll lose you guys and it’s… I can’t do that, J.”

“You’re not gonna lose us, baby,” He responded as he kissed your forehead, his eyes narrowing on the necklace of his that you were wearing. He knew he had a million apologies to give, especially with your argument the other night, but for now, he just wanted to hold you and keep you safe. “I’m not gonna let that happen.”

There were a lot of things that you didn’t know, but as your friends surrounded you with their hugs and just stayed there with you silently, you started to learn. You learned that people don’t always judge on your decisions, that they’ll support you no matter what you’re going through or where you come from. But the most important thing was that you had found your family in the Pogues. That you knew for certain.

too late to turn back now

Sam and Bucky go undercover at a club in Germany while tailing some insurgents. (You can probably guess what happens next.)

Words: 1401

Chapters: 1/1

James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson

It takes thirty seconds for Sam to spot a third insurgent entering the club, swiftly weaving through the haze of moving bodies. Everyone is either drunk, stoned, or both, and Sam can tell that he, Bucky, and the Flag-Smashers are the only ones here who aren’t having the time of their lives. Despite their chichi getup and fabricated gangster backstories, all Sam and Bucky have going for them now is the crowded chaos. 

So maybe their cover is a little flimsy. That’s probably why it doesn’t come as a surprise precisely fifteen seconds later, when the mission takes a steep downturn. The insurgent starts to beeline it in their direction. And shit, this guy is moving with purpose, like he can see past the sweaty crowd, eyes boring right through their flashy suits and expensive jewelry. 

Sam lets out a low, breathy hiss. “Shittt!” 

Bucky surreptitiously glances behind his shoulder. Not half a second later, he whips his head back in Sam’s direction. How in the world can he manage to look even grouchier?

“Great,” Bucky deadpans. “I thought Zemo said–”

“I know, man. C’mon.” 

Sam grabs Bucky by his finely tailored sleeve, forcing them through the bustling crowd of party-goers. They relocate to the back corner of the club. Kicking away a plastic cup on the floor, Sam leans nonchalantly against one of the marble columns and lowers his voice. “Look, I know what Zemo said. But I don’t think he knew this was gonna happen. Either he somehow set us up from inside his fancy little jail cell, or these kids just felt like adding more to the party.” 

Bucky frowns, looking antsy. “What the hell do we do now?” 

Great question. 

Sam purses his lips, craning his neck to scan for the initial two insurgents. If they get caught now, there’s no chance of finding whatever cave the Flag-Smashers set up shop in. The Super Soldier serum isn’t a joke; the world doesn’t need any more enhanced humans prancing around. It’s more trouble than it’s worth, which these kids just don’t understand yet. 

Bucky elbows Sam lightly in the ribs, nodding toward the center of the crowd. The Flag-Smashers are moving like they’re about to meet in the middle. Something useful has to come out of this mission; something as simple as a code word may give them the upper hand. Unfortunately, the bass is so loud it’s literally vibrating Sam’s teeth, so it looks like he has to rely on his eyes for a lead.

The Flag-Smashers are doing some kind of hand signal, maybe a greeting, that Sam can’t distinguish. None of them cover their faces anymore, masks loosely hooked on the hoops of their jeans. Sam guesses the “Freedom Fighters” symbol was just a way to get access to the club, which is definitely more efficient than his and Bucky’s alternative. Going to Zemo’s cell and demanding VIP access to an underground European club earned a spot on the list of sophomoric lunacy Sam never thought he’d take part in. 

“Sam,” Bucky cautions. “They’re looking at us.” 

That’s about when Sam realizes they aren’t being as subtle as they can afford to be. The insurgents are shooting them sporadic glances, murmuring something amongst themselves, and for a blood curdling moment, Sam thinks that’s it: game over, mission ruined. Bucky is holding a few steady fingers on the underside of his glove, the metal peeking out from beneath the fabric. As soon as the insurgents start to shuffle forward, Bucky speaks again; louder, with clear annoyance in his tone: “They’re coming right at us.” 

Because he’s hopeful at heart, or maybe just foolish, Sam isn’t convinced the Flag-Smashers recognize them yet. Take it from the Falcon himself: nobody notices Sam Wilson until the goggles come on. And Bucky’s bionic arm is the Winter Soldier’s trademark, which is no problem either; he’s got the cashmere suit and gloves. 

Although they do look fresh as hell tonight, Sam isn’t so confident in their disguises that he thinks the Flag-Smashers aren’t going to recognize them from a few yards away. These kids aren’t stupid; they’re dangerous. And this is too important. Steve would have thought of something. 

That’s precisely the moment an idea pops into Sam’s head. 

Wow. 

It might be nuts, and it violates the hell out of workplace professionalism, but it’s all he can think of. Sam can’t exactly evaluate the pros and cons of what he’s about to do, since the Flag-Smashers are getting closer with each passing second, and Bucky is glaring at them sporadically like a tiger about to pounce. 

Okay, this is it. 

Sam grabs Bucky by the lapels of his suit, meeting his deep gaze as he pulls them chest to chest. The guy ogles at him like he’s grown a second head. In any other situation, Sam would’ve made fun of how out-of-character that expression is on Bucky, but his pulse is pounding so fast he can hardly think straight. 

“Bucky, just go with me on this.” 

Sam leans forward and kisses him. 

Bucky reacts the same way he does when a stranger bumps into him on the sidewalk. There’s a cursory shudder of alarm accompanied by the initial surprise, which Sam tries his best to assuage. It’s almost like trying to tame the sea during a storm, smoothing out all the waves until the calm returns. He brings a hand up to the back of Bucky’s neck, brushing the skin meaningfully, hoping the gesture isn’t lost on him as the Flag-Smashers approach in his periphery. 

Commit to the role.

Sam admittedly should have thought this through, since the guy he’s frenching is from the 1940s. But after a few seconds more of tangled limbs and barefaced shock, Bucky seems to get it and quits resisting. His hands rise up to roughly grab Sam’s hips; probably to let Sam know he’s pissed. At this point, whatever; Sam can handle Bucky’s irritation. What he can’t handle right now is whatever this feeling is, because it’s like a million little electrical shocks hitting every nerve in his body. If someone told Sam he’d be making out with Bucky Barnes a week ago, he’d have stuffed that comment away into the Things That Will Never Happen lobe of his brain. 

It takes a lot of willpower to remember why they’re in this situation again. Two of the insurgents have decided to thoroughly ignore their little lovemaking session. Which, good. And at this point, Bucky seems understand the strategy appeal. Sam chose kissing because they’re at a club; hookups happen, and physical affection makes people very uncomfortable. So presto! Crisis averted. But just when Sam thinks the coast is clear, he notices the third insurgent ogling at them like he can’t tear his eyes away. 

Bucky clearly notices as well, because he snags Sam by the hair and shoves them against a nearby column. The force of the movement makes Sam stumble forward, deepening the kiss as Bucky angles their faces away from the insurgent. A deep, muffled groan escapes Sam’s throat, and the insurgent visibly goes red in the face, finally turning away to follow the other two, and thank the fucking Lord it’s over now. 

They’re finally alone; as alone as they can be in this place. Sam elegantly shuffles away from Bucky, hands still warm from the other man’s skin. He doesn’t even have a joke for this situation, which proves how empty his head is right now. Somehow, Bucky looks significantly less flustered than Sam feels, but maybe he’s just used to hiding it. As Sam tries to process that, he squints up at Bucky’s profile in the club’s vibrant blue and green lighting. His dark hair is all ruffled, lips tinted a raw shade of pink. Despite the disarray, it’s kind of captivating. 

After a few minutes of silence, Sam speaks up. 

“So...where’d you learn to kiss like that?” 

Without pause: “I’m 106 years old, not a virgin.” 

It doesn’t take long before Sam is doubling over on the floor, gasping for air like he hasn’t breathed a day in his life, because holy shit. What a way to keep their cover. His hysteria is clearly contagious, since Bucky starts to smile too, a few short bursts of laughter bubbling up from his throat. For a long moment, Sam completely forgets what they’re doing. 

Right. 

On with the mission.

I’m Gonna Thrill You Tonight

Written for the eleventh day of Fic-O-Ween 2020, the Halloween-themed Sweater Weather/Coast to Coast fest organized by the wonderful M @opaleyedragon. This was such an awesome idea—thank you for putting this together so well and so quickly!

Thank you a million times over to SW & C2C author Hazel @lumosinlove for letting us play in her universe with her incredible characters. And a huge thanks to the lovely people of the SW discord for their support, encouragement, and inspiration. Y’all are the best hype squad a girl could ask for!

Title yanked from one of the all-time greatest Halloween jams, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” Enjoy, goblins and ghoulies~

(Note: This work is rated E, so avert your eyes if you are a minor, please!)

~

It was Halloween night, and Finn O’Hara was going to die.

“Knutty won’t let you die,” Logan replied with a grin. “He’ll literally figure out how to resurrect you just so he has help with the food.”

Finn watched Logan watching himself in the bedroom mirror, turning this way and that as his green eyes looked over his costume. “No, I mean like—” Finn flung a hand out in Logan’s direction, making an up and down motion. “Look at you. Look at you.”

Logan’s amused smile slid into something more devious as he turned around to face Finn. The Batman costume he’d bought for this year’s team Halloween party was far more family-friendly than the one he’d worn at Harvard all those years ago, but it was still tight, the black spandex of the jumpsuit stretching over his broad chest and thighs in ways that were making it impossible for Finn to think about putting cupcakes on platters and filling the candy bowl downstairs for the neighborhood trick-or-treaters.

He crossed the room to put his hands on Finn’s hips, holding him there as he leaned up and brushed his lips against Finn’s in a barely-there kiss. “Who knew you had such a thing for Batman, eh?” he teased.

Finn huffed out a laugh, catching Logan in a firmer kiss that lingered as he let his hands roam up Logan’s arms and down his back, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric. “I have a thing for you as Batman,” he said, which was true to a maybe-embarrassing degree. He could feel the heat of those green eyes, sharp and intense as they peered at him through the dark mask, going straight to a hallowed place just below the plastic yellow belt of his Robin costume.

Logan’s smile widened at the admission and he gave Finn a playful butt tap, the same way he’d do on the ice. After a moment, though, his mouth fell into a more serious line, brows knitting in thought.

“What?” Finn asked, sensing the shift in mood.

“No, just…” Logan bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes searched Finn’s. “This—me in this costume—it’s not making you sad, right?”

Finn’s heart pulled a little at that—seeing Logan in the cape and cowl again had, unsurprisingly, brought up a lot of old memories—but he meant it when he smiled at Logan and shook his head no. “It’s not,” he murmured, giving Logan’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “It might’ve a year ago, maybe, but now…” He pressed his hands to the expanse of Logan’s chest, palms warmed by the heat of Logan’s body. “I can touch you the way I want. And tell you I love you. And that you make a fucking hot Batman.”

Logan was smiling again, the worry smoothed out of his face. He leaned in to kiss the hollow of Finn’s throat, the press of it more tender than teasing. “D’accord. Bon.”

“Da-core. Bone.”

Logan groaned like Finn had just told an awful joke, but he was fighting a grin even as he shook his head. “Please don’t,” he said. “Your accent hurts me.”

“Hey, Batman and Robin, let’s hustle,” Leo called, his footsteps in the hall getting louder until he was joining them in the room. “Everybody’s on their way.”

Finn and Logan looked over at him, their mouths falling open simultaneously. Finn wasn’t sure what he’d imagined when Leo had told them he’d be dressing up as Poison Ivy, but any mental images he’d enjoyed over the past week or two paled in comparison to the real thing.

The real thing was standing in his bedroom, all six-feet-three-inches of him, his tight green jumpsuit adorned with leaves and twisting vines that were thicker in strategic places. His shoes were the same color, blending into the rest of the outfit and making his already-long legs look like they went on forever. Finn’s mouth watered as his eyes trailed down the low (low, low) V-cut of the suit down those mile-long legs and back up again to Leo’s face. He was looking at them expectantly, one eyebrow raised beneath a halo of blond, leaf-strewn curls.

Logan cleared his throat. “Holy…”

“Shit,” Finn finished for him, voice low and emphatic. “Look. At. You.”

Watching Leo’s expression morph from confused to surprised to flattered made Finn’s heart swell. He didn’t know how Leo could be at all surprised by their reaction, given what he was wearing, but the earnest flush rising on his cheeks told Finn he hadn’t quite been expecting to drop any jaws.

“No time,” Leo said with a head shake, but he was smiling brightly under the glow of their praise. “Dumo and Celeste are like, five minutes away. If we start this now…”

But Finn was already crossing the room to Leo, needing to be closer, needing to touch. “We’ll never go downstairs, because we’ll spend the rest of the night worshipping you,” he said, letting his fingertips trail down the bare stretch of skin from Leo’s throat to the end of his sternum.

“Ouais,” Logan hummed in agreement, coming up to stand on Leo’s opposite side and nip playfully at his earlobe, chasing it with a kiss. “Très sexy, Nut.”

“Oh god.” Leo was laughing and taking a step back, hands on each of their shoulders to keep them at bay, but the flush on his cheeks that was now working its way down his neck gave him away. Finn smiled; he loved a flustered Leo, loved being the one to fluster him. “No time.”

“You said five minutes,” Logan said, undeterred.

“Yeah,” Finn added. “I can work with five minutes. We all know Lo can work with five minutes.”

Finn laughed as Logan gave his shoulder a shove. Leo just shook his head again. Then his smile slanted a bit, looking more like a smirk, as his eyes traveled from Logan to Finn and back again. “Later,” he said, voice low and full of promise. “When we have hours, not minutes.” He kissed them, one after the other, and said, “Come on, I’m not letting these cupcakes burn!”

Leo was already out the door as Finn and Logan looked at each other with raised brows.

“We’re making him wear that every fucking year,” Logan said.

Finn kissed him through a smile. “Oh, yeah. And not just on Halloween. Birthdays, anniversaries, days that end in Y…”

~

Leo was glad they’d volunteered to host this year. Since he and Finn had been roommates before getting together, and they’d already been living together when Logan moved in, they’d never thrown the kind of housewarming party that other newly shacked-up people in relationships often did. It was always fun when the whole team could get together like this with their families, and the fact that it was here, in this space Leo now shared with both his loves, made it that much sweeter.

That was the last coherent thought Leo had before the chaos of the night began. Not two seconds after he got the last of the food set out, the entryway filled with the sound of “Happy Halloween!” being shouted in unison by the entire Dumais clan. By the time Leo reached them, the kids were already all over Logan, chattering a mile a minute and showing him the candy haul they’d collected so far. Finn hugged Celeste and fist bumped Pascal before he was jogging down the front steps to help James and Lily, who’d just pulled up with baby Harry and some party supplies in tow.

“This is exciting,” Celeste said, kissing Leo’s cheek as she took off her coat to reveal her classic Wonder Woman costume underneath. “We’re finally the ones visiting you three.”

“Oui, we’ll see if Logan’s gotten any neater since his time under our roof,” Pascal, who was decked out as Superman, added.

“A little,” Leo said, smiling as he thought about how Logan had started making his bed and throwing clothes into drawers whenever he knew the three of them would be sleeping in his room. “Not in hotels, though—it still looks like a hurricane blew through when we’re on roadies.”

“Hey Knutty, Tremz,” James said, pulling the mask on his Spider-Man costume over his head to give them the full effect and spreading his arms. “Awesome, right? We should theme these things every year. Whose idea was heroes and villains?”

“Finn’s,” Leo said before Lily came up behind them, Finn trailing a bit behind her with the bags. She looked spot-on in her Mary Jane costume, and had Harry—dressed as the only spider Leo could ever call cute—balanced on her hip.

“Oh, hello,” Lily said, raising her eyebrows before going in for a one-armed hug. “You’re putting us all to shame, Poison Ivy.”

“Right?!” Finn yelled from the top of the steps. Logan said it at the same time, shooting Leo a wink as he put Katie up on his shoulders. It warmed Leo’s chest like it did every time, and he suspected that would never change.

Over the next hour, more and more people showed up until the entire team was packed into Leo, Logan, and Finn’s place. By the time Leo was pouring himself a second cup of punch, the party was well and truly underway. The players and their families were eating, drinking, and chatting, complimenting and chirping each other’s costume choices in equal measure; tiny fingers grabbed fistfuls of candy from the bowls scattered throughout the living room, hallway, and kitchen; and orange and purple string lights cast a festive glow through the decorated house.

Thriller was playing through the sound system Finn had recently set up downstairs, and Leo watched on as James—Peter Parker’s Spider-Man—and Thomas—Miles Morales’s Spider-Man—tried to have a dance-off to decide whose costume was superior. (Tried being the operative word, as James’s list of talents did not include dancing.) Lily had her palm over her face, and Noelle, looking cute as Gwen Stacy, was laughing beside her.

It made Leo want to play the observer for another minute or two, to commit this night to memory. He made his way around the living room, sipping his drink as he went. He smiled as he caught sight of Kasey, appropriately dressed up as Mr. Freeze, and chatted with him for a couple of minutes before leaving him at the mercy of Natalie, grinning and tipsy and objectively stunning in her Catwoman suit. The only couple getting more handsy than them was Sirius and Remus. Sirius, ever the captain, had shown up as Captain America, and Remus had his arms wrapped around his back underneath the shield resting there as they kissed in the far corner of the room. Sirius pulled back to nose at Remus’s jaw and Remus laughed when he saw his face, swiping a hand across Sirius’s cheek. Leo realized Sirius was covered in smudges of black where Remus’s Winter Soldier eye makeup had rubbed off on his skin.

Heat trickled in Leo’s gut as he thought about what Logan and Finn would look like wearing that makeup—what they’d look like if Leo wore that makeup and made out with them in a dark corner, gray-black marks smeared over their cheeks, their mouths. He blinked and took a long drink from the plastic cup in his hand, shelving that distracting mental image even as he vowed to find a costume that required eyeliner for next year.

“Gross, isn’t it?” a voice beside him said. Leo turned to see Regulus, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head a bit at the lovebirds across the way. “Like, I’m happy for them and everything, but do they have to do this all the time? Don’t their lips ever go numb?”

Leo laughed and, noticing Regulus’s cup was empty, passed him his own half-full one with a look that said, here, you’ll need this. He didn’t have siblings, but he guessed just about everyone would feel how Regulus did when it came to their brother’s PDA. He’d noticed that Regulus seemed genuinely baffled by kissing and sex in general, though, and wondered not for the first time if Regulus experienced that kind of attraction. Now wasn’t the time to get into it, so Leo chirped him for his Loki costume instead, flicking one of the wings on his helmet. “Nice antennae.”

“Nice chest hair,” Regulus quipped back. “Did the zipper fall off that thing, or?”

Leo laughed loudly, which made Regulus laugh, and they passed the cup of punch back and forth for a few minutes, talking about hockey, travel schedules, the upcoming holidays. Eventually the Dumais kids found Regulus and started asking him to go, tugging on his cape and hoisting their pillowcases over their shoulders.

“Trick-or-treating duty,” Regulus said by way of explanation before herding (or being herded by) his charges out the front door. As Leo watched them leave, he caught sight of someone he didn’t recognize; a woman who looked maybe a few years older than him with dark skin and criss-crossing goddess braids that rested over the plates of her Valkyrie armor.

She walked over to another woman dressed as Captain Marvel, putting a hand on the small of her back as she talked to—Finn, Leo realized. Captain Marvel gave Finn a brief hug, and Finn said something that made both women laugh before heading into the kitchen. When they turned around, Leo recognized her as June. He’d known she was coming; Finn had suggested inviting her once they knew they were hosting, and Leo and Logan had agreed—Leo perhaps a little more readily than Logan. Leo understood that. He hadn’t had much time to feel anything other than confusion about June, but Logan had been wildly jealous—had been set up by her and Finn to be jealous—and it was clear the thought of her still rankled him slightly.

June and her—friend?—found Logan in the crowd, and Leo raised his eyebrows, taking a few steps toward that side of the room to head off any potential awkwardness, but decided to see how it played out first.

“Hey, Nutter Butter,” Finn said as he came up behind him, tilting his head to press a kiss to the side of Leo’s neck. He pressed a fresh drink into Leo’s hand before following Leo’s gaze across the room. “Uh oh. You think he’s okay over there?”

Leo hummed an affirmative, kissing Finn’s mouth briefly. “I think so,” he said. “I can jump in if things get tense. I think he’s fine, though, Harz.”

And it did seem that way; Logan definitely looked awkward, his smile somewhat forced, but then June said something to him that loosened him up and pulled a small, real grin out of him. Finn let out a breath Leo guessed he’d been holding, and he rested his head against Leo’s for a moment, temple to temple.

“I’m glad,” he said, stepping back to look at Leo. “I wouldn’t bring her around if you guys weren’t completely, 100-percent good with it, but I’m glad you are.” He paused, looking at Leo questioningly.

“I am,” Leo confirmed. “You should ask Logan again later, but I’m sure he’ll say the same thing.”

Finn nodded, taking an absentminded sip of his drink. A shadow of something flickered across his face, and Leo put a hand on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing small circles against the soft skin behind his ear. “He forgives you for all that,” Leo murmured. “You know he does. Don’t keep punishing yourself, sweetheart.”

Finn whined at the endearment, tilting his head back into the touch before shaking his head as if to clear it. “Why you gotta be so cute when you read my mind, Honeynut?” he said with a grin that compelled Leo to kiss him again. “Okay, so. June’s here, and she’s cool, and her girlfriend is cool, too, and I’m happy.”

Girlfriend, Leo thought. That answered that question. He let his free hand brush Finn’s hair back and kissed his forehead just above his Robin mask. “I’m happy, too,” he said. He was warm from the drinks, from his costume, from Finn’s body heat. Warm from Logan’s laugh traveling across the room. Warm from the happiness that filled his chest, so much fuller than Leo’d ever imagined it could be. “Love you, Fish.”

Warm from the brightness of Finn’s smile. “Love you, too.”

~

Logan was feeling good. He was a few rum and cokes in, maybe a little tipsy, and smiling as he caught up with Celeste and Pascal. He still saw them all the time, but it was different now that he wasn’t living with them, and he was glad to have a chance to spend that extra time with them—particularly Celeste, since there was always time during practice and travel to talk to Dumo.

He was grabbing a snack from a nearby table—he didn’t want to get too drunk, not before Leo could make good on his promise from earlier—when a “Hi, Logan” made him look up.

June. June and someone he didn’t know, both of them looking at him and smiling expectantly.

While he was fine with June coming—he knew she and Finn had stayed friends, and he trusted Finn completely—he’d sort of been hoping to avoid running into her after the impression he made at Christmas, at family skate. They hadn’t been his finest moments, and he still felt flickers of jealousy over her, though it was somewhat removed from him now, more like an echo.

“Hey, June,” Logan said with a nod and thin smile. “Nice costume. Yours, too, uh…”

“Amalia,” June said, gesturing to the woman in the Valkyrie costume as she extended her hand to Logan. “My girlfriend. ‘Malia, this is Finn’s boyfriend.”

“Ah, the famous Logan,” Amalia said with a warm smile and a firm handshake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Part of Logan’s mind was stuck on girlfriend, but he gave a small, awkward laugh, looking nervously between them. “Famous? That doesn’t sound too good.”

“Oh, no,” Amalia said with a reassuring wave of her hand. “I just meant, I’m finally meeting the guy Finn talks to June about nonstop. Well, one of the guys.”

June hummed in agreement through a sip of her own drink. From this close, Logan could smell the boozy mix—mostly tequila, maybe some lime, too—and a hazy memory of him, Finn, and Leo doing body shots off each other after last season’s finals win swam briefly through his mind. “We’ll have to find Leo later and say hi,” June said to Amalia before looking back at Logan. “Thanks for inviting us. This is the most fun I’ve had on Halloween since...probably ever.”

“Same,” Logan said. “And yeah, no problem.”

June hesitated for a second, then seemed to make up her mind as she added, “And sorry for, you know. All the times we’ve met before now.”

That, combined with the sight of June’s free hand resting against the small of Amalia’s back in the almost-unconscious way Finn always did with him, pulled a real smile out of Logan, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Those were definitely less fun,” he said. “But it’s okay. It’s all good now.”

June’s smile was open and genuine as she said, “Yeah, seems that way, doesn’t it? It all worked out.” Her gaze was nothing short of adoring as she looked at Amalia, both of them grinning at each other as Amalia sipped her drink. “Still, I felt like I should apologize. The whole ‘going to family skate with Finn’ thing was mostly my idea. I thought, you know, this dude needs a fire lit under his ass! He needs to get a little jealous! But I’m pretty sure all it did was make you both miserable.”

“You were right, though,” Logan said before he could stop himself. He hadn’t planned on spilling his guts to his boyfriend’s ex tonight. Maybe the rum had loosened him up a little more than he’d thought, or maybe he was starting to like June despite himself, but he decided he could afford to let his guard down just a bit. “I did need a fire under me. It took a couple more matches, but eventually I woke up.”

June pursed her lips against a smile, giving Logan’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “I’m glad you did,” she said. “I can tell how happy Finn is. He’s crazy about you guys.”

Logan’s eyes searched the crowded room until they landed on Finn, beautiful and ridiculous in his Robin costume with his mouth trailing kisses up Leo’s neck and jaw, pulling a dimpled smile out of Leo. He wondered if he’d ever be able to look across a room at them and not be blown away by his love, by his own wild luck.

“I’m crazy about them,” he murmured half to himself, rubbing the heel of his hand absently over his full heart.

~

Later, Logan was sidestepping spiderwebs and skeletons to make his way to his bedroom. The house was quiet and still, the last few guests having poured themselves into taxis about twenty minutes ago, and he was dying to get out of his snug, overly warm costume and crawl under the covers with his boys. Just as he was unclipping the utility belt to slide it off his hips, he heard the bedroom door swing open a little further and the click of Finn’s black boots as he walked up behind him.

“Hey, don’t take that off yet,” Finn said lowly, arms snaking around Logan’s waist as he pressed his chest against Logan’s back. Logan sighed as Finn kissed the nape of his neck with a slow tenderness. He let his head fall forward to give Finn better access, closing his eyes and letting everything fall away that wasn’t Finn’s body solid against his, Finn’s mouth hot on his skin.

“I’m sweating in this thing,” Logan complained, but made no move to pull away from Finn or take off the costume. He changed tactics, turning in Finn’s arms to kiss him properly. “What, you don’t want me naked?”

“No, I do, I do,” Finn said, letting his hands trail up Logan’s abs and chest to rest on his shoulders. He did that a few more times, running his hands over Logan’s body as though to make sure he was really standing there. There was something in his expression Logan couldn’t quite read.

“Quoi?”

Finn stilled as he turned his brown eyes up to Logan’s, looking at him in a way that made Logan feel like he was naked already, all of him exposed for Finn to see. It used to be scary, being on the receiving end of that look from him, but Logan saw Finn now, too. Really saw him. “I’m just thinking,” Finn said like he was choosing his words carefully, “About all the things I wanted the last time I saw you in this costume. Everything I wanted to say to you, do to you.”

Logan’s heart ached at that. “Finn,” he started, frowning.

Finn held up a hand. “No,” he said gently, smiling. “It’s okay. I just meant...I loved you then, even when I’d barely known you three months. And I love you more now. So...leave it on? Just for a minute.” His hands found Logan’s hips, thumb circling precisely over the fleur-de-lis tattoo hiding under the material of the costume. That he could find it without even glancing down sent heat spiking through Logan’s body, and he splayed his own hands across Finn’s back underneath his red vest. Finn leaned in to kiss him, but before he closed the distance, he whispered, “Let me do all those things I thought about for so long.”

Unable to wait another second, Logan pitched forward, crashing their mouths together. They kissed until their lips were swollen and bitten-red, hands roaming and feet stumbling backwards until Finn’s back collided with the dresser drawers by the bed. Seeing an opportunity, Logan wrapped his arms around Finn more securely, lifted him off the ground and sat him on top of the dresser in one smooth motion.

When he pulled back, Finn just smiled at him bewilderedly, letting his head fall back against the wall. “Fuck,” Finn said, huffing out a breathless laugh as he blinked at the ceiling.

The cheap costume fabric was doing nothing to hide the outline of Finn’s hardening cock, and Logan his lip as he eyed it, palming his own dick briefly. The dynamic between them was always shifting depending on the mood, but Logan didn’t usually throw Finn onto pieces of furniture. Judging by Finn’s reaction, he was thinking he should do it more often. “Yeah? Tu aimes ça?” Logan asked, lips against Finn’s neck.

Finn had heard that phrase enough times to know its meaning. “Uh, yeah,” he said like it was obvious. “That was fucking hot, Lo. Didn’t know you could lift me that easy.”

“I bench more than you weigh,” Logan chirped back even as he kissed a trail over Finn’s collarbone.

Finn was still for a moment, and Logan thought maybe he was just having too good a time to respond, but then he sprung into action, hopping off the dresser and hauling Logan into his arms. A startled laugh burst out of Logan as Finn walked them over to the bed and threw him onto it, his back bouncing as he hit the mattress.

Their laughter slid into moans as they wrestled playfully for control, pressing each other down with their body weight and getting more and more distracted by their sloppy, heated kisses. Logan let himself be bracketed by Finn’s arms and legs, pinned by a pair of brown eyes that no longer had any trace of sadness in them. Logan reached behind Finn’s head to pull the tie of his mask free, tossing the fabric aside. Then he did the same with his own mask.

“Want to see all of you, mon rouge,” Logan said, stroking a thumb across Finn’s freckled cheek.

Finn leaned into it, smiling like there was nowhere else he’d rather be, and kissed him again.

~

They were tangled up in each other like that, touching and kissing and slowly rocking their hips against each other, when footsteps approached from down the hall, stopping beside the bed.

“I was gonna suggest we take a shower first, but…” Leo trailed off, eyes trailing over them both. “This is good. This is really good.”

“Hey, baby,” Finn smiled as Leo knelt on the bedspread, one hand going to tangle in Logan’s hair and the other pressed to the center of Finn’s back. He and Leo met each other in a kiss, and Leo hummed as he felt Logan’s hand creeping up his thigh to tease at his still-soft cock, obscured by the layers of his costume.

“Leo,” Logan said, sounding so genuinely delighted by his presence that Leo momentarily forgot about all the sex he wanted to have and just smiled at him, heart flipping in his chest. He bent over to kiss him soundly. “Logan,” he said back, smiling widely. “I promised you hours, didn’t I?”

“Oui,” Logan nodded, squeezing the swell of muscle above Leo’s knee. “Time for plenty of showers.”

Leo laughed, then turned his head as he felt Finn cradle his jaw. “Those fucking dimples,” Finn mumbled half to himself, “Kill me every time.”

Leo let Finn kiss him for a few heady moments, just feeling the two of them, feeling out the mood. He pulled back to look at their position, Finn on top of Logan and Leo knelt beside them both, and suddenly knew what he wanted.

“Take the rest of his costume off, Fish,” Leo murmured. He brushed a hand over Finn’s still-clothed cock and felt him twitch, heard his shaky inhale. “Then yours. Show him how hard he’s making you.”

It was a little bit of a gamble; though this side of Leo had come out more than a few times by now with Logan, he hadn’t yet tried giving orders to Finn in bed. He knew Finn liked to top, to be in control and throw himself into making his partners feel good—he knew that was what made Finn feel good—but he didn’t intend to boss Finn around quite the same way as he might with Logan.

“Would you like that, Tremz?” Leo added, brushing a thumb across Logan’s lips. Logan nodded, groaning. He kissed the pad of Leo’s thumb, green eyes darting between the two of them.

Seeing how much Logan was already into it made Finn’s eyes go wide and dark, and he hurried to get Logan naked as quickly as possible. Leo smiled to himself as he unzipped his own costume, happy his instincts seemed to have been right.

When the last scraps of fabric were on the floor, nothing but miles of bare skin between them, Leo stretched out on his side next to Logan, who was looking up at Finn walking himself forward on his knees. Finn straddled him again, closing a hand around Logan’s cock. Logan moaned and rolled his hips and fuck, Leo could watch Finn bring him off like that and be perfectly content, but he had other plans.

He wrapped a hand around his own dick, which was filling fast, and looked at Logan’s flushed face on the pillow beside him. Logan kissed him fiercely, like he hadn’t had the chance in weeks, and Leo moaned into his mouth, twitching in his own hand. He bit Logan’s bottom lip gently, then less gently, and Logan made a pleased sound, chasing Leo’s mouth as he pulled away.

Leo ran his knuckles down Logan’s cheek, overcome with fondness for this boy who’d had thicker walls than anyone Leo had ever met and was now so quick to show affection, to lay his heart bare in front of them. After a moment, he recovered himself enough to remember his plan and said in the steadiest voice he could manage, “Shhh, sweetheart. I know what you want. You want to suck Finn’s cock. You want to have him in your mouth. Right?”

“Oh, fuck. Oui, yes,” Logan said. Leo heard Finn swear under his breath, too, and he knew he had them. He looked at Finn. “Go on, Harzy. Give him what he wants.”

Finn shifted to plant his knees on either side of Logan’s head as Logan propped himself up on the pillows. He paused to catch Leo’s mouth in a bruising kiss before gripping himself at the base and slowly inching into Logan’s mouth, careful not to choke him. Logan couldn’t take Finn as deeply in this position, but that didn’t seem to matter; Logan groaned loudly, fingers digging into Finn’s thighs, and Leo’s heart stuttered in his chest as he saw Finn’s expression. He looked wrecked, his red hair a riot and a deep, rosy flush working its way down his face and neck.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Then Leo pushed himself up to kneel behind Finn, kissing and biting at his neck and shoulders. He steadied Finn’s hips with his hands, then pushed them forward slightly, causing his cock to slide further into Logan’s mouth.

“Knutty,” Finn gasped, reaching around to give Leo’s ass a squeeze. “Holy shit.”

“That’s it,” Leo said, starting to build up a rhythm until he was gently rocking Finn in and out of Logan. He kept one hand on Finn’s hip, guiding, while he reached the other behind himself to take Logan’s dripping cock in his hand. “Just like this. He loves it, Finn. He’s so hard, leaking all over himself. I can feel it.”

Logan was practically writhing beneath them, hands in a white-knuckled grip on Leo and Finn’s thighs as Finn fed him his cock and Leo jerked him off. The position was awkward, and Leo knew he wouldn’t be able to stay there long, but he kept it up until the muscles in his arm started to protest the angle. He shifted backwards until he could lower himself between Logan’s legs, licking a stripe up his length. Logan cried out around Finn, and Finn looked over his shoulder to see what Leo was doing, biting his lip around a groan.

“Wanna make him come like this?” Leo asked, raising an eyebrow as he smiled at Finn.

Finn, who had stilled as he turned his attention to Leo, nodded quickly. “Only if I can make you come next,” he said, flashing a grin that sent heat spiking through Leo. Logan pinched Finn’s ass, startling an “ow!” out of him.

“Allez,” Logan urged after pulling his mouth off Finn’s cock. His voice was already shot, and Leo had to give his own heavy cock a squeeze at the sound.

Finn smiled down at Logan, touching his leaking tip to Logan’s swollen, spit-slicked lips. Logan opened his mouth immediately, teasing the head the way he knew drove Finn wild every time, and they fell back into their rhythm, Logan taking Finn as far as he could manage. Leo’s focus turned to Logan’s cock, thick and tempting in his fist. He took him into his mouth and lost himself in it, rocking his hips absently against the mattress to take the edge off his own need.

Their onslaught of attention soon proved too much, and Logan’s legs started to tremble beneath Leo’s hands. Leo upped his pace, bobbing on Logan’s cock until Logan cried out around Finn, his whole body tensing as he started to spill down Leo’s throat.

“Fuck yes,” Finn said shakily as Leo worked him through it. He and Logan locked eyes as Logan rode out his orgasm, his rhythm on Finn’s cock faltering. “So good, Lo, baby. That’s it. Come for us.”

Logan eventually stilled, sinking back against the bed as his softening cock slipped out of Leo’s mouth. Leo pressed a gentle kiss to his tip before sitting up on his knees toward the foot of the bed. Finn pulled back, too, cock red and shining as he stretched out on top of Logan to kiss and nuzzle him. Leo knew Finn loved this part; sharing in the hazy bliss of his partners’ afterglow, regardless of whether he’d come yet himself. Leo loved Finn’s punch-drunk smile, loved how close Logan was holding him.

He was surprised when Finn suddenly turned around and leapt at him, catching him around the waist. They were kneeling chest to chest, Logan watching them with a lazy grin from where he’d curled up on his side. Finn brought his hands up to cradle Leo’s face, looking at him like he’d just invented sex, and Leo loved that, too.

“Your turn,” Finn said, his smile playful and warm.

“It’s not gonna take much,” Leo said, hissing as Finn pressed closer, bringing their cocks together. “Fuck, Finn.”

Finn wrapped a hand around both of them, giving a few experimental strokes. He quirked a brow at Leo, a question in his eyes. Leo, who in all honesty was halfway there already, nodded quickly, gripping Finn’s biceps. “Yeah, like this,” he breathed, urging him on with a rock of his hips.

It only took a few dozen strokes for Leo to get there, calling out his boyfriends’ names as Finn stayed with him through it, not letting up until Leo was twitching and sensitive.

Leo brought a hand up to Finn’s face, breathless and reverent as he held Finn’s gaze. “I love you,” he said softly before kissing him.

Finn kissed him back, smiling. “Love you so much, nutter butter.”

Leo shifted and Finn gasped, and he looked down to see Finn’s cock still achingly hard between them. “Sweetheart,” he said, reaching down to wrap a hand around him. “How do you want it?”

“Sur mon visage.” Logan murmured it, practically a purr, and Leo’s spent cock gave a valiant twitch at the image.

“Oh god,” Leo said with a groan.

“What?” Finn asked, looking back and forth between them. “What’s that mean?”

“He wants you to come on him,” Leo translated, eyes on Logan as he said it. “On his face.”

“Oh god,” Finn echoed. He kissed Leo once more before getting into a good position, his knees on either side of Logan’s chest. Logan rolled onto his back and looked up at him, licking his lips in a way that made Finn groan and grip himself tightly.

Leo stretched out on his side next to them as Finn started to bring himself off. It was mesmerizing to watch, and Leo had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before they were all ready to go again. Leo reached over to stroke the swell of Finn’s ass, feeling the tension coiled under his skin. Finn’s face was screwed up in pleasure, his fist a blur on his cock.

“Open your eyes, Finn,” Leo heard himself say. He was so lost in the moment that he hardly knew what he was saying anymore. “He wants you to see how good he looks when you come all over him.”

“Holy fuck,” Finn said tightly, blinking his eyes open to look at Leo, then Logan, whose own eyes flickered from Finn’s face to his cock. “Lo, I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Allez, Finn, allez,” Logan breathed. He curled his hands around the backs of Finn’s knees, urging him on. Then he opened his mouth, pushing his tongue over his bottom lip obscenely, and that was it; Finn came with a shout, painting thick stripes across Logan’s face.

Finn came for what felt like ages, and then the three of them collapsed in a sweaty heap, limbs tangled together as they caught their breaths and came down from their shared high. When Finn came back to himself and rolled off the bed to head toward the bathroom, Leo didn’t fight him on it. He let Finn clean the mess off Logan’s face with gentle strokes, and hummed as Logan shuffled closer to kiss him while Finn swiped the towel over their stomachs and between their legs.

“That was so good,” Logan sighed against Leo’s lips. “Love you, peanut.”

Leo kissed his nose. “Love you, Tremz.” Finn settled in on Logan’s other side, nuzzling into his thick brown hair, and the three of them stayed like that for a long few minutes, wound up in each other.

Leo was hovering on the edge of a doze when he heard Finn say, “Don’t think I forgot about earlier, Knutty. I fully plan to worship you all night as promised.”

With his eyes closed and his body warm and pleasantly weighed-down by the two of them, Leo smiled. “I’m in favor of that,” he said, letting the pull of sleep overtake him for the moment. It was Halloween night, and there was plenty of time left to send shivers up his boys’ spines.

νοσταλγία (Chapter 34)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 6k (I know I shouldn’t say sorry but...sorry 🥺)

Warnings: The usual, passing mentions of (past) sexual assault

A/N: This basically has no Ivar, for obvious reasons, so I know it is long but I didn’t want to leave you guys with two weeks before the story moves forward Ivar-wise. Sorry for the long chapter, and sorry if this isn’t very much to your liking, I tried lol.

Again with me and animals and references to deities: howling dogs are symbols of Melinöe, Greek Goddess of madness, nightmares, and ghosts; though there’s a duality to be associated with her, that for the sake of this story I took to her influence being both of nightmares and dreams, of madness and comfort; because she is represented in Freydis (or I attempt that) and she isn’t just a bitch, y’know? Melinöe is also considered a daughter of Persephone but in some stuff she is put together with her as one and referred to as a nymph and queen too.

You don’t think you’ve been able to lower your eyes from the skies since that day. Almost two weeks have gone by, and you start thinking maybe you imagined her voice behind you, imagined a ghost whispering somehow they had survived.

Sitting carefully on the ground, batting away the hand that Galla extends to try and help you, you start, “You know Lysander wants to make you his.”

She doesn’t miss a beat when she replies casually, “He has already.”

Galla only snorts at your scandalized expression.

“I mean make you his wife.” You explain with a shake of your head, returning your gaze ahead.

“I won’t leave you behind.”

“You would be the wife of the most powerful man in free Greece.”

“Or I could be the second in command of the most powerful woman in free Greece,” She retorts just as easily. After a moment, Galla sighs, “The Gods brought us together as children, my friend. Time couldn’t separate us, nor distance.

She lifts her hand to touch the side of your waist, where the bandages still press at the burnt skin.

“Not even death could separate us,” She vows, before offering a smile and turning back ahead, “Your Fate and mine are intertwined.”

And now here you sit, on a familiar clearing somewhere near Kattegat’s coast, watching the sun rise and not knowing how to decide between looking at the sea waiting for those ships to return or at the sky waiting for the falcon to guide you.

You hear soft footsteps behind you, but you do not turn to watch Freydis approach. The heavy winds blow at your hair, your gaze focused on the sea that accompanies the winds in their chaos.

“What are you doing here?”

“I want you to know I am sorry.” Freydis whispers from behind you, the pain that forces her voice to break making your eyes fall closed as if you can keep the compassion away by guarding back tears.

You offer her a nod and, as always, she understands your silent words, sitting beside you on the cold grass. Almost shoulder to shoulder but not quite.

Saying you forgive her would hurt your pride, saying there’s nothing to be sorry for would be a lie.

“You betrayed me.” Is what you state, a reminder both for her and you.

Freydis nods her head, not hesitating.

“I did.”

You smile, but it is watery and broken and weak.

“I should kill you.”

A few beats of silence, and…

“You should.”

“But I won’t,” You confess, angry at yourself, smiling at your own weakness, “Too soft a heart.”

“It isn’t a fault.”

“Isn’t it?” You quip bitterly.

Freydis sighs, “You are warm, and good, and soft. Don’t…don’t let this place change that, harden you more than it already has.”

“I have no reason to heed your advice now, Freydis.”

“Yet you do anyways.”

You consider her words in silence, accompanied only by the distant sound of a busy world at your backs and the waves breaking at the coast in front of you.

“I-…once you and I would have been one and the same,” Your arms wrap around your legs, bringing your knees closer to your chest, like you can keep the cold hand of regret from gripping your heart if you hold yourself tight enough. “Back in my city, in my kingdom…I did all you ask out of me now. I fooled a man into loving me, into believing everything I told him. I could have told him he was a God, and he would have walked this earth as if he were one. It is a terrible thing, what love can do to us,” Your last words fall from your lips in a breath that could be a sob, but with your lips pressed tightly into a line you breathe deeply and continue, “I did to him all I know I could do now. I laid with him, I held and kissed him, I whispered promises in his ear, I gave him my hand, I…I told him I loved him.”

Freydis says nothing for a few moments, but then her voice, rougher than usual, not so carefully feminine, not so mechanically dainty, asks, “What happened to him?”

You offer her a shrug, “He died. For his arrogance, for my hesitation, for…our mistakes,” Resting your chin on your knees, you keep your gaze on the horizon and explain, “He was my friend, I knew him since we were children and when I returned to Attica he was…”

She offers her strength when your words die, “In power.”

“I knew he wanted me. We women always do, don’t we?” A small chuckle, you don’t know from whose lips, “A-And I used it against him, I…hardened my heart and I pretended to want him too, to love him too.”

“In exchange for what?”

“His strength, his army. When the Byzantines sent their Christians to…convert us, he and his men fought for our frontiers, cut down their numbers.” You answer automatically, and past the pain there’s pride making your voice unwavering.

“Nothing, compared to what you could get now.”

“And yet I don’t want it, not like this. Not this time.” You vow, jaw set tight and eyes certain when they find her own. Freydis offers only a nod to signal she accepts your choice -or pretends to-, and silence reigns for a while between you.

It feels comfortable, familiar, even if you know it shouldn’t.

“Does Ivar know of that man?”

“Of course he does,” You reply instantly, turning to her with the beginning of a cruel smile on your lips, “Surely you don’t think I trust you more than I trust him.”

She returns the same kind of smile, “Once, you did.”

“And look where that trust has left me.”

She scoffs, “You speak as if trusting him was any better. After all he did to you.”

“Freydis…” You warn, and the blond shrugs, looking ahead with stubborn determination.

“Not a smart thing, I know.” She acquiesces anyways, remembering your words from the last time you talked.

She stays silent, reminding you starkly of that night where she found you pleading with Gods that didn’t answer to explain why your Fate had to be so, reminding you of how she sat next to you in silence, hesitant at how to be honest, true, soft.

But yet she remains at your side. A prisoner awaiting judgement, or a snake awaiting the chance to strike, you do not know.

“Why did you do it? Why tell him of that merchant?”

“I wanted to…understand. I wanted answers. To whether you’d leave if given the chance, to whether he’d believe you would.”

“That’s…”

“Cruel?” She finishes for you, before offering another shrug. “Maybe. He has done worse. You have done worse.”

She has a point.

“Why…why make him believe I see a monster when I look at him?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You reply, maybe more forcefully than you should have, but you’re frankly tired of games.

“Because it is what he already believed,” She answers simply, as if the answer is clear for everyone to see. “You know the man you married; he needs certainty. He held on to the certainty that you’d leave him, and I had no interest in seeing him believe otherwise.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know if the case is other,” Freydis shrugs, and turns to you, “Is it true? Do you love him?”

Your mouth curves into a half-smile, “You expect me to trust you with a secret now?”

Freydis falters, and loses a bit of her edge, a bit of her unwavering resolve.

You think Ivar isn’t the only one that needs certainty, but you keep your mouth shut.

She offers a sigh as she turns to face the horizon, “It isn’t a secret.”

You leave her behind on that hill overlooking the sea, hearing the faint sound of dogs howling in the distance, and it feels like you leave behind a part of you.

____

Days pass, and the dreams don’t cease, and you wake up still hearing hissing snakes and howling dogs and…Gods, you might lose your mind soon.

You could tell yourself it is the dreams, the messages from the Gods, what makes you sit down in front of her in the apothecary, a mortar in your hands. You could tell yourself it is morbid curiosity, the desire to hear how she has betrayed you once again, what makes your movements so alike hers that first time when she sat before you and offered you a smile.

You could tell yourself many things, but we don’t change the truth by spinning a different tale.

Freydis doesn’t lift her gaze, but you notice her take a deep breath as you start grinding the herbs across from her.

“You vowed once that I would regret it if I ever betrayed you,” She states, and her dainty voice wavers. Freydis closes her eyes, “Well, I regret it. I…you have no idea how much I regret what I did.”

“I don’t care about regret, Freydis.”

Her expression falters, and you could swear there’s tears shining in her blue eyes. Her lip trembles, and…Gods, this is the first time you have seen her without a mask on, isn’t it?

“I-I love you,” She offers. An excuse, a plea, an accusation. “I…I…”

“What you did, you did out of love?” You ask, spitting back the words she said when the bodies of those merchants were still fresh. When you were surrounded by the evidence of Ivar’s cruelty and the results of her games.

“I did.” She promises, voice frail and small.

You look into her eyes, and ponder on the weight of such a small word.

“Narses tried silencing me, pushed me to be meek and obedient. He called it love, I stayed quiet and pretended that was what love was,” You tell her, voice quiet, “My mother left me without any explanation, handed my freedom to a man I didn’t know. I’m sure she called it love, but she isn’t here for me to tell her it felt like…abandonment.

Your gaze lowers to your hands, and it is both to you and to her that you admit the truth as the words leave your lips,

“Ivar put chains on me and dragged me all the way to his kingdom, forced me to be his wife. If you were to have asked him then, he would have called it love, though now both of us would admit that it was something else.

She answers with silence, and it unsettles you, but you don’t loosen the straight line of your spine, you don’t lose the hardened edge in your eyes as you lift them back up to meet Freydis’.

“You played games with me as a pawn, you were responsible for the death of innocents, you hurt me,” You bite back the anger, but it still resonates in your voice as it raises, “You toyed with Ivar’s head, you caused him pain. And you called it love,” You spit out the last words, but Freydis holds her ground, not hesitating in holding your gaze, “That isn’t love, Freydis. Betrayal isn’t love.

A barely-there flinch, but you notice it. And a part of you that you shouldn’t allow to be is cruelly delighted in hurting her.

“Trusting someone, trusting them enough to fulfill their promises, trusting them enough to be honest, that I do call love.”

She lifts her chin, and insists, although there isn’t accusation in her tone when she speaks.

“You trusted me, once.”

“I did. Because I loved you, and I love you still,” And there it is where your resolve falters, at the admission of why it hurts the way it does, why it stings and tears and breaks. Your smile is hopeless and it trembles on your lips, “You were the first kind face I saw here, you were-…you are someone that makes me feel…safe.”

“You make me feel safe too,” She confesses, before frowning and lowering her gaze. “You make everything complicated. Everything stops making sense and I…I shouldn’t have done what I did. I…would you believe me if I told you I am jealous of him?”

And for a moment the smell of mint overpowers anything else. You shake your head, dispelling the scent and any other thoughts.

You watch carefully as Ivar extends curious fingers to one of the newer plants you brought in. He plucks a leaf without any consideration, but you hold your tongue and watch him bring it to his nose.

“Mint,” You tell him without prompting, “Mint was a nymph, once. Did I ever tell you of why Hiereiai don’t take their marriage vows lightly?”

His lips pull into a slow smile as his eyes turn to you, and he shakes his head.

“Well, the God and Goddess of the Underworld are, in their own way, symbols of loyalty, and fidelity. They never stray, they never betray one another.

You cross the distance between you and take a seat next to Ivar on the cushioned lounge, watching with a small smile as he continues to twirl the small leaf of mint between his fingers.

“Of course, there are those who try testing that. The tale goes that there was a nymph that used to stride through the fields of flowers with the maiden my Goddess once was. This nymph, a beautiful and alluring woman, was...fascinating enough that Lord Hades desired her, and made her his, long before he set eyes on who then would be his wife.

You settle better on your place as you recall the old story, a story you have known and cherished for so long that, like so many others, it feels like a part of your own story by now.

“But when he abducted my Goddess and made her Queen, the nymph was forgotten, discarded. Nothing in the eyes of the God of the Dead compared to his wife, you see,” You share a smile with your husband, a smile that makes your heart quicken its beat in your chest, and continue, “Still, the nymph boasted that the new Queen of the Underworld was no match to her beauty, to her wit. And so, it is said that in that field where Hades first saw his wife, Minthe would wait, trying to seduce the God back to her side.”

“Did she succeed?”

You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “Some say Hades was enraged at the mere thought of failing his promise to his wife, and witness to such poor mimicry of the Goddess he loved, he struck Minthe there, turned her into a pitiful plant,” Ivar discards the small leaf and bends down to reach for your legs, making you rest them across his lap. You settle better, grateful for the relief from the cold, and trying not to tremble like some foolish maiden at the rhythmic caress of rough hands up and down your calves, you continue, “Others say it was my Goddess, and not her husband, the one that answered the call, and that she punished Minthe for the offense of trying to take what is hers. And so mint is untoched by each passing spring not as a mercy, but as an act of cruelty by the Goddess that scorns her.”

“Maybe the nymph was after your Godess, though. Maybe it was Kore she wanted the love of, and she scorned Hades for taking her from her,” He offers, and you startle, leaning back. Still, you are unable to keep the smile that curves at your lips. Ivar shrugs, and his smile is a little darker when he continues, “Your Mistress turned a God into a thief, you think she couldn’t turn a nymph into something else too?”

Your chest feels tight, because you do have a soft heart, and a part of you never stopped being the foolish girl that used to whisper to the plants she kept with her in the Silk Roads that if they fought and grew she would protect them and keep them alive.

Voice soft and low, you promise, “You won’t ever lose me because of Ivar,” But because you cannot help it, because a part of you never stopped being the woman that prided herself in killing and dying to protect those she loved, you add, “The same way Ivar won’t ever lose me because of you.”

Freydis focuses on her work, and for a while you remain in silence, for so long you start thinking she won’t speak again.

But she does, more than a bit of anger -though not at you- in her tone when she states,

“You don’t know what it is like, being alone. I have been at the hands of the worst of men, I have been beaten, starved, raped, humiliated,” And the woman that could be a nightmare to any man raises her chin, coldness in her eyes and strength in the straight line of her spine. You hide your pride and pain, both for her, and remain silent. Freydis smiles brokenly to herself, tears finally falling down her face, “I know fear, and I know pain, I have known them for a long time. And yet, the worst thing in this world is not being broken, defiled, or in chains,” A deep breath, some of the strength wavers, “The worst thing is, in such a wide world, being...alone.”

A small smile curves at your lips when you think that Freydis was the first person to treat you like…well, a person, aside from Ivar. She didn’t see a witch, a woman here to fool their King, a Saxon spy, a foreigner.

She saw you, more clearly than you would have thought then, you realize now; but she saw you, and she was friendly, and kind, and just honest enough.

She stands before you in the dark, in the whirlwind of chaos that Ivar and Fate have brought to your life. She sees your tears, and there’s rage in her blue eyes.

Still, she offers honesty, she offers relief, she offers a stretched hand, “You aren’t alone.”

She never left you alone.

“I…guess I have been fortunate. I have always had people at my side.” You whisper quietly, but you don’t think she hears the silent gratitude in your voice.

“More fortunate than you know, witch,” She agrees, nodding to herself. She turns her body to you, facing you directly and fiercely, even if regret swims in those blue eyes, “I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want you to be alone either. I am sorry, for what I did, for what I...do.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Freydis. It is done,” You interrupt, pressing your lips into a line and hoping this is not a mistake when you offer, “What matters is what you choose now.”

The blonde shrugs, a small, apologetic and broken smile on her lips, “I…love you. I want to be someone you can trust, I want…I want to deserve your trust.”

Stupidly, naively maybe, you believe her. So, you agree with a nod of your head, and return your gaze to the dried herbs you’re working on, “Alright, then it shall be so.”

“I…I, uh, I don’t-…”

“I love you, Freydis.” You whisper, stealing a glance to her wide eyes and when your gaze meets hers you hope she knows you are honest.

The girl’s lip trembles for a moment before she returns her gaze ahead, and she lifts her chin, proud and refusing to admit the weakness of emotion. You stifle a small pleased smile when you see her, and it is only the question that leaves her lips next that keeps you from embracing her.

“So, are you planning on staying?”

If Stithulf were to die today…

“That’s…not a question I want to answer.” You offer nervously, mouth suddenly dry and heart skipping a few beats.

“You feel you must return to Greece. Your home calls to you.”

Yoi shake your head, “I don’t know where my home is. But…I have a legacy to uphold. My mother and father died for my freedom, I cannot turn my back on their sacrifice for…”

“Love?” She supplies when you quieten, startling you both with her implication and her certainty when she continues, “You put your duty before love once, and you still shed tears for it. Do you want to do it again?”

No.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of useless and jumbled thoughts, and close your eyes against the torrent of emotions and fears and hopes. You reach for a batch of dried Feverfew and Chamomile, and offer her half so she starts working.

“We must now just…hope the winter is kind to us. And when spring comes…we will see.”

If your voice is ragged, if your eyes shine, she does not mention it, instead taking the herbs and lowering her gaze.

After a while of comfortable silence, the blonde asks,

“What does spring mean to you?”

“Change,” You reply easily, although it never is. “Whether we want it or not.”

“To us it means war. They go raiding again, they go kill and die again, when spring comes.

The day goes by, and you two sit there, shoulder to shoulder, Varangian to Greek, woman to woman, surrounded by the one place where you can feel warm while Ivar is gone.

A call of your name interrupts the easy nothingness of your mind, and you turn your attention to Freydis as she offers you her hand, stretched between you like who seals a deal.

“Wherever your Gods or mine take you, I shall be at your side,” She promises, her smile a little hungry and a little happy. “I swear it.”

Your eyes go to her outstretched hand, and for some reason it reminds you of the fists over the hearts of thousands of Attics, vowing loyalty to an Anassa you don’t know if you can be.

“I don’t need a slave, Freydis,” You say cautiously, lifting your gaze to her certain and unwavering blue eyes. “I need a friend.”

“I’ll learn,” She promises, fierce, a small smile on her lips that speaks of a woman that wants to swallow the world. You return it, even if guardedly, and grab tightly at her forearm as she does the same. “You have my word.”

____

You don’t know how long it has been, where you’ve stood there like who has seen a ghost, watching the falcon circling the longhouse.

Zephyr.

It is close to dusk, too close for any wild animal to be hunting. You know it is him, you know it like you know winter approaches fast.

You step out from the longhouse, your feet trailing after nothing, your eyes on the horizon, on the trees beyond the walls, where you know a ghost awaits.

Zephyr, loyal beast that he always was, lands on a nearby roof with a screech, as if finally content that you’ve heard his call.

You watch him take off again, go far past the walls, and try to think of a way out of Kattegat.

____

There’s a prayer being whispered past your lips, where you plead this isn’t the choice that dooms you.

You loom over Freydis’ sleeping form and reach a quiet hand to press over her mouth. Her blue eyes open, startled, but you shush her with a gesture. She relaxes soon enough, and you cautiously remove your hand from her mouth. The blonde girl sits up, a thousand questions written in her eyes that you promise you’ll answer once she comes outside with you.

She does, and the darkness of the city feels suffocating when you turn to her.

“You once told me a slave, better than anyone, knows of the ways out of a kingdom.” You whisper.

A few moments of silence, of baited breath, where you almost consider she will scream for the guards, sell your secrets to whoever will listen for a pat in the back. But she finally presses her lips together, and gives you a firm nod.

She guides you in the comfort of darkness to a path you did not know of, and with expertise she predicts the marching feet of the guards, motioning for you to move.

“You don’t have much time. If you don’t return before the sun rises…”

“I will return.” You promise, eyes already set on the path she pointed to.

You follow the impatient cries of a falcon through misty woods, catching your stumbling steps by grabbing into the branches and the trunks of trees. Night usually feels suffocating, but the promise of reunion and the hope beating in your chest keep you from feeling anything but anticipation.

A whisper of your name, and your eyes, already used mildly to the complete darkness, catch the slim figure waiting by one of the trees.

“Galla!” You exclaim, thinking too late of keeping your voice low. In no time you are embracing her and she you, hushed relieved laughs escaping your lips.

She’s real, and solid, and warm under your hands. She’s alive.

“I’ve missed you. I thought the worse, when we lost sight of you in Dublin.”

You shake your head, a watery laugh making its way past your lips.

“I was told you were all dead,” You shut your eyes tight, angry at your own foolishness, “I should have known better than to trust that Christian’s word.”

“We lost about a third of our people, seven hundred or so, those too weak to run or fight. And less than a hundred are either with Stithulf or elsewhere,” She whispers grimly, “But we are faring well, we scavenged and stole what we needed. We will set up, but far from here, lest we are seen as a threat while Kattegat’s King is away.”

A part of you wants to find a way to let Kattegat give them the support they need, but…but if you were planning on letting Ivar know the Greeks live, you wouldn’t have snuck out in the middle of the night.

You swallow thickly, and ask,

“Have you heard from Sieghild? Have they…found Narses?”

She shakes her head sadly, “Nothing but rumors about your mother. And Narses…he is probably buried in a Christian grave.”

With your eyes on hers, with trembling hands, with a hope you haven’t dared voice making the words that come out of your lips hoarse, you whisper, “Maybe h-…”

Galla interrupts you with another shake of her head, “I saw how the Varangians took him down. That he reached you before collapsing was a last mercy from Ares.”

You told Narses on the eve of the last battle he fought that if he insisted on holding against the onslaught of Ivar the Boneless’ forces, that if he sacrificed your people for a Christian’s dream of revenge; and dared survive, you would kill him yourself. But nor the vitriol of your last encounter or the resentment that grew in your last months together can keep you from sobbing his name when the reality of him not existing anymore settles in your chest.

There’s a finality to having someone that knew him, that saw the warmth in his eyes and heard his voice and his laugh, tell you he is gone.

“That fool.” You croak out, furrowing your brow as useless tears fall down your face.

“I’m sorry.” Galla whispers, but you shake your head. The dead don’t need your tears, they are in a better place. Or so you were told.

“Let’s pray the Mistress is merciful when she greets him,” You offer in response after a few minutes of silence, before resting your shoulder against a tree and asking, “How did you know I was in Kattegat?”

“Word of a Greek witch becoming wife to a famous Viking runs fast,” She offers, the word that the Norsemen have for their people still strange in her tongue. With a smile, Galla continues, “Wife and Queen. Only you would be stupidly brave enough to survive Ivar the Boneless.”

“I’m going to ignore the ‘stupid’ part.” You tease softly, still smiling at a ghost.

She chuckles, and continues, “I have been getting closer and closer to this place for weeks now.”

Your brow furrows, and you cannot keep yourself from asking, “And you deemed it safe? You somehow knew I was going to be able to cross the walls.”

“You are free here, freer than...than you have been in a long time, I think. I don’t know the King, but I’ve heard how his wife seems sent by the Gods, both for his sake and his home’s. And I do know you, and I know you wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes you made with Narses.”

You swallow past a knot in your throat, “What are you saying?”

“There’s no man in this world that could force a ring on your hand,” She states dryly, not an edge of hesitation in her voice. “Was your mother right, after all?”

“My mother?”

“That it would take a Viking man to tame a daughter of hers.”

She betrays a smile, and you let go of a tension you didn’t know you were holding. With a lift of your eyebrow, you say,

“Do I look tamed, Galla?”

Her smile widens, gleeful and a little devious, like all her smiles always have been; and Galla shakes her head, reaching for your left hand and lowering her gaze to your ring.

“You’ve heard of Laconia, have you not?” She asks casually, rough finger tracing the flowers engraved in the band on your fourth finger.

“I have.”

Dark eyes meet yours, “We have a place to fall back to. A safe haven to regroup, to gather our strength again.”

“And retake Attica,” You finish for her, straightening your back. “We’d have Sparta’s army, and Lysander’s victory instills fear in the Christians.”

Galla only looks at you in silence, considering you with the probing gaze of someone so used to shadows you sometimes believe she doesn’t see people and instead sees secrets.

“As an Attic, by heart if not by blood, I ought to ask my Anassa to lead us,” She sentences, making your heart drop. After a moment, she adverts her eyes from yours, licks her lips and breathes for a moment before continuing, “But I have seen you die, too many times for me to rest easy at night.”

“Galla?”

She takes a deep breath.

“As myself, as the woman that loves you, I’m asking my oldest and dearest friend not to return to fight a war she lost already,” She finishes, at the way you frown and step back only pushing forward, “Narses is dead, there’s no chains binding you to us.”

“I am one of you!”

Galla shakes her head, unmovable, “Not fully. You’re not fully theirs either, but-…”

“No,” You sentence, meeting her eyes and stepping forward again. Though your voice is hushed, you try summoning all your strength to the words you speak, “Circumstance doesn’t change my nature. I am Greek, I am Hiereia, I am your Anassa.”

It feels like heavy chains being put on your wrists, to admit that, to accept that. It feels like the same chains Ivar had men put on your wrists, before he took you from everything you loved.

“And you are his wife, you are their Queen.”

You will not hear anymore of this. It is pointless, it is something you could argue on for hours on end and never reach a solution. It is something that pulls tight at your chest with every passing breath where you have to be aware of how much Fate truly manages to tear you in two.

“Find our people a safe place to spend winter at. More than one town will grant you shelter until spring in exchange for labor in the last harvest of the year,” You order, eyes looking at the nothingness ahead of you as you try finding a way. “Don’t let them know you’re Greeks.”

“And your husband? You think anyone can keep a man like him from knowing about us? We are a threat, Greek or not.”

“He doesn’t have to know I know,” You sentence, even though you know it is a foolish choice. If you can just keep these two worlds apart for a while longer… “Galla, I just…need more time. Allow me this winter.”

“And when spring comes?”

You offer a shrug, “Change will come with it.”

“I won’t force you t-…”

“You should know by now forcing me to do something doesn’t work out particularly well,” You interrupt, trying to find resolve in all this madness. Eyeing the forest around you, you find yourself needing to say goodbye again. “I hope the winter is kind. If…if something happens, if you need me…send Zephyr to the skies, and I’ll be here.”

You embrace her, tightly and with a hint of anger at Fate for making you mourn her for so long, and she does the same, for so long the cold seeps into you when you step away.

“Stay safe, may the Gods watch over you.”

Galla smiles, “Our Gods and theirs, may they be with you.”

____

You have wondered, in the days that pass since you have last seen her, if this is selfish of you. Wanting to remain in this world in between worlds. Wanting more time.

Maybe it is selfish of you, maybe it is cruel, maybe it is hopeless. You still pray, as the nights grow longer and the days colder, that as Persephone returns to her husband, not only do they allow yours to return to you, but that they allow you more time.

Your life, your death, is in their hands; all you ask for is time.

This morning, when you walk out the door of the longhouse as the cold sun rises, you extend a hand, and feel the faintest of snowflakes falling on your skin, melting over the back of your hand like a kiss.

“My Queen!” Someone calls out, and you turn to the boy that comes running towards you, “The ships, we see them.”

Your heart leaps in your chest, restlessness taking a hold of you, impatient feet wishing to forget pretenses and run to those docks.

“T-Thank you.” You tell him, and he leaves with bow of his head back to where he came from. For a few moments too long, you linger in the idea of going to the docks to wait for them.

“It’s still a while for the ships to get here, you mad woman.” Hvitserk calls out from behind you, and you turn to him with a smile.

“They told you.”

“Mhm. I told you they’d return in time,” Hvitserk quips, putting his arm around you and hugging you to his side for a moment. “Now you’re stuck with my bother for the winter.”

He accompanies you to the healers, and helps you work on getting everything ready for the injured or sick that may need assistance when the warriors finally land.

Before long, able to distract yourself with your work, you find yourself watching with baited breath as the ships dock.

You meet familiar eyes and kiss familiar lips, and the world ceases to exist.

The cold of winter is biting over your exposed skin, and you were taught, all your life, that the dawning of winter meant the grief of a mother losing her child, meant a maiden was taken from the place she belonged and the world withered in her absence.

It doesn’t feel like death, winter. It doesn’t feel like absence, like grief. Like a departure.

It feels like warmth, winter. It feels like home, like love. Like a return.

____ ____ ____

Obvious references to the God Ivar storyline are obvious. But, as much as I vehemently hate that plot, it gave us Freydis as we know her, and I love writing her, so I had to reference it.

Is it absolutely fucking stupid to trust Freydis again? Yes. Is she doing it anyways? Also yes. Soft heart, what can I tell ya.

Oh, and yeah, Minthe is also a deity I related to Freydis. Many times during the story, especially in ‘key’ moments where Freydis is witness to something between the Reader and Ivar, the Reader mentions smelling mint. Surprise lol. Just a little nod to a nymph that wanted to fuck Hades and to Persephone’s jealousy, that’s about it. But Ivar’s take on it is my favorite bit of that flashback, even if mythology-wise it doesn’t make a lick of sense lol.

Anyhow, hope you liked this! Would love to hear your thoughts on it, and thank you so so much for reading!! I love ya!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery​ @revolution-starter​ @chibisgotovalhalla​ @the-a-word-2214​ @fae-sedai​ @crazybunnyladysworld​  

Fanfic Friday #1

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x 

Read/Save it on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/31733458

{training dates}

Ship: olivarry 

Status: dating

Warnings: none :)

WC: 1,646

Barry’s POV

It sort of all started when I got my powers. And I ran to Oliver. 

“I’ve spent my whole life searching for the impossible, never imagining that I would become the impossible.”

“So why come to me? Something tells me you didn’t just run 600 miles to say hi to a friend.” “All my life I’ve wanted to do, more. Be more. And now I am. And the first chance I get to help someone, I screw up. What if Wells is right? What if I’m not a hero? What if I am just some guy who got stuck by lighting?” 

“I don’t think that bolt of lighting struck you Barry,” Oliver paused, “I think it chose you.”

“I’m just not sure I’m like you, Oliver. I don’t know if I can be some, vigilante,” I whispered, looking down. 

“You can be better. You can inspire people. In a way I never could. Watching over your city like a guardian angel, making a difference. Saving people,” he smirked, “In a flash.” He walked to the edge of the building, “Take your own advice, wear a mask.”  Oliver then got out his bow to zipline off the rooftop. 

“Oliver, wait,” I called, thinking. 

“Yeah, Barry?” he said, turning around. 

“I-i can’t fight. I can’t be strong. And tough.” 

“Yes, you can. Meet me at my club, Verdant, in a week. Same time.”

“Your club?”

“Yes, my club.” 

And then he did his robin hood and swung away. 

A lot happens in a week. Take down metas, learn to swirl my arms to make wind, realize I have a bit of a crush on Oliver Queen. Please ignore the last one. 

I arrived at his club the following week at midday. During that time, I recalled that his secret lair was in the sublevel of his club.

“Hello Barry,” he greeted. 

“Hi. So, um-”

“Come at me. I’m going to hit you with an arrow.” “Sure you are,” I smirked. 

“Go, go.” I sped off 100 or so meters, and then ran straight at him. He fired an arrow, and it slowly made its way towards me. With a cheeky smile, I grabbed it and stopped. 

“Nice try Ollie, to-OCHHCHHC. Fuck-what?”

“Awareness of your surroundings,” Oliver said, pulling the arrows out of my back. 

“Ow ow it hurts.” “That was lesson one. The battlefield is just that, it’s a field. It’s not one person in one place, it's a network of people all trying to kill,” he places a finger on my chest, “You.”

I was still in pain, and not too fond of him. 

“You know there are less painful ways to teach that lesson?” “You showed up, you knew what you were getting yourself into,” he stated blatantly. “Well-no. No. I didn’t really want an arrow in my back.” “Would you prefer to train on a deserted Island on the coast of the China Sea?” he said jokingly. 

“No. Fine.”

He led me down to his base. 

“Come ‘ere,” he said, pointing to where a punching bag was set up. 

“This place gets cooler every time,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Punch,” he instructed. I started speed punching the bag, and it almost immediately broke. 

“Well I’d say that was pretty good,” I said, smiling.

“Horrible. No control.” “What? I broke the bag.” “Don’t speed punch. Punch normally,” he said, replacing the bag. 

I started punching as hard as I could. 

“Untuck your thumb,” he commented, “You’re going to break it.”

I kept punching, taking his feedback and applying it. 

“Wrist straight,” he said, taking my wrist into his hand and holding it steady. 

Almost 45 minutes later, I was exhausted. 

“My arms, I, I can’t feel them.” “Good, now fight me.” “Excuse me?” “Sparring, let's go. No fucking speedy shit, alright?” “Ollie, I don’t think I physically can.” “Oh yes you can.” He took my arm and dragged me onto the mat. I threw some weak punches at him, not moving. He was not holding back. 

“Oliver, are you just going to continue to BEAT me up?” “When you start trying, I will stop punching.” I gritted my teeth and started throwing more meaningful punches. 

“Good, come on, keep your feet right.”

I threw another punch.

“Don’t lean back, move forward.” After another 15 minutes of sparring, he called it. 

“Done.”

“Is that all?” I joked. 

“I mean we can do more,” he teased back. 

“Nah I’m good. I feel like I should get a certificate, like, ‘congrats you completed your first Oliver Queen superhero training session.’”

“Idiot,” he smirked. 

“Thanks.” “Right, I should get back to my city. Same time next week?”

“Yes.”

I reached out to hug him. 

“I’m not really a hugger, Barry.” “Well, technically I could just speed and hug you, so you might as well just…”

He smiled, and we briefly hugged. 

“Thanks Ollie.”

“See ya.”

Most sessions were similar to that. Well, not similar but the same vibe. He had me slap water for two hours once. He made me lift sand another time. Anyway, the training was hard and weird, but it seemed to be working. However, they started to shift. We were mainly sparring after three months, him giving me tips. 

“Good sessions,” he said, chucking me a bottle of water. 

“Thanks,” I huffed, collapsing into a chair. 

He walked over to his salmon ladder, and he pulled his shirt off. Update, the crush got much worse which could, really, only be expected. 

He started to go upwards, and I did definitely stare. Him jumping down caught my attention.

“You wanna get some food?” he asked. 

“Yeah, sure, yeah. Where?”

Where ended up being big belly burger, and, as the flash, I ate a shedload.  

“That. Is. Disgusting,” Ollie said, smiling endearingly.  

“You do you.” 

“So, how’s everything in Central?” 

“Yeah, it’s metahuman and that.” 

“Right, descriptive.” We both chuckled.  

“How’s everyone here?”

“Oh we’re hanging on as usual.” “Mine wasn’t descriptive enough,” I said, sarcastically. 

“What, you want me to give a rundown of every person in my life?”

No, I want to know if you and Felicity still have this weird “in love” thing going on. “You know what, sure,” I smirked. “You are a child, Barry Allen.”

I just laughed. 

We stayed a while just chatting, long after we’d finished eating. We were both red from laughter. and he was smiling brighter than I’d ever seen him. 

It became a tradition of sorts. Train and go get food. He’d take me to all his favorite spots, we’d eat, and stay for hours just talking. 

One day we were sparring, and I’d somehow ended up under him. He slowly leaned in, and I gave him a little nodd. The kiss lasted far too little time for my liking. 

I was smirking at him, “Does someone have a little crush?”

“Shut up, I see how you look at me shirtless.” “Fair. You look very hot shirtless,” I said, “Your heart is beating fast.’ “So is yours.” He leaned in again, and this kiss lasted longer. “You wanna go for dinner?” “As in a date?” I inquired. 

“As in dinner, you know. Maybe. People eat dinner.” “We’ve been dating for months now, neither of us cared to admit it,” I joked, walking towards a chair. 

“No,” he said, thinking. 

I shoot him a “really” look. 

“Aright so yes, we have. Do you wanna get dinner?”

“Yes, Ollie, I want to get dinner.”

So from there we basically just dated. Woah revolutionary I know. Training sessions became covers for dates. Sleeping at his became a late night’s work. In the chaos of everything, we found peace in each other. 

Oliver’s POV

“Can you run this through facial recognition please, Felicity?” “Yeah,” she said, tapping on her keyboard. 

My phone began to ring, and I saw it was Barry. 

I shot Felicity a look and headed to the backroom in the lair. 

“Hey Be-” “Hello,” a voice said. I recognized it to be Cisco. 

“Cisco?” “Yeah? Oliver?” “Why do you have Barry’s phone?” “Barry told me to call this number if he was ever in trouble?” I panicked, “Is, is h-he alright?” “Well, yes, no, he’s sorta-” “I’m coming now.”

“Felicity, I’m going to Central City, work stuff.” “What work exactly?” “Stuff.” “Secret girlfriend stuff?” “W-what?” “Come on, we all see you smiling at your texts, spending way too much time in Central City with'' Barry,” and the way your face lights up when you get a call.” “I-no. I don’t have a secret girlfriend.” Boyfriend, I have a secret boyfriend who happens to not be doing so well. 

“Where is he? Where’s Barry?”

“Med bed, right there,” Caitlin said, “Be careful, he’s resting.” “What the hell happened to him?” I said, fuming. 

“He got stabbed. Fight.” I ran over to his bed, grabbing his hand. 

“Barry,” I said softly. 

His eyes fluttered open softly. 

“Ollie, ollie. Y-you came.”

“Of course, baby, why would I not be here?”

He just tried to move closer to me. 

“Hey, hey, you stay still.”

“Cuddles? Please cuddles.”

I carefully made my way under the covers, and Barry immediately cuddled into me. He quickly fell asleep to the calming motion of my fingers running through his hair. 

“When did that happen?” I heard Cisco whisper. 

“Couldn’t tell you,” Caitlin said, equally baffed. 

I just held on to Barry, hoping he’d get better. Hoping he’d be fine. 

A few hours later his eyes fluttered open. 

“Ollie?”

“I’m right here, Bear.”

“I think they know,” he said, smiling. “They might have a suspicion.” “All this started from a bit of training.” I kissed his forehead, “God, you idiot, you had me worried there.”

“You can’t get rid of me that quick.” “And I’m so glad.”

His lips met mine, and we kissed for a short moment. 

“I think I love you Barry Allen.” He smiled his million dollar smile, “Oliver Queen? Love?”

“Only you.”

“I love you, too Ollie.”

Read/Save it on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/31733458

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

 *****As ALWAYS, if I have added you to the tags and you wish to be removed, just ask and I will do so immediately******

      * Warnings: SMUT (mutual masturbation, PIV sex), some plot too, comfort

      * Summary: Ezra’s recovery continues. You introduce him to a new way of living, one he cannot immediately embrace.

      * Word Count: 2800

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE* *Part SIX*        *Part SEVEN*  *Part EIGHT*

PART NINE

     Ezra spent an additional three weeks in the hospital after he’d awakened. His recovery was arduous, but his medical team remained impressed by his sheer determination. The same drive he’d shown on the cursed moon to harvest, to succeed, to survive, he showed to recover. Recover he did, working diligently with doctors and physical therapists seemingly around the clock.

    You only went back to your loft to shower and change. You had rented a cot, not dissimilar to what you’d been used to before, and you slept beside him each night. You couldn’t stop yourself from awakening several times in the night to ensure he was still there, still breathing. He’d long since been moved out of the ICU and into a room on the Med-Surg unit. He’d proceeded to charm each doctor, nurse, custodian and aide with equal amounts of wit and candor. They would make special trips to his room to sneak him his favorite treats and second helpings of his favorite meals under the guise of “needing to put weight back on.” Ezra would thank them graciously, grinning conspiratorially.  

    The first time he’d walked three laps around the unit without any assistance was the day you finally knew he was going to be okay. He was told that afternoon that he would be going home in a week. You had thrown your arms around him as he’d laughed and knocked sideways into his bedside table.

    That night, you’d crawled into his hospital bed, squeezing in beside him. You nestled yourself into his warmth, his arms reflexively winding around you to pull you closer. Ezra sighed and hummed into your hair. You’d thought him still asleep, until he whispered softly into the darkness.

    “.....Dove. Can’t wait to be home with you….” His large, warm hand rubbed up and down your back before circling around your hip, then your waist.

    “....can’t wait to be in a bed with you. A real bed.” His fingers spread, his hand coasted lazily up your abdomen and palmed your breast. Your soft gasp echoed into the dark hospital room as you arched into his palm. His fingers zeroed in on a nipple, tugging through the thin material of your tank top. You mewled, hot explosive breaths against his chest. When he craned his head down to bring his mouth to yours he kissed you slowly, deeply, his tongue darting and curling. You bit at his bottom lip and gasped into his hot, sinful mouth.

    “Ezra, you’re killing me.” You felt his lips curl wickedly upward. He began to speak to you lowly, in hoarse whispers, punctuating each thought with a nip to your throat, all the while pinching and pulling at you through the fabric of your shirt.

    “....Been dreaming of you. How you lose the ability to speak when I’m splitting you open. The sounds you make. The sounds that cunt makes when I rock into it. The way you shake when you fall apart….”

    He had nudged his knee in between your legs, and you found yourself rhythmically rocking your core against his thigh. The burning fullness between your legs was making you leak your fluids onto his skin, your clit grinding desperately onto him. You were certain he could feel you through your cotton shorts. You whimpered pitifully as he continued.

    “It’s killing you that we can’t do any more than this right now, in this bed. Anyone could walk right in, Dove.”

    He released a filthy groan against your mouth when you reached down to wrap your fingers around his hard length through his underwear.

    “Careful...be careful, darling girl. I’m not in a mood to stay demure and restrained. I sincerely encourage you to continue if you wish for this whole building to hear our intimacy.”

    “Ezra….fuck, I want you. Please, I need to touch you.”

    Ezra knocked his forehead against yours. You knew his eyes searched to catch yours in the darkness.

    “I need you to wait and be patient for me, sweetheart. When I take you next it will be in our own bed like you deserve.”

    You leaned forward and bit his shoulder through his shirt. He gave a startled gasp before chuckling darkly. You groaned in frustration.

    “I need something, anything…..s’been so long…”

    “Lie down on your cot, Dove. Touch yourself for me. I want to hear how slick you are as you get yourself off to the thought of me buried inside your sweet little cunt. Touch yourself, and I will do the same. Let us fall apart for one another until I can express my desires to you properly.”

    You barely hesitated before moving off his hospital cot to remove your shorts with shaking hands. No sooner were they discarded than you were splayed on your back on your cot, legs spread wide, wanton. You heard rustling from Ezra’s cot as he maneuvered his shorts down to free his cock. You heard the rhythmic, wet sounds as he began stroking himself in earnest.

    You moaned when your fingers dipped down to your entrance, marvelling at how soaked your slit was. Scooping your arousal with two fingers, you began to circle your hard, aching clit. The wet, sinful sounds of your aroused core reverberated through the room as your fingers circled, pressed. Your breath hitched, your hips arched off of the cot and thrust of their own accord. You both moaned and gasped into the still air.

    You could hear Ezra’s cot creaking. He was mumbling half- sentences, pausing to whimper and you could hear him stroking faster. You pictured his hips cana was as  ting up as he fisted himself.

    “Fuuuuuuuck. Fuck I’m so close. Can you hear me Ezra? I need you to hear what you’re doing to me.”

    “Divine cunt. Mine….I can smell it. Smell you….. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holyshit…”

    He stilled, screaming lowly as he reached his end. Gasping, breath hitching.

    The fingers of your other hand pushed themselves into your passage as your other hand, still circling your clit, began fast, rough. The rhythm of your hips faulted as your orgasm suddenly slammed into you. You bit your lip so hard you may have drawn blood. You gasped and groaned as you felt your cum spill out of your seizing hole and coat your hand.

    “Ohhhhh.. Oh fuck. Oh fuck…….” Your breaths melted into whimpers as your hips slowed their twitching. Finally spent, you yawned deeply and turned on your side to face Ezra.

    “Still not the same,” you whispered up into the outline of his face. “But if we ever do this again, I want to see you.”

 ***

    You got to the hospital as early as you possibly could on the morning of Ezra’s discharge. You had helped him pack what meager belongings he had the evening before to bring to your apartment. You’d cleaned every surface furiously, and adorned your balcony and interior surfaces with wildflowers and vining greenery you’d purchased from a local nursery.

    You brought with you new clothing, something comfortable and casual for him to wear, as well as a pair of loafers lined with fleece. You did not know what he preferred to wear; as well as you knew him, you’d never really seen one another in anything other than threadbare sweats or protective suits. You smiled to yourself as you thought of Ezra being able to buy himself nice clothing, of purchasing music he’d talked to you about for hours on the Green. Large, glossy hardcover books whose spines cracked when you opened them for the first time.

    You knew you still had a lot of firsts coming with Ezra. You walked into the bustling lobby and quickly found his room. Ezra was pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath. When you entered he’d immediately stopped and came to you with a wide, beautiful smile.

    “I have dreamt of this day for countless stands, sweet love,” he crooned as he wound his arms around you, crushing you to his chest. “My feet will deign not touch the earth in my haste…”

    “Slow down a bit, Ez. I brought you some clothing...I hope you don’t hate them.”

    He gazed down and you saw how his eyes shone in the early morning light. You loved him so much that your chest ached.

    “I could never hate a single thing that passes from your hands to mine, Dove. They are perfect, as are you.” He craned his head down to ghost a kiss across your parted lips. It was chaste, soft and brief, yet you still felt the jolt settling low in your belly, growing warm and tight. You had not forgotten his promise to you during that one desperate night.

    Ezra changed quickly as you waited. There was no need to excuse yourself- you’d both been through too much to be bashful. When he’d finished, he stood before you grinning with hands on his hips.

    “How do I look, Dovie?”

    “Like an angel.”

 ***

    You could tell that Ezra was overwhelmed by the bustling streets of Central. His head whipping around, unsure of what to focus on. Eyes darting, mouth set in a line. You’d grabbed his hand and led the way through undulating throngs of bodies that squeezed, nudged, jostled. Your heart ached with sympathy as you recalled the chaos of your own first experience. You knew he needed time, as you had.

   You wasted no time when you arrived at your brownstone building, briefly greeting the doorman on your way through the lobby. Confusion crossed Ezra’s face as he took in lush carpeting and the ivy that wound itself up an exposed brick wall.

    “Pray tell, who was that man at the door, Dove?”

    You giggled, pressing the button on the elevator. “That is Brice. He’s the doorman, he’s very nice.”

    His eyes were wide. “We have a doorman?”

    “I know, crazy, right?”

    You entered the elevator. As the door whooshed closed you noted apprehension on Ezra’s face. You reached out to squeeze his hand reassuringly, and his features smoothed once more when he caught your small smile.

    Soon enough you were at your door. You turned to Ezra and handed him a thick metal keycard.

    “This is yours. Try it.”

    He paused only momentarily before swiping the card. He reached out to the door handle, holding his breath. You bounced on your heels like a child, pushing him forward.

    For one of the few times in all the days you’ve known Ezra, he was speechless. He roamed slowly through the wide open foyer, basking in the natural light streaming through the windows. He reached out a hand to gingerly caress a granite countertop. He caught site of the doors to your balcony and stood before them, hands hanging motionless at his sides.

    You sidled up next to him, winding your arm through his.

    “Do you like it, Ezra?” you asked softly, looking out over the city beside him.

    Ezra turned to you, holding your eyes steadily. His hands moved down to grasp yours.

    “I could never have imagined something so grand. This hardly feels real. Truthfully, I am unsure that I did not perish on the Green…” His hands moved up your arms to cradle your face. He leaned in slowly, exhaling into the cup of your ear.

    “Show me our bedroom, Dove. It’s been long enough.”

    You grabbed his hand, pulling him behind you down the hallway. He reached out to grasp your shirt as you stumbled and bumped into walls, desperate to feel you. You assisted him as best you could, and when you entered a room easily four times the size of your former tent, you heard his gasp.

    You had spent an especially long time considering what you had wanted in a bed. It had been far too long since you’d had a proper bed, and so you spared no expense in finding the softest mattress, the sturdiest headboard. Your bed extended down an expanse of wall, covered by soft, downy blankets and piled with pillows.

    “It’s...magnificent,” he murmured, reaching down to run his hand across the silken texture of the coverings. His hand moved up to hastily push aside the pillows and pull down the blankets. He hastily disrobed, shoving his shirt up while you joined him in freeing him from his pants. You divested yourself of your own and he caught your lips in a desperate kiss as he tumbled you backward onto the bed. You rolled him onto his back and straddled him, grinding your hips against his hard, swollen length. Ezra was moaning loudly, straining up to maintain contact. Between the sinfully soft blankets and mattress at his back and the heat from your cunt as you spread your arousal on the throbbing skin of his cock. You leaned forward to capture his lips, your hands restlessly moving over his shoulders.

    “My beautiful man,” you crooned. “This is what we deserve. You are worthy of this. I need you.”

    “Then take me. Ride me, sweet girl. Bless and baptize my cock with your heavenly slick.”

    You positioned your dripping core over his head. You sank down slowly, feeling his thickness stretching you open, breaking you. You could not hold back the low moan bursting out of you as his cock reached the end of you. You stilled, after so long you had to allow yourself a moment to adjust to his size. You panted in low groans as your walls twitched and fluttered around Ezra’s incredible length.

    Ezra gazed up at you reverently, biting his lip. He whimpered when your cunt squeezed him, hands reaching out to fasten on your hips.

    “Fuck….f-fuck, sweatheart. Forgot how fucking perfect you feel. Sweet Kevva. Use me, sweet girl...take what you need.”

    You drew yourself up until he was almost out of you, keeping his head trapped in your leaking hole. Without warning you slammed your hips down. The sound that left Ezra’s mouth was feral, animalistic. You began a steady pace of lifting and dropping, eventually falling forward onto Ezra’s chest. You started babbling in between your desperate whimpers and sobs. He hit that one spot inside you in this position, you quickly discovered. It made you roll your eyes back in ecstasy, mouth hanging open between bursts of speech.

    “Hngh….oh...my...fucking Gods, so good, you feel so good how is this soo goooood…”

    Ezra met your gaze with his eyes wild, teeth gritted. He threw his head back, his hands gripping your hips as he urged you to move faster, harder, while he spoke out into the air in a broken, shaking prayer.

    “So good for me, please come for me. Come on my cock, sweet Dove, mark me, soak me before I paint this fucking perfect cunt…”

    You were covered in a sheen of sweat, movements faltering from the sustained effort of using him the way you needed. Sensing this, Ezra wrapped his arms around you and crushed your chest to his. Shifting under you, he began to piston himself into your slick, hot sex as your cries became sharp and loud. You lost the power of speech as your breath left your body in explosive gushes against the side of his straining neck. You came with a strangled scream, Ezra struggling to keep you atop him as your limbs shook and bucked of their own accord. You dimly felt the gush of your come running out of you to soak his swollen cock

    “That’s iiitt, let it happen, so good for me, taking your pleasure with me so…..deep….insideyouSHIT….” He stilled as his own orgasm crashed around the both of you, head back and groaning loud enough that his voice rattled your soul, your racing heart beating a staccato beat within your chest. You worked through your highs, your bucking hips and shaking legs slowing down incrementally. Your breath eventually slowed, and you stayed nestled against his neck as he, too, came back to himself.

    You stayed like that, with him softening inside of you, as he reached down to cover you both with a blanket. You felt limbless, untethered, so mortally sated that you did not care if the world around you was burning to the ground. You barely felt the ghost of Ezra’s lips on your forehead as you drifted out of consciousness. One word, repeated through the haze of dwindling thought was your anchor to everything around you that you had killed and bled and cried for, unbelievably real and soft and unflinchingly kind.  

    Home.

One for the Books (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Denali works in the children's section of a library and falls instantly in love with Rosé after she comes in with her daughter.

A/N: This is just a fluffy little one-shot I finally finished and wanted to share. Thank you so much to Writ for beta-ing and encouraging me to post this! I hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you'd like!

It’s a rare day that Denali gets flustered at work. She works in the children’s section of a public library, where only one baby spitting up on the rug during story time is a good day. She’s handled crying kids and arts and crafts messes that look like horror movie sets and become more familiar with disinfecting wipes than she thought possible. Nothing really phases her.

Except the woman at the desk right now.

She has waves of red hair and the kind of smile you see on TV, one that softens her face and rounds her rosy cheeks. She has an adorable kid on her hip, and Denali can’t look from the gentle curves of the woman’s arms as she holds her.

“Um, how can I help you?” Denali manages.

“Hi, can I make a library card?”

“Sure!” Denali tugs on the drawer of cards and applications so hard it nearly flies out of the cabinet. She grabs a bright yellow card and watches the woman fill out the application in the elegant cursive Denali wanted to snap her pencils trying to learn in second grade.

Denali usually types the patron’s information in the system on autopilot, not even noticing their names. But she looks at the woman’s—Rosé, her name is Rosé—application like it’s a study sheet for a test, like the curves of the letters and her phone number will reveal her secrets.

No secrets are revealed, though, and Denali passes her the card.

“Thank you.” Rosé smiles.

“The tigers, Mommy!” A little voice says impatiently, and Rosé laughs.

“Right, right. Um, can you tell me where the books about tigers are? Luna loves them.”

Denali finally turns her gaze away from Rosé long enough to take in the little girl in her arms. She’s around three and a mini Rosé, with red hair in two fluffy pigtails and a toothy grin. There’s a stuffed tiger tucked securely under her arm, and Denali smiles.

“What’s your tiger’s name?” she asks.

“Hunter,” Luna says, moving the stuffed animal’s head so Denali can see.

“He looks great,” Denali says. “I can show you where the books are, if that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” Rosé says.

Perfect. It echoes in Denali’s head as she leads Rosé over to the books. Maybe it's a good sign. After all, Rosé could’ve insisted on getting the books herself, but she let Denali show her instead, and—

Yeah, Denali is already head over heels for this woman.

She’s had crushes before, but she usually doesn’t fall this hard or this fast. Especially not someone she’s known for all of a minute. But something about Rosé makes Denali feel like she’s known her all her life.

Denali clears her throat. “Here’s all the books about tigers. There are a bunch of other animal books too, if you want to check those out. I’m Denali, by the way. If you need anything else.”

“Thank you so much,” Rosé says, and Denali forces herself back to the desk because she can’t just stand there forever.

She watches Rosé kneel down on the floor with Luna, pulling out book after book and showing each one to her. There’s a softness in Rosé, in how patient she is, in how carefully she re-ties her daughter’s itty-bitty pink Converse. She’s beautiful as she is, but her genuine smile and kind eyes around her daughter make her even more beautiful, and Denali wants to take it every second. When Rosé takes the stack of books to the chair in the corner, pulls Luna into her lap, and starts reading to her, making funny faces and showing her all the pictures, Denali’s heart damn near explodes.

“Girl, get a grip.”

“Wh—huh?” Denali whirls around to see Symone watching with a smirk on her face.

“You’re basically drooling.”

“I am not!” Denali wipes her mouth self-consciously anyway. She spends the next half hour trying to busy herself in cleaning the desk, but she just shuffles the same five pens around and keeps watching Rosé be adorable with her daughter. When she comes up to the desk to check out her books, Denali leaps to the computer to do them for her. Rosé manages to hold the entire stack in one arm and her daughter in the other, and Denali wonders if Rosé’s arms could hold her. She can’t stop imagining herself nestled within them.

“Mommy, can we get ice cream?” Luna asks, smiling hopefully.

“Okay.”

Denali grins as Luna cheers.

Rosé rolls her eyes fondly. “She’d eat ice cream every day if I let her,” she says to Denali.

“I’d eat ice cream every day if I let me,” Denali says, and Rosé gives another infectious laugh.

“Thank you for your help. We should be back soon.”

“I’ll be here,” Denali says, nonchalant even though she knows she’ll be counting down the days.

—-

Rosé comes back the next Saturday, and the one after that. Denali used to loathe the Saturday shifts she got stuck with, the day filled with either absolute screaming chaos or absolute mind-numbing boredom with no in-between, but she quickly gets used to Rosé coming in and making small talk with her while she checks out her books. Before long, she’s actually looking forward to Saturdays, to the tiny window she gets to see Rosé, making silly faces for her daughter and laughing at all Denali’s jokes.

Denali’s heart leaps in her chest when she sees a glimpse of red hair come through the door, and she gives Rosé a little wave and doesn't care how dorky it is, how desperate she looks. Rosé smiles and waves back to Denali as best she can with arms full of toddler and books. She sets the stack on the desk with a sigh, shifting Luna to her other arm.

“Getting your workout in?” Denali teases.

Rosé snorts. “Definitely. The books are about as heavy as she is, I’ve been reading her three or four a night.”

“You can return these in the box outside, you know,” Denali says as she scans them in. “If you don’t want to carry them all the way in here.”

Rosé bites her lip. “But that’s one less time I’d get to talk to you.”

The book slips through Denali’s hands and hits the counter, her cheeks on fire. Her heart skips a beat, then resumes its rhythm with a deep pounding in her chest. Rosé likes talking to her. Rosé likes talking to her so much she lugs a pile of books in here just to do it, and it's a few seconds before Denali can speak again. “Are you--are you getting any other books today?” she stammers.

Rosé shakes her head. “Nah, I just wanted to stop in quick and drop these off. I’m taking Luna to the zoo today.”

“To see the tigers!” Luna adds happily.

Rosé smiles. “That’s right. We’re gonna see all the tigers.”

Denali smiles too, her heartbeat finally returning to normal. “I hope you have fun. Say hi to the tigers for me, okay?”

“We will. See you next week.”

“See you.”

Denali really, really wishes she was going to the zoo too.

---

Denali is still coasting on the high of Rosé’s latest visit a week later, even if neither of them has done anything to capitalize on her comment about enjoying her talks with Denali. But Denali knows the interest is there, knows the way Rosé’s eyes shine when she looks at her aren’t just her imagination. Denali will keep testing the waters, let herself be a little more flirty, and one of these weeks, she’ll fully make her move.

The thought keeps her going all day, through the disastrous clean-up after someone spills an entire box of crayons--the 96-pack, of course--and through the reorganization of the mess someone made of the fairy tale collection. She’s giving the furniture a once-over when she spots a familiar stuffed tiger on the chair, her mind filling with the image of Rosé reading to her daughter here this morning. Luna must have forgotten the tiger, and Rosé was so busy juggling all their books that she must not have noticed.

She could just hold the tiger until the next time Rosé comes in, which will hopefully be soon. But she thinks of how fiercely Luna clings to the tiger and Denali can’t make her go without it; Denali was a stuffed animal kid herself, each one with a name and backstory and assigned night for sleeping with her. Plus the library is closed on Sundays, so the earliest Rosé could get it would be Monday morning, and Denali winces thinking of how rough two nights without the tiger might be for Luna.

Or she can just call Rosé.

Every patron in the library system has a phone number and address in their profile, and though she can’t remember Rosé’s last name, she’s the only Rosé in the system. Finding her phone number won’t take more than five seconds. It feels personal, almost intimate, somehow, looking Rosé up like this, calling her because Denali recognized her daughter’s stuffed tiger. Really, though, it’s no different from looking up a patron’s number to tell them a book they ordered came in, and Denali does that all day--heck, she gets paid to do that all day. This shouldn't be any different. She dials the number before she can think about it too much, warning the butterflies in her stomach to settle down.

“Hello?”

“Um, Rosé?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Denali. You know, from the library. Anyway, I was cleaning up and I found a certain stuffed tiger hanging out on the chair, and I bet someone’s really missing him.”

“Oh, thank God.” Rosé sighs, and Denali can practically see her body slumping in relief. “We just noticed him missing an hour ago, I’ve been going everywhere we went today looking for it. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be here,” Denali promises.

“Thank you, Denali. Really.”

Rosé is so sincere that Denali’s grateful they’re just talking on the phone and Rosé can’t see her blushing. The tiger keeps her company at the desk until Rosé rushes in, her cheeks flushed and hair messy. Luna looks equally stressed, and Denali can tell she’s been crying. She jumps up from the desk and hangs the tiger to Luna, who hugs it to her chest and sniffles.

“Thank you so much,” Rosé says. “Luna, can you say thank you to Miss Denali?”

“Thank you Miss Nali,” Luna says, and Denali’s heart just about melts.

“You’re welcome.”

Luna runs off to play with the blocks, and Rosé leans against the desk with Denali to watch her.

“I’m so sorry I had to bother you with this,” Rosé says, running a hand through her hair. “I should’ve noticed she didn’t have it, I just—“

Denali brushes her off. “Please. I had to kick a teenager off the computer for watching porn this morning. Holding onto a stuffed animal is one of the better things I’ve had to do today.”

Denali is wondering if that was too much information when Rosé bursts into laughter, so infectious that Denali laughs with her.

“Seriously?” Rosé asks.

“Pretty much a typical day in the library,” Denali says.

Rosé snorts and shakes her head. “Anyway, I mean, if there’s something I could do to thank you—“

“I like ice cream,” Denali blurts, cheeks instantly burning. “I mean, uh—“

“Are you suggesting an ice cream date?” Rosé asks, raising her eyebrow.

“I am,” Denali says confidently, because apparently today is the day she’s making her move.

Rosé breaks into a grin. “It’s a date.”

The Perfection in Imperfection

Read on Ao3 Here!

Summary: It's the heist of the century- the 61rd century to be exact-

Or at least it WOULD have been if everything hadn't gone terribly wrong.

It feels like this is all your fault, however the Master knows there are more important things than a scheme going according to plan.

Prompt: "You hate me for that." "I don't hate you."

Pairing: Dhawan!Master x Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: ~3k

Other: fluff, emotion hurt comfort, hugs, wholesome, this was a request

(I hope this formats okay. Just tell me if it doesn’t lol) Enjoy <3

~~~~~

Days- weeks- of planning, preparation, reconnaissance, and every other synonym under the sun- all lead up to this moment.

It's a scheme like no other. A scheme involving a crashing government bringing the planet to a grinding halt as a distraction from what would be the greatest scheme of the 61st century.

Or, more accurately, what would have been.

It had taken ages to set up every detail just right. To calculate the change of guards on the craft you're about to help rob amidst all the chaos, to collect all the right keycards and make it through the security doors, to arrange the right uniforms and covers and information.

And at the last second-

You choked.

You were inside. Everything was going swimmingly. The military ship of riches and highly coveted intel galore was nearly within your grasp.

You only needed to flip a few switches to unlock a door for the others on your team when-

"What are you doing?" someone stops you forcefully.

The voice belongs to a guard. An armed guard.

There wasn't supposed to be anyone else down here in the massive ship's tiny radio room. You and the Master have combed over every detail of this elaborate scheme.

No one else is supposed to be here.

You freeze. You should be prepared to lie- but your mind is too caught up in following the pre-arranged series of events to remember what you're supposed to say if reality deviates from the script.

"Ch-Checking the- What's it called?" you fumble.

The guard immediately hits the alarm. It's sharp, and quick, and their angry military-taught voice threatens you harshly.

You're too afraid to move.

Just like that, it's all over.

You didn't realize the world could crumble so fast.

The team assembled to pull off this job shatters before they're meant to, each racing away out of self preservation. A few get away with a small handful of the many treasures, but you're no longer able to steal the entire ship from under the captain's nose as you had planned to. It's a mad scramble as everyone retreats before they can be taken alive.

They run- and you barely evade capture yourself- and suddenly it's over.

 When you get back to the Master's Tardis, he's already throwing a fit. The whole arrangement is in tatters, months of preparation gone. He has nothing to show for it and his momentary allies will certainly remember this failure.

He shoves all his carefully arranged papers off a nearby table. The blueprints and discarded replicas of security badges crash loudly to the floor. He paces about the main room as he attempts to rationalize what happened.

"Ages of compiling all of this- and not a gemstone to show for it! This is the last time we pull together a crew! I should have known we were better off doing this ourselves! This is unbelievable-" he shouts to the open air.

You simply look to the floor.

"It's my fault," you say quietly.

He spins on his heel to look at you. His head tilts, and he takes a step towards you.

"How?" he asks sharply.

He never talks to you that sharply, he never snaps at you the way he snaps at other people- but he does today.

You rub your arm with one hand.

"I... choked," you confess. "Someone was there that shouldn't have been there and... And I froze."

You immediately regret saying that. It's no excuse. It's not even a good explanation.

All this time traveling, and this is what messes you up? It's pathetic. This is entirely on you and you know it.

"You-" the Master nearly begins to shout- and then abruptly stops.

You don't have the nerve to look at him as he marches away. You keep your eyes on the floor and do your best not to show how heavy the guilt is.

It feels like you're standing there forever as the Master reaches for one of the papers littered about on the floor and picks it up.

He then trails off down one of the halls. You flinch a little as you hear him yell in the distance and the echo rings down the long halls.

You're not certain what to do as you wait. You're not certain what to do at all. You're still in shock that this could all fall apart so quickly. You aren't sure what to do next.

You wait, and eventually he comes back. He's grumbling to himself as he makes a lap about the main room.

"I can't believe this. I thought I had accounted for everything! I should have prepared for the unpredictable. Maybe I should have sent in someone else-" his harsh tone hisses to himself.

You suddenly interrupt.

"I know! Okay?" You nearly yell, tears brimming in your eyes, "I know I messed up! I know you must hate me for it-"

The Master turns to you, and something new is on his face. His brows press together somewhere between surprise and confusion. He marches briskly over to where you're standing halfway between the center of the room and the front doors.

You lift your head to face him, and stare him down boldly even as tears splash down from your eyes. They fall silently as you stand your ground.

"Just please, don't yell at me," you request firmly. "Whatever you have to say, I already know. I'm well aware that I messed this up."

His expression twists again.

You flinch as he raises a hand, an old fearful reaction, but he simply presses his palm carefully to your jaw and brushes away your tears with his thumb.

"I don't hate you," he says softly.

His eyes flicker all over your face as he examines you and waits for his words to sink in. He waits for you to believe that they're true.

You stare into his caring, concerned, and worried eyes and you slowly realize that you do believe him.

"I could never hate you," he says gently.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down. He shakes his head in dismay and looks to the paper in his other hand for a moment before he lifts his eyes to meet yours.

"I only meant that I should have accounted for there being strays about the ship. I should have taken unforeseen circumstances into account, and sent in one of the mercenaries ahead of us to check that the coast was clear.

I'm only angry that I should have been more thorough. This isn't on you."

You shake your own head, now more insistent.

"But it is. I should have known what to do.

But the guard was armed and I- I was scared-"

The Master discards the paper immediately. It floats lazily to the floor somewhere to the side. The Master instead moves his hands to your shoulders, his entire focus on you and you alone. In a second, he's already forgotten all about the failed theft.

"They threatened you?! Are you alright?!" he questions. His voice is gentle, but firm. He's clearly far more angry about the prospect of someone hurting you than anything else.

You chuckle a little and brush away another stray tear with the back of your hand.

"Yeah," you force a smile. It's always nice to know he cares.

"Of course I am. I'm just sorry I messed up the mission."

"It's not your fault," he assures you unequivocally. "You couldn't have known. We'll be more prepared next time," he promises wholeheartedly.

You give a small nod. "Right."

He flashes a reassuring smile, but there's still worry in his eyes. He pauses for a brief moment to think it over.

Then he suddenly grins.

"I have an idea," he promises, his eyes lighting up dangerously.

His usual energy comes flooding back and you can't not laugh at the way he's beaming away.

"Plan B. How about we enact Plan B?" he askes playfully.

"What's plan B?" you chuckle.

He's doing this on purpose, to cheer you up. You can see it in the way he acts and the way he peppers in that dramatic little swing to his voice.

"Plan B is my favorite anyway," he grins. "It's a way to get half the loot and revenge- all in one swoop! Plus the light show."

"Light show?" you chuckle.

He only grins. It's clearly exactly what he wanted you to ask.

The Master takes your hand, carefully, and only moves once he feels you squeeze his hand in return.

"Enough Ocean's 11- let's take the easy way out and call it a day."

 It's night. The next night.

The Master wound time forward to this moment for a very special reason.

The massive, reinforced tank of a cruise liner is floating innocently beside the docks.

Nearly everyone has gone home for the night and the ship is locked up tight. The only guards are the ones watching down from nearby spotlight towers.

You take a seat at the doorway of the disguised Tardis, and the Master soon joins you. The Tardis is hovering in the air a safe distance away, overlooking it all.

The Master offers you a remote. It's black with a large clear case overtop, covering the large buttons.

"What does this do?" you ask curiously as you take the remote. You turn the cold metal and glass around in your hands.

"Harmless revenge for one. But a means to complete our mission for another."

He waves a hand at the large red button.

"Feel free to do the honors," he insists warmly.

Knowing him, you already have an idea of what the button will do.

You look down at the massive ship floating below- and press it anyways.

The craft erupts in a fiery explosion fit for an action film. No expense is spared as a ball of flames is shot into the sky and bits of the ship are launched in every direction.

Whatever smoldering chunks of metal are left quickly begin to sink off the edge of the dock. Soon, there's barely anything left above water to see.

You grin.

There is something quite satisfying about erasing your mistake like this. Getting rid of it so completely feels like closure.

You realize you're chuckling and the Master watches you, rather than the explosion, as he smiles. You laugh even more as you realize he's watching you with deeply love-struck eyes.

"What?" You ask.

His gaze flickers away now that your eyes are on him, but his expression doesn't change.

"Nothing," he decides.

He quickly stands up and offers you a hand.

"Let's go get what we came for."

 He takes the Tardis to the ocean floor.

It's not terribly deep where the ship has sunk, but it's depths to which any diver would need an oxygen tank to survive the return trip.

Luckily for you, the Master expands the Tardis shielding to push away the water in the surrounding area. He clears a bubble of air around his Tardis and the water floods away from the nearby wreckage.

It's strange and beautiful beyond belief- to step out onto the sandy ocean floor and look up to see the moonlight sparkling down through the depths as the fish around you continue on their way without a care in the world.

You walk out, unafraid despite the millions of buckets of water suspended overhead.

It's beautiful. Like walking through an aquarium tunnel in the night.

It's easy to forget your fears now that they've quite literally gone down in flames and you're left standing in the beauty of a quiet night under the sea.

"Do you like it? It's a simple enough trick," the Master chuckles.

He strays after you now that the shielding is safely in place.

You beam a bright smile.

"I do. It's beautiful," you reply.

He smiles that soft little grin again, so gentle and bursting with love. It's a good look on him.

He finally tears his eyes away from you as you both approach the wreckage.

The force of the explosion has damaged the usually-impenetrable safes that had been hauling the highest valued items. Uncut gemstones and cases upon cases of nearly-priceless jewelry fall open across the ocean floor.

You pick up a crown among the wreckage and pull as many strings of red and green gemstones over your neck as you can carry. Every time you think that's all, there's more.

There's bags pouring open of partially-melted coins of gold and copper and platinum.

You happily pick up as many as you can carry until your pockets are filled and you're covered in enough jewelry that it's weighing down your shoulders.

You return to see that the Master's been doing the same. You laugh warmly at the sight of him- in 5 different tiaras, strings and strings of pearls draped over him, and multiple diamond rings on every finger.

He turns to the sound of your voice, and laughs warmly at you in return.

"Your highness," he jests with a small bow. One of many tiaras falls off his head.

"Your highness," you joke playfully in return with a duck of your head.

You both look like little kids playing dress up, but it doesn't matter. Nothing went as scripted, but you wouldn't exchange that moment for any other.

You pick up the tiara that fell from the damp ocean sand and return it to the others that sit atop the Master's dark, wavy hair. He laughs as you fit it into place among the several others of its kind.

"It's a good look on you," you comment cheerfully.

And there he goes again. Beaming away at you like you're more beautiful than the bright night sky overhead.

"Maybe we should crash a masquerade next, dressed in all this," he jokes. "Or perhaps a famous royal wedding."

You take his hands and spin him about on your heels.

"Maybe we should become royalty next!" you suggest.

He grins, countless ideas flashing behind those sharp eyes of his.

"I like the way you think," he grins.

You laugh and joke about the treasures as the two of you haul your latest loot back to the Tardis. It takes a bit of time to go through the wreckage of the sunken ship's storage room and pry out as many half-melted bars of precious metals as you can; but metal is metal and you'll still be able to make a pretty penny off of the haul.

It takes time, but you don't mind in the slightest. You have all the time in the universe to spend together.

 Once you're finally done, you both head back for the Tardis.

You're halfway there, still standing in the moonlight streaming in through the waters overhead, when you pause.

"Wait a second," you request.

The Master stops and immediately turns to you. The moonlight through water dances over his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he asks at your nervous expression.

You only give a reassuring smile.

"Nothing's wrong," you promise. "It's just... this whole thing," you begin to explain.

He pauses and watches you thoughtfully. He can be harsh and jagged at times, but he always tries to be his best self with you. You always appreciate it.

"I just... wanted to say thank you. I know things didn't go as planned, and that I messed it up, but...

You didn't hold it against me. You found a way around it. And I've had a wonderful time with you.

I... don't think there's many people who would have handled this so well and I-

Thank you."

He looks a bit perplexed for a moment, and then he looks... almost... sad.

He steps closer and you move in to hug him. He hugs you tightly in return, almost as if he's trying to make sure you feel safe- almost as if he's trying to protect you.

"I've been the person who's messed up," he explains quietly and simply. "And it just happens. Sometimes through no fault of your own.

That's just the way of the world, to mess up, and I know what that's like to feel like a failure because you made one mistake in an otherwise perfect plan.

That guilt is a terrible thing- and I would never want you to feel that way because of me."

He pulls away from the hug, but stays close. His voice is gentle.

"So we didn't get away with the whole ship. So what? We got enough of what we came for and made the most of it.

All you can do is adapt to the new situation," he explains thoughtfully.

"People who expect perfection... they're never happy and all they do is hurt others when things fail to meet their expectations. So forget all of that. I won't be one of those people."

You give him a moment to settle down, and then hug him again. You bury your face in his shoulder.

"That's quite profound of you," you half-joke.

He smirks.

"Shut up."

There's a brief pause.

"Plus, now we don't have to share the loot," he observes.

You chuckle. That sounds much more like him.

 After a little while of laying on the Tardis floor among the piles of precious metals and gemstones, the Master decides the pair of you should get to have a bit of fun with the treasures of your mostly-successful heist.

You break into a famous celebration full of 23rd century royalty on some distant planet and pretend to be visiting rulers of a far off kingdom.

You dance the evening away- and get involved in a messy barfight when someone calls your bluff.

However, you quickly realize; it's all okay- even as you run, hand in hand, for your lives.

Sometimes this is just the way things go; and it's all perfectly imperfect as long as you're facing it together.

(Please Comment or Kudos on Ao3! Link here)

(More Dhawan!Master x Reader fics here) :)

Five Seconds (2/8)

As I mentioned, this is the sequel to Of The Eight Winds. I will be posting the first two chapters today and then one chapter a day until next Monday. You can also read it on AO3 here. 

Chapter Two

It was decided the best place to go would be the Midwest -- far from family on the coasts. They’d avoid the biggest cities -- Chicago, Detroit -- but still stick to denser populations; mid-sized cities on the edge of farmland -- it would give them the ability to lose tails in the chaos of town or hit the road quickly and disappear into the woods. A college town where no one would think anything of a new family moving in at the beginning of a semester. It was early May and the summer semester would begin soon at many universities. Frohike said he had a trustworthy contact nearby, so they settled on Lansing, Michigan.

The inheritance from Mulder’s father’s estate would keep them afloat for as long as they needed. Now they just needed to tell the kids.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Frohike handed him a shoebox. Mulder opened it to find new IDs for the whole family. They were now the McDonald family of Okemos, Michigan. The driver’s licenses looked real, as did the passports. Mulder thumbed through everything slowly.

“How’d you get these so fast?” he asked, looking up.

Frohike shrugged. “Best not to ask.”

Mulder leveled a look at the older man.

“If either of my kids ever come to you for a fake ID, I’m hiring a plane and skywriting your location,” he said.

Langly snorted from his chair.

“This is your new address,” Frohike said, handing Mulder a piece of paper that he threw in the box. “Subleased a furnished house from a professor traveling on sabbatical. Darlene will meet you there at noon on Friday. Don’t be late, she gets cranky.”

“Darlene?” Mulder asked.

“Darlene Frohike,” Byers piped in. “Melvin’s sister.”

“You have a sister?” Mulder said, surprised. He pictured Frohike with breasts and long hair and felt one eye start to twitch.

“Go to her if you need help,” Frohike said, “she lives nearby.”

“You have a sister?” Mulder said again.

Frohike glared at him.

“They used to run pacifists over the border into Windsor, Canada during ‘Nam,” Langly helpfully piped up. “She can roll.”

“She can roll?” Mulder asked.

“Her kung-fu’s the best,” Frohike said seriously.

Mulder held up the box of fake documents.

“Family affair, huh?” he said, and Frohike shrugged.

Mulder thumbed through everything one more time before departing the bunker. They’d been generous with Scully’s height and his weight. He could picture his wife’s smirk already.

“Hey, Mulder?” Frohike called out just as he opened the door. Mulder glanced back at the three men. “Be careful.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder called a family meeting as soon as the kids walked in the door that evening. After the news they’d received the last time their parents had sat down with them like this, they both looked at them with trepidation.

“God, you’re not about to tell us Mom’s having twins, are you?” Lily said, plopping down on the couch in the living room. Will lowered himself down next to her, his eyes darting back and forth between his parents. When neither Mulder nor Scully laughed, Lily’s face fell. “What’s going on?” she asked seriously.

Mulder had debated with Scully how honest to be with them. While he thought they were old enough to handle the full truth, neither wanted to scare them. And yet they needed to know the severity of the situation. A parent’s eternal dilemma.

“Our family is in some trouble,” he started, sharing a look with Scully. “And we’re going to need to leave town for a while.”

“When?” Lily asked, “For how long?”

“What kind of trouble?” Will asked.

“There are some people that are after your mom-” Mulder started, and both kids interrupted him quickly.

“What kind of people?” Lily asked, at the same time, Will, whose voice rose almost an octave, said:

“After her for what?”

Mulder rubbed a hand over his face. He was perched on the arm of the chair Scully occupied, and she reached out and took his hand.

“I think we need to start from the beginning,” she said. “The very beginning.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and began talking. Starting with the abduction of Samantha Mulder, Scully gave a thorough, yet succinct account of the ins and outs of their current predicament, making the whole outlandish tale sound coherent and almost reasonable. Both kids listened to her raptly and remained calm, and Mulder once again thanked his lucky stars for the woman next to him. For all the tumult they’d experienced through the years, there was no one he’d rather have by his side.

“I have a friend -- some friends -- that have set us up with a new life-” Mulder said, when Scully was finally done talking.

He was interrupted by Lily.

“The friends who you visit at Arlington Cemetery? The ones we’re not supposed to know about? Those friends?”

Mulder looked to Scully who wore a surprised smile.

“I haven’t said a thing, Mulder,” she said, looking to him.

“Lily hid in the trunk of your car once,” said Will.

“Will!” Lily shouted at her brother.

“Lil, is that true?” Scully asked her daughter, concerned. Lily wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I’m not sure whether to be terrified or impressed,” Mulder said. Then shook his head. Back to the topic at hand. He would worry about that later.  “Anyway, those friends have set us up with a life in the Midwest for a year, probably less. Until the heat is off. Until we’re sure we’re all safe.”

“Where in the Midwest?” Lily said with trepidation.

“Michigan,” Scully said.

“They’ve got good hockey in Michigan,” Will offered, and Mulder wanted to hug the kid for his optimism.

Lily looked pained. “What about school?” she said. “What about UVA?” She was supposed to start college there in the fall.

“Lil, these people are not above using you to get to us. The only safe thing is for you and Will to come with us. It’s not even for a year. You can defer. Just the fall semester,” Mulder said.

Lily fell back against the cushions on the couch. Scully and Mulder shared a look.

“And we have to leave soon,” Scully said, “before graduation.”

Will reached out and put his hand on his sister’s knee, his face all sympathy. To her credit, Lily looked at her little brother and gave him a thankful look, a small uptick of the lips. Will turned back to his parents.

“When do we have to start packing?” he asked.

“Tonight,” Mulder said.

XxX

A day later found Mulder in the attic with Lily and William, going through boxes, taking the few things that they had in storage that they thought they might need. Mulder had grabbed a tent, a few sleeping bags, a kit knife, various useful odds and ends.

Will was over in the corner and had unearthed a box of old pictures and held one up for Mulder’s perusal.

“What’s this one from?” his son asked.

Mulder came over to take a look. It was a glossy 8x10 of him and Scully facing each other, framed in profile, hovering on the edge of a crime scene. He remembered it, now. It had been taken by a federal crime scene tech who’d finished documenting a scene and had needed to finish off the roll of film. Mulder had seen him snapping and had handed the guy a fiver. Two weeks later it arrived in an interoffice envelope, accompanied by three dollars and a post-it that said “keep the change.”

In the photo, Scully was looking up at him, the sun at her back slanting on her autumn hair so that it shone like a halo of spun gold. She was wearing a dark suit, as was her wont, the bulge of her service weapon at her back, one arm out and gesturing at something out of frame. He was struck, as he always seemed to be, by her exquisite beauty; her face was a composition. A work of art. A call to prayer.

“God,” he said, a little awestruck, “look how young we were.”

“Mom used to be really pretty,” Will said, and though he said it kindly, Mulder turned to him slowly.

“I’m sorry, ‘Used to be?’” he said.

Will looked nervously between his father and Lily.

“She’s still pretty?” Will said, more as a question than a statement.

“God damn right,” he said, “Every day I thank my lucky stars that she still deigns to share my bed.”

“Dad, don’t be gross,” from Lily, who at 18 didn’t mind her parent’s displays of affection so long as they weren’t public.

“Gross?” Mulder said, pointing at each of them.  “Gross? You were born of the loins of an ethereal creature of heaven, the both of you. Don’t blaspheme.”

“Says the guy who just said ‘God damn,’” said Lily, cheekily.

Mulder grinned and turned back to the photo.

“To me, fair friend, you never can be old, for as you were when first your eye I ey’d, such seems your beauty still,” Mulder said, looking at it.

“Which sonnet?” Lily asked.

“104,” he said, and they shared a smile. Another silent moment of admiring the photo and he set it down, turned to his children. “All right,” he said, “pack what you need. Let’s get a move on.”

He added the picture to his own cache.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Something caught Lily’s eye as her father was folding up the old box of photos. The corner of a glossy 5x7 was sticking up from the edge of the box -- in it, she saw her father’s face, smiling, looking extremely young.

She helped him shove it back into the corner of the attic with a scrape of cardboard on plywood and he stood, head still bent down in the cramped space so as not to crack his skull on the slanted beams.

William was already heading back down the rickety ladder onto the landing below them, the hollow sound of his steps on the aluminum like the beat of a drum.

“You okay, Lil?” her father asked, his eyes squinted at her in concern. She was still kneeling by the box.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling at him, and glanced around the attic, at the memories their family had built up over the years. She hoped they’d be able to revisit them one day. Deep down she was afraid this might be the last time she saw some of these things -- an old box of her brother’s LEGOs, her Raggedy Ann, the doll’s black button eyes fixed and sightless, a wispy cobweb hanging limply off her yarn hair.

“Let’s get out of here, then,” he said, and reached down to help her up.

Before she took it, she reached out and pulled at the glossy photo, sliding it easily out of the box and slipping it surreptitiously into her back pocket as she stood. It crinkled in her jeans as she walked toward the attic ladder with her father behind her, as she moved on toward she knew not what.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully sat in her car with her keys in her hand, staring at the woman’s house, debating whether or not to get out.

She had faith in her husband and all her things in a suitcase, but there was still a small part of her that didn’t quite believe the tale Olivia Kurtzweil had told them. In all their years working together on the X-Files, Mulder had always been the engine, and she had always been the brake -- and the impulse to tap the pedal when faced with the fantastic had never left her, even after more than a decade out of the basement office.

She drummed her nails on the steering wheel once and then made a decision, shoving the keys into the pocket of her coat, double checking that her service weapon was in order, and sliding out of her car and onto the sidewalk. She wanted one last talk with the woman before committing to this drastic course of action.

It hadn’t been easy to find Kurtzweil’s address -- even with the Bureau’s resources at her fingertips. She’d had to call in a favor to a friend with ties to the State Department to get it.

The street Kurtzweil lived on was quiet, just outside of Pentagon City. Parking on the street was by permit only, and there were hardly any cars. The house was a one-story ranch with a long porch, big enough for two rocking chairs, which were tilted at an angle toward each other just-so. The landscaping was impeccable and there weren’t any bugs in the porch lights. Olivia ran a tidy ship that Scully could appreciate.

She hesitated one last time at the door before reaching for the doorbell. She’d debated the merits of coming unannounced and had settled on the element of surprise -- hoping if the woman were lying about anything, unprepped and unrehearsed, Scully might be able to suss out lie from truth.

She heard the bell ring inside the house and waited for muffled footsteps or perhaps the bark of a dog. She was met with silence. She gave it about another ten seconds before ringing the bell again. When there was still no answer, she walked over to the garage and stood on tiptoes to peer through the window. There was a BMW parked inside. Scully made her way back to the door, and reached up to give it a knock. When her knuckles hit the wood the door gave an inch and suddenly feeling unsettled, Scully pushed it slowly the rest of the way open.

Just inside the door there was a purse laying on its side and a cascade of unopened mail fanned out on the floor. A chill ran up Scully’s spine and she reached for her sidearm, suddenly glad she’d brought it.

“Olivia?” she called tentatively, before taking a step inside, the gun held out in front of her, listening sharply for any hint of sound. None came.

She swept the perimeter of the entryway, all her senses on high alert. Hearing nothing, she called out Olivia’s name again. Still silence.

She turned the corner into the main part of the living area -- an open concept living room, dining room, kitchen, and nothing looked out of place. She edged her way slowly into the kitchen, and that’s when she saw it; two feet sticking out behind a large island in the kitchen.

Scully darted forward and slid to her knees next to the woman, quickly taking in what she saw before her: Olivia Kurtzweil had been shot, a double-tap to the head and one to the heart--a professional kill. Knowing she wouldn’t find it, Scully reached out to feel for a pulse in the woman’s neck. Her body was still warm.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder stood in the elevator, his finger hovering over the ‘12.’ It was one of the newer office buildings outside the district, a high rise of dark glass and steel. He thought maybe he should have called first, but hadn’t wanted to risk it. Finally, he depressed the button and the elevator lurched to life.

On the twelfth floor, the doors opened to a brightly lit lobby, the walls and floor all stark white granite. There was a sleek reception desk ahead, manned by an even sleeker looking young blond woman, who looked at him expectantly as he approached.

“Hello,” she smiled, not showing teeth, “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Lauren Williams,” he hedged, and the woman’s eyebrows shot up.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked.

“No,” he said, and started to wonder if he should have come at all.

“Okay,” the woman said slowly, narrowing her eyes, “I can call her assistant and ask if she can see you. Your name?”

Mulder felt like a bug under a microscope.

“Tell her it’s Fox,” he said.

She nodded.

“One moment.”

Mulder glanced at his watch. They were supposed to be on the road in four hours. This was a last minute stop for him, a barely thought-out ‘what if’ plan C in case the whole thing went to shit.

When he glanced back up, the receptionist was looking at him expectantly.

“She’ll be out in a moment,” she said, and Mulder smiled his thanks and took a few awkward steps back.

There was a small waiting area to the left of reception, but the seats looked more modern than comfortable, and the entire space had a disinfected don’t-sit-here vibe to it. Set dressing.

After a moment he heard the efficient clicks of approaching heels, and turned to see his ex-wife coming out of a metal door that he’d thought was a wall.

“Fox?” she said, her face one of pleased surprise.

“Lauren,” he said, as she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this. You look well.”

She did. She was in a crisp grey suit that was likely Chanel or Hermes, and trim as ever. Her face looked sculpted and her skin clear and bright. Not a wrinkle to be found. A mild cloud of the same perfume she always wore clung to her, lending her an air of sophistication where it may have made other women seem like they were trying too hard. She leaned back, holding onto one of his forearms and gave him an assessing look.

“You look… worried,” she finally said, her eyes narrowing a bit in concern.

He didn’t reply, and she turned to the receptionist.

“Thank you, Amanda,” she said smartly and inclined her head toward the metal door/wall which clicked open as they approached it.

She led him down a long hallway, with glass conference rooms lining one side and open concept work stations along the other. At the far end, she opened a floor-to-ceiling glass door and led him into a large and immaculate corner office.

Mulder raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he said, “it’s been a while.” She shut the door behind them and gestured to a small sitting area off to the side of the office. It was more welcoming than the lobby seating had been, and he slid into one of the chairs gratefully.

“Executive Vice President,” she said proudly, and took the chair opposite him. She settled into the leather of the seat and leveled a look at him. “You okay, Fox?”

Mulder glanced at the door, at the bustle of the office beyond it. No one seemed to pay them any mind.

“I’m…” he started, “we’re in some trouble.”

“You and Scully?” Lauren asked kindly, “Is she okay?”

“Yes,” Mulder smiled, “she’s good, she’s…”

He fumbled a bit. Not quite sure where to start.

“Is it money?” Lauren asked. “Do you need-”

Mulder cut her off, laughing uncomfortably. He and Scully both made a very good living, and his father’s estate would have kept them more than afloat even if they didn’t. He huffed a deep sigh, and she sat quiet and patient, looking at him in concern.

“Our family is in danger, Lauren,” he finally said, “and we need to disappear for a little while.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Is it Scully’s work at the FBI?” she started, “Is it-”

He once again cut her off.

“Listen, I don’t want to tell you much for your own protection. The less you know, the better.”

She nodded, her brow furrowed with concern.

“The reason I’m here is… we’re going away for a while. Headed to the Midwest.” She remained silent, waiting for him to continue. “Do you… does your aunt still have that hunting camp up in Michigan?”

He saw a small smile crack through her unease. Lauren’s Aunt Clio was half Williams Family Secret, half Williams Family Legend. A bright, effusive personality, she was blustery and smart, and unpretentious to the point of embarrassment, as far as Lauren and her upper-crust-endeavoring parents were concerned. She lived in Ohio, where she and Lauren’s father had been raised, ten years the man’s senior. She kept a hunting camp in the eastern Upper Peninsula of Michigan called Camp Hi Early. She hunted deer throughout the state’s archery season and had told a story at Mulder and Lauren’s wedding reception about running at a bear with an axe from the outhouse. The story had mortified Lauren at the time -- Mulder had just been delighted. Aunt Clio had been drinking straight whiskey at the party, and had just been about to tell Mulder a story of running ‘shine when Lauren had pulled him away and to the dance floor. Mulder had never forgotten it, or her.

“Aunt Cli died last year,” she said with a begrudging smile. Mulder marveled. The woman must have been close to a hundred years old. Lauren’s eyes met his. “But she left me the camp.”

“You still have it?” Mulder asked, amazed, “it doesn’t seem like your kind of… scene.”

Lauren laughed.

“That it’s not. But there’s a mining company that has its eyes on the northern 100 acres, and if they get their hands on it whether from me or from someone I might sell to, Clio Williams will haunt me from the grave.”

Mulder laughed, felt something loosen in his chest.

“If you need it, it’s yours, Fox,” Lauren said, the humor dissipating from her voice.

He leaned back in the chair.

“We probably won’t need it,” he said, “it’s just something I thought of as a distant Plan C. But if we need to get out fast -- if we need to go somewhere we can’t be found…”

Lauren nodded and stood, moved over to her desk.

“It’s rustic, Fox,” she said, and sat down in the chair, pulling open a desk drawer. “And not charming-rustic. It’s rustic-rustic. And likely in disrepair. I sent a local handyman out there this past spring. He assured me that the roof doesn’t leak and the windows aren’t broken, but that’s about it.” She was rifling distractedly though the drawer. “I’m not sure how well outfitted it is, and It’s probably overrun with mice and squirrels. He said it looked like a moose had been gnawing on the siding…”

“It’ll be a last resort,” he said seriously.

Lauren paused and looked at him.

“Bad?” she asked.

“Pretty bad,” he nodded.

She winced and stood, an envelope in her hand. She made her way over to him and raised it.

“This is the key to the padlock on the cabin door,” she said, “and a map to the camp. The handyman I hired drew it up for me, not the other way around, mind you. I haven’t been out there since I was a kid and Aunt Cli took me up there to teach me to shoot. There’s the boondocks and there’s this. I’m talking county highway to a dirt road to a two-track. A seasonal road that the county doesn’t plow. I don’t even know if an SUV can get in there. The road to Camp may be impassable...” she handed him the envelope.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” he said.

Lauren reached out and squeezed his shoulder, the concern on her face cutting rare lines into her perfect skin.

“I want you to check in with me, let me know you’re okay,” she said, “do you feel safe doing that?”

Mulder nodded, put his hand over hers where it rested on her shoulder, squeezed.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I’m serious, Fox,” she said, “if I call, you answer your fucking phone. I’m scared for you. For the kids and Dana.”

“I promise,” he said, giving her hand one last squeeze before he rose to leave. “I’ll send you a number when I’ve got one.”

His phone rang then, like a premonition. He answered.

“Mulder?” Scully said into his ear, her voice shaky with panic. He heard the slam of a car door. “We have to leave. Now.”

(and I'm feeling like) it was only ever you

a little voice fic pairings/characters: bess/samuel, general ensemble, ella the pupper being loved the most warnings: language, excessive sexual tension episode tags: fills in some of many gaps between 1.08 sea change and 1.09 sing what I can’t say cause I got wine drunk instead of finishing this before the finale as planned. +post-finale rating/warnings: explicit. read: resolved sexual tension aka les sexy times.  lyrical title courtesy of: part of me – by the coast (watch their fanvid set to this song and prepare to cry)  notes: so @brilligbraelig told me there was no fluffy fic in the tag, which– sorry. we’ve been in sad time hours for WEEKS and I blame the writers for never giving bess a moment’s peace. I’ve never really been one for cavity-inducing sweetness, not because I don’t love some pure joy, but as a writer I’m always a little more interested in the messier moments that just enough longing brings. if the question is ‘how many times do bess and samuel need to share a bed?’ the answer is yes.   this is for the samuel and bess protection squad on twitter (join us!) for being the coolest group of people ever throughout this wild ride, and also for @missgoalie75 and her love of colton’s bedroom eyes.  p.s: sometimes I ignore capitalization rules at will because of the vibe. 

*

bess is tired.

saint c’s is quiet tonight; al shoos her away from the bar with a stern, surprisingly fatherly firmness and hands her a tray of shots. she blinks at him. there aren’t any parties of four left. he points at samuel, prisha, and benny loitering at the back of the club until she finishes. bess doesn’t follow. al sighs. “go have one with your friends on me, okay kid? i swear, watching you stress out sometimes is gonna give me an ulcer before my next birthday.”  bess stammers a thank you and walks off with the alcohol before he can change his mind. she should apologize, she thinks. he’s been nothing but kind to her despite all the ways in which bess is hardly employee of the month right now. she should start an apology tour at the table, where prisha’s head is thrown back with laughter at something benny is saying, his hands outspread. these people are too good to her and she doesn’t deserve it, sometimes.  samuel notices her first (like always it seems), tracking her progress across the room. he tilts his head, a silent okay? and she moves her mouth in an approximation of a smile. his own lips quirk, like he’s trying to smother a laugh. she should be annoyed; she’s just grateful they aren’t fighting anymore— or worse yet, that it’s weird.  they still haven’t talked about that night. samuel seems perfectly content to pretend it never happened, except for the way he touches her with so much more ease than before— like he no longer has to hesitate before he’s pulling her in, taking her hand, squeezing her shoulder or the bend of her elbow in a way that’s more reassuring than bess can really describe.  maybe there’s a song in there somewhere.  “special delivery,” she announces at the approach. “drink fast, before al regrets giving us these.”  “my man, my man,” benny croons. “we love you boss!” he calls, twisting to find al rolling his eyes from behind the register. the shots clink on the tabletop. bess hesitates, just a second, before leaning in to toast prisha. samuel’s eyes meet hers again over the rim of his glass. she tosses her head back before she can overthink any of it. “anyone want another?”  benny and prisha grin; samuel shakes his head. bess does the mental math back to her last meal. one more certainly wouldn’t tip her over, but she’d be a fool not to recognize her own unsettledness. she springs for second shelf tequila; al smacks her hand away from the limes she’d cut herself not two hours ago.  “no reaching over, you know that.” the closing porter pours and dishes lime and salt with disinterested, immaculate practice. bess presses an extra five into his hand and gets a silent tap on the inside of her wrist in thanks. she’s not normally into the whole process of tequila, but benny enjoys it. something silly in bess hopes that the bursting sting of lime will just wash all her chaos away. by the time she’s tilted her head back down a second time, samuel’s eyes are sliding away. her throat is curiously warmer than liquor normally manages. it feels like she’s caught him at something.  “earth to bess!”  “hmm?”  prisha looks amused, damn her. “you up for it?” “up for what?” benny’s smile is equally conspiratory.  “dancing?” her first instinct is god, no. she and prisha haven’t gone dancing in what feels like years— bess still has a fake ID from the one and only time they snuck into a club at 19 years old, skipping the bar entirely for the pulsing beat of the dance floor. but she deserves this, doesn’t she? after everything? everyone’s looking at her now, probably expecting her to say no (samuel’s definitely expecting her to say no), and maybe bess needs another shot after all because, “sure.” tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. prisha and benny high five. samuel’s muted surprise is oddly delightful; bess wants to keep pulling it out of him, suddenly. “you coming too?” she asks. it’s not supposed to be a challenge but he raises one eyebrow as though bess had just asked him to duel. “well i’d be lame if I said no now, wouldn’t i?” that settled, bess excuses herself to grab her things from the back room. when she returns, benny is chatting with their night porter as he divides tips. she has to swallow an anxious lump before she can walk over.  “hey.” “hey.” he returns her tentative smile and she hates herself. “ready to go?” “i’m sorry,” bess blurts. “about the other night. i was so awful to you and you were just—” “bess, hey.” benny’s hands land on her shoulders. “don’t worry about it, okay? i know you have a lot going on right now.” “that’s not an excuse,” she insists. “you’re just being a good friend and a great manager and i shouldn’t have bit your head off for...” for not letting me give up. shame locks the words in her throat. how is it that she was the first person to let go of her own dream? bess has to take a deep breath. “i’m just really sorry.” he just looks at her for a long moment.  “if i forgive you,” benny begins gently, “will you forgive yourself?” the question feels like a sucker punch.  “cause i do, bess.” she can’t remember the last time one of her dearest friends was so serious. “i forgive you, and you gotta forgive yourself now cause we got work to do, yeah?” good god, do not cry. “okay.”  “okay.” benny pulls her into a hug, squeezing tight. “we got you girl, alright? i told you, we’re in this together.” those are familiar words. bess lets them wash over her. how had she forgotten? where had she let herself fall that her friends couldn’t pull her back into the light?  “c’mon.” bess accepts her saint c’s envelope with a grateful smile and benny steers her out of the club, his arm around her shoulders. “there’s fun to be had tonight.” “let’s go, bess!”  she lets prisha drag her forward, laughing despite herself and looping her arm through her best friend’s as they head out into the warm night air.  “where the heck are those boys?” prisha asks at the next corner. benny and samuel of course, are following at a more sedated pace to her one track mind. bess catches samuel’s eye and he smiles in that crooked, amused sort of way she hasn’t seen in ages— not since they shot more love, it feels like. relief is such a strange feeling for the moment, but there it is.  * bess isn’t tired anymore. she has no idea when she became such a homebody (though louie’s social worker may thoughts) but her exhaustion from the day seems to disappear the moment the bass finds a home behind her ribs. prisha presses a tiny glass into her hand and bess doesn’t think.  the vodka sears on the way down. it makes her gasp a little, like a livewire shock to the system. bess can only look up to see samuel wave from the bar before benny’s dragging her onto the floor; she loses sight of him in the crush of bodies and the pulse of the music carries her away.  samuel’s still there, some two or three songs later. just before they lock eyes, bess notices something very serious in his expression, something she can’t put into words fast enough, that draws a strange shiver from the base of her spine.  then he smiles, familiar laugh lines and narrowed eyes, and it’s gone.  bess remembers the way he’d so easily coaxed her into a silly dance set to their own music. have things gotten so strange between them that they could never go back there? not if she has anything to say about it. “I’m not drunk enough yet,” he objects, but his fingers close around hers even as he says it and she knows she’s won. samuel follows her so easily back to benny and prisha– like he’d follow her anywhere maybe, if she asked, and then suddenly bess is the one not quite drunk enough—  and then the beat pulls them in again.  it’s silly at first, just like before. at one point samuel and benny do the chicken dance to a hip-hop song and bess thinks she might die with laughter. she presses against prisha, hips and shoulders. her best friend spins her out; bess nearly stumbles but samuel is there, catching her by the elbows, drawing her in with that same teasing smile that had eased her nerves on that warm summer afternoon. she can see the memory of it reflected in his eyes. bess wants to fall into it headfirst. she steps closer just as samuel pulls her in; her hand lands on the back of his neck; his fingertips slip under the hem of her top and brush the shy skin of her hip.  samuel pauses, like a silent question, until bess coaxes his body back into the swaying rhythm with her own. her head feels heady, her body overwarm almost, but bess doesn’t want to stop because there it is again, that serious look— bess wants— “dance, dance, dance is my lung—”  “fuck no!” the moment—or whatever that was—grinds to a halt. samuel laughs so hard that she can feel his shoulders shaking. for several seconds they just look at each other, then over at benny who’s having the time of his life, and then bess is doubling over too.  samuel leans close to be heard over the din. “drink?” his breath brushes her ear and bess tries not to shiver, nodding enthusiastically in a vain attempt to cover for herself. they’ve lost prisha and benny to the worst song ever, so samuel keeps a firm grip on her hand as they snake their way back to the bar.  there must be some kind of special on shots tonight. bess can only stare at a bartender pouring no less than twelve in a perfect row for a huge group of women. one is wearing a tiara and white sash. that trying not to laugh smile tilts samuel’s mouth while they wait their turn. the sardine pack of people presses them together from hip to shoulder but he doesn’t seem to mind. the bar curves around in a skinny oval, drinks being served on either side. as servers slide back and forth, bess notices a guy looking at her from across the way. staring, more like it. the glint in his eyes makes her stomach turn. before bess can glare, turn away, or even shudder, samuel’s arm slides around her. his fingertips trace the curves of her rings on the bartop— affectionate, possessive almost. bess turns her head and samuel winks before leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. “pretend i just told you something hilarious.” his mouth hovering over hers is almost too distracting— his free hand pinches her side to help her along and giggles jump out. bess doesn’t resist when samuel tightens his grip and pulls her closer against him. he presses his mouth to her temple just above her ear. “he’s gone.” bess does shudder now, though for a different reason altogether. “thanks.” samuel just squeezes her once before releasing her. their shots arrive finally, amber liquid glowing strangely in the light.  “still good?” he asks, and bess nods firmly. “still good.” she meets his eyes as she brings the shot to her mouth. samuel is still looking at her when she puts the glass back down. inside her, it seems. “c’mon.” he says. samuel looks almost fond now. bess blinks; a trick of the light? is she that tipsy already? “we’d better go find those two.” she just takes his hand and follows.  * bess is... well. she’s not sober.  benny had waved goodbye from an uber outside the club. they’d made it three quarters of the way to the subway station before ananya had called, quickly devolving into an impassioned conversation and prish too, vanished into a cab and promising to call when she got to her— girlfriend’s? house.  “have fun you two!”  and now: “i’m fine, sam.”  his mouth twitches. “don’t think so, b.”  yikes, she hates that. bess rolls her eyes, pointing at her station stairway. “you’re literally going in the opposite direction. it’s like...” she has to look at their cross streets and do the math. “eight stops. at the most.” samuel nods. “all about figure eights. love an even number. let’s go.”  bess knows she should just let this go and stop being so stubborn. but something in her just can’t be stopped. samuel sighs, dragging her by the elbow across the sidewalk, out of the way of a clearly aggrieved businessman who disappears down the steps.  “bess. just tell me something.” it’s hard to meet his eyes, intent as they are. “would you let prisha take the train home by herself tonight? if you were going... I dunno, home with me?”  her stomach flips, surprising, terrifying, thrillingly pleasant. it’s all the shots.  samuel’s ears go pink under the glow of the streetlight. “you know what i mean.” she’s stubbornly quiet; he ducks his head, refusing to be deterred. “bess.” “ugh, no. of course not!” “because you think she can’t take care of herself?” bess rolls her eyes. “she’s my best friend, you know that. it’s just what you do.” “right.” she hates the way samuel’s looking at her now, the way he had when he’d laid all her fears out bare in the close space of his apartment: so certain and so kind. “so why do you think i’d let you take the train home alone?” for a moment, she can only stare. maybe it’s the alcohol, but samuel has never quite looked so vulnerable. bess doesn’t have the right words (maybe there aren’t any) so she just drags him forward by the shoulders. samuel exhales sharply, a faint laugh in her ear, but he wraps both his arms tight around her— an embrace that somehow feels more intimate than their pretence from hours before. bess endeavours not to think about it too much. “c’mon bestie,” she says when she pulls back. samuel does laugh fully this time, wide enough to show his teeth. bess thinks back to the night of their first gig, the sound of his valerie chasing hers in echoes. it’s a wonder anyone’s more stubborn that she is.  samuel ushers her down the stairs with a sweep of his arm and bess laughs too. *   bess loves her dog. she’d convinced samuel he should probably come in for water, or tea, maybe an advil. ella had poked her head out from bess’ room and when she turns around from her perusal of the fridge, bess finds samuel fully sitting on the floor, ella laying between his legs, stroking her head. “who’s my sweetest girl?” he coos.  her heart something funny inside her chest. samuel looks up, his obvious joy so bright in the dim light of the kitchen and bess is nearly choked with the possibility that she’d nearly pushed him too far away to ever see it again.  “bess,” he says, his cheeks dimpling, “her ears are so soft. like, they’re the softest thing i’ve maybe ever felt in my life?”  wonder of wonders.  she can only nod in emphatic agreement. how many shots have they had?  “you’re lucky,” samuel continues, still making ella’s night by never stopping in his affection. bess’ eyes get stuck on his hands, the motion of his fingertips and the turns of his wrists. “my parents never let us have pets and my building doesn’t allow them either.”  “you know ella would love if you came over and pet her all the time.” she gets that muted surprise again, which melts into something bess isn’t sure how to name.  “would you like that, el? hmm?” he leans down to kiss the top of the dog’s head. “wanna spend more time with uncle samuel?” how is it that her most loyal companion is somehow more intimate with samuel than bess is? and why on earth would she ever have a thought like that? “so,” she says, maybe a bit too high-pitched for her own liking (ella looks up at her and bess wants to glare), “we have water, tea, popsicles, half a bottle of jack.” samuel laughs and shakes his head. “i thought we were sobering up?” bess shrugs. “so, popsicle?” he laughs again and it warms her inexplicably all the way to her toes.  they have water, following ella into bess’ room, toeing out of their shoes when she jumps onto the bed. the dog puts her head on samuel’s lap and stares balefully up at him until he resumes his gentle stroking. bess leans back against her wall. she’s looking at ella and pretending she can’t feel the heat of samuel’s gaze on her face. if she thinks too hard about it, bess remembers wishing she could share a moment like this with someone else. she doesn’t regret anything that lead her here, but something in her is too afraid to meet samuel’s eye, like he’d be able to read the truth of that in her face and that she’d have somehow ruined tonight, this quiet moment of warmth and contentment. she leans her head on his shoulder and he turns his cheek into her hair. when bess finally looks up, samuel’s face is vey close.  is he looking at her mouth? is she leaning?  “are you drunk, bess?” he asks softly. she stops. considers. “yes. you?” samuel’s smile is a little rueful. he nods. “i should go.” bess understands. it’s late. they’re tired and inebriated. he has to go all the way back to his. they almost... and yet she says, “stay.”  he blinks. “what?”  this might be a terrible idea. “stay.” “but—” she rolls her eyes. “what makes you think i’d let you go home alone either?” the surprise is plain now. he looks that almost-vulnerable again. bess is oddly satisfied. “are you sure?” it’s strangely hard to keep his eye even as she points out, “we’re fine, right?” he nods again, a little slower. “and it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed.” when bess finally manages it, samuel’s gaze is very soft. “true.” and just when she thinks he’s going to refuse her still, he says, “okay. thanks.” how do you tell someone out that you just don’t want to be alone out loud?  thankfully samuel doesn’t make her voice it. he just smiles as bess gathers something approximating pyjamas and crosses the room. “sorry i don’t have anything that would fit you,” (he snorts and she’s warmed) “but you know, make yourself comfortable however. come get a toothbrush from under the sink.” and so that’s how they end up side-by-side in the cramped bathroom of her and prisha’s apartment, brushing their teeth. samuel makes faces at her in the mirror and it should be strange, to be t-shirt and shorts/boxers open with him. but he’s seen down into the root of who she is, so isn’t all this less? he’s humming something familiar as she washes her face, catching her surprised reflection.  “it’s yours.” bess casts her mind back. “from–” “that first night, yeah.” she nearly drops her face towel. bess has never shown him that song. samuel shakes his head with a chuckle, a familiar you’re a weirdo. “it would be just like you to play something that gets eight bars stuck in my head for months and never sing it again.” “i...” bess can’t pinpoint a reason besides her own fear, like a karmic penance for one of the most humiliating nights of her life. “i can’t believe you remember.” there’s a truth in his eyes that neither of them are willing to admit they can see.  “wanna work on it?” she asks impulsively, determined now to redraw a better memory, “maybe tomorrow?” samuel’s grin is so wide it’s almost hard to take in all at once. “this mean you’re gonna actually do that open mic?” bess shrugs. she needs to escape this tiny room all of a sudden. “maybe.” he doesn’t push her further and she’s grateful. samuel hesitates at the edge of her bed as bess pulls up the cover.  “oh my god, just get in the bed samuel.” and he does. their knees touch. bess turns out the light but there’s still just enough to see him looking at her. drunkenness has made her warm and sleepy.  “what?” “for the record,” he says, “i know what i think of you.” it feels like they’re teetering on an edge. “cool grandpa?” they laugh so hard that ella jumps from the foot of the bed. samuel looks so fond that bess doesn’t know what to do with herself. “yeah. that’s it.” “night samuel,” she whispers.  “night bess.” * (she wakes up before the sun, tangled up in him.  for once, rather than overthink it, bess just closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.) * bess can’t stop smiling. before she could even look at samuel after getting offstage, benny had lifted her off her feet and proceeded to all but bulldoze everyone in the club to get her in front of jeremy’s record label contact. could he tell that she’d just been kissed within an inch of her life? it feels like it’s written all over her face. bess can barely remember what she said, but his personal contact card is currently burning a whole though her purse. al buys them a round. (she finds ethan lingering in the back. what he says to her is somehow a surprise and not both at once. what she says to him, in the end, feels long overdue.) prisha insists everyone come back to their place to celebrate, and they pile into ubers. louie exalts her as a true artist the entire ride and even phil seems impressed. true to form though, he’s a roledex of weather facts as bess and prisha frantically pull out every candle or flashlight in the apartment; their lights flicker ominiously every so often as the storm beats down their windows. benny puts a playlist together and tries to order pizza. by some miracle, it actually arrives; everyone pools together for a 150% tip. so it feels like ages before bess looks up to find samuel leaning against the alcove of her living room, watching as louie begins a spirited debate on the best numbers in hamilton.  bess nods her head toward the door of her bedroom. she’s expecting him to make a silly face with his eyebrows or hesitate, but samuel’s mouth just curves up on one side, like that’s all he’s allowing himself, and follows. “for the record,” he says as the sounds of the party fade a little behind them, “the answer will always be satisfied. no contest.” god, how had she never seen him before? her bedside lamp is still working. bess fishes out a pale white whale from childhood, one that changes colour as you tap. she grins at samuel, who’s leaning against her closed door and smiling like he’s not even sure what to make of her.  “you’re incredible, you know that?” her face heats, pride and embarrassment both at once. “so are you. i can’t believe we got through that song.” “all you, bess.”  she wants to roll her eyes, but refrains. “the electric was a great idea.” samuel’s eyes drop when he smiles; the familiar humility in it reminds bess of the reason she wanted to talk to him in the first place.  “i know what you did tonight. before you showed up.” he looks up then, a little sharply. samuel’s always had a good poker face but bess can see it still, that guarded look. “what did i do, bess?” saying it out loud makes her feel like she’s in a movie. bess steps forward. “you told ethan to come. for me.” “are you upset?” “no. i just want to understand why.” samuel’s gaze is as steady as it’s ever been. “i just want you to be happy.”  she feels unraveled, somehow.  “then why did you...” even in the poor light, he flushes. “why did you kiss me?” samuel looks at the floor, then back at bess. her heart beats in double time. “he didn’t show, or so I thought. and I didn’t want to...” he laughs lightly, almost at himself. “throw away my shot. I guess I wasn’t really expecting you to—” try to press him into the wall? “to kiss me back, or even what that might mean, but I wanted to show you, or tell you that—” she’s close enough to touch him now. samuel’s hands cup her elbows, very gently, like he needs to ground himself. but he looks bess right in the eye. “even if you didn’t want me, i’d choose you first. every time.”  her heart free-falls.  “bess.” he squeezes a little, catching her eyes. how long have they been standing in this moment of after? “please say something.” “i told him we couldn’t work,” she says in a rush. “and i don’t even know if it was really because you and I—” bess stumbles but samuel hangs on, his grip on her unwavering, “but i think part of me always knew it was just...like, a fantasy? we barely even knew each other and i always hated myself a little for being that girl trying to steal someone else’s partner and i wasn’t dealing with any of my shit until—” samuel just waits. the realization feels too big, but there’s no going back now. “until i met you.” he looks almost stricken. bess lets out a strange, wondrous kind of laugh. she puts her hand on samuel’s chest. she’s the one who needs steadying, now. he draws her closer without looking away from her face, like he’s helpless to it.  bess can’t remember the last time she felt so sure of anything. all those those expressions that always felt hidden in his eyes seem so plain, now: surprise, fear, hope. “i choose you, samuel. though i probably don’t even deserve to.”  she can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. samuel’s hand brushes her hair back away from her face, tracking the curve of her ear. just before she’s about to freak out, he asks, “are you drunk, bess?” she nearly laughs. “no. are you drunk, samuel?” he shakes his head. she understands that serious look, now. it’s wanting. he wants her.  samuel goes to pull her the rest of the way in— “bess!”  louie’s voice and a loud knock on the door springs them apart. the lights go out.  “bess, we’re going now. and the lights are out. do you have a source of light in there? are you coming to say goodbye?” samuel lets out a long, low “fuck.” she has to clap her hand over her mouth. his nearly silent laugh ghosts over her skin as he presses his face into the curve of her neck.  (samuel kisses her there, just once, but it’s enough that her knees tremble a little and she can feel the shape of his smile too.)  “i’ll be right out!” bess calls to her brother. his shadow moves away from the door. hysterical giggles shake her shoulders. samuel’s hands slide up to hold her face. “do you wanna—” “come home with me.” she can barely make out his features in the dark (except for the want) but bess’ stomach drops anyway. the irony of no electricity is funny when she feels like sparks might burst from beneath her skin.  “okay.” * bess is deliriously happy. samuel puts down his guitar and barely lets the door close before he’s pressing bess against it with both hands. his palms are heavy and warm on her hipbones; bess wants to rock up against him but there’s a certain thrill in it, how strong he seems.  she has no idea the last time she was kissed like this.  despite how fierce it feels, samuel lets her lead. he doesn’t open his mouth until she does, touches his tongue tentatively against hers at first pass, tugs so gently on her lip with his teeth until she makes a noise like a whimper.  she should tell him maybe, that samuel made her completely forget herself, back in the alcove at saint c’s. but then bess just lets her hands find their way back into his now slightly damp hair. she’ll just relive it instead. she scrapes her nails over his scalp and samuel’s breath comes up short; it returns in something that sounds like a groan, or a snarl, and oh.  bess has to take deep breaths of her own when he pulls back, a wide-eyed glance to her face to make sure she’s alright. she can only nod. samuel’s fingertips squeeze her waist as some of that urgency seems to fade from his eyes. he trails his mouth slowly from her lips to her jaw; she tilts her head instinctively to give him room and samuel finds that same spot on her neck from her own bedroom.  his teeth and tongue press a little harder than before; he gets a gasp for his efforts. her legs feel unsteady again. bess grabs at the open sides of his button-down until samuel shrugs out of it. it drops to their feet. he doesn’t protest when bess pushes him gently, walking backwards across the apartment with his arm tight around her.  he doesn’t let go when his legs meet the edge of his bed. bess would fall into him if not for samuel keeping them upright. he drops to sit, pulling them apart, and finally bess has to take stock of herself. samuel’s face is so open, his smile so wide in a way she’s never seen before.  “still good?” he asks. bess nods.  “still good?” samuel laughs lightly. “i’m great, bess.” he reaches for her hand, his thumb brushing each of her rings in turn. “we can stop whenever you want.” she’s the one standing but bess feels smaller, strangely. instead of replying, bess steps out of her shoes. samuel’s eyes seem to darken as she slides her jacket from her shoulders and lets it pool on the floor. bess leans down and brings one knee to the bed, by his hip, balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder. samuel’s inhale is impossibly loud as he instinctively supports her with a sliding grip up the back of her thigh. bess’ skirt isn’t that short but she’s glad she didn’t trade it for jeans before she left. samuel’s face betrays how pleased he seems by her choice.  once she’s finished effectively straddling him, bess looks down from her perch.  “hi.” samuel’s knuckles stroke up and down her leg. goosebumps ripple and he smiles. “hi.” bess takes his face in both her hands and leans down as samuel tilts his chin up to meet her. she’ll never tire of kissing him. it feels like she can’t get close enough; he must have the same idea because his arms wrap around her back until bess is sitting firmly in his lap, their hips slotted together.  “can i touch you?” samuel asks against her mouth. bess nods, maybe too quickly, but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed.  guitar callused fingers slide beneath her top. samuel reaches the slim band of her lacy bralette. he pauses, but bess leans into his hand and then he’s tracing the curve of her breast. his thumb brushes a little roughly over her nipple; bess feels an abrupt ache between her legs. “that seems pretty,” samuel murmurs in her ear, like a casual observation. “it’s a matching set,” she replies, trying not to sound too breathless. “for luck.” he pulls back with wide eyes. bess wants to laugh but she’s too busy dealing with this rush of blood to her face. she sits up carefully so they don’t knock heads and reaches for the edges of samuel’s t shirt first; he drags it over his head in one smooth, practiced motion. shit, he’s hot.  he’s staring as bess unfolds herself to stand back on the floor (her legs are still unsteady but he doesn’t need to know that) and goes to pull off her own shirt. samuel’s eyes don’t leave her face until the fabric coming over her head pulls her from view. when bess blinks him back into focus, he’s gone a little slack-jawed. she nods at his jeans and the speed at which samuel divests himself of them has her biting back a giggle. bess’ face feels hot but there’s a frisson of pride that straightens her spine. she’s not even half an arm’s length away from him. samuel touches her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt. “can I?” bess has to swallow before she can nod. just like before, samuel stares at her face until the last half of her outfit joins the rest of their clothes in a heap. samuel’s eyes trail from her eyes to her feet and back. it takes everything in bess not to fidget. she expects to see heat in his expression but there’s only wonderment and tenderness.  “fuck, you’re so beautiful.” she has no idea what to do with that. samuel tugs her into his lap this time, intent. his kiss is searing. bess rocks into him, just once, just a little. that grip on her thighs returns, tighter. bess can only gasp a laugh into his mouth when samuel stands, holding her up against him, and turns to lower her with a kind of breathtakingly slow care onto his bed.  bess lands on her back, samuel now the one leaning over her. desire coils low in her stomach. he gently shifts her hips so they’re both actually parallel with the long edges of the comforter.  she feels inexplicably, unbearably, fond of him.  then samuel looks away. he exhales, like he’s embarrassed.  bess frowns in concern. “what is it?” samuel shakes his head. “when you look at me like that, I can’t catch my breath.” oh. it feels so strange to be the steadier one. bess reaches for his cheek, drawing samuel’s eyes back to her. “guess you’ll just have to distract me, then.” he laughs, but then as he leans down, samuel’s smile fades and bess remembers. he wants her. she can feel it. his hand slides, pleasantly rough, over her skin, sliding beneath the band of her bralette. bess seizes samuel’s lip in her teeth as he strokes back over her breast. he teases her nipple and the moment bess manages to wriggle out of the garment and tosses it away, samuel’s swapped his hand with his tongue, her other breast now teased by his clever fingers. she gasps again and she can feel him smirking. samuel diverts his mouth’s attention to her other side. bess focuses on her breathing. the storm still lashes against the windows but it feels like nothing compared to the roaring in her blood. bess slides her fingers up the nape of samuel’s neck and a few things happen at once: samuel’s free hand finds the damp junction between her legs; bess pulls his hair a tiny bit harder than intended; his teeth catch her nipple with just enough firmness that bess’ back nearly arches off the bed, along with a keening noise she didn’t even realize she could make. samuel freezes immediately. he looks up and bess has no idea what her face looks like, but all she can say is, “do that again.” he leans back down, his teeth scraping over her other breast; when he tugs, bess does too, so hard that samuel hisses.  “sorry,” she pants, “sorry.” he shakes his head, a firm denial. it might be the dark, the lightning, or the fact that bess is so fucking turned on, but samuel’s expression has veered far past wanting— into hunger. he practically leaps back up to her mouth, a kiss so fierce that their teeth nearly clack together. “your hands,” he says, like it enrages him almost, “in my hair, holy fuck.”  oh was right. “you’re one to talk about hands,” bess retorts. “can you please just–” samuel leans back. “can i please just what?” he looks smug the bastard. it would be like them to bicker in the middle of sex, wouldn’t it? but his tone is so serious when he says, “tell me what you want, bess.” that she has to squeeze her thighs together.  “please touch me.” “where?”  bess is going to kill him. samuel touches her cheek with surprising gentleness, and kisses her there. “here?” he does the same to her neck. “here?” her shoulder. he marks the valley of her breasts, the slope of her navel, the jut of her pelvic bone. “samuel,” bess says. it sounds like a plea but she doesn’t care. she can only reach his shoulder now, the back of his neck. he may have shivered but she can’t tell because she’s too busy trying to keep it together.  he finally finds the elastic of her underwear.  “okay, bess?” this question isn’t a joke. bess makes sure to meet samuel’s eye; the mixture of that desire and care makes her dizzy. “yes. please.” when his fingers have finally slid inside her, bess says “samuel,” at a level of breathlessness she only ever gets when she sings. he touches her with the same care and confidence as he does any of their instruments, until her legs tremble; samuel finds a beat with his tongue against her clit that’s so good bess has to cover her mouth when she comes.  samuel crawls back up the bed towards her. he leaves a kiss on the inside of her knee, and her shoulder, just an inch or two from where he had the first night she’d stayed here. bess feels very safe, suddenly.  “still good?” samuel asks again, a more raw edge to the question this time. bess can only affirm silently as she leans up a little to kiss him. she can taste herself in his mouth, can feel the weight of his arousal against her. bess presses up and samuel groans.  heat pulses again between her legs. “do you want,” bess starts, putting her hands on him, straining against his boxers. samuel’s whole body seems to twitch. he pulls her wrists away though with a bruising kiss.  “i’m just dying to be inside you, if that’s cool.” her stomach flips.  “very cool.” samuel smiles and goes willingly when bess rolls them over. he reaches blindly into a bedside drawer. bess catches sight of a pair of glasses and makes a mental note to ask about them when her mind’s not currently so occupied.  “shit, are these even in date?” samuel squints at the packet in his hand. “god, have i not had sex in this long?” bess can’t help but laugh. they giggle their way through confirming the expiry date, getting rid of samuel’s boxers, and rolling on the condom in the dark. for a moment they just look at each other. bess hasn’t ached like this for anyone in a long time.  “tell me what you want, samuel.” his adam’s apple bobs as he sits up. “c’mere.”  samuel pulls her forward and bess lifts her hips to line them up. he swallows her tiny gasp as she sinks down onto him; it’s been a while for her, too. samuel anchors her with one hand splayed across her back, waiting silently until bess has adjusted to the stretch.  bess rocks down experimentally and he makes an almost strangled noise in the back of his throat. a soft kiss lands on her forehead, a starkly tender inverse to nearly everything that’s happened so far, and maybe even to what they’re about to do. it settles bess and breaks her open both at once.  “okay?” he asks carefully. she nods, wrapping both her arms around his neck. “you’re amazing, you know that?” samuel murmurs over her lips. his own hips swing up towards hers and wow. “bess.” she was right, before. he’s strong.  they get a rhythm going quickly enough, like another harmony that comes so easy. the angle has bess’ clit pressing with beautiful pressure against samuel’s pelvis; she clenches down just as he thrusts up. he curses and it just stokes that flame hotter inside of her. after a certain point bess can’t even speak anymore. she has both her hands in samuel’s hair and he’s latched back onto the curve between her neck and shoulder, teeth and tongue and words like, fuck and tight and good and bess— “samuel i—” he looks up at her face like he wants to commit it to memory.  “bess.” and she’s gone again. * when they’ve caught their breath and tidied up, bess and samuel find themselves side by side in his bathroom, a sweet reflection of that night from weeks ago. she’s glad she thought to bring her toothbrush. samuel keeps staring at her in the mirror.  “what?”  does she have toothpaste on her face? he just shakes his head, the way he does when he laughs to himself.  “nothing. you just look better in my t-shirts than i do.”  bess rolls her eyes but her face feels hot anyway. “weirdo.” it feels good not to have to wonder as they head back to his bed. samuel drags her immediately towards him beneath the covers, his cool hands greedy beneath her borrowed sleepwear as her back curves against his chest. he plants a minty kiss above her shoulder-blade where his shirt’s slipped down. bess shivers and he leaves another on the back of her neck. “sorry,” he murmurs, and bess flips around to look at him.  “for what?” the storm broke finally, and amber light of the street through his windows feels just as safe and warm as it had before. but samuel is the one who seems afraid, now.  “i don’t want to freak you out.” “you’re not freaking me out,” bess insists. “tell me.” samuel hesitates. bess reaches out to touch his face.  “hey. i don’t scare that easy either, you know.” he exhales a faint laugh. it’s so rare to see samuel seem unsure, or fragile. it makes bess feel thrillingly off-centre.  “i don’t think i’ll ever be able to stop wanting you.”  she’s falling.  “and not just—” samuel nods vaguely at their general closeness. “this. i mean all of it. the music, your family, everything. i know it’s probably a bad idea to start things with bandmates or whatever but i just—”  bess doesn’t let him finish. she can only pour all her affection for him into a kiss, taking samuel’s huff of surprise in her mouth even as he reaches for her waist to pull her closer, then on top of him.  when she pulls away he seems a little dazed.  “you make the bad days okay,” bess says firmly and samuel smiles with such near-adoration that she understands it now, that loss of air. “so we’ll figure it out, okay? one day at a time.” samuel nods. “okay.”  and he pulls her back down. * bess wakes up with words in her mind.  samuel’s grip is so tight that at first she doesn’t think he’ll let her go. but bess manages to slide away, picking up his hand gently and lifting his arm. she looks at his sleeping face and kisses his knuckles.  samuel’s lips curve a little and if she looks too hard she could be in love with him already.  she knows where he keeps blank sheet paper in his production area. bess finds a pen and a coffee table book about new york parks; she sits on the edge of the bed to scrawl, humming to herself.  she doesn’t realize he’s up until a familiar press of lips lands on her neck. bess will never stop shivering and samuel will apparently never stop smiling about it.  “hi,” he mumbles. his voice is low and gravely with sleep. bess files that away under the list of things that does something to her. samuel hooks his chin over her shoulder and bess lifts her work to accommodate his arms sliding around her waist. “new idea?” bess nods. “thinking about what you said to me.”  she’s circled can’t catch my breath at the top of the page. samuel goes very still. it feels like it could crush them, the weight of this kind of intimacy. but at least bess doesn’t have to carry it alone. “wanna write with me?”  she turns her head to look at him; samuel’s surprise will never not be thrilling.  “will you let me add a back beat?”  he’s already reaching for his guitar. bess laughs.  “i could maybe be persuaded.” the way his eyebrow lifts makes her stomach jump. “duly noted.” (they do finish the song, eventually.  the morning just gets away from them first.) 

For @cyans-stardust

Summary: On a rainy day Geoff remembers a few moments with Michael and Gavin.

Word count: 1,666

Rating: PG-13

Geoff sat by the window sipping at his coffee, it was a quiet day, rainy but calm.  The perfect day to do nothing.  The only other people in the penthouse were Michael and Gavin, the two of them sat in the living room playing Mario Kart.  Geoff watched them out the corner of his eye, laughing to himself when Michael freaks out at another loss.

"You've got to be cheating, did Matt teach you his secrets?"

Geoff peered out at the rain again, his mind wandering to the memory of his first encounter with the two men.

The rain came down in sheets, you could barely see a foot in front of you.  Geoff trudged down the street umbrella in hand.  Hardly anyone was out walking in that weather but Geoff had started out when it was only a drizzle, so now he was stuck in the torrential rain.  All of a sudden Geoff was dragged into an ally and shoved up against a wall.  The barrel of a gun was pointed at his face, Two young men stood in front of him drenched by the rain, one holding the gun the other holding him against the wall.

"Give us your wallet."  The man restraining him ordered.

"Or else." The second man added.

Geoff could tell the two weren't from Los Santos, one spoke with an east coast accent the other an English one.  Even through the rain, Geoff could tell their clothes were old and worn with various holes and patches.  It was obvious that these were desperate men.

"You don't have to do this you know.  There are other options."

The English man seemed confused while the other scoffed, his face scrunching up with anger.

"What do you know?  Just give us your fucking money."

Geoff remained calm, it certainly wasn't the first time he'd been held at gunpoint.

"I know a lot more than you'd think.  I've been where you are, broke and desperate, trying anything I can to stay afloat.  I've done things I regret, hurt people who didn't deserve it, but I was able to find solid ground, to climb my way up from the bottom.  I didn't do it alone, and you don't have to either."

"Shut up." The man holding him let go with one hand and brought it back in a fist, striking Geoff across his face. "You don't know us, you don't know anything."

Through the rain, it was hard to tell but Geoff knew that the man was crying.

"Michael."  His friend spoke softly lowering the gun.

"I can help you.  If you'll let me."

Geoff wasn't a good samaritan, he was far from it, Geoff was the Kingpin, one of the baddest men in the city.  He ran an empire of crime the likes of no one had ever seen, but deep down he was a good person, even if others didn't see it.  And at that moment Geoff felt sorry for the two men before him.

"And what's in it for you?"  Micheal asked.

"You come to work for me.  That's all, I'll provide you a place to live, food, money, and anything else you need."

"What kinda job is it?"  The Englishman asked.

"I'm in the crime business myself, but on a much grander scale.  You work for me and we'll be going after people who deserve it."

Michael's grip loosened, as he took a step back.

"Why are you offering us this?"

"As I said before, I've been where you are now.  I know what it's like.  This city is unforgiving, so someone has to be."

The two men looked at each other then back to Geoff.

"I'm Michael, this is Gavin."  He gestured to the other man

"Geoff."

"What now?" Gavin asked.

"Let's get you, boys, to your new home."

Geoff finished his coffee and made his way into the kitchen.  Pouring himself another cup he listened to the two men in the living room.

"Michael boy, why'd you do that to me?"

"Cause I want to win dumbass."

Gavin made a sad noise as Michael laughed.  Geoff's thought drifted off to a different memory.

It was early Saturday morning, Geoff paced back and forth in the penthouse living room, Jack stood nearby biting at her nails.

"They should be back by now, when was the last time you saw them again?"  Geoff asked the younger man on the couch.

Jeremy jumped at Geoff's sudden words, looking up he stammered a moment before answering.

"We were at the bar.  I called it quits a little before midnight, but they wanted to stick around till the last call.  I got a voice message from them around 2 though.  They sounded alright then."

It was nearly 6 AM, Michael and Gavin hadn't made it back to the penthouse and everyone was getting on edge, especially Geoff.

"Maybe they crashed at one of the safe houses,"  Jack suggested.

"Or maybe they got picked up by the police, or they had some kind of accident.  Anything could have happened to them."  Geoff was officially freaking out.

"I know that, but I'm trying to think positively.  We can't just jump to the worst."  Jack was starting to get defensive.

Geoff picked up his phone again and tried to call Gavin.  The phone just rang and rang as it had been for hours now, finally clicking over to the voicemail.  Geoff threw his phone down cracking the screen.

"Geoff!  You need to calm down, getting worked up like this isn't going to help."  Jack placed their hand on Geoff's shoulder giving it a light squeeze.

Geoff breathed heavily as he stared at his phone.  He knew Jack was right but he couldn't calm down.  Michael and Gavin, his boys, were missing, but there was nothing he could do.  He was scared.

All of a sudden Geoff's phone began to ring, Michael's contact photo popped up on the cracked screen.  Geoff dove for the phone answering the call.

"Michael, where the hell are you guys?  Are you okay?"

A laugh could be heard on the other end, one that was very obviously not Michael or Gavin's.  Geoff's blood ran cold.

"Who is this?"

Jack took a step forward and Jeremy bolted off the couch at those words.

"You can call me Mr. Cunningham.  You've probably figured this out by now, but I have something of yours, two somethings to be exact.  Say hello boys."  The last bit was fainter as he was speaking to someone away from the phone.

Michael and Gavin's voices could be heard calling Geoff's name asking for help, the two sounded tired and broken.  Geoff was frozen for a moment as he processed everything, finally able to move he clenched his fist and growled into the phone.

"I don't know who you think you are but you are going to pay for this.  I'll give you one chance to hand over my boys peacefully, if you refuse there will be trouble."

"Oh Mr. Ramsey, you're not the one with the upper hand here, you don't get to make demands.  If you want your boy's back you're gonna have to do as I tell you, or else."

The sound of a gunshot could be heard in the background followed by a cry of pain from Gavin, Michael's voice could also be heard in protest.

"What do you want."  Geoff gritted his teeth.

Geoff's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Michael cheering in victory and Gavin's bemoaning of loss.  It was probably for the best anyway, thinking about such things wasn't good for anyone.

Making his way into the living room, Geoff plopped down on the couch in between the two men.

"Mind if I watch?"

"Always great to have an audience," Gavin replied.

"Yeah sure, just don't distract me." Michael joked.

Leaning back Geoff watched as another round was started, and once again Geoff was reminded of another memory.

It had been a week since they got Michael and Gavin back, Geoff was still a bit on edge after the whole ordeal, but he kept reminding himself to stay calm for the guys' sake.

Geoff was sitting on the couch flipping through the channels when Gavin came in.  He was still limping from the bullet he'd taken in the foot.  He made his way over to the couch and stood next to Geoff a moment before speaking.

"Do you mind, if I sit here with you?"  Gavin's voice was soft, far from his usual energetic tone.

"Of course you can sit with me."

Gavin smiled a bit and came to rest beside Geoff.  After a moment Michael entered the room, passing through to the kitchen Geoff watched out the corner of his eye as Michael poked around before coming back to stand behind the couch.

"What are you watching?"  Michael's tone was quiet and tired, far from his typical loud and boisterous tone.

"Just channel surfing at the moment, trying to find something to watch,"  Geoff replied.

"Ah.  Can I, sit with you too?"  Michael was hesitant to ask.

"Of course, the more the merrier." Geoff patted the empty space next to him.

Michel made his way around the couch and sat next to Geoff.  The three men sat together as Geoff continued to scan through the channels.  Slowly the two men beside him began to move in closer until they were fulling resting against him.  Of course, Geoff didn't mind, in fact, he quite enjoyed having his boys so close.  After finding something to watch and staying on one channel for a while Gavin spoke.

"Thanks, Geoff."

"For what?"

"Everything."

"Yeah, we really appreciate you," Michael added.

"I appreciate you guys too."

Geoff wrapped his arms around the two men giving them a tight hug.

Geoff smiled, spending time with his boys was his favorite thing to do.  Whether it be sitting on the couch or causing a bit of chaos.  His crew was his family and he loved his family.