Mofongo Muncher

you didn’t fight - not like this. not with him raising his voice and you trying so hard not to let yours crack. it wasn’t how things usually went. frank was tough, sure, rough around the edges in a way that didn’t really go away even when he was at his gentlest. but with you, he was softer. he made an effort to rein it in because he’d told you once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he didn’t want you to ever be scared of him. and you never had been.

but tonight, he was angry. angrier than you’d ever seen him at you, and the worst part was you weren’t sure how it had even escalated to this.  

“so what?” frank barked, spinning on his heel to face you, his broad frame taking up what felt like the entire room. “you think i’m just gonna sit back and let this slide?” his voice was sharp, cutting, and it made you flinch, even though you knew deep down that he’d never in a million years actually hurt you. “you think that’s who i am?”  

you held your ground, even though your heart was pounding against your ribs. “it’s not about letting it slide, frank,” you said softly, your tone calm, measured - a stark contrast to the heat in his voice. “it’s about not making it worse. escalating doesn’t fix anything.”  

“escalating?” he repeated, his voice rising, almost incredulous. “this isn’t escalating, this is handling it. you don’t just let people treat you like crap n’ walk away. you should know that’s not how it works.”  

“sometimes it is,” you said quietly, refusing to match his volume. “sometimes walking away is the only thing you can do. not everything has to be a fight.”  

“bullshit.” the word came out harsh, and the bite in it made your chest tighten. frank rarely swore at you, and when he did, it was never like this, never with this kind of edge.  

your hands trembled slightly, so you folded your arms across your chest, not in defiance but as a way to steady yourself. “frank, please. i don’t want to argue about this.”  

“yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went and tried to handle this on your own.” he threw his hands up, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking. “you didn’t even tell me, and now i’m supposed to just sit back and be okay with it?”  

“i didn’t tell you because i knew this is how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.  

his face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and something else - hurt, maybe. but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a hard, almost cold expression. “damn right this is how i’d react,” he shot back. “because i give a shit. because i don’t want you getting hurt or screwed over or whatever the hell else might happen if i’m not there to step in.”  

“i know you care,” you said, your voice still soft but firm. “but you can’t control everything, frank. sometimes things happen, and you just have to let them go.”  

he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “letting it go gets you hurt. letting it go gets you walked all over. i’m not gonna let that happen to you.”  

his words were loud, forceful, like he was trying to hammer them into your head, but they only made your throat tighten more. “i can handle myself,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts.  

“can you?” he snapped, and the doubt in his tone stung worse than any of the yelling.  

you flinched, your eyes dropping to the floor. “that’s not fair,” you whispered.  

“yeah, well, life’s not fair,” he shot back, his tone still razor-sharp.  

silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. you could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, but you refused to cry - not in front of him, not when he was like this, which he never had been before. you’d seen flashes of it occasionally, never once directed at you. so instead, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, your steps quick but steady, your back straight even though every part of you felt like curling up into yourself.  

you didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you left.  

the door clicked softly as you shut yourself in the bathroom, leaning back against the cool wood as you tried to pull in a steadying breath. it felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and now the weight of it all was crashing down on you.  

you stared at the tiled floor, your arms wrapped around yourself like that might somehow hold you together. your chest felt tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, but you bit down hard on your bottom lip, refusing to let them fall. not yet, anyway.  

you weren’t used to this - not with frank. he could be sharp, blunt, even infuriatingly stubborn sometimes, but he was never cruel. not to you. in the years since you’d met him, since the whirlwind of your relationship had gone from cautiously circling each other to something real and steady, frank had always been your safe place. he was intense, sure, but his intensity had always felt protective, grounding, like you could lean on him no matter how bad things got.  

so why did it feel like he was the one knocking the ground out from under you now?  

you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. it wasn’t fair to pin all the blame on him, you knew that. this argument wasn’t entirely about frank’s temper, or his need to protect you - it was about your own unwillingness to let him.  

the issue had started small, just a casual remark you’d made earlier in the week about someone you worked with - someone who’d been taking advantage of your kindness. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but frank had picked up on it immediately, and the more you’d tried to brush it off, the more his protective instincts had kicked in.  

at first, it had been sweet, his quiet grumbles about how people didn’t deserve to treat you that way, how you needed to stand up for yourself more. but somewhere along the line, it had turned into this - a full-blown argument where neither of you seemed to be able to see the other’s side.  

you weren’t blind to why he was upset. frank had been through more than most people could even imagine, and the idea of someone hurting you - or even disrespecting you - lit a fire in him that he couldn’t always control. but the way he handled that fire was what made your chest ache. it felt suffocating, like his need to protect you was overshadowing the fact that you didn’t want - or need - him to fight your battles for you.  

you let out a shaky breath, the first tear slipping free as the weight of it all settled heavier on your shoulders.  

frank had always been larger than life to you - not just physically, though his sheer size and strength made you feel small in comparison, but in the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to command every room he walked into. it was part of what had drawn you to him in the first place, the quiet confidence that bordered on intimidating until you saw the softness he tried so hard to hide.  

he’d always been gentle with you, even when his hands were so calloused and rough, even when his voice was so gravelly and low. it made the harshness of his words tonight cut deeper, the sharp edges of his anger something you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of.  

you wiped at your face quickly, straightening up as you tried to pull yourself together. you hated crying - especially over arguments like this. it made you feel weak, even though you knew it wasn’t, and the last thing you wanted was for frank to think he’d broken you. he’d never stop beating himself up over it.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back out there yet. not with the way his words were still echoing in your mind, the frustration in his voice still ringing in your ears.  

you stayed there for a while, letting the quiet of the bathroom wrap around you like a blanket, giving yourself the space to breathe and feel without the weight of frank’s presence bearing down on you.  

meanwhile, in the living room, frank was pacing again. his hands were on his hips, his brows drawn together in that way they always did when he was deep in thought - or pissed off.  

he knew you were upset. hell, he wasn’t an idiot, and he’d seen the way your eyes were brimming with tears before you’d turned and walked away. it wasn’t the first time he’d pushed too hard, but it was the first time it had been directed at you, and it was eating at him in a way he didn’t want to admit.  

but the anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. it wasn’t directed at you - not at all. it was at the situation, at the asshole who’d made you feel like you had to handle everything on your own. but frank wasn’t exactly good at untangling those things, at separating his frustration from the people he cared about most.  

he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low growl of frustration as he dropped onto the couch. his mind was running in circles, replaying the argument over and over again, each word sharper than the last.  

the silence in the apartment felt deafening, and for a moment, he considered going to find you, to try and talk this out. but he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stay put. you needed space - he knew that much, even if it went against every instinct he had.  

he sat there for a long time, the tension in his body refusing to ease as he stared at the spot where you’d been standing just minutes before.  

the car keys sat on the counter, untouched, while the clock crept closer to the time you were supposed to leave. it had been a whole thing - this charity function a few towns over. someone important to frank had invited him, and even though it wasn’t the kind of event he’d normally go for, he’d said yes because it mattered to them.  

you had said yes because it mattered to him.  

but now, with the argument still heavy in the air, the thought of sitting next to him for almost four hours felt like trying to breathe underwater. the quiet that lingered between you wasn’t the natural kind you often enjoyed. it was thick and suffocating, and neither of you seemed ready to cut through it.  

you stood in the bedroom doorway, watching frank tie his boots like the act itself had wronged him. his movements were sharp, jerky, and his mouth was set in a grim line. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or frustration written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in knots.  

he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, yanking it on with a force that looked like it made the seams strain. his head turned slightly toward you as if he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it, his eyes dropping to the floor instead.  

you didn’t move, didn’t speak, just hovered in the doorway as he brushed past you toward the front door. the weight of it all - the argument, the way he hadn’t looked at you since - pressed down on your chest like a boulder, and your throat burned with more unshed tears.  

when he held the door open for you, you walked through it wordlessly, your gaze fixed on the floor.  

outside, the crisp night air felt sharper than it should have, like even the weather was conspiring to remind you how raw everything was. frank locked the door behind you without a word, and the sound of the lock clicking into place made you flinch.  

he didn’t notice.  

the car ride loomed ahead of you like a punishment, the thought of sitting in that confined space together for hours making your palms sweat. but there was no way out of it, not without causing more problems.  

frank climbed into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. he started the engine without looking at you, the low growl of it filling the space where words should’ve been.  

you slid into the passenger seat, keeping your hands in your lap and your gaze fixed on the window. the city lights blurred into streaks as the car picked up speed, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. your mind was stuck on everything that had been said - and everything that hadn’t.  

he’d been angry. louder than usual, harsher, the words tumbling out of him like he didn’t know how to stop them. but you knew frank. you knew the fire in him wasn’t because he didn’t care - it was because he cared too much, and it scared him sometimes.  

still, knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.  

the silence in the car was unbearable, the kind that made you want to fill it just so you didn’t have to sit with the weight of it anymore. but frank wasn’t giving you an inch, his eyes glued to the road and his shoulders hunched up like he was trying to shield himself from the world.  

you stole a glance at him, your chest aching at the sight of his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. he looked tired - angry, yes, but tired too, like the argument had drained him in ways he didn’t want to admit.  

your own emotions were bubbling up, threatening to spill over no matter how hard you tried to keep them in check. your hands trembled slightly in your lap, and you clenched them into fists to try to stop it, but it didn’t help.  

you didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, cool against your flushed skin. you brushed it away quickly, hoping frank wouldn’t notice, but you doubted he’d even glanced your way.  

the road stretched on, dark and empty except for the occasional glow of headlights from oncoming cars. the longer the silence dragged, the heavier it felt, like it was wrapping around your throat and making it hard to breathe.  

eventually, the ache in your chest grew too much to bear. you didn’t know what you wanted - comfort, maybe, or some kind of reassurance that everything would be okay - but the urge to reach out was overwhelming.  

your hand hovered hesitantly over the center console, your fingers trembling as you debated whether or not to do it. it felt like crossing some invisible line, like putting yourself out there in a way that left you completely vulnerable.  

but then you glanced at frank, at the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, and something in you broke.  

with tears brimming in your eyes and a small, helpless pout tugging at your lips, you let your fingers reach up to grasp at his. the touch was so light it was barely there, but it was enough to draw his attention.  

he glanced down at your hand, his gaze softening instantly as he took in the way your fingers trembled and the sheen of tears in your eyes, the wet tracks of tears that’d already fallen etched on your face.

“ah, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.  

his hand moved to cover yours completely, his fingers curling around your smaller ones in a gesture that felt both protective and grounding. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand in slow, deliberate strokes, and the tension in your chest eased just a little.  

you sniffled, blinking quickly to clear your vision as you looked up at him. his expression had shifted, the hard lines of his face softening as he met your gaze.  

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.  

frank let out a heavy sigh, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he pulled the car off to the side of the road. the tires crunched against the gravel as he put it in park, and before you could ask what he was doing, he was out of the car.  

your breath caught as he rounded the front of the vehicle, his movements deliberate but not rushed. he opened your door, the cool night air rushing in as he crouched slightly to meet your eyes.  

“c’mere,” he said softly, his tone a stark contrast to the anger that had been there earlier.  

you hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt and letting him pull you into his arms. his embrace was warm and solid, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once.  

“’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “shouldn’t’ve yelled. shouldn’t’ve made you feel like that.”  

you buried your face in his chest, your own arms slipping around his middle as you let out a shaky breath. “i’m sorry too,” you whispered.  

“you don’t gotta be sorry, you did nothing wrong. my sweet girl’s just nice to everyone, isn’t she?” he cooed, his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your temple as he peppered hard kisses over your face. “we’re okay?”  

you nodded against him, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “we’re okay.”  

he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than before. but instead of pulling back completely, frank’s lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek.  

your breath hitched, your hand tightening around his shirt as he hesitated, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. when your eyes flicked up to meet his, there was something unspoken between you - an ache, a pull that neither of you could ignore.  

“frank…” your voice was barely a whisper, and it only made him lean in closer.  

his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips finally found yours. the kiss was slow at first, soft and careful, but there was a heat behind it, a depth that made your stomach twist in the best way.  

he kissed you like he needed you, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how tightly he held you. his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you against him just enough to make you feel the strength behind every touch, every movement.  

when he pulled back, it was with a low, rumbling breath, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with something deeper.  

your cheeks flushed, your heart racing as you tried to find the words, but all you could do was nod, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.  

he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before stepping back. “c’mon,” he said, his tone softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek one last time before helping you back into the car.  

as he slid into the driver’s seat, his hand found yours again, holding on tightly. this time, neither of you let go.  

the rest of the drive was quiet, but not in the same way as before. frank kept one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours firmly in his grasp. his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles over your knuckles, a silent apology with every stroke.  

you felt the tension melting bit by bit, your chest no longer tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. instead, there was this warmth - a softness between you that hadn’t been there earlier. it was unspoken, but it was enough to ease the ache in your heart.  

“we’ll stop soon, yeah?” frank broke the silence, his voice low and softer than usual. “get you somethin’ to eat.”  

your lips curved into a small smile, your first real one since the argument. “i’m okay,” you murmured. “we don’t have to stop.”  

“nah.” he glanced over at you, his eyes lingering for a second longer than they should’ve. “you didn’t eat much earlier. ain’t lettin’ you sit through this thing hungry.”  

the tenderness in his voice made your cheeks heat, and you squeezed his hand lightly in response.  

it wasn’t long before frank pulled off at a small diner on the side of the road. the neon sign flickered against the night sky, casting a warm glow over the parking lot.  

“c’mon,” he said, cutting the engine and stepping out.  

before you could even reach for the door handle, frank was already there, pulling it open for you. his hand was outstretched, waiting for yours, and when you slipped your fingers into his, he gave them a gentle squeeze.  

inside, the diner was quiet, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filling the space. frank led you to a booth in the corner, his hand never leaving yours until you slid into your seat.  

“what’re you in the mood for?” he asked, his eyes scanning the menu even though you both knew he’d end up ordering the same thing he always did.  

you shrugged, your fingers playing with the edge of the napkin in front of you. “maybe just some fries.”  

frank frowned, lowering the menu to look at you. “you need more than that.”  

“frank, i’m fine - ”  

“i’ll get you somethin’ else too,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.  

you bit back a smile, knowing better than to push him when he got like this. instead, you let him order for both of you, his gruff voice somehow softer when he spoke to the waitress.  

when the food arrived, frank nudged the plate closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly when you hesitated. “eat, sweetheart,” he said gently.  

you rolled your eyes but grabbed a fry anyway, earning a satisfied grunt from him.  

as you ate, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. frank had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like no matter how bad things got, everything would eventually be okay.  

after the meal, frank walked you back to the car, his hand settling on the small of your back as he guided you outside. the night air was crisp, but his touch was warm, steady, and it made you lean into him just a little.  

“y’alright?” he asked once you were back in the passenger seat.  

you nodded, looking up at him with a soft smile. “yeah. i’m okay.”  

his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. it was quick but tender, and when he pulled back, his hand cupped your cheek for a second longer.  

the drive to the function was quieter this time, but it wasn’t the heavy silence from before. it was comfortable, the kind of quiet where words weren’t necessary because you both knew everything was okay now.  

as you pulled up to the venue, frank cut the engine and turned to you. his expression was softer, his usual rough edges smoothed out in a way that made your heart ache.  

“you look beautiful,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere.  

your cheeks flushed at the compliment, and you glanced down at your dress, suddenly feeling shy. “thank you,” you murmured.  

he leaned over, his large hand settling on your knee as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “‘m gonna keep tellin’ you that all night,” he added, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks.  

the warmth in your chest grew, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “you don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, your tone light.  

he chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and you swore it was the best thing you’d heard all day.  

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, opening his door. “let’s get this over with.”  

as you stepped out of the car, frank was already by your side, his hand finding yours once more. he held it tightly, his grip firm and reassuring, and when he glanced down at you, there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.  

it was love - raw and unfiltered, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.  

and in that moment, you knew that no matter what, you and frank would always find your way back to each other.  

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

So of course it clawed on your chest when you had to sit across them during a dinner party held by Ward in Tannyhill for your families- which, very unfortunately have been friends for the longest time. Didn't even bother to acknowledge the obvious tension between you and his eldest son ever since the break up. Actually, barely acknowledged you. Even your own old man.

Your dad looks over towards Rafe's girl, "So you have four younger siblings?" He asked, smiling politely, just a tad impressed, "You must know how to run a household then."

As she nodded her head and smiled sweetly, responding with that eloquent way of speaking, you rolled your eyes, scoffing just faintly– which earned you a nudge on the arm by Sarah, who was sat beside you. "What?" You huff, "Babysitting's no life or death situation." You murmured to her, glancing back to the girl with squinted eyes, one of your eyebrows raising judgmentally at her.

That priss excuse of a woman was too caught up with the conversation she was having with both Rafe's and your parents to notice the judgy look smothered across your face towards her. That being said, Rafe however, did notice you. In fact, he noticed you all night long, if only you weren't too focused judging and silently mocking the girl under his arm.

Rafe's eyes followed your fingers as you picked a grape carefully, visibly searching and picking for crunchy ones as you usually do, then the way your fingers just slightly graced your lips as you place the grape into your mouth. When his girl talked to him, he could only let out a small mumbled "Mm?... Sounds great, babe", barely sparing her a glance.

Ward then looked over your way, "Your daughter... Is she ready to take over your company? Is she even capable?"

A scoff, louder now, escaped your lips once again. "'Scuse you?" You raise an eyebrow, offended by the doubt lingering in his voice, it was always clear Ward saw you as a mere reckless young woman back when you were dating Rafe. "What kind of a question is that anyways? Are you waiting for my dad to retire and die?"

Your dad tried to cover for you, eyes widening in panic, "She's just a little moody right now—"

"Well your business partner is rather loony, dad." You munch on another grape. That blunt insult caused all heads to turn your way now.

Rafe snorted mockingly, "Nice." He murmured.

Your head snapped towards his way, seeing the realization on his face that perhaps he murmured a little too loud, yet his lazy grin lingers on. You tilt your head and squint your eyes, "I don't think you were invited to the conversation, prig."

His eyes turned sharp at the nickname you gave him, "Watch your mouth." He pointed his finger at you. "I'm here at the same table and you were literally talking to my dad like a fucking brat."

"Sorry to offend the wrinkly older brat!"

"The fuck is your problem?!"

Ward let out a grunt and rolled his eyes along with your dad in sync, both clearly had enough of you and Rafe. You turn to them, "Sorry Ward, I don't usually forget my manners right at your face, but your son's an absolute dickhead and I'm over it." You spat.

Riled up, Rafe took his arm off his girl's shoulders, who looked at him in confusion and tried to tug on his sleeve, "Then do get over it, sweetheart. Unless you're all talk."

Your eyes dart back towards him, sharp and raged. "Oh I fucking will."

Silence then came across the whole table, the tension lingering on in the air and causing an awkward moment for quite literally everyone; Wheezie and Sarah trying to distract themselves by eating, Rose and your mom sharing looks, Rafe's girl still trying to change his attention, Ward fuming with irritation while your dad looked at him apologetically.

"I need fresh air." "Gonna get some air."

The two of you looked at each other the moment you stood up from your seats at the dinner table at the same time with the exact same reason. You scoff, stomping your feet the way out of the dining room with murmured words under your breath in annoyance, followed by Rafe and his little grunts. The rest of the families watched silently till you're both eventually out of sight.

"Real nice, following me around now?" Rafe said as he brush past you to go up the stairs ahead of you.

A sarcastic laugh rumbles through you, eyes squinting as you follow his steps up the stairs. "Excuse you? Ego never has and never will shrink, I presumed?" You say.

Rafe gave you a glance before focusing on his steps again, "You are following me now though." He pointed out as he made his way towards his bedroom door, the one you can still remember slipping out of every single night you decided to do something stupid together.

You follow him into that very room, door swinging shut behind you both, giving you the same amount of privacy you both always needed back then. "Because you're taunting me. You know damn well you are, Cameron."

"Am I? Or are you being delusional?" He shot you a sarcastic and mocking grin over his shoulder. "Still mad about her, huh?"

The fact that he even had the nerves to casually mention it bluntly was even worse than that stupid fucking grin on that idiotic kissable lips off his that you cant wait to rip off his disgustingly gorgeous face. He seemed so unfazed by the fact that he's arguing with his long term ex in the bedroom that was practically a museum of your memories. Your chest burned, heart set on flames by the same person that have been messing with your head for months now.

Sometimes you wonder if he even took the break-up seriously or just merely an end of a phase.

Rafe turned around to you as he took of his suit jacket and tossed it to a chair, "Have you not moved on?" He asked, eyes unable to be read this time. "What, you didn't do hook-ups to heal the wound or something?" He let out a long sigh as if he was sick of you clinging onto the past.

"I did."

You did. You had fucked men lovelessly just to try to numb the pain. Men who are a far cry from Rafe, who might just convince you how foolish thinking of Rafe again and again truly is. And god, every time you scratched your nails down another man's back, you fucking hoped he feels it. Maybe then he'll know he's not the only one capable of making you moan.

That being said, hearing your answer, Rafe paused and crossed his arms, "Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow, jaw clenching as if that honest answer to his own question was infuriating himself, "Did it feel good?"

The fucking audacity. You didn't know what made him think he have the right to ask that to you. Not when he walked out the door and left you in the cold first. You didn't know whether you were imagining the jealousy glimmering in his eyes either, but damn did it make you feel good. Rafe himself was trying hard to hide it, chin tilted up in that egotistical way of Rafe Cameron.

You test the waters; pushing off the wall you were previously leaning against before slowly stepping closer to that wretched ex-boyfriend of yours, head tilting as you raise an eyebrow and whisper into his ear, breath hot against the shell of his ear that made his heart race just fast enough, "Is it even ever bad when it's with me?"

Then, almost out of old-instincts, his hand came up to rest on your hip, his palm large, warm, and familiar. Definitely familiar.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" You asked due to the sudden touch, clearly still enraged.

Rafe let his eyes wander your face, from the flame of fury in ignited in your eyes, the creased eyebrows, the lips he remembered being his favorite taste, all the way to the tiniest beauty marks that he missed. His voice came out in a harsh whisper, as if he was angry at himself for whatever it is that was coming soon.

"Something I really shouldn't."

A grunt escaped his throat in a way that told you he was letting go, his other hand flying straight to cup the back of your head as his lips were slammed right onto yours, eyes shut tight as the hand previously on your hip now roamed to the small of your back, feeling you right through the fabric of your dress.

His lips moved urgently, as if he was in a hurry or rather impatient to taste more than your lipstick-covered lips.

It was disgustingly familiar. Moreover, the way he even dared to lay his lips upon yours after leaving you in the dust was incredibly outrageous.

One of your hands flew to the back of his neck, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck while your other hand reached for his tie, tugging and loosening it from his collar. He was starting to look more and more like the Rafe you used to know; pathetic, idiotic, messy, and filled with desire and determination.

"You're disgusting." You rasped against his mouth as you felt his filthy fingers hooking themselves on the hem of your dress, pulling it up just slowly but with impatience waiting to burst out of his pants.

That dirty grin came to be displayed across his lips yet again the moment he laid you down on his bed, "Sure, but I don't see you tryinna leave." He pointed out in a whisper as he painted the flushed skin of your neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses, hands pulling you dress over your thighs to bunch at your waist, fingers roaming your thighs and squeezing desperately at the flesh.

A breathless scoff escaped your throat as you grab at his arms, leg going over his hip to take control and eventually flip the two of you over.

"Not until you realize what you did." You positioned your body perfectly on his lap, soaked panties grinding on the tent forming in the trousers that cling to his legs, pulling out a breathy sigh from his lips, obviously holding back a moan.

Buttons after buttons were taken off from his shirt, revealing the smooth surface of the chest that was a nest for your head to rest in years ago. "Fuck.." He grabbed your hips, eyes widening just the slightest at your movement on his bricked up cock through the layers of fabric, "And what did I do, huh...?" He huffed out a laugh as he grunt and thrust up to catch you by surprise.

Breath hitched, your eyes only showed more anger towards him, hands unbuckling his belt with ease. "You really don't know?" You asked, leaning down to mouth at his jaw, just near his ear to whisper close,

"Well, you oughta fucking know."

Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, jaw clenching and heart pounding. Your voice and body making it crystal clear to him that you weren't doing this simply because you miss him. You wanted to express the resentment still lingering like a disease in your heart.

"...Sure thing, sweetheart." He choked out with a hesitant chuckle, hands ready to flip your positions once again. Except this time, you were quick to grab his hands off your hips and pin them on both sides of his face.

You let out a laugh right against his neck, "Oh, Rafe..." You sighed, amused by how much control you felt over him, "Why don't you be the one that sit still and look pretty now?" You say, tongue dripping with sarcasm.

Slowly, your body lowered down on the bed till your head was right above his crotch, hands already zipping off his trousers and tugging on them and his boxers at once till you were able to toss them aside to the floor, meeting his flushed cock that was practically aching with precum leaking from the tip already.

Amused by the sight, you clicked your tongue and gently wrap your fingers around his length, "Hurts, huh?" You mumble against the tip, tongue slipping out just to sweep up his precum, pulling out the smallest moan from him and a slight nod of his head, "Doesn't compare to how you hurt me then though." That's when your lips finally wrapped themselves around his girthy cock, just at the tip while you jerk off the rest of the length with your hand.

A grunt slipped past his lips, a hand instinctively flying to the back of your head with his fingers gripping the strands of your hair as he try to thrust up into your mouth to steal back the dominance, which failed as your hands were keeping his hips down. God, he tasted exactly like how you hoped he didn't; exactly like the past.

And you felt precisely like what he forced himself to think his girl would feel like; a filthy, chaotic mess.

A breathier moan then slip out, fingers gripping tighter. "Ah- shit..." He whimpered, head thrown back on the pillow, "Shit shit shit... I fucking can't... It's been awhile..."

You pull away from his cock to actually laugh at it, "Awhile? Miss Perfect doesn't fuck you?"

"She... tries... but she doesn't blow me at all..."

An even much crueler laugh rumbled through your chest, mocking his apparent misery with that boring priss, "Now that's hurtful." You cackled. Your hand pumped his cock faster suddenly to catch him off guard while you kept on snickering, especially at the pathetic look painted across his annoyingly beautiful face.

His eyebrows were furrowed, bangs falling messily and starting to get damp from all the sweat building up due to the new heat in the air of his bedroom, eyes going back and forth from looking down at you and rolling to the back of his head every now and then, meanwhile his chest was heaving up and down, heartbeat louder than regularly. He was gorgeous like that, but he was also an idiot that ruined you.

Rafe let out a groan the moment your hands release his hips, allowing him to thrust up into your hand, only for you to suddenly pull your hand away from his cock, which you felt was ready to burst any moment from now.

He wince at the loss, "I was so close! Fuck you!" He managed to let out.

"Yeah?" You raise an eyebrow as your hand reach behind your back to unzip your dress, tossing the piece of fabric aside along with your panties. "Let's test that theory."

In a mere second, you were back on his lap- only this time, no fabric was acting as a barricade between your heat and his own, your hand holding his tip just to line him up to your entrance and guide him in; not that you needed much time to do so, you were practically skilled in doing precisely that from all the dirty rendezvous you've done before.

The moment you were completely sat on his cock, Rafe let out a strangled moan, head completely thrown back and revealing the surface of his neck; the perfect canvas for your lips.

Within seconds, his neck became red with your lipstick-kiss marks all over it. But he barely paid attention, too infatuated by the warm feeling of your cunt hugging his length.

His arms came up to wrap around your waist while you move your hips, grinding at first until you started to practically bounce on him, the sound of skins slapping filling up the entire bedroom, both of you too distracted to even think about whether the sound would slip out of the walls or not, not to mention the sound of the bedframe starting to creak each time your movement's speed accelerates.

"Oh fuck..." He whimpered, listening close to your soft sighs of pleasure that were like music into his ears, "Oh don't stop... please don't ever stop..." He pleaded, trying to thrust up into you but felt too weak to even do so.

You let out a breathy moan the moment his cock started hitting just the right spot, "Tell me, Rafe..." You breathed into his ear, mouth pressed right onto his earlobe, "Do you think of me when you fuck her...?" You asked, droopy eyes staring at his facial expressions.

He could barely keep eye contact with you despite trying desperately to maintain it, chest heaving as pathetic noises escapes his throat.

"Do you hear my voice when she moans your–" a moan slipped through your lips mid-sentence, fingers dugged into his skin, "fuck... your name? Or do you feel my lips when you kiss her...? My body when you touch her all around...?" Your hand reach up to cup his chin, tilting it up with your thumb dragging across his bottom lip.

"Every fuckin' time..." He finally confessed, a complete moaning mess, hips mindlessly going up and down to meet yours every now and then, "can't fuckin' forget you, baby..."

A cracked laugh was what left your lips at his answer, hands gripping and pinning his onto the sheets as your hips moved even faster, "Don't baby me, dickhead..." You whispered with a quiet moan.

Just when his lips part to let out yet another moan, the two of you flinched and slowed down the moment you both heard two knocks on the wooden surface of his bedroom door, followed by a soft and sickeningly sweet voice on the other side that obviously belonged to his girlfriend,

"Rafey...? What're you doing...?"

Rafe's heart drop, eyes widening in panic as your hand flew to his lips to muffle out his moan. You could hear his heart beating even louder now, it somehow amused the hell out of you to see him so panicked and scared. A lazy grin takes over your lips as you lean back down to whisper into his ear, "Well?" You ask, slowly releasing his mouth, "Answer her or I will."

But no matter how much he tried to get his voice out of his throat, it was difficult considering you were still moving on his cock- though slower now, the bed still creaking too loud that it should technically be difficult for his girlfriend to not get suspicious. Unless she was a bimbo too.

"I..." Rafe's fingers gripped your hand as he spoke louder for her to hear, "I'm not- not in the mood, babe! Just- please go!" His eyes stayed on yours, breathing heavily and just silently (or rather not so silently) begging for her to leave already.

"Okay." She responded casually, "I love you."

"Yeah..." Rafe breathed, "I love you too."

But this time, he was saying it while looking right into your eyes.

His voice soft and vulnerable, walls crumbled down completely.

The moment she left the door, you let out a mocking scoff at his face, "You sure do, pal..." You breathed out with a huffed out chuckle while fastening your pace, chasing both of your releases.

Rafe's jaw was slack, eyes droopy and set on yours only as his hips rock up against yours, weakly now from the lack of energy he have left. "So close... so so close... fuck.." He whimpered, the grip he had on your hand tightening even more now, signaling how truly close he was. You could see it in his facial expression as well, he was truly desperate to catch that relieving feeling of shooting his load.

Your breath hitch as you keep the same pace and movement that hits your spot just right, raising your hips and sinking back down while leaning down to breathlessly whisper to him, "Prove it to me then."

It didn't take long for him to prove it, apparently.

His hand led yours to cover his mouth in order to muffle out his loud, desperate moan the moment his hips shot up with his load painting your insides white, eventually inviting your own pleasure to be released, grinding down on him with softer moans and sighs. He was still mindlessly moving his hips just weakly while your back was arching with pleasure as warmth filled your insides- not in the lovey dovey way, unfortunately. In your eyes, he would always be the boy who left you for a mere pretty face.

Though still shaky from that one hell of a literal ride, you took all the strength you got to get off him and the mess you've both laid in his bed like old times right away. You barely spared him another glance before slipping back into your dress and panties as well as the pair of heels you've previously kicked off your feet.

Rafe looked up, confused and closed to being knocked out, "Wait..." He grunted as he rests on his elbows to watch you tidy your appearance, out of breath and still panting, "Where the fuck are you going?"

You let out a sigh, "Where do you think, Cameron?" You ask over your shoulder, "Not like I was gonna stay."

"But I thought-" He bit his tongue, eyebrows stitched together, feeling a sense of fury and betrayal, "You can't leave me. Not now. Not with this mess." He said, it was unclear whether he was referring to the messy and damp sheets or the unspoken feelings still lingering from him to you- to which he hoped you also still have. Even if just a pinch.

"Well you thought wrong."

You didn't look back at him, but you could feel him glare into the back of your head as well as hear the small hurt scoff he let out.

"After all, that makes us even, right?" You asked, finally turning around, hands on your hips, "You left me in such a mess. Now you can't even handle the same?" You scoffed, eyes gazing down at him in such disgust that it practically hurt him. "Grow up, Rafe. Maybe then you'll realize that you should worry more about how big your ego is and not about how much holes your small dick can fit in."

And when you shut the door behind you quietly that night, Rafe still felt your palm under his. It wasn't sweet like it would've been back then, rather bitter and cruel.

“But sister,” Anna-Maria pondered, passing on a piece of clothing to be pinned. “What is the Spirit of the Forest?”

The flower gazed down, the midday light framing her visage like that of an angel. “The Spirit is a caring being,” she answered as softly as the plush green that grew from trees. “It watches over us and protects all that lives.”

Beyond the wood, within his refuge, the Creature pressed his face closer through the open space. Aching somewhere in his chest to draw nearer to her. This woman of fairest vision was akin to the dawn that broke over desolation. Soft, radiant, and utterly beyond his reach.

He had seen light before, cruel and scorching, as the fire consumed his Maker’s laboratory. It raged and burned, leaving him half-born amidst the ruin as he made his narrow escape into a world that would only fear him. Yes, he had seen light before, but never like this. This was gentle, living, as it poured through her hair as though the heavens bowed to crown her.

Each day thereafter, the Creature lingered in his dim sanctuary, the scent of straw and dirt clinging to his stitched-together skin. And he listened for her voice. When she sang, it carried through the cracks of old wood. A melody as sweet and cruel as longing, trembling through him until even his monstrous heart dared to quicken. He dared to hope for her light to shine on him even for a moment.

But he told himself revealing his presence would be unwanted. He told himself such beauty was not for him. Forces beyond his control and understanding seemed to conspire for something different, though. For on the fifth evening, while the moon hung silver and splendid in the sky, she unknowingly came to him.

The night air was crisp, and his breath came in pale clouds as he trudged through the copse. In his immense hands he carried another colossal bundle of kindling gathered from the forest floor. It was but a humble offering he gave the family, one of the many benevolences he bestowed upon them. He knew not why they coveted the wood so greatly, but the smiles that graced them the following mornings compelled him to keep acting.

So he crept to the front of the cottage, taking care to be as silent as his large stature would permit. The windows were dark save for a single glow that glimmered faintly like the pulse of a living thing. He dared not draw near enough to be seen. Not thinking himself able to bear seeing the terror he inspired in every soul who glimpsed his face.

He bent low, placing his offering by the door, arranging it with care. His great, marred fingers trembled as they brushed away dirt from the threshold. He put his back to the cottage, meaning to retreat once more to his sanctum.

And then—

“Wait.”

The voice froze him in place. Soft, uncertain, but unafraid.

He turned, slow as the turning of the world. She stood there—the flower, wrapped in a woolen shawl, the moonlight making her seem carved from milk and mist. Her eyes darted from the wood to the hulking figure before her. She should have screamed. His brief experience in the world had taught him to expect nothing else. But instead she took a hesitant step closer.

“It’s you,” she murmured, realization blooming in her voice. “You have been helping us.”

He shook his head—a clumsy, desperate motion—for he had no words. No tongue or ability fit to answer her grace. But she saw the denial as humility; her lips softened into something that pierced him more than fear ever could.

“Spirit of the Forest,” she whispered. “You are real.”

The title struck him like a benediction and a curse in one. The flame light from the candle she held flickered over his discolored skin, the seams of his creation, the ruin of his hands. Yet still she looked at him with reverence. Awe.

He tried to speak, to tell her he was no spirit, no savior, only a wretch born of a man’s folly. But all that left his throat was a rasp, broken and low.

Still, she seemed to understand him even though no words were uttered. Some gentle intuition stirred within her eyes, and she stepped nearer, the leaves crunching softly beneath her bare feet.

The air trembled between them, a fragile bridge that might have carried something transcendental had he only been brave enough to cross it.

But the Creature knew what he was. What his Marker had forged him to be. Not a spirit, not a guardian, but a grotesque parody of man. Her nearness felt like light falling upon decay, a warmth meant only for those truly living.

So when she stepped closer, he recoiled. 

A low sound escaped him, neither a growl nor a word, but the guttural cry of something wounded by grace. He staggered back, the candlelight dancing wildly across his face, revealing for the briefest instant the horror of his scars. The flower gasped, still not in fear, but in startled pity. And it was that pity, not terror, that drove him into flight.

He turned and fled into the dark.

HE DID NOT VENTURE NEAR THE COTTAGE FOR MANY DAYS AFTER. The shame of his flight burned through him like a sickness. Not that of fire or gushing wounds, but something quietly crueler. He remained within the barn in the lightened hours, and once the sun sank on the horizon, he wandered the edges of the forest. Where lush green clung to trees like velvet, where no light reached save for the twinkling glow of the stars.

Yet still, his gaze was drawn each night towards the small house beyond the trees. The faint chimney smoke rose like morning mist, and he wondered if she still thought of him. The monster who had fled her mercy.

When he crept back to the barn, hunger gnawed at him. The wind carried the scent of the family’s hearth and bread, and with it the ache of longing not wholly born of the body. Near the doors of his refuge, something new awaited him. 

A bundle wrapped in cloth.

He approached it warily, the night air holding its breath. Within the wrapping lay not scraps as before, but a meal: bread still soft, a wedge of cheese, and an apple with its skin polished by a careful hand. Beside it, folded neatly, was a shirt. It was plainly sewn yet made with care. He did not know then to realize that the sleeves had been remade to shroud his distorted limbs.

He touched it with reverent fingers. It smelled faintly of floral and woodsmoke. Of her, the flower that smelled of flowers. He smiled at the thought.

The Creature bowed on his knees beside the gifts. No soul had ever given him such a thing; not since his first moment of breath had anyone looked upon him as something worthy of gentleness.

In the days that followed more gifts appeared. A clean blanket one night, its edge freshly hemmed. A flask of some rich broth still warm when he found it. Each token bore her hand, her thoughts, her defiance of the fear she should have held for him.

She had dubbed him Spirit, and now she honored him as one.

But he dared not let her see him again. Each time her figure crossed the yard in the dawn light, his heart quaked with both yearning and dread. He hid deeper in the shadows of the barn or the folds of the forest, afraid he might unmake the kindness she had built between them.

Until the night she sought him out.

The forest was thick with mist, the air soft with the scent of dewed earth. He heard her before he saw her, her steps light, a lantern swinging from her hand like a captive sun.

“Spirit,” she called softly, voice trembling with the hush of anticipation. “I know you are near.”

He pressed himself against the rough trunk of a tree, scarcely daring to breathe. The light danced closer, golden through the fog.

“I only wish to thank you,” she said. “To see you. To know you are real.”

Her words struck through the night like the muffled chime of bells. Distant, but unbearably beautiful. He felt himself drawn toward her helplessly. 

And yet, something within him spoke of ruin. Of the evil that created him and the horror he carried.

Still, his foot moved. Just once, and then again, the twigs whisper crunches beneath his heel.

The flower turned.

The lantern brushed across his form, the broad shadow, the stitched hands, and the ruined face half hidden in the mist. Her eyes widened, but she did not flee.

“Please,” she breathed. “You need not hide from me.”

Slowly, he stepped forward through the veil of shadow. The ground seemed to groan beneath his weight, and she startled. Not out of fear, but from wonder. His figure, vast and terrible, emerged from the mist like something half remembered from a dream.

When it was clear he would not flee again, the flower smiled. A gentle trembling thing that exhibited her bravery. She held the lantern higher, its glow quivering over the ruin of his form.

“I… was not certain the shirt fit you,” she said, her tone uncertain but tender. “You are broader than I imagined. I did not know your measure.”

The Creature looked down at himself, at the coarse linen stretched across his chest, the seams simple yet sturdy under his fingers. The cloth was somewhat clean still, but no longer white like the moon’s glow. He wished to tell her it was perfect, that he had never worn anything so fine, but he struggled to find the right words.

“G-Good,” he managed, trying to articulate more, but he knew not how. When he tried again, all that escaped him was a deep sound of defeat. 

Her brows knit together in confusion. She took a tentative step nearer, the lantern’s light swaying between them like a fragile heartbeat.

“You have trouble speaking?” She whispered.

He was injured by the shame of that truth. He slowly bowed his head, a gesture of both apology and submission.

“Oh,” she breathed, and the sorrow in that single syllable was so pure it might have sanctified the night itself. “Forgive me. I did not know.”

He raised his head just enough to meet her gaze. Her expression was not of pity, but compassion. A quiet, human grief for what had been denied him.

Her stare lingered unwaveringly—curious and searching—as though she wished to piece together the mystery of his being by sight alone. The lantern light carried over his frame, tracing over the dark folds of the coat that cloaked his massive shoulders.

“That coat,” she murmured after a long pause, her tone softer still, touched by wonder. “It is of a soldier’s make, is it not?”

The Creature shifted beneath her gaze, his shoulders hunching instinctively as though to hide the garment. The fabric was old and singed in spots, the places where brass buttons would’ve been laid bare. He had taken it from the graveyard of bones below his Maker’s laboratory.

She mistook his silence for something gentler. “Were you wounded in battle?” She asked, her voice filled with sympathy. “Is that why you’re wandering these lands?”

He said nothing. His hands, those clumsy, ugly things, brushed at his sleeves as though to erase the question itself. How could he tell her that which he did not know? That his scars were born not of musket or blade, but of the creation of himself that he could not recall. 

When the silence grew too heavy, she filled it once again with her voice. “Why are you here?”

He opened his mouth. The first attempt of speech broke on his tongue, harsh and raw. He tried again, forcing air through his lungs that were never meant to breathe.

“Tr…avel,” he rasped. The word came slow, uncertain, like something newborn.

Her lips parted, a small sound escaping her. A sigh, or perhaps a breath of amazement that he had spoken at all. But before she could answer, a voice rang faintly through the trees.

It was a man’s voice, urgent and near, calling her name and coming from the direction of the cottage. Another cry followed it, an older woman this time. 

The flower’s eyes widened. She turned her head towards the sound, then looked back to him, torn between two worlds. “I must go,” she said quickly. “They will come searching if I linger.”

He straightened, his great form looming in the pale haze, and for a fleeting instant she looked up at him as though she beheld something sacred. She turned then and vanished into the fog, her light flickering between the trees until it was swallowed whole.

THE NEXT EVENING THE BARN BREATHED WITH STILLNESS. Moonlight spilled through the slats, pooling across the straw like silver dust. The Creature existed within that stillness, his broad back pressed against the worn beams. Each hour crept by as his mind remained caught between dread and longing.

He did not know if she would come searching for him again. He told himself it was unlikely. She had been drawn by mercy alone, and mercy was fleeting. Yet, as the night deepened, he heard once more the whisper of footsteps biting through the leaves.

And then came the glow.

Through the narrow crack of the door, a small light wavered, warm and golden. The latch lifted slowly, and she entered. 

The fair flower.

She moved carefully, shutting the door behind her so that the light would not betray them to the house. Her shawl clung to her shoulders, her cheeks faintly flushed from the night’s wind. In her arms she carried a small bundle, and as she crossed the threshold the faint scent of candle wax and parchment followed her.

“Hello again,” she kindly greeted, setting her lantern on a wooden crate. Its glow revealed her burden, two thin books bound it depleted leather, a stub of wax taper, and a small box of matches. “I waited until they all slept,” she said with a smile that seemed both proud and conspiratorial.

He stared, unsure of what to make of her presence, of her gentleness and empathy. Of how willing she was to be before him and all his inadequacy. 

“I brought these for you,” she continued, carefully arranging the books and candles between them. “I thought… Perhaps you’d like to learn your language again. And to read. If you wished it.”

The Creature’s gaze fell upon the books as though they were relics of a forgotten god. Their pages whispered faintly as she opened one. He had seen such things before—his Maker’s laboratory had been filled with them—but never had he been invited to touch them.

She hesitated. “Would you like me to teach you?”

He did not answer at once. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, his throat a grave of broken sounds. At last, he inclined his head in a slow, deliberate bow. “Y… yes.”

Her eyes brightened. “Then we shall begin.”

She sat upon a low stool, the hem of her dress brushing the straw. He remained kneeling before her, great and ungainly, his shadow engulfing hers against the far wall. She drew the candle nearer and turned the book toward him.

“See here,” she said gently, pointing to the first letter etched in ink. “This is A. It begins the word apple.”

Her voice was soft and patient in a way that made his chest ache. In a way that was so unlike that of his Maker. He leaned closer, his brow furrowed, tracing the shape of the letter with one big finger.

“A…” he murmured, the sound rough but clear.

She looked up at him, her smile luminous in the candlelight. “Yes, very good.”

Something delicate stirred within him, something like pride, but it was tampered down by disbelief. He dared to meet her eyes then, and for a moment he forgot the spoil of his face, forgot the monstrosity that he was.

Her light gilded his features in gentle gold, softening what nature had not.

“You learn quickly,” she said, turning the page. “There is no need to rush, though.”

He nodded once. The movement was awkward, almost childlike. His heart, that strange and stubborn organ, beat hard within his chest.

She turned another page, her fingertip gliding over the next letter. “This is B,” she said softly. “For bread… or barn.”

He repeated the word after her, the syllables rumbling like stones in his throat. Buh… arn. She smiled at the effort, at the way his voice tried to shape itself into gentleness.

Then came C. Then D. She took her time with each, her tone calm and warm, her laughter quiet when his clumsy pronunciation tangled the words. And though he did not quite understand her teasing, he knew the sound of her laughter was something worth earning again.

When they reached E, she brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “E,” she said. “Like earth.”

“Earth,” he echoed, the word coming slowly. His gaze drifted toward the ground, toward the straw that cradled his knees. Earth, yes, he thought. He knew that, that which gave life to all things. Even him, though he was born of its corruption. 

She turned the page once more. “And this,” she continued, pointing to a letter that curved and crossed like a branch bent in the wind, “is F. Like for friend… or…” She trailed off, smiling faintly as though caught by a whim. “Flower.”

Her voice softened on the word and she did not know how it struck him. 

Flower.

He repeated it slowly, his tongue stumbling over the shape of it. “F…low…er.”

She nodded encouragingly. “Yes, very good.”

He said it again as the sound carried more meaning than she could know. Then he lifted one massive, scarred hand and, haltingly pointed toward her.

Her brows lifted in surprise, and then she laughed, a sound bright and startled. “Me?” she asked, eyes glinting like the lantern flame. “You think I’m a flower?”

The Creature did not answer, but his hand remained where it was for a single moment before he reached forward and touched the place where her life thundered under her skin. He let his hand linger for only a beat then he dropped it down once more to rest upon his knee.

Only the faintest breath of sound escaped her before she was smiling timidly. “You are kind to say so, Spirit,” she said softly. “But I am no flower.”

He watched her as she bent again over the book, her lashes shadowing her cheeks, her voice returning to its normal rhythm as she named the next letter. Yet, he no longer heard the words clearly. Instead he, for some inexplicable reason, solely focused on the shape of her mouth as she spoke.

DAYS FOLDED INTO NIGHTs, AND NIGHTS INTO A QUIET ETERNITY WITHIN THE BARN. There, by the soft flicker of candle light and the murmur of her patient voice, the Creature learned.

At first, words came haltingly, raw and jagged things that scraped against his throat. But the more she visited, the more he conquered them. Sounds that once betrayed him now obeyed. Sentences stumbled, then steadied, until at last he could speak with a fragile grace that astonished them both.

“You learn faster than any common man,” she confessed one evening, grinning over the open pages between them. 

“I am no… man,” he replied, and the ache he saw settle within her eyes nearly unmade him. Sweet flower.

“Then what are you, Spirit?”

He had no answer that did not sound like defamation.

Her lessons continued, gentle as wind songs. She came to visit him when the house slept, her shawl drawn tight around her, carrying books like offerings. He devoured them, tales of kings and creatures, of cities that rose and fell beneath divine wrath. He read of a man called Adam and a woman named Eve, and felt something stir deep within the marrow of his being, though he did not yet have a name for  it.

When she read aloud to him, her voice filled the hollow barn as though she were breathing life into its very bones. Sometimes she laughed softly when his pronunciation faltered, and he would find himself smiling. An act that still felt foreign upon his face.

She taught him the world through words. He, in turn, watched the world through her.

Her hands were small, but strong from labour. Her voice shook when she grew tired. When she smiled, the whole space seemed to glow, as if the moon bent low to touch her. He began to crave that gleam, though he did understand why.

What was this strange pull within him? This ache that made him linger in her space long after she had gone.

He thought it curiosity at first, admiration for her grace and goodness. But when she brushed his arm by accident and warmth thundered through his chest like fire reborn, he knew it was something else entirely.

And she, though she would not admit it even to herself, had grown to wait for the hours after dark when she could see him again. Her hands trembled not from the cold, but from the thrill of it. His eyes—dark, fathomless things that had once unnerved her—had come to hold an affection that unsettled her peace.

One night, when the wind howled through the eaves and the candle guttered low, she brought him a different kind of book.

“This one is mine,” she said, shyly, as though confessing a secret. “I thought perhaps you might like to read it too. Since you have finished all the others.”

He took it carefully from her hands, because anything in her possession was a sacred thing. Its leather cover was worn soft by years of touch, and inside were not words of God or burning cities. But of love. 

A tale of hearts that yearned and could not be.

He read by moonlight long after she had gone. Each page seared something new into him. He read of a man who would have crossed death itself for the warmth of his beloved’s hand. Of a woman whose name was whispered like a prayer. Of the kiss, this strange, holy act that seemed both promise and undoing.

When next she came, he spoke in a voice that was once again unsure. “This is a story… of lovers,” he began, his words cautious. “They… suffer for one another.”

Her gaze lifted, startled. “Yes, that is love.”

He tasted the word like it might poison him. “Love.”

“It is the greatest of joys,” she breathed, her eyes growing distant, “and the cruelest of pains.”

He studied her then, the way the candlelight lingered in her hair, the way her breath trembled in the still air between them. He wanted to ask if she had ever known such a thing, if her heart had ever burned for someone beyond reach. But he feared her answer, so instead he said, “Tell me, could one such as I—” He faltered, unable to finish.

She reached across the space between them, her fingers brushing his hand. “You are kinder than most people I’ve known,” she assured. “If such a one can love, then why not you?”

He looked down at their hands—hers perfect and delicate, his vast and marred—and felt the world narrow to that single point of touch. Her pulse leaped against his skin.

He could not name the look that passed between them, only that her eyes held such a heat that made his obstinate organ of a heart roar within his chest. The sensation felt forbidden like a secret the stars themselves turned away from so as to not overhear.

Long after she had gone that night, he whispered her name into the straw and felt it echo in the cavern of his ribs as surely as his polluted blood rushed in his veins.

PEACE WAS A HARD FOUGHT THING. The more he learned of her—the music of her laughter, the way her breath clouded in the night air, the soft cadence of her speech—the less rest he found. Reprieve fled him as though chased by some invisible hand. When he did close his eyes, she lingered behind his eyelids. The pretty curve of her cheek, the tremor of her lips when she read aloud, the stardust in her hair that caught the firelight like something celestial.

She haunted him. Not as a specter does, but as a dream too unattainable to reach.

Since reading the tale of the lovers, something had come alive within him. A fever that burned quietly, sweetly, and cruelly. He yearned not merely for her voice, but for her nearness. For the brush of her skin against his, the scent that clung to her, the sight of her lips that seemed to be made for uttering loveliness.

It felt as though the words on the page cursed him with knowing what he could never truly possess. Desire lodged itself in the seams of his flesh and the hollows of his heart. He thought himself driven mad by it.

Each night she came, he told himself he would not stare, that he would not linger upon her face. Yet the more he forbade it, the more his gaze betrayed him. He began to memorize her. The tilt of her chin when she smiled, the way her lashes quivered when she looked at him for too long.

In time, their lessons gave way to small walks through the woods when the moonlight was full enough to guide their path. She said the air there was lighter, that the stars seemed to breathe brighter beneath the branches. He always followed a step aside, his shadow large and silent against the golden glow of her lantern. 

It was on such a night that it happened.

The forest was alive with a thousand whispers. The sigh of leaves, the faint call of an owl, the quiet rhythm of her voice as she spoke about nothing in particular. Until her words broke upon a sudden sound: the soft tear of fabric.

Her skirt had caught on a thorn thicket.

“Ah— bother,” she murmured, half-laughing as she tried to free it, her slender fingers fumbling with the snare.

Before she could move further, he was already there. He bent low, his great form folding to the earth without even truly thinking. His hands, though monstrous, were careful, his touch reverent as he eased the fabric free from the clutching bramble. 

She watched him in silence, her breath held as though afraid the smallest sound might break the spell that had fallen over them. When at last he lifted his head, the torn hem fluttered free.

Their eyes met.

Something shifted, subtle, but vast as the rising and setting of the sun. The air thickened between them, charged with something he could neither name nor withstand.

He rose slowly to his full height, the motion drawing him unbearingly close to her. She tilted her head back to look up at him, and for the briefest of moments, she seemed afraid. Not of his form, nor of his ruin, but of what she herself was about to do.

She leaned forward—soft, trembling, and impossibly brave—and pressed her lips to his. 

It was no more than a fleeting touch, a breath’s worth of contact. But to him it was as though lightning had struck. His entire being shuddered with it, that single instant blooming through him in fire and light.

She pulled back at once, her face draining, her breath unsteady. “Oh,” she gasped. 

“Oh, forgive me,” she stammered, stepping away as if waking from enchantment. “That was terribly forward. I— I forgot myself entirely. I shouldn’t have—”

He could not speak. His hand lifted, ghost-like, to the place her lips had touched. 

He did not recoil. He did not curse the moment as sin or mistake. Only silence consumed him. Silence and the fierce, bewildering joy that raced through the vessel of his body.

She noticed it then, the slight tremor in his hand, the wonder dawning across the shamble of his face. Her voice softened, almost breaking.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

He wished—how he wished—he could tell her that it was not unwelcomed. That her touch had not disgusted him, but redeemed him. That he would sooner choose to burn in her fire than to live again in shadow.

The only thing that came, soft and stunned in his throat was: “You gave me the lover’s kiss.”

The sweet flower froze, her hands twisting in the folds of her skirt. “I— it was foolish of me. I shouldn’t have—”

“May I return the favor?”

The words surprised them both. They seemed too bold, too human for him, yet they left his mouth with startling certainty. She looked up at him, her eyes wide in the lantern light. “You… you needn’t feel obliged,” she whispered, her voice catching. “You owe me nothing. It was only my lapse in—”

“I want nothing more,” he said, rough but clear. “Nothing more than you.”

Something fragile broke in her chest at that confession. She searched his face, the excrescence of it illuminated in the soft gold, and found no deceit there. Only awe, only hunger carefully bound in admiration.

“I’ve never…” she began, her voice trembling.

“Nor I,” he said, a shadow of humor touching his tone, almost shy. “You have taught me many things, flower. Perhaps… You can teach me this as well.”

She hesitated, but her breath betrayed her, coming quick and shallow. “If you wish it,” she finally murmured.

He nodded once, the motion slow, deliberate. Then, as though fearing he might wake from the respite of a dream, he bent toward her.

His lips met hers like a greeting first whispered, uncertain and aching. His breath was shaky, his hand hovering near her face but not quite daring to touch. For a heartbeat, there was only silence and the trembling brush of their mouths.

Encouraged by her hands coming to rest against the breadth of his chest, he deepens the kiss. She pressed the least bit closer, and that simple contact sent a shudder through him. When a soft sigh slipped past her, he drew back an inch, startled by the sound she’d made.

“Did I—” His voice faltered. “Was that wrong?”

Her cheeks warmed, her lips parted with a shy, breathless laugh. “No,” she said softly. “That was… a good sound.”

Something old stirred within him then. A pulse, deep and electric, thrumming through sinew and bone as if awakening some long buried remnant of a life not wholly his. He wanted to hear it again.

This time when he kissed her, it was changed. No longer so hesitant but certain, fervent, and alive. His hands, wavering with craving, found her waist. He felt her draw closer, her body fitting to his as though the space between them had never been meant to exist. Her fingers clutched tighter to the rough wool of his coat, anchoring herself to him as the world spun quietly out of time.

The kiss deepened, not hurried or unrestrained, but full of something that burned low and molten. When she sighed again, softer now almost like a small whine, he moved without thought. Instinct guided what reason could not. His arms enclosed her fully, pulling her against him as though to shield her from every cruel thing the world had ever known.

Her back met the rough bark of a tree before she realized he’d moved them. Still, she made no protest. The sound that escaped her was half gasp, half plea, and he answered it with a low growl that rumbled from somewhere cavernous in his chest.

For a moment—one suspended, rapturous moment—they were not woman and monster, nor spirit and supplicant, but two souls caught between creation and ruin. They were the lovers themselves. Adam and Eve. And their garden, the forest, seemed to still around them, holding its breath. As if to witness the impossibility of love blooming where light should not reach.

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will graham has been super busy these past weeks. you couldn't blame him, but you more so understood him. jack has been pulling him back and forth onto different cases, and of course, he never refused. will loved helping people, he loved feeling... useful. you know how much he loves his job.

only recently, he began to realise how time between you two has been less and less. he adored your company, after a long day of work he just wanted nothing more than to spend the night with you. he wasn't good with his feelings, but he... he wanted to do something nice that'd the two of you would enjoy. a surprise, more like.

a walk, that's his plan. a walk. just you, him, and his dogs in the woods near his home within wolf trap. then a dinner when the two of you come home.

it's not much sure, but that's what you liked. you weren't the type for the "going all out" sort of thing. you liked things to be more reserved and quiet. something that he also had in common with you. somewhere peaceful and filled with beautiful scenery with your conversation to fill out the void.

now, that's what brings you here. the two of you walking through the woods, feeling the crush of the leaves beneath your feet as autumn finally reached virginia. the trees covered in all shades of oranges and browns, the breeze swishing through your hair and his. all the while, several of his dogs ran around the area, doing what they loved. soon, the tranquil ended since you spoke up.

“how was work?” you asked softly, glancing over to him like ur fingers soon intertwined with his. will quickly return the small act of intimacy, of course. it didn't take long before your hand was soon engulfed by his, as if he didn't want to let you go. his thumb circling gentle patterns against yours as the two of you walked.

“its fine. I've just been caught up with work. it's nothing to worry about.” he replies softly, his gaze fixed on his dogs. now, will likes you a lot, he really did, but he just wasn't good with the whole "talking about your feelings" thing. he couldn't express nor show you. it-s just something he heavily struggled with. action was more his thing.

“you?” he asked in return, glancing at you. that was the small thing about you two. working different jobs, and yet, some days were just as stressful as the other. it was funny in a way. “its okay, so far. evelyn has been super helpful even tho she's just joined recently.” evelyn, he's met her before. thought she was nice.

soon, one of will's dogs came running towards him with a stick, max. wanted to play fetch and of course will was more than willing. he picked up the stick before throwing it as far as he could, the sound of the stick swishing against the force of the air.

“missed this, i missed you, too.” you say, almost like a whisper and yet still loud enough for hom to hear you. he always perceptive. “i missed you, sweetheart.” he replies, reassuring you in a way, his own way. he may work as much as he can, but you still mean a lot to him. you have ever since he met you all those years ago, it was like a faded memory, now. silence falls between you two again until will spoke up.

“... i was thinking─”

“oh god, that's never good.” and he chuckled softly as he shook his head at your teasing words. always the one to rile him up, aren't you? and he could never get enough of it either. it was like that you got your teasing habits from him, which isn't much of a surprise.

“i was thinking. about work, and us. the cases.. they can be a lot, jack can be a lot but...”

who knows where your boyfriend is going with this. you nodded along to his words, letting him that you understand and that you're hanging onto every word that spills from his lips, like a drainage that he's trying to stop on his own. despite all that, you waited for him to continue talking.

he stopped in his tracks, turning to face you. he looked worried, no, he looked guilty for something but you weren't sure why. like his emotions were going to spill all out at once. “i'm sorry for not being home that often. its just... this case─”

you interrupted, wanting to reassure him as quickly as you can. you didn't want him to feel guilty for anything, especially for something loves doing. “it's fine, will. i get it. i know how much the fbi means to you.” he soon felt your lips press against his cheek, like a small hint of the warmth and affection you have for him.

“thank you." he says simply before his arm slips around your waist, you return the favour before the two of you begin to walk back home. he did plan to make you dinner when you get back home after all. “you still up for dinner?” he asked and you nodded as a chuckle escapes you. “of course i am, silly man.”

he's never known himself as well as he knows himself when he's with you.

Hours later, his nightmare had led to him mumbling something to himself and sweating as he usually did. He moved around, and that’s when you woke up.

The blood was everywhere. On him, and on everything else-

You sat up quickly, you gently shook him awake, mumbling his name.

“Will. Will.” You said, and his eyes flew open, he looked confused as he stared into your eyes.

“It’s okay. It was just a bad dream.”

He didn’t say anything, and you looked down at him. He sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting his face in his hands.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. Sorry.. for waking you up.”

“It’s okay.” You responded, you helped him take his shirt off and went into the kitchen, grabbing him a glass of water.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, downing the cold glass quickly.

You sat next to him, rubbing his back and trying to get him to relax.

“Maybe… you should take off of work today..?”

“You know I would, but Jack-“ he rubbed his temple.

“Don’t worry about Jack. You need a break, you’ve been working so hard. I think that you deserve it.”

He thought for a moment, looking at you.

“Okay. I’ll call off later.” He gave you a small smile.

You smiled back, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you. I think we’re gonna go out then.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?” He asked, you both laid back down now, looking at each other.

“Out on a walk or something.” You shrugged, “Maybe fishing?”

The snow usually didn’t get this thick, but today you were thankful for it. The powder blanketed the ground outside so heavily that no one could go anywhere. You and Will decided to stay in and relax together. The two of you agreed to sleep in the living room on the pull out couch while the dogs slept on the floor. The fire crackled softly and dimly lit the room that was nearly sun blocked. You had brought your own individual blankets to wrap up in because Will insisted. He hated the idea of getting you drenched in his sweat just so you could cuddle him. You thought it was a fair trade; hold him in your arms and make him feel safe in exchange for something you could easily fix in the middle of the night. You didn’t like to push him, though.

You sat yourself up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You looked around the room and counted each of the dogs to ensure they were all here. You sighed deeply while taking in your surroundings. It was peaceful—every aspect of the moment you were in. Will slept peacefully for once, the dogs breathed deeply, the fire gave off a pinch of heat, and the snow fell heavy outside with the whipping of the wind. A soft smile crawled onto your lips. You stretched, preparing to get out of bed. You looked down at your sleeping lover and pressed a kiss to his forehead. A heartbeat later, you’re slowly dragging yourself out of the pull-out couch.

Once you get yourself steady, a few of the dogs get up to come greet you. You whisper sweet greetings and wish them each a good morning. You make your way towards the kitchen to the dog treat jar. You tap the ceramic lightly so as not to disturb Will. The last few dogs who were either sleeping or chose to stay lying down came to you. You gave each of them their gingerbread treats and sent them to go lay down once more. The house continues to stay quiet as you walk into the pantry in search of something to eat. You hum softly before grabbing a pop-tart from one of the shelves.

The springs from the pull-out bed squeak awfully, causing you to emerge from the pantry as soon as you could. You spot Will looking at you with tired eyes. “What?” you ask with a soft chuckle. He looks at you, slightly annoyed. You should know by now what he wants. “Come back. I’m cold,” he said blankly. You nod your head in agreement as you head to the bed. “You’re taking an unreasonable amount of time,” he complained to you. “I’m working on it,” you say in a sing-song voice.

The second your thighs touch the edge of the bed, Will clings his arms around your waist and pulls him toward you. You squeal and smack at his arm playfully. “Will Graham! Get your hands off of me right now!” you said as you smiled so hard your cheeks started to hurt. “I never want to let you go, though. Espically not in this sort of weather,” he told you as he pulled you so his chin lined up with your shoulder. Your entire body shivered as you felt the tip of his cold nose touch your skin. He breathed you in deeply, resulting in him becoming completely still, besides his chest rising and falling. “You soothe me so well,” he praised gently. The arms that circled your waist squeezed a bit tighter as if they might loose you. You wriggled to be closer to his chest and settled once you were. His hand slowly traced circles on your stomach. It was so quiet you could hear the soft scratching of his fingers against the fabric of your shirt.

Your silent peace is soon interrupted when Will turns to lay on his back, bringing you with him. You gasp from the shock, at a complete loss for words. Will chuckles as you take a few deep breaths. “Why would you do that?” you ask in utter confusion. “I needed your weight on top of me,” he said plainly with a shrug. You sigh in slight annoyance—but you’re always glad to provide the stimulation your lover needs if it helps him stay calm and focused. He leans forward and kisses your forehead gently. “I had to return the favor,” he whispered. You chuckle once you realize what he was referring to. You kissed him back on the cheek, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I’m assuming that’s a request for another kiss,” he observed before returning it. You two continue kissing each other back and forth, keeping warm from the blushing and your bodies pressed together, safe from the snowy weather outside.

The universe is good to you today. It’s been good to you every day since you met Will.

“What's the fastest bird?”

“Ughhh, an emu.”

Adrian kicked an empty can off the van as you scrolled down his phone for bird facts. It was meant to be training for his mind and legs.

“No,” You responded simply, and Adrian stopped his training, frowning at you. “No?”

“No, it says Peregrine Falcon.”

“Ohhhh ok, I totally knew that”

He went back to his can-kicking, which he had been doing a good job at. Maybe he didn't know all the facts he claimed to know, but he sure as hell was a good fighter. You were prepared to ask the next question, but Adrian spoke first.

“So I was thinking about my best friend ranking the other day,” Adrian spoke quickly, and you hummed. “And I was feeling like you've moved up pretty high in my best friends list.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

“Like really high,” Adrian spoke, his eyes darting over at you. It lacked any subtlety, though you made no identification that you had noticed. “Like maybe even higher than eagley”

You nodded again, you're gaze stuck on Adrian. The feeling instantly sent the man into a rant.

"Yeah, which is a big deal. Not a lot of people move through my rankings like that, especially when I haven't known them for long. Like you should be really flattered and-"

“You’re my best friend, Adrian.” You simply spoke, knowing that was the information Adrian wanted. It was also the truth. Even though after that fateful night you threw a 'party' for the 11th street kids, you had bonded with them, you're relationship with Adrian always remained stronger. Though you got brunch with Ads or played video games with John, you still spent most of your free time somewhere with Adrian.

Adrian sucked in his breath, trying hard not to celebrate too much from the answer. It had been better than he expected. “Nice, that’s so…I…OK,” He smiled widely at you, ditching his practice and moving to your side quickly.

He sat down next to you, tilting his head. “Have you been practicing your emotion showing?” You nodded, and Adrian grinned. “Could you…Could you show me your fake smile?”

He asked you to do this a lot. You didn't know why, but there were a lot of different emotions you were working on other than smiling, but it always seemed to put him in a good mood. Following his request, you lifted your mouth, showing him your well-practiced smile.

You still didn't feel like it reached your eyes.

You still didn't feel any different.

Adrian's reaction didn't seem to indicate that, though, as he looked at you with the same dreamy look. “Oh wow, that really-” He trailed off. Your smile was so beautiful, even if it wasn't real.

“Hey, what are you two doing?”

In an instant, Adrian snapped out of it. “Realistic, really real smile, that people will believe is.. real.” He scrambled, but you were more focused on the voice that called out to you.

There stood all the rest of the 11th street kids, looking at the pair of you, confused. “It’s locked,” You simply stated, nodding your head to the front door.

“Then use your key,” Harcourt scoffed, clearly confused why you hadn't done that yet. In this weather, she was frustrated that she even had to step out of her car to get to the front.

“I gave my key to Ads the last time we got brunch, and she didn't give it back,” You stated, and all eyes turned to Adebayo. “Oh shit, I knew I was forgetting something. I'm so sorry,” Adebayo apologized.

“Yeah, and none of you has given me a key yet,” Adrian complained, putting his hands on his hips, while you silently stood up to join the group. Adrian was quick to follow, though he still held a glare towards the rest of the 11th street kids.

“That’s cause you don’t actually work here, dumbass,” Harcourt spat, as you bunched up, Adebayo already whispering extra apologies your way. You just nodded, telling her it was fine, as Harcourt got the door open and you filed in.

“Yeah, which is another thing, I’m not getting paid to do the same jobs you guys do, which feels-” Before Adrian could continue his complaints, his collar was pulled back by Chris.

“Dude, I need your help.”

“Anything,” Adrian spoke, instantly dropping any of his personal drama to help out Peacemaker.

“Ok, so there’s this girl that I met at the bar and…oh boy… she's a bit of a freak"

As Chris continued to talk to Adrian about his latest lay, Adrian’s eyes drifted to you. Instead of going to your desk like you used to, you had now moved over to John’s desk, as he talked to you about… probably some lame shit.

“…so then she tries to punch me in the face, but I obviously dodge it…”

You're responding to John’s words. You're not speaking with expression, but it's clear from your lips that you're giving more than just one-worded answers. John laughs at whatever you're saying.

“…so she said her dream was to have three-way, which at first was weird, but now I’m thinking-”

“Hey!”

Adrian suddenly yelled, pointing at you and John. More specifically, at the slightest bit of contact, John had made when he grabbed your shoulder to laugh. John looked at Adrian like he was crazy, while you just stared with your usual blank face.

“Dude,” Chris complained, clearly upset he was being ignored, but Adrian just sprinted towards you and John.

“What’d you guys talk about?” Adrian tried to frame it like a casual question, but it was hard to miss his literal twitching as he looked between the two of you. John sighed, clearly just annoyed by this change in conversation. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were talking about a TV show we’ve been watching?”

Adrian’s eyes darted between the two of you. “You. You two are watching a TV show together?” You nodded.

"Like at the same time, in the same room, on the same TV?"

"Yeah, that's usually how it works," John scoffed, nudging you. You didn't react to the nudge, not wanting to ridicule Adrian. You just watched as Adrian clearly tried not to look upset by the news. “Well, I love TV shows. Can I join?”

“It airs at 7 on a Saturday.”

“Ok, great, I’ll be there,” Adrian smiled, but you shook your head. “No, Adiran, you work then.”

To you, you were just explaining that Adrian would be invited if it wasn't for his work, to Adrian: it made him question many of his life choices.

“I can just call in sick,” Adrian offered, but John scoffed. “Dude, you already spend all your time here, and you know you're not getting paid. You need to get some money.”

Adrian glared at John, as if his comment had just insulted him. “You know she said I was her best friend,” He hissed, as if it had any relevance to the discussion.

Before John could reply with another scoff, Harcourt stomped over to your group, her usual hardened face. “Chase, come on, we’re going on a stake.” Adrian lit up instantly, always happy to fight.

“Sweet,” He sent a glare at a confused John before turning to you. “Come on, I'll race you to the van.”

“We don't need her,” Harcourt spoke, and you slowly sat back down next to John. Adrian’s eyebrows furrowed, his head whipping from Harcourt to you. “But, we’re a team. We’re the emotionless, ruthless killers. We should be working together.”

“Nope,” Harcourt simply spoke, “We don't need more than 4 people for this mission. You're a lone…ruthless killer today.”

Adrian stared blankly. “But what’s the harm in one more?”

“The harm is I break off your fingers if you don't let it go,” Harcourt growled. The comment didn't seem to scare Adrian, but his shoulders lumped as he realised you weren't going to get to come.

Instead, you were going to stay in the office all alone with Econonoms while he ranted to you about some stupid shit that was a lot less interesting than his animal facts.

Adrian walked like a dog with its tail between its legs, turning back to you to give you a sad wave goodbye. You silently returned it, only to turn back to continue your conversation with John.

“Jesus, who knew he was so clingy?” Harcourt muttered to Adebayo and Chris as they watched Adrian continually turn around to look at you as he headed to the door.

“I did! I 100% knew. I talked about it all the time.” Chris spoke to deaf ears, and Adebayo turned to Harcourt with a concerned look. “Are we sure it’s best to split them up? They are a team."

Harcourt rolled her eyes, questioning how she got put on a team with such dramatic people. “They'll live. It’s good y/n is making friends with people that aren't totally psycho.”

Adebayo nodded, though she didn't seem fully convinced. Harcourt sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Them being apart won't be the end of the world.” 

---

Harcourt's nostrils flared as she started angrily at the group of you at the table.

You sat silently between Adrian and John, your eyes darting around the group as you tried to piece together what everyone was feeling. The whole mission had confused you.

Adrian had the usual small scruffs and dirt from fighting, but what was surprising was John’s black eyes, which he was holding an ice pack to. You and Adebayo both looked untouched, but Chris had it the worst.

He was covered in bits of cloth, some his own, some from those he was fighting. He was glaring at Adrian from across the room, though the man was more focused on trying to make sure his seat was closer to yours than John’s was.

“What the fuck was that?” Harcourt yelled, directing her anger at Adrian, who still seemed to be half listening.

“He called for back up,” You simply explained, and Adrian rapidly nodded, being drawn back to the conversation now that you were a part of it. Harcourt pinched the top of her nose. “I know that. Why the hell did you need backup?”

This time, Harcourt leaned directly in front of Adrian, forcing him to respond. “Well, the criminals were attacking.”

“Me!” Chris yelled, instantly having Adebayo try to calm him. “Me! They were attacking me. You were four blocks away from them.”

Adrian shrugged, as if that was a tiny, unimportant detail. “Well, you know, I needed backup too. I was in danger and didn't have much time.”

“You had enough time to beat me up,” John snarled, holding the ice pack tighter over his eye as he glared at the Vigilante. Adrian’s mood instantly soured as he looked at John. “Well, I didn't ask for you to come for backup. I only asked y/n. That’s your fault.”

"That doesn't explain why your reaction was to punch me in the face."

"It explains why you're a major turd."

There was instant outrage on the table, everyone yelling at each other except for you, who sat silently and watched.

“I almost died.”

“No, you didn't, Chris.”

“Ads, whose side are you on?”

“This is why we needed murn, I can't be surrounded by this many idiots.”

“I think I might be blind. Can you be blinded by being punched, cause I'm pretty sure-”

You banged your hands on the table, the loud noise making everyone go quiet. You didn't say anything; you didn't have anything to add. You were only replicating the behavior you had seen others do in the past to make people shut up. It seemed to be successful as the group slowly calmed down.

Seeing you weren't going to say anything, Harcourt sighed, taking control of the discussion again. “Just, next time, don’t let your personal shit get in the way of a mission.”

The group dispersed, all going in different directions. There didn't seem to be any desire for the usual after-meeting small talk. Everyone needed to calm down.

That left just you and Adrian at the table.

“That was weird,” You simply observed, and Adrian quickly nodded. “Yeah, those guys are so weird, they overreact about everything.”

You shook your head, turning to face him. It didn't feel as nice as your attention usually did; there was something different. “No, what you did was weird.”

You had been surprised when Adrian had called for backup, and even more surprised when you got there to see that no one else was there. It was just Adrian smiling happily in his suit, as he instantly tried to start a conversation about birds.

That was until he saw John exiting the van, and all hell broke loose. His attack on John had left you all unaware of Chris being in danger. Sure, Adrian could get distracted sometimes, but it was unlike him not to care about a mission.

“Whaaat?” Adrian dragged out. “I wasn't acting weird. Those guys are just convincing you that it was weird. Which I kind of think makes them bad friends.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your silence making Adrian ramble even more.

“I mean, I've actually been thinking about it a lot, and maybe you should stop trying to befriend them at all. I mean, you were just doing it to manipulate them anyway, so why not just be fully emotionless again?” He looked at you, almost pleading, though his words tried to cover up the desperation. "Things were so much cooler when we didn't have to worry about them as well."

“I don't want to do that,” You spoke simply, and Adrian groaned. You didn't understand his reaction; you had truly thought life was getting better now that you got along with everyone. “Come on, it’s not like you were good at being friends anyway. Let’s just go back to how things were…when you only hung out with me. Anything else is a waste of time.”

You stared at him blankly, you're eyes roaming around his face. Then, you silently stood up, collecting your things. You paused once everything was collected, looking right at Adrian. “That’s not nice,” You spoke, before walking away.

“Wait, what?” Adrian scrambled to get up. He had never had you say something like that to him. Even when he messed up, you always seemed indifferent.

“You said they were bad friends, but I think you're a bad friend.”

Your words were so simple, yet Adrian froze up as he felt his stomach drop. For you, that was basically a speech about a friendship breakup. It was the equivalent of you yelling and smashing plates.

Adrian subconsciously lifted his hand up to his chest as he watched you leave, feeling as if his heart was actually breaking. 

---

You sat in the office, next to most of the 11th street kids as they giggled at a YouTube video on Chris’s screen.

You didn’t quite understand why the person falling over was so funny, but the fact that even Harcourt was laughing, you assumed that there was some objective humor to it. Your heads all lifted when the door opened and the final member joined.

“Dude, why the fuck are you wearing that?” Chris gestured to Adrian in his full vigilante costume. “We don't have any missions today.”

It was true that Adrian famously loved his costume, but he rarely wore it around unless he needed to anymore. Especially the mask, which he tended to overheat in.

That's why his entrance in full uniform had drawn all your attention from "top 20 major fails of 2016: compilation (super funny)"

“Oh, yeah…just wanted to try something new. It's a fashion thing.”

You all went silent, hearing his somewhat muffled voice.

“Holy shit, man, are you crying under there?” Chris broke the silence as he burst into laughter, finding the whole thing hilarious. It was pretty clear from the sniffles and quiet voice that Adrian had been crying.

“No, no I’m not. I would never cry." Adrian rapidly shook his head, almost moving his body into a pose as he tried to seem more composed.

“Then take off the mask,” Harcourt offered, and Adrian paused before clearing his throat. “No, I don't want to. And you can't make me undress without my consent”.

“Jesus Christ,” John shook his head, seeing that Adrian had reached a new level of pathetic.

“I’m not crying, ok, I’m wearing this mask for protection,” Adrian insisted. He knew he was lying, ever since your 'speech', his usual control over his emotions had been lost as he pathetically dragged himself around the city in tears.

He hadn't even felt joy when he caught a group of college students graffitiing their professor's car. He had just killed two of them, then let the others go so he could go home and watch Fargo reruns as he pretended not to cry.

He had worn his Vigilante suit as a genuine disguise to his malfunctioning emotions, though he had no idea how you had all managed to see past it so quickly.

“Yeah, to protect your manhood,” Chris laughed, receiving a shove from Adebayo. You just watched Adrian with furrowed eyebrows from behind the mask. Unfortunately, even the second of eye contact with you made Adrian feel his eyes start to… malfunction again.

‘I um…I actually have something I need to do outside.”

“Oh, Adrian,” Adebayo started sympathetically, already hearing the shake return to his voice, but he just shook his head. “It’s not crying, I am not going to cry,” He spoke, his voice at a pitch that suggested he had already begun. "It's super cool murder shit that none of you understand because you're not emotionless like me." The comment seemed almost directed towards you, but it was hard to tell as Adrian was already running out the door.

Running out there was a moment of silence between all of you. “Should one of us do something?” Harcourt asked, genuinely confused.

“Oh yeah, if we got footage of that, we could totally make a viral video,” Chris spoke excitedly, and John shrugged. “I mean, he’s not wrong.”

“Not cool, guys, he’s clearly upset.” Adebayo shoved them, and John rolled his eyes. “I thought he didn't experience human emotions,” John mocked, nudging you as if you were going to laugh along.

Instead, you stood up. “I’ll go talk to him.”

They all watched as you moved out to follow Adrian.

"I still can;t decide if they're dynamic is cute or absolutely terrifying," Adebayo spoke as she watched you exit through the door, and Harcourt scoffed. "I can. They're tragically codependent, and neither knows how to manage their emotions properly. They need help."

"They need to get together," Chris shrugged, which was met with glares from the others. "Come on, you're seriously trying to tell me those two freaks aren't perfect for each other. I don't believe in soulmates, but they're the next best thing." No matter how hard Harcourt rolled her eyes or John shook his head, they all knew that Chris was right.

It wasn't hard for you to find Adrian; you had known exactly where he was going. He was curled up behind the dumpsters, clearly trying to keep himself hidden from view.

His mask was off, making it abundantly clear that he was crying. “Adrian?” You asked, and his head whipped to you. You stood above him, gesturing to his face, “You’re crying.”

“What,..I no-” Adrian sighed, his head falling into his arms. “Yeah, I’m crying.”

You nodded, sitting across from him as he looked up at you with teary eyes. “It might surprise you, but… I do have emotions. I know our whole thing was we didn't feel any, but I feel a lot of things all the time. I lied to you.”

“Yeah, I’ve known since I first met you,” you admitted, and Adrian looked shocked. “You have?” You nodded, and he sniffled a bit. “But I did a good job at hiding it, right?"

You thought for a moment. “You did a great job.” You lied, though it seemed to make Adrian smile. "Yeah, I did. You've just got a talent for reading people." He made up an excuse on your behalf. "Most people can't see past my disguise."

You paused, taking in the man in front of you. Despite his teary face, he was somehow smiling at you right now. It was something you never understood, yet it felt oddly comforting to be around. “I like that you feel emotions. You like to try to hide them, but I like that you have such strong reactions to everything. It makes me wish I could feel that way.”

Adrian seemed to deflatten a bit at your words. “Did I say something wrong?” You asked, and Adrian shook his head. “No, I just…I wish you felt things as well,” Adrian spoke as he slumped. “It would be a lot easier if you loved me in the way I loved you.”

“You love me?” You asked, and Adrian nodded. In his mind, there was no point hiding it anymore; if you could read him so well, secrets were pointless. "Yeah, but it won't go anywhere cause you're a super cool robot person who doesn't have stupid emotions.”

You felt your heart soften. It made sense to you now. You longed to express yourself, but not every part was good. Adrian didn't want you to be emotionless because he didn't like the new you; he didn't like you having to deal with the messy emotions he did. Like unrequited love.

“You know, Adrian, you are my favorite person. When I see you, I feel…I feel good…maybe even happy”

Adrian perked up at your sudden words. His phase was full of hope. “Really?”

You nodded. “And if that’s how I feel with my layers of oppressed emotions, I have to assume whatever the real feeling is as powerful as what you feel.” You slowly took his hand in yours, holding it softly as you lowered your voice. “It just might take me a really long time to get there.”

Your eyes darted toward him, for once, you were the one looking for confirmation of your statement. Even to Adrian, this was some of the most talking you had ever done, and it certainly was the most vulnerable. Adrian nodded rapidly, his tear-stained face contrastingly ecstatic. “That's alright, I can wait. I’m a great waiter.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised he was so willing to be patient.

“Yeah, like the best waiter. If there were a waiter competition…Well, I would probably lose because I’m a busboy and people would get confused, but I would be waiting so patiently to get the results that we would know I was secretly the real winner.”

You watched as Adrian continued to ramble, telling you of how good a waiter he was, and how he had ideas for what the two of you could do to help get to your emotions, and how excited he was for when you loved him back, because then you could date.

You couldn't help but give a small smile as you watched on, like how you had been practicing.

But for the first time, this smile actually reached your eyes. 

“Adrian, this is a bad fucking idea.” 

 “No, it's noootttt!” he says as he starts unlocking the door to his secret room. Well, not his, but his other him? Fuck, this is already too confusing. 

 “Baby, something is wrong with this dimension…” you whisper and put your hand on his shoulder. “What if the other you kills us both?” 

 “He would never! I wouldn't, so why would he?” Adrian argues, unlocking the last lock. 

 He glances at you with enthusiasm, and you can't help but smile a bit. You know how much this means to him, but you also know some weird shit is going on in this universe… Something feels wrong. You immediately noticed when you and Adrian were walking to this house.

 “Okay… We go in, but if your other you is a fucking maniac or something, I won't hesitate to shoot him, okay?” you say as Adrian grabs the doorknob.

 “Baby… You can't kill me!” 

 “It's not you, Adrian!” you exclaim with a still soft voice. “It's your other you? Fuck, I don't know.” 

 “Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my lead.” 

 You go to speak, but he lifts the mask to his nose and kisses you quickly, making you remain silent. You scowl at him as he pulls the mask back down.

 Adrian opens the door slowly, and your spine tingles from top to bottom as you hear the ominous creak the hinges make. He pushes it open and walks in; you follow him with light footsteps. 

 The first thing you notice is that there aren't any piles of cocaine lying around. The other thing you notice is somebody sharpening a knife somewhere inside the basement. You grab Adrian's hand, squeezing it hard. 

 “Adrian…” you say, reaching for your gun.

 “Sssshhh… I hear somebody…” he whispers, walking towards the sound. 

 You grab the gun handle tighter, your knuckles turning white as you walk slowly behind him. 

The sharpening noise gets louder and louder, and your breath gets stuck in your throat. Finally, you see a man, wearing an identical suit to your Adrian, sitting, his back to you, while doing something on a table. His hair looks exactly like Adrian's, and your eyes widen when he finally hears you two and turns around rapidly, grabbing a gun from his back pocket.

 “What the fuck?!” he asks. Your Adrian starts jumping up and down in glee, while you are terrified. “Who are you, and why are you here?!

 Your mouth opens as you recognize who this person is… It's Adrian. Not your Adrian, but the other Adrian. 

 “Whoa, dude, hold on! Hold on!” Adrian says, putting his hands up. He quickly grabs his mask and pulls it from his head, throwing it to the side. “It's me! I'm you from another dimension! My keys worked to get in here!”

 The other Adrian continues to remain serious, his eyes locked on your Adrian, and your blood runs cold. If you grab your gun now, he will kill you both… And if you do nothing, he kills you both. 

Shit.

 “Listen—” you begin saying, but that's when the other Adrian's face breaks into a grin. 

 “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he says enthusiastically.

 “No!” your Adrian says, matching his other self’s energy. 

  Adrian 2 (you have decided to call him that) lowers the gun immediately and puts it away. You let out a relieved breath, your shoulders relaxing.

  “Holy shit!” Adrian 2 begins laughing, and your Adrian does as well. 

 You are left speechless as they start pointing at each other and laughing hysterically. 

“We Spider-Man memed!” both Adrians exclaim. They point to each other again and again while moving their bodies side to side, like a couple of kids. 

 You rub your forehead, trying to understand what actually happened, but there are no words in the English language to express how you are feeling right now. There are two of them… You are actually staring at two Adrians. You know your Adrian better than anybody else, especially because you have been dating for a couple of years now, but this Adrian seems exactly the same. The only difference is the color of the glasses’ frame… But except for that, everything else is identical. 

 And, as you begin looking him up and down, studying Adrian 2, you realize he also looks really good in the Vigilante suit. The thought makes you shiver a bit, and you push it back. What’s wrong with you? You just met Adrian 2 from another fucking dimension, and you are already thinking about how hot he looks? Get a fucking grip…

 “This is amazing…” Adrian 2 says with a heavy breath. He puts his hand on his hips and then looks at you. “And who’s she?”

 “Oh, sorry!” Adrian says your name, and you wave at Adrian 2, making his eyes widen. “She’s my girlfriend! Or our girlfriend? Oh my god, dude, do you also have a girlfriend?”

 Adrian 2’s eyes start running up and down your body, and you cross your arms beneath your chest, your cheeks heating up a bit. You don’t know how to feel about his obvious stare. 

 “Me?!” Adrian 2 asks. “Nah… I don’t have time for all that. I’m super busy and stuff…” He walks towards you, making you step back. 

 “Okay, dude. Haven’t you stared enough?!” you ask, making your voice harsh. 

 “Whoa, sorry! It’s just…” Adrian 2 clears his throat. “You are super hot; I see why the other me is dating you.”

 “Right?!” Adrian says while laughing. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be with her! At first, she was like super mean and stuff, which was like hot, but I thought we would never get together… But then! Well, then she invited me over to her house, and we—"

 “Okay! That’s enough, baby!” you say over him. Your cheeks are now a bit pink. “I think he got the idea.”

 “I just wanted him to know how sick you are during sex, baby!” Adrian whines, pointing at Adrian 2. 

 You groan, feeling extremely embarrassed. 

 “She is?! Dude!” Adrian 2 puts his fist in front of Adrian, and they fist bump. “You lucky fucker! That’s so fucking sick! I mean, I would love to fuck her too, but I’m happy you are actually with her!”

 Your head snaps to look at Adrian 2, your eyes as big as you can make them. Did you just hear that correctly? 

 “What was that?” you ask. 

 “What?” he asks, smiling. “Oh! Yeah, sorry… I know we only just met, but I feel like I can trust you two, right?”

 “Dude, of course! You are me, remember? Also, it’s not a surprise that the other me also finds her super fucking hot… I’m just happy we both have good taste.”

 They laugh again in unison, making you think about what Adrian 2 just said. 

 There you were, in a weird fucking dimension, and instead of finding Chris and Harcourt, you are stuck with a version of your boyfriend… And he just fucking admitted he wants to fuck you. 

 Part of you wants to smack both their heads together; the other part is a bit…curious… They look identical, and they sound the same, and… well… you have always imagined what would happen if you actually found the other Adrian in here. Just hours after Ads told you about the portal, you began wondering. Adrian may have been excited to meet his other self just because he thinks that’s super cool, but you found the idea confusing. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder. 

 Was he going to find you attractive like your Adrian did? Was he going to be a horrible man? Be completely different?

 Several possibilities ran through your mind, but now that you were here and you saw that they were pretty much the same person, more possibilities appeared in your head. And they weren’t quite as pure as you liked them to be. 

 “So… Do you want to sit?” Adrian 2 asks. 

 “Yeah,” you reply, smiling at him. 

 He guides you to a couch near a window, and you three sit down. Your Adrian is to your left, and Adrian 2 is to your right. You didn’t mean to sit in the middle, but it sort of just happened. 

 Now, stuck between them as they speak about Pokémon and their favorite colors, you rub your hands together in your lap. You can feel their legs pressed to yours, making your body burn with a shameful lust and desire. It’s weird, it’s confusing, and it’s making you want to crawl up the walls. 

 There are more urgent things to attend to and questions to ask Adrian 2, but it seems like your body is betraying you. You can’t help but ignore how good they both look and how much their touch is identical. They even smell the same, and it’s driving you crazy. 

 “Hey, are you okay?” Adrian asks, putting his hand on your leg. He seems a bit worried. 

 “What?” You glance at him and smile a bit. “Yeah… I…”

 “Are you sick?” Adrian 2 grabs your hand, holding it for a few seconds. “You don’t seem to have a fever… And you don’t look sickly at all. Are diseases different in your dimension?”

 “No, I’m fine!” you say, maybe a bit louder than you intended. You notice that Adrian is still touching your leg, and Adrian 2 is still holding your hand. 

 Your heart is beating very fast, and your body is burning up more and more. You clench your thighs together, trying to ignore the throb in your crotch. It’s nearly impossible to, though, not when they are both touching you. 

 “Guys…” You look at your Adrian, and he seems to notice what is happening right now. Despite not understanding people that well, he seems to understand you.

 “Oh… No way?” he whispers, excitement in his voice. His thumb begins rubbing your leg, making circles on your jeans.

 “What?” Adrian 2 asks. 

 “Are you sure?” Adrian asks, putting his other hand on your face. You lean into his touch and shiver. 

 “I…Fuck, I think so… Is that weird?” you murmur, blushing more. 

 “Are you kidding me?” Adrian’s hand starts going higher, making you clench your thighs again. “This is like a wet dream come true.”

 Adrian 2 gasps loudly, maybe connecting the dots at the mention of his “wet dream.” He lets go of your hand and puts it on your leg as well. You don’t dare to look at him, not yet at least, but do enjoy his touches on your right thigh. 

 “Come here,” Adrian whispers. 

 You put your lips to his, grabbing the back of his neck. You part your legs almost by instinct and feel Adrian 2 slip his hand between them, making you moan into Adrian’s mouth. He groans, deepening the kiss, and then moves his hand as well. Soon, both their fingers are on your crotch, making you breathless. 

 You pull apart from the kiss, shivering in pleasure as they rub your folds through the fabric up and down. The touch is light, not enough at all, but this is too arousing, so somehow, it feels enough.

 “My turn?” Adrian 2 asks from the other side. 

 You move your head slowly, meeting his eyes. He goes to kiss you, but you turn your cheek to him, not sure if you want to kiss this person who’s not exactly your boyfriend. Adrian 2 doesn’t seem to take offense at that, and you gasp when his lips find your neck instead. 

 He begins running his tongue over your pulse point, driving you insane as you look up and close your eyes in ecstasy. 

 Then, as if to make matters worse (or better), Adrian starts kissing your neck as well. His kisses are slow and teasing, while Adrian 2’s are urgent and filled with lust. It’s amazing how they both kiss so similarly yet so differently. Your Adrian has patience that comes with being your boyfriend for so long, while Adrian 2 has the urgency that’s so similar to your first times together with Adrian. It’s nostalgic, it’s weird, and it’s making you get wetter and wetter. You feel your clit throb and moan their name as their fingers press against your clit. 

 Both Adrians smile into your skin. 

 “This is so fucking nuts… Fuck…” you whisper before licking your lips. “Oh my God, I need one of you inside of me right now.”

 They pull away from your neck, Adrian first, as he bites your skin gently before letting go. 

 “How do you want me?” he whispers, voice low and filled with lust. He’s already reaching for his pants, and you glance down. 

 You were so preoccupied with your own lust that you didn’t notice how hard both Adrians are. That makes you wonder… Are they the same girth and length? 

 “Do you want me to blow you, baby?” you ask, putting your hand over his as he reaches for his boner. Adrian groans when you squeeze both his hand and his cock. 

 “Fuck yeah… I want anything you want, baby.”

 You bite your bottom lip, squeezing his cock again before turning to look at Adrian 2.

 “Hm… Hi,” you say awkwardly, making Adrian 2 grin. 

 “Hey, pretty.” He cups your pussy again, making you thrust into his hand. “Can I fuck you? I really want to feel your pussy around my dick… Please?”

 The throb in your pussy is now maddening, and you can’t even think for a second. 

 “Yes…” You shake your head, laughing a bit. “Fuck me, Adrian.”

 “Hell yeah.” 

 You hear Adrian get up and start unbuckling his pants, but your eyes are glued to Adrian 2’s face. He’s staring at your lips, and you know that look. It’s the one your Adrian does whenever he looks at you when you are about to have sex. He wants you badly, and for whatever reason, so do you. 

 You move hesitantly towards him and press your foreheads together. It’s weird knowing your boyfriend is behind you both, staring as you travel your hand up Adrian 2’s lap. But it’s too late to back down now, so you take off his belt, fast and with sloppy hands, and sneak your hand inside his boxers. 

 His hot breath hits your nose, and his face scrunches in pleasure as you grab his shaft, pulling it out. You look down, seeing that his dick is exactly as you remember, and smirk. He’s already leaking precum, pearly beads rolling from his slit, and you collect them, spreading them on his shaft. 

 Adrian 2 whines, lips inches from yours, and you start stroking him slowly. You do exactly the same twists and apply the same pressure as when you are stroking your Adrian, and thankfully, it seems to be working. He’s breathing heavily, face bright red, and pupils dilated as you pleasure him. 

 “Fuck… Oh God…” he whispers, looking down as his head goes in and out of your fist. 

 Then, as you are determined to make Adrian 2 feel good, you feel a pair of hands on your back. Adrian travels them down your spine and then grabs your waist, pulling it up like you weigh nothing. 

 You realize what he’s trying to do, so you get on all fours on the couch, letting go of Adrian 2’s dick as you put both hands down. 

 “It’s like watching porn of us, baby!” Adrian points out with glee from behind you. He puts his hands on the hem of your jeans, and you wait in anticipation as he slides them down. 

 Cold air hits your clothed and sticky pussy, making you clench on nothing. You are so lost in what Adrian is doing that you don’t notice Adrian 2 getting up from the couch and walking to where Adrian is. 

 “Look at that… She’s so fucking wet,” Adrian says in awe, running his fingers on your wet panties. You whine, arching your back at the touch. 

 “Holy shit… You are so lucky, man.”

 “No, we are so lucky!”

 You hear them high-five, making your eyes roll a bit, even if a smile stays on your face. 

 “Are you boys going to jerk each other off, or is anybody going to fuck me?” you say with a teasing voice, looking over your shoulder. Your eyes land on Adrian, who now has his hard cock out of his pants.

 “Oh! Right, sorry!” Adrian 2 says. 

 Adrian walks to your front, and you follow him with your eyes slowly, enjoying how he’s stroking his dick even as he walks. 

 He stops in front of you, and you look up. 

 “You are loving this, aren’t you, baby?” Adrian asks with confidence that Adrian 2 lacks. 

 You bite your bottom lip and look at his cock. Your eyebrow arches. “It seems that we are both loving this.”

 He grins, putting one knee on the bed. His hand goes to your chin, and he tilts it up, bringing his leaking head inches from your lips. 

 Meanwhile, Adrian 2 begins running his fingers on your clothed pussy, driving you insane. You whine and move against his touch, making him feel how wet you are. He curses under his breath and finally grabs your panties and slides them down your thighs. 

 “Holy shit… It’s beautiful,” he says in the exact same tone somebody might use when they look at the Mona Lisa.

 You giggle and then feel his hands on your ass as he squeezes the flesh. You moan, and Adrian takes the opportunity to put his head on your lips. You focus on him again as Adrian 2 squeezes and slaps your ass gently. 

 “You can go harder, other me,” Adrian says, without breaking eye contact with you. “She loves it.”

 Adrian 2 lands a harsher slap to your ass cheek, making you moan loudly. 

 During this, Adrian is running beads of precum on your lips, coating them with it. You start licking his head slowly, trying to taste as much of him as you can. He curses under his breath and then lets go of your chin, grabbing your hair instead. 

 “Please…” you beg. 

 “Was that for me or the other me?” Adrian asks.

 “Both. Please, I need you both so badly.”

 Adrian 2 curses and then puts his cock on your entrance, letting it rest there as he feels how slick you are. 

 You open your mouth, sticking out your tongue for Adrian. He smirks, and the confidence that you love is clear on his face. He has changed a bit during sex ever since you started dating. He’s a bit more dominant, even if you love it when he submits to you. 

 Finally, as you are basically going insane with anticipation, Adrian puts his cock on your tongue and starts sliding it inside your mouth. At the same time, Adrian 2 begins entering you, making you gasp around Adrian’s dick. 

 You feel every inch of Adrian 2 stretch you while Adrian’s cock rests heavy on your tongue. 

 “Oh fuuuuucckkk… Dude…” Adrian 2 whines, barely resisting thrusting all the way in. He’s taking his time feeling you around his shaft. 

 “I know… You should feel how good her mouth is, too.”

 You can’t do anything but moan as you wrap your lips around Adrian’s cock and start bopping your head. He holds your hair, guiding your head back and forward as you suck and swirl your tongue on his cock. 

 Adrian 2 grabs your hips hard, and you feel him pull out before slamming inside of you harshly. The thrust is so sudden that Adrian’s cock goes deeper inside your mouth, making you almost gag. Fortunately, you control your reflex and get back to pleasuring him. 

 “Shit… Oh god… She’s so tight and warm,” Adrian 2 says, fucking you at an amazingly good pace. 

 You can hear the squelching noise his cock makes as he goes in and out, and it almost matches how your mouth sounds around Adrian’s dick. Saliva is dripping from the corners of your mouth, and your arousal drips in strings from your thighs. 

 Pleasure comes from the way Adrian 2’s dick is fucking you just right, his shaft pulsing and burning hot inside of you, and from the way Adrian’s dick is heavy and so good on your mouth. You love how Adrian 2 whines and how Adrian curses, pulling your hair. 

 It’s like fucking both dominant and submissive Adrian. A dream come true. 

 You moan around his cock again, making him pull your hair harder and moan in pleasure as well. You can feel sweat soak your blouse and bra, making your nipples hard. It’s beyond arousing. 

 “Ah…Fuck… Ah… I can’t believe you are dating her,” Adrian 2 moans weakly, fucking himself harder into you.

 “Yeah. She’s so perfect… Always so…fuck…perfect.”

 You start flickering your tongue on his shaft, just the right rhythm to create vibrations on his cock, and Adrian moves a bit forward, almost as if he got punched. That makes you clench around Adrian 2, and he whines again. They are both close; you can hear their heavy breaths. 

 “Fuck her faster,” Adrian says between breaths. “She’s close. Can you feel it?”

 “Oh, dude, yeah… Fuck, she’s gripping my dick so tightly…” he answers with a strained voice. 

 You let your body be moved back and forward like a rag doll. You are too drunk on pleasure to guide your movements anymore. You give in… you let yourself drown. 

 And it never felt better. 

 A knot appears on your lower belly slowly, and it’s like flames are moving all around your body. You are sure you are almost running a fever, and you are dripping sweat, but you don’t care. 

 Two Adrians are fucking you… Two fucking Adrians are actually fucking you right now. How insane is that?

 “Ah… I can’t hold it anymore… Ah…” Adrian 2 whines.

 “Touch her clit… Fuck, I’m close…”

 Adrian 2 immediately puts his fingers on your clit and begins rubbing it, making you moan loudly. Your noises are muffled as your mouth is fucked faster and faster. 

 Adrian 2 begins shuddering; you feel it against you, and then you feel him thrust unevenly as he shoots his load inside of you. He lets out a string of “thank you” and curses mixed with your name as he begins cumming. 

 You close your eyes, feeling tears on them, and his cum inside of you, plus his fingers on your clit drives you over the edge. 

 Waves of pleasure run through your spine, and you start clenching and unclenching around Adrian 2’s throbbing cock. You try to breathe through it, and thankfully, Adrian takes off his cock from your mouth, making you gasp and cry out in pleasure. 

 Adrian 2 thrusts a few more times, trying to ride out your high, and then stills. You hear him panting from behind, his fingers stopping on your clit. 

 “Holy shit…” he whispers through breaths. 

 “Ah… Fuck,” you reply with a very tired voice. 

 You open your eyes again, feeling Adrian 2’s cum inside of you, and then look at Adrian. He’s still hard, stroking himself, as he looks down at you. 

 “Open…” he says, and you immediately stick out your tongue. 

 He strokes himself faster and faster, his cock glistening with precum and your saliva.

 Soon, he begins cumming as well, and ropes of cum land on your tongue. He moans your name, eyes half closed and lips parted slightly. You admire him, loving him so much as always, and let him finish. 

 When the last drop of cum lands on your tongue, you put it inside your mouth, swallowing everything. 

 “Good girl,” he whispers, collapsing on the couch as he sits on it. 

 You shiver around Adrian 2’s softening cock, and he seems to notice. He begins pulling out, hissing along the way, and you hear him sit on the couch as well. Heavy breathing is heard from around you as you slowly turn your body so your back is on the couch. 

 You put your head on Adrian’s lap while Adrian 2 grabs your calves, helping you lie down on the couch.

 “You okay?” Adrian asks, stroking your cheek gently. 

 “Hm hm… This was fucking insane,” you comment with a chuckle. 

 “Honestly? I feel like this will stay in my head forever and ever…” Adrian 2 says as he brushes your legs up and down. “Even if the Nazis kill me, my ghost will remember this.”

 Your eyes immediately widen, your body becoming alert as the last residue of bliss fades from your brain. You jump to a sitting position, looking at Adrian 2 with an urgent face. 

 “Nazis?! What?!”

 “Uh?… Ooooohhh… You guys don’t know?” Adrian 2 says, wincing a bit. 

 “Know what, other me?”

 He rubs the back of his head and pushes his glasses up his nose bridge. 

 “The Nazis won World War II… They rule the world now. That isn't a thing in your dimension?”

 Your jaw drops open, and you hear Adrian curse loudly. 

 “SHIT! I told you something was wrong here, Adrian!”

 “How is this my fault?!” both men reply with a whiny voice, making you groan loudly. 

 Well shit… This is what you get for being too horny to properly think about your surroundings… It was still worth it, though. 

 But now it’s time to push this aside and get back to work. 

 “You and you,” you point to each Adrian. “Grab your shit, put away your dicks, and let's go find the rest of the team."

Everyone shrugged, and John tilted his head up from the recliner, "He said some bullshit about it being a great evening for bird listening."

"You don't think he's not too drunk to not fall off the roof, right?" Leota mumbled.

Sighing, you pushed yourself off the couch. You had more faculties than the rest of the crew, and if anyone was going to catch Adrian without tumbling over themselves it was you.

"Fuck, fine, I'll get him." And back up the stairs you went, pulling your weight by white knuckling the rails and launching up two stairs at a time.

When you finally made it up to the roof, Adrian was as far from harm as he could be.

There he was, clad in naught but his beer soaked underwear, crouching down to grab a sock. The string lights warmed the tone of his bare skin, still glistening. He faced away from you, reaching over to grab the other sock and fold them together.

"Hey, Adrian." Coming up behind him, you tip tapped your fingers over his hair, just frisking the curly locks.

"Wh—hey, you're back." He beamed up at you, and jerked his head back the other way just as quick, "Wait, listen."

You stood there trying to find any noise outside the whine of the string lights and the far away honks of late night bar traffic.

"What?"

"There's a crow calling from that tree over there."

You squinted into the dark, and heard the distinct melodic tune of a common starling. Right now, though, you're too tossed to try and shut him down with correct information.

"Wow," You aren't feigning interest, necessarily, but you're sure Adrian thinks you're both amazed at the same thing. You let your eyes dart down to his waist, but you're smart enough not to let it linger. You're certain you aren't lingering, not on the way his shoulder blades tense as he throws the socks over your head. Or the way his skin rolls over the muscles of his abdomen. The little curls behind his ear.

He stands up to meet you, hands on his hips. There's soot in the ridge of his pelvis, "Pretty neat, huh?"

"Mm very. What are you doing still up here?"

Adrian walks over to collect his shoes, "Just tidying up, Economos pissed in that barbecue over there. Don't tell him but it's kind of gross. Gave it a good scrub down."

"It's like, 1am."

"Yeah, and what if people want to barbecue for lunch?"

"Well, that's very nice of you. You want some hel—wait, you're covered in—hold on," You brace yourself on his shoulder, and he follows you as you reach to yank a towel from the clothesline nearby, "You're covered in soot, let me just..."

You brush the towel over his hip, you're not sure if the horrible job you're doing is entirely because you're drunk. It takes a flurry of blinks to maintain focus, but you lose balance anyway.

It's not even within you to curse as you begin toppling over, and Adrian brings his hand up to your tricep to steady you, the other curling around your waist.

Both of you freeze, Adrian's eyes wide with concern, swaying with you still in his arms.

The lights behind him seem to glow like a halo, and he's never looked more beautiful. His lips are shining in a soft grimace, curls fluffy on his forehead. His glasses have fallen a little down the bridge of his nose, and you reach to push them up, squeaking out a 'thank you' as your brain catches up to your body.

You're not even sure you've come back to it when Adrian leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek, a blurry fast kiss and his hands off your skin before you can comprehend any of it.

"What..was, um," You stutter, turning to see him scooping up his clothes, "...that for?"

"You almost fell off the roof and cheek kisses are an informal way to comfort someone." He moves like someone who's about to run a marathon, not someone who's soaking in beer, and he's hopping back in front of you with his entire outfit crumpled in his arms, "I went to Greece in college. I thought it made sense. Sorry."

"No!" You coughed out, "No, no, um. Don't apologize."

"Oh, okay. Nevermind, then." He shrugs, "You think Harcourt has shampoo?"

You step into his space, dazed and moving without thinking. You dart to his lips in a kiss that's just as brief as the one he gave you.

"What was that for?" He asks this time.

"Not for comfort, that's for" You wag your finger at him, losing clarity, "...um...sure."

"Can you do it again? I wasn't paying attention." He cocks his head at you, grinning.

"I—" You tilt forward, leaning your weight against him, craning your neck up. Your limbs feel like rubber, and you can only faintly wrap them around his torso, jumping when you grasp bare skin. He cranes down to meet you, squeezing the clothes tighter to his body, and you stand there in a stilted kiss for several moments.

"Hold on," He mutters, breaking away from you and throwing the clothes towards the door to the roof.

You bust out in a laugh, folding in half and pressing the crown of your head to his chest.

His hands come up to grab your elbows, and you let yourself rest in his arms, wobbling on your tip toes to kiss him.

For the first time, this feels like you're doing it right. Adrian's lips seem to melt against yours, your shirt sticking to his torso, his fingers clutching at your triceps. He laughs into your mouth as you run your fingers up the nape of his neck into his hair, wheat in his breath. His tongue slips past your teeth, and you feel compelled to let him swallow you whole just as desperately as you want to swallow him.

Bright colors pulse behind your eyes, the heat of the string lights burning into you. Your eyes flutter open and closed, kissing through gasping breaths and gentle moans.

"You're sticky." You flatten your palm over his back, pressing over several spots.

"Can't even feel it." He purses his lips, and for all his manic energy earlier, you can see the night getting to him in his heavy blinks, the languid shrug that follows.

"C'mon," You kiss him again, losing yourself in the way he envelops your body with his own, how sweet his mouth tastes. It's only for breath that you pull away, "Let's get you in the shower."

He wipes sweat from your brow with a thumb, "Me? What do you call that?" He holds his fingertip over your face before wiping it off on his briefs.

"You trying to get me in the shower with you?" The fog is clearing in your head, but you let yourself swim in the heat between you.

"I'm just pointing out the obvious."

Leaning forward to kiss him again, you venture a hand down his abdomen, just coasting over his crotch.

"Oh, fuck." Adrian mumbles, and his hands find your waist again, pulling you in.

"We just, gotta keep it down." You nip at his jaw, "Everyone's probably asleep."

it's comical really, his hand mid raised to a knock lingers in the air; the skin never meeting the wood, his heart not beating in sync to yours, an imbalance of some sort.

"oh gosh," he breaths, caught in a trap he's clearly made himself, it didn't occur to him that you might've not been home already and he decides that suddenly this feels way worse than you not answering at all "hey!" and he doesn't know what possesses him but he crosses the distance like you're an old friend, awkwardly wrapping in stiff hug as you feel his palms pat your back gently. it catches you for a moment, to be in his vicinity again after months of pretending like he doesn't exist that you're sure your hallucinating. until the awkward patting becomes a little bit more awkward, bordering into a heimlich smack.

"clark, what the fuck? i will call the cops" and you weasle out of his death grip. your brows are furrowed in what clark remembers as a silent rage- and he holds up his hands in surrender.

"sorry, shit," he swears, "i didn't mean to do that, please wait," and he winces at how your intimidating stare does not waver once.

"what are you doing here?" you repeat with more urgence and the weight of your backbone, letting you know that you should probably absoltuely call law enforcement to deal with him. then again, he's fucking superman and you roll your eyes in annoyance- he can't even let you have a single win. "you're ruining my routine," you stress, fingers coming up to your temple, massaging the growing headache landing.

"routine?" he quizzes, awkwardly crossing his arms across his chest- perhaps if he tucks them in tightly, he'd be less inclined to do something stupid and hug his ex-girlfriend after months of ignoring each other.

"yes routine- where we live our separate lives? where we pretend like we didn't know each other intimately for a year? you know, the one where i have to do my laundry on mondays and you took thursdays even though you know i get off late at the start of the week and honestly, now that you're here i can tell you that that fucks up my schedule clark," you huff in annoyance and he can't focus on a single thing youre saying though he watches your lips move religiously.

"hello?" you wave a hand in his face and he's moulded his feet into the earth outside your front door. he watches how your lips have slowed, how the bottom one juts out in a curious pout as you watch him with like one would watch a snotty child. he suddenly feels the weight of your stare and shrugs awkwardly, mumbling a faint "sorry, i'll take mondays?" and you narrow your gaze.

"what are you actually doing here?" you ask for the third time and clark hears the subtle fatigue and exhaustion laced in your voice that he feels like the worst person alive for a moment- bringing such intensity to you on a rogue tuesday evening after months of ghosting.

"may i come inside?" he asks, "please?" the addition is small and something very dangerously similar to concern builds up in your system that you find yourself nodding, offering no other words and letting the rattle of your doorknob and clunk of your key fill the heavy silence. he notices your work bag the same one he used to carry for you slumped on your shoulder and you're dressed in your scrubs- shit, you've just come off work and he thinks just maybe, that you're worn out from the day you may possibly be more inclined to hear out his silly proposal.

you don't wait to close the door behind him, but rather leave him in the hallway to which clark then locks the door himself. you've dropped your things to the floor and for a second, clark remembers how much it used to annoy him that you couldn't just hang your things up properly- the first of many nitpicked arguements that sent you down a long way of calling it quits. he stands awkwardly, towering over your space where random books are left out, a coffee mug from possibly this morning is littered on your table and random pieces of clothing left all over.

he tries not to focus on the lacy bra that hangs out of your laundry basket on your kitchen table and the burn it scorches his heart with. thats new, he thinks. he would've remembered the purple against your skin and how it felt under his-

"you still flying around or whatever?" you call from the kitchen sink and he pops his head through the little arch and into the space. his brows crease in annoyance at your dismissal and he frowns.

"have you not been seeing me on the news?" he quizzes, surely you couldn't have written him off completely? clark kent may have been a bad boyfriend to you, but superman! he's a man of the people!

"i don't really keep up with you clark if you haven't noticed- and besides, work takes up my time anyways," you shrug and slide him a mug over. it's warm and fragrant with lemon and honey- clark remembers it as your favourite and when you used to drink it, your voice used to dip a lower octave, soothed and a lot smoother at entering his heart and playing house in it.

"so are you finally going to tell me whats going on?" you echo and he immediately drops his gaze to his lap. its his guilty face- the face that you've had to kiss in forgiveness when he missed dinner with you, when he poured his whole heart out into his work and forgot that it was your anniversary, when he apologised at you having to pick up extra hours at the hospital whilst he took breaks from work to play superhero for the day.

"oh no," a small smile plays on your lips and it's so petty but the thought of clark kent having done something wrong makes you feel a little bit better about yourself, "come on superman," you tease, "fess up," and the jokes suddenly not funny anymore- the smile from your face wiped clean when he clears his throat and meets you with earnest swimming in those dangerous ocean eyes.

"i told perry we were still together," and at his admission you pause, the earlier laughter hidden and lurking in your tea as it steams a few milimetres from you.

"what?"

"before i tell you the whole story, i need you to know that i'm sorry, i'm really sorry and i hate how this has turned out-"

"clark, this is nothing new i'm hearing, you realise that?" you roll your eyes, "tell me something different, like why your boss thinks we're together- i've probably met him once at that stupid gala you dragged me to last year," and he lets out an awkward laugh. he remembers you returning home that night, drunk in his big arms as he carried you bridal style back to his place. it wasn't a secret you found journalists boring, slower paced than your nursing duties in the emergency department that you vowed you'd never go there again.

"oh no," you whisper, "if you think i'm going to that shitty dance again, clark you have another thing coming for you, bud," you scoff and he winces. bud. its a new one. it's not darling, or sweetheart, or love of my life but then again for someone who despised him enough to dodge him every single time he's left his apartment to the point that this is the first time he's seen you in months, god he'll take bud anyday. he hopes that when he dies and reaches the gates of heaven- it'll be bud he hears.

"please?" is all he can get out.

"clark," you sigh, "you ruin our five month truce to invite me back to some lame dinner with a bunch of newspaper nerds- one of those newspaper nerds who made me feel like shit for half our relationship mind you," and he lets the digs come, cut him, slice him open and he bares himself bloodied and bruised if thats would it would mean for you to agree to this silly idea. "why?" and its the million dollar question on his mind too.

"perry doesn't think i'm comitted," he releases with a stroke of bitterness.

"perry should win a nobel prize for that revelation but he should also check his ratings," you scoff back and he murmurs in defeat, a little burst of pride swelling at your words.

"yeah well, ratings don't just give you promotions and god, i really want that editor title," he whispers to himself, "and so when he questioned my comittments and random periods of absences- i told him my wife just hasn't been well lately, i am comitted," and he winces as the words leave his mouth.

"wife?" you shout, the outrage bouncing off the walls, echoing a drum of disbelief as you run your hands through your hair in stress. "clark, you better not have-"

"he immediately assumed it was you from last year and i couldn't-"

"you didn't correct him?"

"i couldn't!" and its the raise of his voice that lifts your jaw from the ground and wires it shut. he's been calm this entire time, a nervous resolve and its the first inkling you've seen that he's actually way in over his head and he needs you desperately.

he needs you, your heart calls out, toying dangerously with the strings and you bite down your lip, hard.

"please?" he begs quietly, "i wouldn't have come to you and burdened you with this crap but gosh, i just, i'm in too deep,"

"yeah," you breathe, "too deep," and its a dumb repeat but you just can't wrap your head around it, how fate has a funny way of bringing the two of you back together.

"just one night, i just need you for one night and then we can go our separate ways, i will take the mondays for laundry i will damn well move apartment blocks if you decide you hate me so much more after this, but i am begging you. i don't know what to do," comes his heavy, uneven breaths, "please."

and your lips press firmly into thin lines before you come to his side, awkwardly placing your hand on his shoulder in comfort. it's a fleeting touch and in a different dimension, you probably wouldve chosen his firm chest- his pulsing heartbeat to feel for and let it linger longer than a second, but you don't.

its gone as soon as you start but clark feels it nonetheless.

"fine," you whisper and his eyes light up a dangerous electric blue. "what's in it for me?" you ask, pretending to inspect some dirt under your fingernails and fake nonchalance, like you haven't just opened the door to many bad memories and offered them free residence.

"i'll get you those orchestra tickets you've been after," and for a second, clark thinks he has you. he remembers the tickets just by chance; you always planned to go together but the timing was never right plus they're pricey as hell and only perform once in a blue moon but if thats what it takes for you to agree, then clark kent will bend the world to his will if he has to. he'll probably have to cash in a favour as superman and his credit card but this could be his job on the line.

"you get one night and that's it," you swear and clark thinks he could break out into a full sob of relief, the pride he's swallowed down to stand in the home he used to share with you and beg for a night where he hopes you'll hate him less and make this all alright, god this is only just the beginning.

. . .

he picks you up at eight and this time he does knock on the door.

there's a faint muffle, a shuffle and a violent curse that he recognises as your voice that brings a tiny smile to his face. the door opens with the same puff and urgency and the wind knocks completely from clark's lungs.

"i can't get the zipper up," your flushed cheeks and wide eyes panic as you blow out some air that lifts a few tendrils that escape your updo style. they bounce back on your sweating forehead, taunting. your arm holds the dress up, clutched firmly to your chest as you turn around expectantly, waiting as the chill of the landing bites at your skin.

he ushers you back inside, unwanting to share you with the entire apartment block and he's met with your whine, "clark, don't just stand there, do something!"

"okay, okay," he soothes, fingers finding the metal zipper and making work of it. he drags it out intentionally slow, savouring the way his fingertips dance lightly on your back and it takes him back to all those nights ago where he was blessed to whisper sweet nothings into your skin. you tense underneath him and at the stutter, he retract his hands, tucking them into his sides neatly as you turn around.

"how do i look?" you ask hopeful, steadying your hands on your hips and facing him with that familiar glint in your eyes. he lets out a breath, or what he hopes sounds like one rather than a guttural noise of pure misery because fuck, you look incredible and he was such an idiot to let you go.

"clark, it'd be real great if you could use some words right now, aren't you a journalist- shouldn't you know like lots of them? " you narrow your brows and he stands there speechless. "fine," you mutter, heading in the direction of your kitchen table, reaching for your clutch. the contents including some finishing powder, a travel size perfume, lip gloss and a shit ton of hope to get you through the night.

he still hasn't moved when you return and make your way to walk past him. the trance is broken the second he catches your arm and pulls you back into him. its a stumble where you have to place your hands onto his chest to steady yourself and the intensity of sudden closeness causes you to swallow.

"you look great ," and it's such a lame compliment but the way its lands; dripping with such pure honesty that you momentarily forget all the times you wished clark kent didn't exist. you nod, bashful under his attention and it warms your skin in a way that makes you feel very much unsettled.

"should get you a thesaurus or something," you mumble offhandedly, pretending that he's had no effect on you- like the admission hadn't just burned something new in you and you clear your throat, making your way down the stairs.

its so gentleman-like how clark takes your hand and leads you down each step safely as he glares daggers into the heels that he knows you're going to abandon as soon as the night is over. he walks you to the car, opens the door, even gets so damn close that you still and break free from the trance once you hear the faint click of the seatbelt.

he drives and drives and then you see his workplace come into view and groan. you aren't even given the chance to wallow in your pity, beg him to take you back home because clark is already at your door, opening it and helping you back up. a faint wobble of the heel traps onto some gravel and you almost send yourself flying back, steadying yourself on the roof of the car.

"i think you shouldve chosen something more comfortable," he mutters and you shoot him a look.

"my apologies, i was trying to go for hot wife who's husband disappears from work all the time to take care of her or whatever sob story you gave," you scoff, walking just ahead of him once again and clark stops, which in turn you stop. you mustve miscalculated how close he was behind you, the faint towering of his frame over yours and you almost ramming into his chest.

"hey!" he hisses, looking around cautiously to see if anyones in view, hearing your conversation. its funny how from a distance, you two must look like you're in a lovers quarrell.

"look, you're going to have to act like you like me," he groans, "or this is never going to work."

"this isn't going to work clark, and who's fault is that?" you pull back.

"listen you liked me once before just do it again!" he gets out exasperated.

"was that before or after you dumped me the day before our anniversary?" and its lethal the cutting edge of your words in the air and he lets out a bitter laugh, kicking the gravel under his feet as he takes a few steps away from you to give himself some space.

"clark," you sigh and call out, "fine, i'll behave myself but don't act like this isn't fucking weird," you get out, "i don't know what to do with myself." it's unspoken territory, unfamiliar in so many ways that you don't know what lines can or can't be crossed.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, staring at the floor and then meeting your gaze, "i really am-"

"let's not do this," you squirm and let out a sigh of defeat, "come on, husband," and you hold your hand out for him to take, "let's get this shit over with," and when he interlocks his hand in yours, both your hearts skip a beat in pure delusion.

"how romantic, mrs. kent," he deadpans and you don't know which version is easier- pretending you hate him or pretending like you haven't waited months to find someone so easy to be with again.

"come on big guy, i hope you're prepared for me to lie all night," you promise him, the least you could do is try and entertain yourself, seeing how long you can storytell to a group of people who value the truth more than anything- its so damn ironic.

"oh please do," he agrees, thinking you're feeding into this fake relationship but the grin that spreads across your face, god, clark should've known he was in trouble.

...

"oh my god, it was so romantic!" you gush, "one moment i'm sitting across him eating my pasta, the next moment he's holding up tickets to go to italy and i'm thinking baby what?" you shoot him the most dazzling smile known to man and clark kent thinks what fucking sunshine are you made out of to be this blinding and bright, "and he says its our honeymoon, like its nothing and what did i say baby?" you turn to him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

he turns to the crowd sheepish, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as the other is wrapped firmly around your waist, tucking it into his side. "oh i don't know honey," he rumbles into your ear, "i think you tell this story best," but you bite back a laughter and groan.

"oh he's just embarrassed- i said he was insane, like normal people ask- not my clark," and you place a hand on his chest, almost gripping him protectively as you sense the wandering eyes, "he was on his knees, begging," you emphasise. "me to marry him! no- more like demanding i marry him-"

"oh baby, i think you're exaggerating it just a touch," he rolls his eyes playfully before pulling you closer to him, his breath hot on the shell of your ear and his voice dangerously low, "dial it down a bit, doll."

defiance builds in your system at the low timbres sending shivers down your spine and you fake a sigh, "clark has never been one to take no for an answer- it was his third time proposing so naturally i just felt sorry and had to say yes," and you receive an ovation of giggles, coo'ing and coworkers who give clark a look of pure respect. it's weird how all of a sudden you tell someone you're married and that's it- you're part of some new unlocked level of life. clark can't help but feel awful and think he should've done this sooner.

"oh no doll," he draws in a smooth lie, "i think you forget you were the one who asked to marry me first; the proposal needed some serious work on it so i very graciously took over," he confirms, giving himself a lot more credit than the whipped persona you were creating for him.

"is that so? well do you remember the time where you got so nervous you almost pe-"

"excuse me guys," he interrupts you swiftly, "gotta give the wife one more spin before the nights over," and he all but drags you in the opposite direction.

"wait-" and it's perry white who shoots you a curious look. "your ring?" and his gaze flits to your bare hand. clark tightens his hold on it protectively, bringing it up to his lips with a kiss brushing against your knuckles.

"having it cleaned," you melt at the contact, slumping into clark's side like a lovesick fool and he bares your weight. secretly, you regret your shoe choice of the evening, it already swelling up your ankles slightly and clark doesn't miss a beat at holding you up against him. perry nods at you with a smile then salutes clark, who sweats a little under his stare before leading you to the dance floor.

"how long before we make a break?" you ask and clark's surprised you've lasted all but an hour before planning an escape.

"maybe an hour more?"

"clark i don't think i have an hour more," you tell him seriously, "maybe a minute more," and he suddenly laughs so loud, pecking your cheek and you feel the dimpled smile against it. the air melts as he sways you in sync with the music softly.

"what are you doing?" you hiss and his hands travel dangerously low at the small of your back.

"picture," he murmurs into your hair, pretending to move a stray piece behind your ear tenderly "smile," and he spins you just in time for the camera to catch a blur of your grin. clark makes a mental note to steal that photo later, purely for journalistic purposes, obviously.

"you're doing a great job," he speaks low enough for you to hear only. you don't grace him a reply, your smile from earlier slipping off as soon as you hear his adjective use, "uh oh," he raises his brows like you're a toddler throwing a tantrum, "what is it now?"

"nothing," you shrug in indifference but theres a little bit of bark behind your bite, "everythings great," you echo, "just great."

"i get the feeling everything is not great,"

"what would make you say that?" you gasp, he gives you a look- the stare which holds a thousand words, one you know best as "really?" and you decide to give the sarcasm a miss for the night.

"i shaved my legs," you nod slowly as you start to sway in a dance, "i wore the dress, i have doused myself in perfume, and i get a "great"" you press your lips in a thin line, "if we were actually married, that would've been reason enough for divorce," you narrow your eyes.

"honey, i don't think we would've gotten through our vows," he returns just as quick.

"clark, i didn't even know you could read vows nevermind write them- you'd probably bore the audience into some spiel about font sizes and line spacing," you deadpan.

"what do you think i do?" he whips his head in confusion.

"you get bullied by microsoft word and do interviews with yourself," you scoff, "that tells me plenty,"

"and you stab needles into poor innocent kids and steal their blood," he bites back and its a poor attempt to undermine your work as a nurse but you do the unthinkable and burst out a laugh, a pure genuine laugh where you knock your head back, clutching your chest lightly where the amber lit lamps highlight the glint in your eyes. and suddenly clark is taken back to the night where he first realised he was in love with you and the feeling of maybe, that after all this time he never really had fallen out of love with you, he's just not had the chance to show it.

"ah" you breathe out, "that was good," and he settles into the softened atmosphere where he doesn't have to try to be anyone but himself with you. "so what you gonna do about that superman?" you tease.

you don't notice that the music has stopped and pairs are leaving to take a seat for dinner until clark moves his jands from your waist to hold both your hands infront of him instead. you notice him leaning in slowly and you hate yourself for anticipating it, for closing your eyes just an inch waiting to feel his lips on yours but they never come, they settle on your forehead in a sweet tender kiss and you try and hide the frown.

"camera," he whispers again and you nod, the lump in your throat rising as you swallow.

the rest of the night carries on in a blur and its easier to pretend like you're not falling apart when there's people to crowd you at every corner. you laugh, you smile and look at clark kent with all the love you've kept buried deep inside of your soul before you finish up for the night- some half baked excuse about having too much to drink and you let clark lead you out to where he's parked the car.

before he leaves, perry kisses your cheek goodbye and claps clark on the back in approval, which clark in turn beams like a damn headlight, guiding you to a past life where all you ever felt for him was pure radiant happiness.

...

"thank you," he whispers as the car rolls to a stop and you smile- soft and small but its there.

"you're welcome," you try instead because you're all out retorts and you don't know how long you can keep up the walls you've built on sarcasm and locked away hurt. "it was easy being with you," you add, playing with your fingers in your lap as clark kent plays with your heart.

his own drum on the steering wheel as he sits in thought, "its silly," he sighs, "but it just reminded me of how we worked so well," and your heartbeat slows, mind cries out in desperation that you blink away the water that starts to build.

"we didn't," you offer instead, the voice of rationality ending his delusion "and that's why we ended," your words are meant to land with a finality but clark looks over, raw and earnest stretched into the small lines and crooks of his face.

"i don't believe that," he softens, "the way it felt-"

"it was pretend," you cut him off immediately, "you asked me to play a part and i did, you do not get to do this clark, don't make it into something it isnt," you warn.

"i think you're scared," he breathes with a shake of his head, the black curls tousling and blending in the darkness of the night "and it's okay because i'm scared to," his lungs pound as they beg for air but its so still and stagnant in the car that he has to unlock his seatbelt, reach across the controls and shift inwards to face you, to grab hold of your hands and take you to a world where things ended differently.

"i'm not scared," you get out in defiance, "i'm tired," and your words land firm, "we didn't just end clark- you broke up with before our anniversary, so clearly we didn't work that well," you scoff.

"baby," and you shoot him a death glare at the endearment, "i was in a bad place," he excuses, "it was hard balancing superman and clark and it was hurting you-"

"that would've been my choice to stay!" you get out, "i followed you to hell, clark," you grit, the emotion thick in your voice.

"and i got tired of taking you there so often!" he shouts, riled up from the months of miscommunication and resentment, he lowers his tone but you're still on the edge of your seat, "it wasn't fair to make you live through that and i knew you were too kind to not leave," he heaves, "so i made the choice for us,"

"no clark, you're wrong," the tears fall and you let them, "i loved you too much to not leave and you made that choice yourself, so don't come crying nostalgia to me now," you stand firm and tall on your walls though they crumble beneath you, "you did this,"

"yeah," he hangs his head low.

"was it worth it?" your question small as you relax back into the seat, exhaustion taking over.

"i think you know the answer to that," he smiles sadly.

"i think i need to hear it," you press, the words mixing in with the saltiness of your tears as they leave your lips.

"not in the slightest," you sit in the silence before unclicking your seatbelt and unlocking the car door. it takes clark longer than a second to get up and help you out except when you take his arm again, the touch feels like a washed out mellow flame of heat, like its barely hanging on as the sensation tethers between you two.

he helps you up the stairs, at a small distance but his hand still firmly gripped in yours and when he arrives at your door you unlock it, take a step in before turning to him. you surprise him and kiss his cheek lethally soft and gentle, like a sweet caress and he leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"you look beautiful," he breathes, the words he couldn't get out earlier and you smile sadly, lips twisting to the side as if holding back words you need to get off your chest. its what you wanted to hear at the start of the evening, a little bit of a boost to your system- to let clark know he's not the only one who made it out of this alive. but hearing it now, it feels like you're standing at the shore and waiting for the tide to swallow you whole.

"take care of yourself, clark," you whisper before the door shuts on him again.

he wishes he knew how to, and wishes more than anything he'd be able to take care of you too.