Author's Note: Happy 2022! Let's start this off right with some teal/butchubbles love!

The song recommendation this time is Maze by Alina Baraz!


Thursday, Apr. 15

Bubbles was driving herself absolutely mad.

She'd started boxing up a few of her extra items like the knickknacks, various pictures she had around her place, a few clothes and some of her kitchenware, and had taken two boxes of stuff over to Butch's apartment. He was going to be in the shop for a majority of the night, so while he was gone she had brought the cats over to her apartment. They'd arrived in Townsville from her class right around six, and he'd made the decision to head to the shop to work on a vacuum leak one of the cars left at his shop had.

They agreed that he'd be over for dinner before eleven, but that was still three hours away.

She'd remembered to feed the cats at the right time, but avoided cooking dinner for herself just yet. If he wasn't coming home until later, she had more time to focus on getting a good bit of her stuff packed away. Or, rather, the bit of her stuff that the cats would let her pack away. Between Candy stealing the newspapers she was supposed to use to wrap her breakables in and Coffee refusing to let her pack too much into the boxes (because otherwise, he wouldn't fit in them too), it almost felt like a lost cause.

Really, it was just busy work.

She had more than enough time to put this task off for a day or three.

Her brain, on the other hand, wouldn't shut up.

Despite the stress of her finals, the stress of moving and the stress of trying to handle two still playful and hyper young cats, her brain just would not give her a damn break.

Every time she managed to focus on her task at hand it would only manage to last for a few minutes. Without fail, she'd find something in her apartment that reminded her of either her counterpart or her boyfriend and, once again, her thoughts would start spiraling from there. She'd been trying (and failing) to make a little more of a dent in her packing for days now, and hadn't managed to make very much progress whatsoever.

To be fair, it was more important that she be there to support Boomer.

Valid excuse or not, it didn't stop her from being extremely distracted in most of her tasks.

On one hand, the blonde was nothing less than absolutely ecstatic about her counterpart finding his soulmate and finally being able to breathe as himself with their entire group.

On the other, the band around his neck haunted her.

She had no lingering romantic feelings towards her counterpart, nor was she afraid that he'd be 'taken from her' or anything to that effect. She didn't fear for the stability of their group- she was supportive and understanding, nothing less.

It was what that band meant.

She grinded her teeth, her hands tightening around the mug she held as her brows furrowed deeply.

It wasn't something she wanted to think about- it wasn't something she was ready to think about. Though unfair, she didn't get the most unfair hand dealt to her (her counterpart got the worst hand dealt, obviously). For that, she wouldn't complain too much. But just because someone was next to her in several casts didn't mean that her stitched up cut couldn't hurt- and dammit she didn't want to think about it.

But, again, that thick mahogany band flashed into her mind.

Bubbles let out a growl of frustration and she threw the old coffee mug into the sink. She barely flinched when it shattered and scared the shit out of the cats. Guilt for startling the animals almost dominated her emotions, but her frustration over that fucking band coming to her mind again still reigned. Her hands shook with a complicated web of emotion and she braced herself against the edge of the sink. Anything to get them to stop shaking. Anything to ground herself.

Sky blue eyes stared, unseeing, at the chunks of broken blue ceramic wobbling to settle around the drain.

Bubbles was an emotional person. She knew this, she lived it, she wasn't the least bit shy about it. Sometimes she was a little air headed, sometimes she was a little too blonde for her own good and it made her come across as ditzy, but she couldn't fucking stand it when she couldn't get her own emotions under control. Or when she couldn't even understand them. And when emotions she couldn't understand were the ones weighing heaviest on her mind and would not control themselves, it made her even more frustrated.

She was good at emotions.

She wasn't good at patience.

Usually, when she felt something, she knew what she was feeling, had a good idea of why she felt that way and had a good idea of how to deal with it. Almost immediately. With this, she needed to take her time to feel through it and to think through it. The problem was that right now, she didn't have time to do so. There were so many other things, so many more important things going on- supporting Boomer, studying for finals, taking her finals, patrolling in more specific areas now that they were able to track the abominations a little further, getting her stuff packed for the move, her grooming class…

Her teeth clenched.

Once upon a time, the idea of finding her soulmate was something she dreamed about, fantasized about, and something that kept her heart open. It used to be something that bedtime stories were built on, something that seemed like a comfort blanket. Stories of people meeting their other halves, the brightness and happiness and joy that filled their lives after finding one another, always managed to fill her heart with warmth.

Then, in high school, she genuinely began to question her humanity.

When so many things that make people human don't necessarily apply to her, where exactly did that leave her? It was a question that haunted her for a couple of long, dark, depressing years. She was empathetic now, but that didn't guarantee forever. After seeing the dredges of society, the worst of the worst, the crimes of humanity that are usually shielded from most of the public eye for years upon years upon years… Would that wear at her empathy?

What, then, if she was the first of them affected that way?

What, then, was the line between human and inhuman?

The line between Hero and Villain?

Bubbles didn't know what made her most vulnerable in those years, but a lot of things all accumulated and added onto the slippery slope of her mental state. It took perfecting her sweet and kind mask to get her through it. Fake it until you make it became her motto, just smile and nod became a regular reminder and she had gone as far as to question whether she did or didn't even contribute anything worthwhile to the Puffs.

It wasn't a pleasant time, high school.

She was thankful it was long, long gone now.

Most importantly, though, was the thought that started that whole train wreck; they weren't born to this world. They were created.

If they were created, not born, where then would her soul have come in at? When what created them was a mixture of sugar, spice, and everything nice- and an accidental dose of Chemical X- where would their souls be added? Before or after the creation process? To her young, vulnerable mind, it made the most sense to say that they simply didn't have souls. At the very least, not the same way that normal people did.

When people kept holding her to standards she kept failing to meet, it felt like the right answer. They simply didn't have souls like the rest of the world. If they did, their souls must've been different somehow- someway.

Soulmates then, decidedly, felt like something she was undeserving of.

The question of if they had souls- or where souls came from- would hang above her, tempting and testing and taunting her. Eventually, it was better for her sanity to dispose of the thought entirely- better for her to just move on and along with the flow of time. It was better to decide that no, it was a happiness she wasn't allowed because she simply didn't have a soul the way that normal people had souls. And hers, if it did have another half, could only be matched by someone made like her.

Her piss poor confidence at the time made it easier to accept.

While the woman was now much more comfortable with herself and much more confident, it didn't mean all of those old (and mostly mentally self-inflicted) wounds were completely healed.

Seeing Boomer- her counterpart - having found his soulmate in a normal man like Mike dug up so, so many feelings and so, so many thoughts she was not prepared to deal with. Comfort, yet also discomfort. Hope, yet hopelessness. Joy, yet despair. Fear- a very, very large and healthy dose of fear. She felt so many things at once. Her stomach felt bottomless, like it was falling to her feet and like she was going to vomit all at the same time.

She stared blankly into the sink.

Was she supposed to be comforted by the fact that they were just as human as the rest of the population, or was she supposed to now be even more terrified of death as a result? Was she as infallible as they were said to be, then, if they were human enough to have the same soul makeup? Was it supposed to feel easier to know that she is normal enough- or was it supposed to feel even more like they were in this hero business far over their heads?

She didn't know where to begin, or where to end.

Where did she start thinking through it all?

Her head fell, hanging beneath her biceps while she clung to the sink.

When should she stop thinking through it? This was the question that lingered most.

...Would she get pulled back into that dark, dark place?

The door flung itself open then, the suddenness of it and the sound genuinely startling the blonde who had fully zoned out, lost in the swamp her brain had created. Bubbles turned around just in time to see Butch coming quickly through the kitchen doorway, his brows furrowed in worry- yet that was almost completely lost on her when she saw the cut-to-ribbons state of his right arm.

"Are you okay?!" the two simultaneously asked.

Bubbles waved her hands in front of herself for a second then grabbed him by his left hand to pull him into the bathroom. "Forget me right now, what the hell happened to your arm?"

His forest eyes were intense, holding their own gravity, but he didn't once complain about her insistence. He let her drag him to the bathroom and he let her sit him on the toilet as she reached for her first aid kit. The silence didn't go unnoticed, though, and he continued to not answer her question when he pulled his tattered and stained tank top off. She continued to gather the materials she needed in the silence he created.

Once his shirt was off and on the floor, and she'd come up next to him to start working on his arm, he curled his fingers around her jaw, ever gentle despite his urgency. She very well could have- easily- pulled away or not followed his movements. Just by standing up straight, she could have. Even now, through his tense and terse silence, she trusted him.

He was forcing her to look at him.

"Don't you ever tell me to forget you, Bubbles Utonium. Don't ever say that again, for any reason."

It was the first time their eyes had met since he came in, and it felt like it was the first time she saw the depth of his eyes. It was, perhaps, the first time she could see a desperation there, and it was definitely the first time she had ever seen him yearn. She didn't know what startled her more, his words or just how he lay himself bare for her to read like a book. Worry, concern, a need within those forests that compelled her to keep wandering.

He'd never seemed so open before.

"…I'm sorry," she whispered, her heart thundering in her throat.

Butch pulled her against him then, his arms wrapping comfortingly around her. His arms were strong enough to hold all of her worries and then some, and his embrace would almost always help her recenter herself. Though, honestly, she couldn't tell which of them it was more comforting for. His hands clutched the fabric of her shirt just as tightly as his arms were wound around her. When he inhaled, she felt the shudder and shake of his chest- repressed. He didn't want her to feel how shaken up he was. She figured it was so she wouldn't worry, but honestly it only made her worry more.

Then, something clicked.

There wasn't much that could shake up any of them anymore.

Her back tensed. "Was this one of those fleshy-"

"Yeah," he cut off quickly. "Butterbabe and I managed to get it to retreat. Reds went to chase after it. Then you weren't answering your phone and I worried something got past us…"

"I'm so sorry, babe," she whispered, her hands rubbing circles into his back. "I should have turned my phone up when we got back earlier, I didn't even think about it."

Butch kept her held there for a while longer but did, after a few long minutes, let go. Her hand caressed his cheek and she kissed his forehead, pulling back long enough to grab the antiseptic her dad made for them with just a dash of Chemical X for their more serious wounds. With it, she soaked the cotton pad she had in hand. His arm was shredded , cuts of varying sizes and depth marring his skin.

His eyes never left her while she worked on cleaning and disinfecting his wounds.

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her and it was almost unnerving.

"…Are you gonna talk about what's got a broken mug in the sink?"

Her jaw snapped closed so tightly that the sound of her teeth clicking echoed in the bathroom. She took a couple of deep, long breaths before she felt collected enough to say anything . "Not now."

"Don't shut me out, Bubs," he whispered. "You've been getting quieter and quieter as the week's gone on. Please, just talk to me."

Her hands shook while she tried to finish her task. "Old memories," she choked out.

He grabbed her hand gently and held it in place until she looked at him again. She wasn't sure what he was looking for or if he found it- and now, in that moment, she wasn't sure what he saw in her at all. "You've been like this since Boom and Mike happened."

Is this about us?

She wasn't sure if it was her new relationship with him or just from knowing him for most of her entire damn life, but she heard that unspoken question of his louder than he actually spoke.

"I promise you," she paused to put things down and move her hand from his so she could hold his face with both of her hands, "I am not worried about us at all." He seemed hesitant to accept that, so she kept going. "Boomie outright said that he and Mike were together for three years before their bond triggered. Regardless of whether or not we are, I don't think it's something we should worry about. If it does happen, it'll happen with time. If it doesn't, I'm still happy right where I am."

He inhaled deeply and nodded slowly. "I trust you, Angel. I just… couldn't help but worry."

"The only thing I expect is for you to be Butch Jojo," she offered with a small smile.

Butch bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes looking between hers. "You'll talk when you're ready, right…?"

Her eyes dropped back down to his arm, but he could tell that she wasn't avoiding his gaze. She was looking away to find her answer and he had no problems with letting her finish up bandaging his arm while she did. "I thought myself into a bad, bad depression in high school," she whispered, her tone strangely monotonous. "It's just… dragged up old wounds, I guess."

"Does this have something to do with your comment at the beach house?" he asked softly, his tone like a verbal caress to her heart. "Something 'bout not believing we had soulmates?"

She felt her jaw clench tighter and she nodded. "I just… There's a lot of both positive and negative attached to that idea," she managed to get out, her tone tight. "It's… it's a lot. Overwhelming. That's all."

He could remember one other time that her skies looked so clouded. So lost and confused.

Wide, callused hands landed on her hips, and his forests begged her to get lost running barefoot through the moss and gnarled root covered ground. He pulled her closer, ignoring that there was a part of his arm that still hadn't even been touched by her. She stumbled just the way he'd wanted and she fell, her ass landing right on his thigh. She fit perfectly in his lap.

Perfectly in his arms.

She huffed. "Butch-"

"Wanna be human tonight?"

Her hands shook much more noticeably and her eyes widened at the question. It was like he cut through her with that question, yet his eyes kept her pinned to her spot. Logically, she knew he was likely inviting her in for a smoke, but there was something deeper to those words this time. He saw through her worries, saw through her concerns, and just like when he'd initially coined that phrase they'd used ever since, he gave her the space to understand that he was speaking from a place of experience.

It almost scared her, how well he just…

Understood.

"…You have no idea," she whispered.

His hands slid down to her thighs and the sensation of his skin on hers sent shivers up her spine.

She glanced down at his lips.

When she looked back up to his eyes, they were intense in that odd way again. Lustful, yes- but she could see that. Daring her to push forward. Luring her forward like a come hither finger. She still couldn't exactly put what that fucking look in his eyes was, and it had been getting much more frequent. It brought butterflies to her stomach.

Not that it mattered, since her mouth would be working without her permission.

"Can I kiss you?" she blurted.

She was just as taken aback by the question as he seemed to be.

The words were out, and she held firm, regardless of whether or not she thought it through.

His eyes lidded and he leaned just a bit closer to her, his lips hovering just over hers. Their breaths mingled, warm and moist enough to make her light headed. Anticipation spread like a wildfire, almost physical with how thickly it hung in the shared air between them. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

It didn't matter, now, that her words came out without her meaning for them to.

She had her permission.

She connected their lips and closed her eyes, letting the positively sinful sensation of his mouth moving in tandem with hers wipe absolutely everything from her mind. She didn't need to think when his hands shook ever so slightly against her hips, or when a sigh of relief fell from her own nose. She didn't want to inspect what that sigh meant- she didn't want to think. And she didn't have to.

First kisses weren't everything.

This one was.

Her hands threaded through the mop of curls sat atop his head. His hands pulled her impossibly closer, his mouth against hers left gooseflesh rising along her skin, and his tongue meeting hers forced a soft moan through her nose. His hands tightened on her in a way literally no one (other than another super) could do- tight enough to tease right on the cusp of pain but never quite making her uncomfortable or actually feel pain. He walked the ghost of that line and the thrill of it sent a trill of sensual excitement up her spine. She clutched at his hair and pulled ever so slightly, using his hair like the anchor to keep her grounded in reality.

Like a switch had flipped, he then threatened to devour her. His movements grew more insistent, more probing, and it made her knees weak. He wasn't the forbidden forest anymore, he was the beast sleeping within, consuming and threatening to smother her in his fervor. His tongue was insistent, his hands sparked with his power in such a weak and subconscious manner that she wondered if he was truly aware of how his energy stuck and clung to her like a thick lotion, smothering and filling her senses with his emotions and feelings.

Happiness, lust, elation, joy. She could feel how he yearned and needed her, she could feel the fear he tried to hide… But most of all, she could feel his passion; it was consuming her. She tried to pull back because the heat of his passion was hotter, more consuming than she anticipated it being, but he followed after her and pulled yet another soft sound from her, without her permission, when he bit her lip gently. She caught him in another quick kiss, her hands tightening in his hair.

He pulled back this time- and she followed him, stealing yet another kiss.

He chuckled against her lips, the sound being what finally managed to pull her away from where their lips were connected. Butch didn't let her pull too far back, though, and nearly headbutted her while trying to press their foreheads together.

"Aoof," he hissed at the gentle impact.

Her laughter filled the bathroom and drew the cats to the doorway out of curiosity.

She sighed, content, and pressed another small peck to the side of his lips. "Thank you."

"You can kiss me anytime you want, Angel," he whispered before stealing yet another small peck from her. "You taste like sugar."

She hummed, her fingers releasing his hair finally, causing him to exhale slowly. "You can kiss me anytime you want, too."

"Good," he grinned, his hands sliding up her thighs slowly. He stayed on the outside of her legs, polite despite the sensuality of his feather light touch. "I don't think I'm done with those lips."

"I don't think I'm done with that arm," she returned, her eyes saddening a bit as she looked over at the wounded limb. "Let me finish patching you up, babe."

"Kiss me better?" he asked, grinning.

She hummed. "I'll think about it."

Not everything was said. Not everything was okay.

But that's okay.

They were allowed their human nights.