Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Maybe fake dating was a bad idea, but of course, anyone who wasn’t a lovesick idiot could have told her that. Hell, she would have told herself that, she’s seen enough dumb romcoms and read enough badly written romance novels to know how this would end. But she was a lovesick idiot and thought that because she had only ever liked Will, she would be fine. Besides, he’s Warren Peace, she couldn’t fall for him, he was nothing like Will and therefore, he wasn’t her type, right? Boy, was she wrong.

Because Warren couldn’t be the one-dimensional hot bad boy who hates everyone. No, he has to have a heart of gold buried under all that angst. He just has to try to make her smile and comfort her when she’s upset and be nice to her friends. And so, his fire crawls under her skin and sits there, waiting in her stomach, just waiting. She doesn’t know it’s there until he smiles, then it’s all over. It’s rare, but when he smiles it’s only ever at her. And then there’s that flame in her stomach, flaring up and filling her with a warmth that could rival the heat Warren creates. She swallows hard, hoping it’s enough to extinguish the flame. It’s not.  

It’s like he’s infected her, passed his power onto her because this burning in her chest hasn’t gone away since she asked him to homecoming. It’s slow and steady when he’s not around, like laying in the sun on a summer day, but God, when he’s around, it feels like she’s standing in the middle of a bonfire. Like she’s the kindling to his flames. And that’s only when he’s around, when she’s with him, pretending that they’re in love and that they’re a happy couple, it gets a million times worse.

She sees Will coming and she holds his hand, for show of course, and it feels like she’s being roasted alive, and she can tell that that’s not from the heat he burns her with, because not even he can make a flame that could magically travel from her hand to her heart. And it happens every time. When he puts his arm around her, when he jokes with her and her friends, when he’s honest, when his ever-present glare softens, just for her, when he wears a tux for her. It hasn’t slowed down since they started ‘dating’, and she’s afraid it’ll never stop. Never stop growing, never stop being there when she thinks of him, when he touches her, when he wipes her tears, when he simply exists near her. But worst of all, is the fact that she’s lying about the fear, in all honesty, she wouldn’t really mind if it never stopped.

And little does she know, Warren feels the same way.

Ever since she wandered into his life and sat down at his favorite booth at his restaurant, all illuminated in red and candlelight, he’s been a goner. Her vines, covered in both frilly flowers and dangerous thorns, snaked their way under his skin and wrapped around his heart, his brain, and his throat. And every time, without fail, they squeeze when she enters the room. They grow tighter and tighter every time she smiles at him, or holds his hand, or calls him cutie, or hugs him. Every time she talks to him like he’s not evil and has never done anything wrong in his whole life. The worst it’s ever been, is when she looked at him like he’s Will Stronghold or some other golden boy, with those eyes in that dress. And he just stands there like a lovesick idiot, in his father’s tux that he said he wouldn’t wear. But he did, for her.

He tries to burn them away. Plants burn easily, they’re like kindling to his flame, but her vines don’t burn. He tries anyway. He burns them, and then he finds out that the vines under his skin are still connected to her. And he hurts her, he burns her hand when she holds it, hoping it would burn away the plants making it hard for him to breathe. Better her hurt than him, right? Wrong. Because it just ends with her hand red and the vines tighter than before. That’s when he learns that he can’t just get rid of these wretched things, not without hurting her in the process, and the price is too high for his boiling blood.

He thought that after he hurt her, the plants could never get tighter, it takes a matter of seconds for him to be proved wrong. Because then he sees. He stops worrying about her hand and Warren is snapped into his cruel reality. He sees her eyes and he sees that they aren’t trained on him, but her dream man. Not him, but Will. She doesn’t care about him, he’s just a pawn in her little game, happy to throw him away if it means getting the king. He has to remind his brain that this is all fake, but that doesn’t stop those vines from suffocating him. So tight around his neck that he can’t breathe, so tight around his heart that it stops beating, so tight around his brain that it cuts off all thoughts, leaving only a couple words left bouncing around his thick skull.

You're not the one she wants

He has to get away from her, has to leave the grasp of her vines, because he’s just gonna get hurt. He knows why this hurts so much, why this dumb fake dating can only end with him beaten and bloody on the floor. He wants it to be real. He wants her to smile at him, and hold his hand, and call him cutie, and hug him because she likes him in the same way he likes her. He knows it won’t end with anything but heartbreak for himself. But he keeps going, because he’s a lovesick idiot, for her.

So he sits back, and he suffers in silence. He suffers, letting the vines slowly suck out the air he desperately needs as he watches them kiss and be a couple. He smiles when they come to The Paper Lantern and even laughs with them sometimes because even though his blood boils every time he sees them, Will is a good dude, maybe even his friend. So he finds solstice in a girl named Fiona Frost. Turns out burning the vines might not work, but when he kisses her, she can freeze them. And maybe he’ll just have to be happy with those small moments of peace she brings, even if he doesn’t care all that much about Frost.

Little does he know, Layla feels the same way.

Because she thought the flames would stop when she and Will started officially dating. But that heat still sits there, lighting up whenever he’s close by. Sure, Will extinguishes the flame in her gut a little bit, but only a little bit. It’s never really gone. And even when Will is right next to her, her attention always seems to be drawn to him. She and Will will be sitting, hand in hand, at the Paper Lantern, but then Warren will come up, and suddenly Will doesn’t matter anymore. No, all that matters is that he’s standing there in that infuriating tank top and with his hair like that and that he’s laughing at something she said, and the roaring flames that consume her.

She knows she should be happy, Warren seems happy with Fiona, and she’s happy with Will, right? But yet, every time she sees them together, kissing and holding hands, that flame gets all worked up. But it’s different than it normally is when she sees him. Normally it feels like when Warren lit that candle for her at the Paper Lantern or when he used his flames to protect her during the whole Royal Pain debacle, not that she needed him to do that. Burning her, but almost pleasantly. This was like when he fought Will in the cafeteria, or when he used his powers during Save The Citizen. An angry, uncontrollable rage under her skin. But she just suffers in silence, because he’s happy, and she has Will. So she lets him stop the flames from spreading and consuming her. Even though she’s finding that she doesn’t care about Will, at least not in the way she thought.

She saves that flame for when she’s alone at night when she should be thinking about Will, she finds Warren has taken up too much space in her mind for Will to even make a guest appearance. She thinks about what it would be like if they were ‘dating’ again, except without the air quotes. If the flame didn’t come from her stomach but from him. She thinks about his heat, and what it would be like when their lips met and what it would be like with his hands against her skin. What it would be like if that heat was real.

And halfway across the city, Warren lays in bed thinking about her, and even though Frost had just left, her vines have such a tight grasp on his mind that the ice queen has no space. He thinks about what it would be like if they were ‘dating’ again, except this time it would be real. If the flower-covered vines that wrap around him could be replaced with her flower-covered hands. He thinks about what it would be like when their lips met, and what it would be like to feel high off the fact that she smells like flowers and honey. What it would be like if instead of feeling like he’s going to be suffocated by her, he’ll just be pleasantly out of breath.

And little do they know, they both feel the same way. If only they both weren’t such lovesick idiots and actually did something about it. 

Chapter Text

It takes Warren two weeks to realize that freezing the vines isn’t enough. That even though for a couple seconds he didn’t feel like he was suffocating, it never lasts. That it wasn’t fair to Frost, playing with her heart while his belonged to another. She didn’t seem surprised when he told her, she didn’t seem very hurt by it either. Of course, he ‘pulled a Warren’ as Layla would tell him, he was blunt, maybe even a little heartless. The one thing he was missing, is honest. Layla would always call him honest, pretty much to a fault.

“We should break up. We’re not working.” He says it when she comes to the Paper Lantern, a surprise for him. She offered to take out on his break and he knew. Time to stop pretending. It was a wake up call, seeing her in his favorite booth at his restaurant, in Layla’s normal spot. 

She nodded, almost sadly, “Ah, took you long enough.”

“What?” He stands at the edge of the table, shocked as his hands clench the towel that rests on his shoulder.

“I honestly am surprised it took you this long,” She raises an eyebrow at his confused expression. “I’m not an idiot, I know how you look at her. Don’t worry, I’m not angry or anything, you weren’t exactly the love of my life either, Peace.”

It takes him a second, a second where his body is frozen but his mind moves too fast to comprehend. Warren was never one to gossip or talk to other people about their problems, or at least he used to not be like that, who knows anymore when Layla is around, because he always seems to be her shoulder to cry on. Layla, those vines tighten once again, the mere thought of her filling him with new coils ready to steal his last breath. No, stay on track, you were thinking about Frost... Oh, right. With his mind safely off the Layla track, he remembers that one lunch, while he peacefully people watched alone, a favourite hobby of his, he had heard that the couple of the month had broken up. Some dude who controlled water and a girl who controlled ice.

“So,” He mumbles, sliding into the seat across from her, “I guess we’re in the same boat.”

She chuckles darkly, “I guess so, Peace, the woeful rebound.”

“Can’t seem to freeze her out of my system.”

“And he just won’t evaporate,” She looks up, a ghost of a smile playing across her lips. “Looks like you aren’t as hot as you thought, Peace.”

It gets a small laugh out of him, barely. You’d think he would be tired of fire puns, but they have always held a special place in his heart, tucked under layers of vines, thorns and flowers. “We’re pretty pitiful, aren’t we?” 

Fiona gets up and levels him with a cold stare, broken fortune cookie in hand,  “Speak for yourself, you’re too much of a coward to actually admit your feelings.”

Warren stares up at her like she’s sprouting a second head, “And risk loser her? I think you’re forgetting one important detail, she’s with wonderboy.” Venom seeps through his words as he gestures wildly at the word. He has nothing against Will, of course, he just wished that the other guy gunning for Layla’s affection was less perfect. He was just Warren Peace, he couldn’t compete with Stronghold.

“Maybe you should listen to your fortune cookie, it’s pretty good advice, I should know,” She throws the thin sheet of paper on the table before turning around and walking out, “See you around, Peace.”

“Sure, Frost.” And then she’s gone.

His hands grasp the fortune, breath catching at the words printed on them. ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. A cliché line he’s heard a million times before, rolling his eyes every time, but this time, it causes those goddamn vines to tighten, gripping him like a vice. He tries to school his body, keeping his heart and lungs in check, but his mind goes wild.

He could get on his motorcycle right now, ride to her place with her favourite dish in hand. He could go to the window just like she showed him that one time, climbing up the vines that she grew up on the side of the house. He could knock on her window and see her doing school work or tending to the many plants that are littered around her room. He could kiss her, right when she opens her window, see if he was right all those times he imagined what kissing her would be like. It would be heated and passionate and desperate, letting his lips tell her how long he’s wanted to do that, with the words he can never find. He could sit and talk to her for hours while they share her gross vegetarian food that isn’t actually gross, but he likes to tease her that it is. 

Instead, he shoves the paper in his pocket and gets back to work, because yea, he would love to be in a relationship with her, but he can’t risk losing her. Because he’s a lovesick idiot for her, and having her turn away from him may just cause those vines to cut off his air supply completely.

The group seems suspicious when Fiona doesn’t join them for lunch the next day, but no one seems more concerned then Layla. “No Fiona today?” She asks, picking at her salad, not quite meeting Warren’s eyes.

“No,” He says, lighting that flame in her gut. His voice is all low and gravelly, and she can feel his eyes on her, burying into her soul. “We broke up last night.”

Layla chokes on the air around her as his fire spreads from her chest to her entire body, stopping the air from reaching her lungs. He hasn’t stopped looking at her as their friends talk around them, but she can’t find any words. She feels bad that she feels almost happy that the duo broke up, but she can’t focus on that right now because Warren is looking at her with this shine in his eyes and she can’t quite figure out what it means. But that fire just grows, and not even Will can tame it. This may be a problem.

It takes Layla two days after she finds out about Warren and Fiona to realize that Will doesn’t have the same fire that Warren does, not in the way that counts. He doesn’t hold the same spark, and she feels bad continuing when someone else does. It’s the weekend and the two are sitting on his roof, looking at the stars. Now or never, she decides before she interrupts their peace.

“What did you think dating would be like?”

The question seems to catch Will off guard, but then again, he was never good at emotions, “I don’t know, dates, spending time together-”

“No, Will, like us dating.”

“I don’t know, why?”   

“We’re the textbook perfect couple, you know? Best friends since kindergarten, live next to each other, the foundation for the high school sweethearts story that I always wanted...” 

“But?” He supplies, raising an eyebrow. 

“You know me better than anyone else, probably better than anyone ever will, but I don’t think us dating works.” The last words slow as they leave her mouth. She finally tears her eyes away from the sky to look at Will, but he’s just staring at her, as if expecting her to elaborate. “Our relationship hasn’t changed much, it’s all the same, besides a title and some kissing. I think I spent so much time thinking about being with you that I never realized that there's no spark, no heat. I’ll always love you, I just don’t think this is the way we were meant to be.”

He nods slowly, finally looking away from her and at the ground beneath them, “I think you’re right, I’ve noticed it to. I think we just so caught up in moving forward that we forgot that it’s fine to be happy with where we are. I’ve gotta ask though, does this have anything to do with Warren?”

That heat rises to her checks, flames roaming so they can finally be set free, “I-”

“I get it Layla, you guys dated, or fake dated, and you fell. Trust me, if anyone gets falling fast and hard, it’s me.”

She chuckles at the memories of homecoming, before pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on them, “I’m so sorry, Will.”

“It’s okay, I just want you to be happy,” He puts an arm around her shoulder and squeezes her lightly, thankfully in control of his super strength. “I need a little time, to you know, process and deal and everything, so if you could not make out with Warren on the front lawn, that would be nice.” 

“Wha-” She’s promptly cut off by the sound of Warren’s motorcycle being parked in front of her house. She feels her heart stop as that warmth returns, and she looks at Will once again, “Are sure you’re okay with this?”

Will just smiles at her and pushes her forward slightly, “Yes, now go, looks like loverboy has plans to meet you,” And for a second, Layla stays completely still, hoping that maybe if she didn’t move, he would never see her and she can run from this, and just not have to risk it. Because she’s a lovesick idiot and can’t mess this up. She decides that before she can lose her nerve, she runs over to her house, hoping he doesn’t see her. He does. 

He’s walking towards her, a plastic bag from the Paper Lantern in one hand as he takes his helmet off. He shakes his hair out at her poor little heart gets lit on fire, plus it doesn’t help that he’s in his stupidly hot tank top with that dumb leather jacket over it. She refuses to admit that she imagined him wrapping it around her more than once, and the warmth it would give her, both from him and her chest. She once scolded him for leather and how cruel it was, he simply smiled at her and told her “Calm down Hippie, it’s artificial,” and that heat flicked on like a lighter, only much, much stronger.

The two love sick idiots stood in the space between Will and Layla’s houses, multiple feet away from each other in their own little grass abyss. Those vines get real tight around his insides as he sees her, running from Strongholds house, dressed in that cute jean skirt, and cute little space buns on her head. She looks flushed, almost a little guilty, like she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Oh. Neither of them moves for a minute, Warren too scared to make his move, Layla too guilty to risk it all. She glances up at Will’s roof, but no one’s there, and the windows closed. Remember, his mind speaks up, voice just barely slipping through the vines, ‘Tis better to have loved and lost.

“Just get back from a date with Stronghold?”

“Uh,” He can feel his confidence slipping with each second, the vines squeezing it out of him.

“Hey, I can come back another time, if this isn’t a good-”

“Me and Will broke up!”

Oh. Those plants got so tight that they stopped his heart completely “Oh.”

That fire flared up, rising until her face felt like a wildfire, probably looks as red as one too. “Yeah.” 

Silence settles across the lawn again, and suddenly, the vines let go of his heart, in fact they disappear from his chest completely. His heart doesn’t know how to act, it’s spent so long being constricted, now it’s trying to make up for lost time. It’s beating in double time, hell maybe triple time. He can feel it, thumping against his plant wrapped ribs, like it’s trying to break out of its cage to get to her. “Did you eat yet?”

“No, I was gonna eat dinner with Will but…” Her voice trails off. Her eyes haven’t left his, not once, since he got here. She really likes his eyes, they look deep and dark from far away, like burnt wood or coals, but if you're lucky enough to be close, you can see it. Little yellow, orange and red flakes flickering in the light. The metaphor is almost too accurate, dark and cold on the outside, warm and inviting on the inside.

Warren takes a step forward, then another, finally breaching their agreed distance, “I brought you some food from work, you know, that gross kung pow tofu you order when you need comfort food.” She gives him that smile, like he’s the best dude she’s ever talked to, like he’s her knight in blazing armour, and he practically melts. That smile that lights up her eyes and makes them look like freshly planted grass in the morning, bright greens, and rich light browns and streaks of gold. Ah, and the vines are back, squeezing the breath out of him once again.

Layla takes a couple steps forward, only to grab his hand and start pulling him toward her bedroom window, “You know you like it, hothead. Come on, share it with me.” He smirks at her, adjusting his grip on his hand so their fingers are intertwined, and lets himself be dragged. 

She helps him up, having the vines lift him so he doesn’t have to do any climbing himself. Her room is nice, covered in plants and candles and pillows, but his favourite is her window. She’s got this little roof section, a lip that leans over part of their back porch, that sits right by her large window. She’s got this big three panel window in a little semicircle, and right under is a bench. She climbs inside and sits on the little bench, while he stays outside on the roof, back resting against the window sill. She sets the styrofoam container on the edge of the window, right between them, while he hands her a pair of chopsticks.

The two eat while they laugh and talk and sit a little too close for just friends. He teases her about how gross the tofu is and how he should have gotten the chicken just to spite her. He fake scolds her for holding her chopsticks wrong, and she throws a peanut at him in response. She jokes about how he’s not all as bad as he tries to be, and how no amount of angst can hide that he’s a sweetheart.

“Only for you.” There’s a moment of silence, neither moves, they just look at each other. She already shorter them him, but the bench is also a little shorter than the rooftop, so when he leans closer, she looks up at him through these hooded lashes. They both set down their chopsticks.

He reaches out, brushing her hair out of her face, slowly, almost like he doesn’t want to scare her away. His hand rests on the side of her face, and again, neither can say anything. The only movement is the slow swaying of his thumb as it rubs her cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

That fires rages inside her, evaporating the air from her lungs, lighting up her face. She is so afraid, she knows he can feel how he affects her. She’s so scared, but she finds that that flame can burn away her fear too. She nods, leaning into his touch.

Warren was wrong about a couple things. He didn’t surprise her, and he didn’t kiss her in a haste as she opened the window. The kiss wasn’t heated, or passionate, or desperate. It didn’t say how long he wanted to do this. In his little fantasy, the order was wrong and he missed all the best things about kissing Layla Williams. Like how soft her hair was as he tangled his fingers in it. Or she tasted like kung pow tofu in literally the best way possible. Or the fact that she provided this heat that he had never felt before, no, not heat, warmth. He didn’t think about how it would feel when her hands ghosted over his arm, even with the leather jacket buffer. He didn’t think about how he could feel her heartbeat, and it was going just as fast as his. He didn’t think about how she would engulf him, until all that is left is her. Her taste, her touch, her skin, her lips, her tongue, her scent, just her.

That doesn’t mean he was completely wrong. He was right about she smells like flowers and honey, and he most definitely felt high off her. And how he’s pleasantly out of breath. Speaking of which.

They pull away, but not far, no, just enough to rest their forehead against each other’s. And just stare into each other’s eyes, looking for the same thing they felt. And it was perfect and peaceful, for a second, until he can’t help it, those damn vines cut off the circulation to the part of his brain that has a filter. 

“Wow.” It takes him a second, but then he realizes that the word didn’t just leave his mouth, but hers too. He smirks at her, and she beams at him, and his vines return, but they don’t cut off his heart, or his brain, or his throat. This time the vines feel like flowered covered hands, and metal bracelets, and soft fire colored hair. And all they do is make him want more. 

Their lips meet again, and Layla realizes that she was wrong. Well not wrong, but definitely missing some key details. Because that fire, that flame when she feels in her gut when he’s near isn’t slowed when she kisses him, no, it just gets hotter. But it’s a nice hot, because it’s coming from him too, and it makes her feel like she’s going to melt in his arms. But, in her little fantasy, she missed all the best things about kissing Warren Peace. Like how his hair was choppy at the edges, and how nice it was to play with it. Or how he tasted like kung pow tofu in literally the best way possible. Or how the leather jacket feels against her fingers as she touches him. She didn’t think about how it would feel when he touched her, about how his hands would feel as they touched her skin or got tangled in her hair. She didn’t think about how she could feel his heartbeat, and it was going just as fast as hers. She didn’t think about how he would wrap around her like vines until all that is left is him. His taste, his touch, his skin, his lips, his tongue, his scent, just him. 

She wasn’t completely wrong though, because she had thought about him, about how he smelt like spices and burnt sugar. She had thought about his hands, and how intoxicating they would feel. She thought about him in a way she had never thought about anyone else before, and sitting here, his lips against hers, she knew she was right.

The two feel the exact same way about each other. That this is right, and right here, in each other's arms, was where they were meant to be. And it was about time they both stopped such lovesick idiots and actually did something about it.