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perfectpaperbluebirds · 4 years ago

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Prompt # 19: Addiction

@sicktember Alternate prompt #4: Stay

Title: Unexpected Developments Part 2

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Find Part 1 under prompt # 8. Mr. Darcy is sick in bed and miserable. Elizabeth is trying to look after him, but his bad mood gets the better of him and tempers flare. Will sweetness or stubbornness win out in the end?

Elizabeth Bennett was the only guest at Netherfield who wasn't in bed with a cold. The virus Jane had caught riding to attend luncheon with Caroline had spread around the whole house, but it seemed Eliza was immune. Mr. Darcy had been the last to fall ill, and Lizzie had discovered him sneezing in a corner over a day ago while she remained perfectly healthy. It was fortunate she had discovered him though, for the servants were rushing hither and yon at the beck and call of their ill master and his sister, and poor Mr. Darcy would have been overlooked completely if Lizzie hadn't taken him under her care.

Lizzie, for her part, was glad Jane's cold was much improved from the days prior. Since Jane needed little tending now, she had given Lizzie her blessing to give most of her attention to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, for his part, was very accustomed to having a houseful of servants to do his bidding, and was little accustomed to being ill, strong and virile as he was. Because of these things, he was not the easiest patient, though he truly tried to make an effort to curb his frustration and not take his misery out on Elizabeth. Her lack of symptoms clearly perturbed him, however.

"How is it you are still in perfect health while I and everyone else are laid up with this beastly chest cold?" he griped that afternoon while Lizzie fussed around, tidying up dishes and rags from his bedside. If Lizzie wasn't accustomed to his voice by now, she would have had trouble understanding him, for his nose was stopped tight with congestion, and his voice raw and weak from coughing, rendering him nigh unintelligible.

She giggled to herself. "Well you see, I believe I've already had this cold, for in the week prior to Jane's arrival here, my father, some of my other sisters and myself caught cold. We were envious of Jane's good luck in not falling ill at the time, but it seems it caught up with her in the end."

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy muttered sourly with a slushy sniffle.

"Oh don't be cross. It isn't so terrible lounging in bed all day, being waited on hand and foot is it?"

"Yet when I find myself miserable in body, I find my mood tends to follow," he groused.

"Hmm." Elizabeth moved to his side, caressing his flushed face gently with the pad of her thumb. "It's just as I thought. You're only irritable like this when your fever is up, and indeed you are overwarm again. Jane's fever wasn't nearly so persistent."

"How fortunate for me," he mumbled to himself. Elizabeth tried to ignore his bad temper as she fetched her basin and rag. She wasn't fond of sarcasm, and his attitude was irking her more than she cared to let on. Tenderly as ever though, she began bathing his face and neck to try to bring down his miserable fever.

The cold water on his face made him gasp slightly, which became a cough, and the coughing only seemed to agitate him more. He usually enjoyed his face being bathed, but today he drew away from the rag.

“Perhaps we should try another method for treating fever, since this does not seem to be effective,” said the sick man. His speech was curt and tense with foul temper.

Elizabeth gave him a long look, trying to keep her own temper under control. “What would you suggest, sir? We have tried willow bark, which made you feel more ill, and you will not have any other poultices,” she said in a measured, warning way.

“There must be something we haven't done yet. I would do anything to rid myself of this beastly cold, that came from *your* sister, I might add! You just said you already had this cold. Think of something else to try!”

Elizabeth flew to her feet, tossing down the rag. “Perhaps you should go plunge yourself into an ice bath! That will surely help the fever, and I’m sure it will do wonders for your coughing and sneezing as well! But you can draw it yourself, and you can see to your own meals and entertainment too. You clearly feel my efforts are inadequate, so you can tend to yourself from now on. I am through with smoothing your insufferable pride and being a target for your bad mood. Good day, sir!”

With a whirl of skirts, she was out the door without a glance behind her. Elizabeth went straight to her room and lay down in the cool and quiet, for she was exhausted and careworn from nursing for a week straight. She fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake for several hours.

She felt much refreshed when she did finally emerge. She first went to look in on Jane, who was overall back to normal, but was getting bored sitting around and eager to go home. On questioning the staff, they learned that Caroline had mostly recovered as well. Mr. Bingley was recovering slower, but getting better all the time. The sisters wished him a speedy recovery by way of the servants, for as soon as he was recovered, they would be able to return home.

After visiting with Jane for some time, Elizabeth desired to find a quiet corner and read. To her chagrin, she realized she had left her book in Mr. Darcy’s room. She did not relish seeing him again so soon after they parted so badly, but she had no choice if she wanted her book back. With a sigh, she made her way to his room with hesitant steps. She knocked softly before entering, which felt odd since she had been coming and going freely for two days prior. His hoarse, weak voice bid her come in.

He was in quite a different state than he had been a few hours before. Where he had previously been fitful and agitated, now he seemed weak and lethargic. Even in the dim light she could see how sweat-matted his hair was, and the dark ring on his pillow. He lifted his head up to see who had entered, and his sleepy eyes flickered with confusion upon seeing her.

“I only came to get my book. I apologize for disturbing you,” she said stiffly, hardly looking at him. She snatched up the volume from the table where it lay and turned to go back out, intending to say nothing else.

“Wait.”

She paused, and turned slightly, her good breeding winning over. “Yes?”

He sat up a bit straighter, coughing weakly as he did so. “I am deeply sorry for how I behaved earlier. My treatment of you was inexcusable after all you’ve done for me these past days--” Here he had to pause to press his handkerchief to his dripping nose before he could continue. Elizabeth waited silently. “I was a beast and feel very much like a fool. Please forgive me,” he managed, mumbling through the damp fabric. His eyes shone earnestly above the hand holding the linen in place.

Her face softened. “I accept your apology, and thank you for it. No one acts quite themself when they’re ill, so I gladly forgive you. I’m sorry too for my part in all of it.”

They shared a tiny smile as he tended to his nose with a thick, gurgling blow, and she knew she was forgiven also. Immediately the tension between them was cleared.

Now that they had made up though, she was reluctant to leave him alone again, for he looked so weak and forlorn and in need of care. However, she was a woman of her word. She spoke as she moved to the door, putting her hand on the knob. “You must rest, Mr. Darcy, so I'll leave you be. I truly apologize for waking you.”

“Miss Elizabeth?”

Once more she turned to meet his eyes.

He held out a shaking hand. “Please… stay.”

She slowly returned to his side. “For what purpose, sir?”

“I… I desire your company… and your aid. You are… a far better caregiver than I, and I was a fool to imply otherwise. It… it won't happen again,” he croaked thickly.

Seeing the effort he was making to be overly polite softened Eliza's heart further. She let him take her hand in his warm grasp, a smile playing around her lips. “If you insist. I will stay.”

He smiled also as he drew her hand toward himself. "Here, let me show you something," he snuffled. He placed her wrist against his neck, just as she had done many times over the past few days. He sighed softly as their skin made contact.

“Your fever has broken,” she murmured happily. “You are cool at last.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. “Did you plunge yourself into an ice bath after all?”

He stifled a cough before he could speak. “I… tried willow bark again, as you recommended. I felt worse… at first, but I fell asleep to ease the symptoms. When I woke, the fever had left me, and I felt… much clearer in mind. The fever was causing my foul mood, as you insightfully noted.” Yet another long speech, and now his voice was barely audible as he sniffled furiously and trembled with fatigue.

“Yet you seem somewhat worse for wear, for you’re completely exhausted, poor man.”

“This illness has left me weary to my bones, it is true. Yet I could not have slept soundly tonight knowing I had offended you. It would be an understatement to say I was very glad when you returned, though I did not expect or deserve a second chance.” His eyes were getting heavier by the moment, and he yawned almost before he finished speaking, reclining back against his pillows once more.

Elizabeth brushed the sweaty curls from his forehead as his eyes drifted closed, then let her hand rest on his cheek for a moment, reassuring herself that his fever was truly gone. He lazily covered her hand with his, a content smile flickering across his face.

She couldn’t help but smile in response, though he couldn’t see it. “Take some rest, Mr. Darcy. All is forgiven, and I will be here when you wake.” She gently tried to pull her hand away from his face. He quickly interlaced his fingers with hers to prevent this.

“You’ll truly stay?” he murmured sleepily, sniffling.

Leaving her hand on his cheek, she perched on the edge of his bed, so close their hips were almost touching. She saw him smile again as she did so.

“Of course I will,” she murmured back, her eyes never leaving his face as he peacefully drifted to sleep.

#sickfic #sicktember2021 #alt prompt 4 #everyone is hotter with a fever

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, filmed sex, public sex/outdoor sex, oral (f receiving), jin being a little shit just because he can, vmin mxm scene, bath sex, unprotected sex, fingering/anal play, anal sex, creampie, the most tender smut scene in this whole fic goes to these fucking boys

ᴀ/ɴ: banner designed by @jamaisjoons, thank you to my sfhs girls who help with brainstorming every week xx, i’m so sorry if this feels rushed or too short, i didn’t want to leave you hanging for three weeks : (

DAY NINE

One thing you learn the morning after, is that Hoseok is a deceptively bad cook.

Of course you’re grateful for the breakfast in bed he kindly prepared you and Jungkook - the latter still half-asleep and unable to go more than five seconds without yawning - but it’s hard to comprehend that the man in front of you now, eating cereal with a fork, is the same one that wrecked you so elegantly last night.

“Why is the toast chewy? Are we still being punished?” Jungkook moans sombrely around a mouthful, eyes dazed.

Hoseok sets his fork back in the bowl with a clatter, reaching out to poke Jungkook with a foot. “Be grateful, brat. I made that out of love.”

The younger man stares bleakly down at his plate. “I’d love to have a pancake right now instead.”

You wince at Hoseok’s disappointed expression, taking a mouthful of the strangely floppy toast. “It’s… nice and warm,” you offer up, failing to find anything else to compliment.

Hoseok beams. “Thank you. While I was doing my cereal, it got a bit cold, so I heated it up in the microwave.”

Your heart sinks despairingly into your stomach, which roils at the prospect. “Ah,” you muse hollowly.

“Eat up!” the dom cheers. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Still smiling proudly, he digs his fork into the almost full bowl of cereal and begins chowing down.

Jungkook shares a silent stare with you, and you turn back to your plate. “Thanks for breakfast, Hoseok,” you sigh, and brace yourself for the meal ahead.

After breakfast, you get dressed in a pair of shorts and a comfy shirt, planning on spending the day inside relaxing. But the moment you see Jin and Taehyung running around on the gravel outside, a small darting form evading their flailing arms, you realise how foolish you were to expect that a day in the villa could be anything remote to uneventful.

Rushing out the front door still in your socks, you step down to the base of the concrete entryway, staring in shock at the two men.

Taehyung’s face is bright with a boxy grin, laughing maniacally as he rushes to and fro, still in his version of pyjamas - loose boxer shorts and a Celine Dion t-shirt. “Hyung, that way!” he hoots cheerily to Jin, feet crunching noisily on the gravel.

The other man, considerably less happy (or perhaps the frown was one of absolute concentration), huffs at the command. “It’s your fuckin’ dog, Tae, why isn’t it going to you?”

Between them, panting and grinning, is a small dog with short fur, nails clicking on the gravel. It can’t be taller than knee-height, with wide eyes and a small black nose. It probably is white or cream coloured, but the thick crusting of dirt all over makes it hard to tell.

“It’s not my dog, I just found him!” Taehyung insists, before crouching down, clicking his tongue. “Mango, c’mere boy! Come to daddy.”

Jin comes to a stop with a groan, chest heaving. “Well, now you’re just going to scar the poor thing.”

Taehyung glares, but doesn’t stop cooing at the dog, who’s now eying him up suspiciously. “Come on, boy, daddy just wants to help, he’ll give you a nice, warm bath and some treats. Sound nice, Mango? C’mere!”

With the cool disdain that you’ve never seen in a dog before, Mango lifts his chin and turns tail, gracefully trotting over to Jin, rubbing his face against the man’s shin.

Taehyung gasps in abject horror at the betrayal, sinking fully onto the rough gravel of the driveway, but Jin just grins and bends down, gently scratching the dog’s head.

You let out a disbelieving laugh at the scene, drawing their attention. “What is going on?”

Immediately, the two men point at each other accusingly, the dog - Mango - snuffling at Jin’s hand when he realises his petting has ceased.

Jin calmly resumes stroking the mutt with a mellow expression. “Taehyung kidnapped a dog.”

“I did not!” the younger man protests vehemently. “I found him wandering around all by himself and I put out some food for him.” Taehyung turns to you with desperate eyes. “Jin called him filthy!”

“I did,” the therapist admits easily, “‘cause he is.” Crouching down, he gets closer to eye-level and pouts. “All this mud and dirt on you, hm? Not nice, is it? Poor bo-” Jin cuts himself off as the dog rolls over on its back, wiggling against the gravel happily. The three of you stare in silence for a few moments at Mango, before Jin slowly pans up to stare at Taehyung. “You thought Mango was a boy this whole time?”

Taehyung scratches his head with a helpless shrug. “Well, I didn’t think to check his dick for confirmation! I mean, her dick. No dick. Uh…”

Jin’s ignoring him, however, in favour of giving Mango tummy rubs, grinning at the whipping of her tail as it wags. “Oh, Taehyungie is so mean to you, isn’t he? Poor girl. I wouldn’t trust him with a cactus,” he admits in a mock whisper.

“I resent that,” Taehyung shouts lowly, voice getting louder as he gets worked up, “Cactuses don’t even have dicks, so it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Neither does Mango,” Jin quips sharply.

“Hey!” the younger boy yells, pouting at the sight of Mango snuggling up to Jin so willingly.

From behind, the sudden bang of a fist on glass makes you jump. Whirling around, you watch in bewilderment as Jimin rushes outside, eyes wide and mouth rounded at the sight.

“What the fuck is all the racket about?” he exclaims in bewilderment. “We’re trying to watch a movie but we can’t hear a thing over the sounds you’re- is that a dog?”

“Mango!” Taehyung chimes. “H- She’s my dog!”

“That wasn’t what you said earlier,” Jin begins, and Jimin tuts loudly to break off the bantering.

“Goodness, she’s a skinny little thing,” Jimin says with worry, passing you to go crouch beside Jin. He holds a hand out and smiles softly as Mango presses her nose into his palm. “Dirty, too. There’s a hose out back that does warm water, let’s clean her off and get her some food.”

Your heart warms at the same fond tone in his voice that you’d heard at Mrs. Park’s house. “I’ll go get some soap and towels,” you offer, “I need to go get my shoes on anyway.”

Jimin, already fully dressed in tight blue jeans and a white t-shirt - the most casual you’d seen him yet - turns around to nod at you. “Thank you,” he chirps, “we’ll be around back.”

By the time you get ready and come back with the supplies, Taehyung is already manning the hose, running his fingers through the stream to wait for it to warm up as he chats away with Jimin. Clearly a fan of the oldest, Mango is still happily hanging around Jin’s ankles, whole body wagging as she gets her ears scratched.

Jimin glances up when you round the corner, and rushes forward to take the items from your hands. “Thank you, let’s hope-” He pauses, staring down at the bottle. “Is this my hand-soap?”

You suppress a sheepish grin. “It says mild and unscented, I thought it would be better for Mango than body wash.”

“Fair enough,” Jimin allows, before turning back around to the other two. “Alright, let’s hope Mango likes water.”

As it turns out, Mango positively thrives with the water, panting happily as her fur is soaked with the warm water. Crouching to your side, you squirt some soap out onto her back, and you and Jimin begin massaging it in on either side of her while Jin holds up her head to keep it free from suds.

It takes a while, but Mango is patient, and you’re determined to make sure all the grit and dirt accumulated from a life of sleeping rough is washed away. Beneath the matted filth is beautiful white fur, the palest brown in places. With tiny feet and delicate ears, she may be a mutt but she’s a beautiful one, and out of the corner of your eye you can see Jin’s fond smile as he stares into her baleful eyes.

Taehyung rinses her down, the suds collecting on the back lawn, and before any of you even think to get away, Mango braces herself and shakes, spraying droplets all over the four of you.

Closest to her body, it’s you and Jimin that cop most of the downpour, and you hiss at the feeling of it soaking your shirt and running down your neck. Taehyung gasps and ditches the hose to chuck a towel over her wet body, but the damage has been done.

Across from you, on the other side of Mango, Jimin’s pink lips are rounded gracefully in a gasp, eyes clenched shut. You can’t help but grin as he slowly blinks away the water in his eyes with a low moan of disappointment, the delicately-applied makeup now smudging, a watery layer of mascara ringing his eyes. When he stretches up into a crouch, his pants are spotted with water though mostly okay, and it’s clear his shirt displays the majority of the water.

Clinging to him obscenely, the thin white cotton is made see-through with the effect of Mango’s shake-off. It exposes the harsh black lines of his tattoo, which winds around his ribcage, nevermind. You’d seen it laid bare twice before, but you’d been too wound up from his teasing to even really look. Now, though, you admire the way it stands out so starkly even behind a layer of fabric, the edges blurred but still strong and pure black.

As he huffs and wrings out the fabric, Taehyung cackles behind him, and Jimin’s face darkens. Without any time for the younger man to react, Jimin’s grabs the still-running hose and turns it onto Taehyung, drenching him with a triumphant yell.

“Hey!” Taehyung screeches, hair covering his eyes heavily as his pyjamas sag against his body. “No fair!”

You jump away as Taehyung begins to wrestle with Jimin for the hose, the two grinning like idiots even as they scrabble.

Jin, calmly patting down Mango, chooses to instead lift her into his arms bundled in the towel. He crooks his head at you. “Let’s go down to the pool and dry off a bit in the sun,” he suggests. “Save getting caught in the middle of this battle.”

You squint against the glare of the late morning sun that glints off the pool. You’ve never been there yourself or seen anyone swim in it, and its lack of use is clear by the uneven layer of leaves that floats across its surface. “If you dunk me in that dirty-ass pool, I’ll kill you.” Even with the venom in your words, you follow him over, the chaos of the two boys left behind growing quieter and quieter.

“Don’t worry,” Jin assures you sweetly, “I’ll clean it first.” With that, he steps up onto the concrete patio that surrounds the large rectangle and makes his way over to the three haphazard pool chairs beside the edge. “You and Mango can relax here.”

Eying him suspiciously, you sit on the gauzy canvas of one of the lounge chairs and lean back, letting out a sigh as the warm of the sun settles onto your skin like a blanket. “Fine,” you sigh out, too comfortable to protest, “just while Mango dries off.”

Jin works quietly, without haste. All you hear as you throw an arm over your eyes is the occasional tinkling of water and the snuffling of the dog Jin sat down beside you.

With the sun beating down on you, warming your soaked shirt, you let your mind wander lazily. You hadn’t really had a chance to properly think after the elimination. Or lack of, you suppose. All of Monday had you feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt, until Hoseok served your penance and allowed you to put your mind at ease again. Now, though, you take a chance to think over how the game has changed.

It was moments like earlier, when groups of you were together and laughing, that made you happy to be here. The thought that you were no longer evicting one contestant a week felt like a hundred-year burden finally being lifted off your shoulders.

Though of course, with all the good, came bad, too. The guys said they wouldn’t take you personally, and at least now everyone would know the decision was based on sex alone, but it didn’t take a psychic to see how bad things could turn if someone took it wrong. Already you can picture fights, sulking, resentment, and the thought scares you.

And then the punishment for you touching them. It was something you hadn’t seen coming for a second, though all of Sejin’s twists had gotten you off-guard. The thought that the other guys would have control over what you wore if you ever slipped up gives you pause. You’re confident in your body, but they would be well within their rights to make you wear something humiliating. You bite down hard on your tongue. Just don’t fuck the outed members, you hiss at yourself. Easy as that.

Not so easy, perhaps, when the thought of every one of them made your heart ache and shift in your chest.

“You aren’t asleep, are you?”

You shoot up in fright at the sudden exclamation, startled out of your train of thought. “No, what?” your tongue fumbles, before you squint in front of you to the poolside and your mouth drops open.

As casual as ever, Jin stands on the far edge, leaning his weight on a long leaf skimmer, the net resting on the end of the pole, above his head. That isn’t what has your attention, though. As you raise a hand to block the sun, you feel your mouth water at the sight of him standing in nothing but a pair of dark grey boxers, hand on his hip casually like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

“What the fuck are you doing?” is the only thing your mind can think to say.

Jin chuckles, the motion making his broad shoulders jump up and down. Your mouth drops wider open, eyes roaming his figure. Basking in the attention, he smiles broadly. “Cleaning your pool,” he answers easily, “Miss Y/n.”

Your brows knit together. “My po- Oh.” You take a moment to analyse the situation - single lady on the pool chair watching as a hot and scantily-clad young man cleans it for her. Pool boy. A bemused giggle bubbles up your throat as you remember Jin’s disbelieving reaction when he drew the card. “Really?”

Jin just shrugs. “I’m just here to do my job, Miss. Saving up money for college. But it’s so hot out here that-” Jin breaks off with a pout as you begin to crack up, curling over your own torso with the force of it. “Hey! Why are you laughing at me?”

You try to let your laughter die down enough to speak, still giggling wetly as your eyes tear up a bit from it. “Sa-saving up for college,” you make out before cracking up again. “You don’t have to pay to be a professor, Jinnie.”

His mouth drops open in offence at your quip, letting the leaf skimmer clatter onto the concrete dramatically. On the chair beside you, Mango wakes up with a start at the noise and flees, scampering off in the direction of the villa. Still offended, Jin turns and makes his way around the edge of the pool towards you with a huff. “The disrespect these days,” he declares, “I’m just a poor uni student trying to make a quick buck and all you’re doing is insulting me.”

You sit up, watching him keep your gaze step by step. The sun is beautiful on him, honeying his brown hair and bronzing the smooth skin of his chest, shoulders and arms. He’s beautiful, but of course he doesn’t need you telling him to know that. “You shouldn’t talk back to your employer, Jinnie,” you quip as he nears.

As intimidating as someone can be wearing nothing but underwear - you can spy his clothes haphazardly strewn on the concrete on the other side of the patio - Jin steps in front of the lounge chair, blotting out the sun with his broad back. “Luckily for you,” he answers smoothly, “I just finished. I’ll just collect the cash and get out of your hair.”

You stare up at him, eyes aching now that they’re not fighting against the glare of the sun. Even though you’ve never been in this situation before, and certainly don’t have much experience with role-play, the words come easy to you. “But I don’t have any money.”

His grin turns wolfish, like he’d been hoping you’d say that. Your stomach flips as he lifts one leg over the end of the lounge chair, straddling it. “I suppose I’ll just have to claim my payment in some other way.”

Your heart races as he sits down, boxers doing nothing to hide his straining erection. “Like what?” you ask weakly, breath hitching as his fingers stretch out to brush over the button of your shorts.

Jin’s eyes are hot on yours, twin points of heat everywhere they roam. First between your legs, then up to meet your gaze. “Will you let me taste you?” he asks, previous humour completely evaporated. He stares at you intensely, like nothing else is as important as this, and you find yourself nodding before you even process it.

“Wait,” you gasp as he slips open the button, zip sliding down smoothly, “out here? The others-”

“Have gone inside,” Jin cuts in easily, fingers dipping below the hem of your panties. Your breath hitches, hips lifting to help him slip them off your legs and onto the concrete beside, shoes and socks following. “We’re alone.”

The warmth of the chair’s fabric below you is strange on your skin, but Jin isn’t content with just your core being exposed. Tapping your arm, he guides you to raise them as he lifts your shirt, tossing it away in the same direction. Almost bare for him, the only thing that remains is your bra, and without hesitation his fingers find the clasp, leaning forward to capture your mouth with his suddenly as he slips the bra down your arm.

Naked beneath him, you whimper into his mouth as he presses his chest against you, arms caging you on either side. It’s been a long time since you’ve kissed him, and it feels just as heady as last time, his lips soft but so firm and thorough as they claim you.

Jin kisses with all his energy, like it’s his only purpose, and the intense way he works your mouth open and licks up into it, swirling his tongue dizzily over yours has you hooked on him, needing more even as he gives you more than you feel you can handle.

After a time, you feel him shift, and you groan past swollen lips as he slides down your body, trailing an unbroken line of kisses down your throat and chest until he’s cupping a breast in his hand, hot mouth descending on a stiff peak. You cry out, back arching with the delicious stimulation as he suckles on it needily.

“Still so sensitive,” he remarks with a chuckle, and any protest at his teasing tone is lost under the indulgent way he flicks his tongue over the bud, circling it deftly. It’s sinful, the way you watch him, watch his eyes close in bliss and your peak roll under the ministrations of his tongue, like a show of what’s to come.

Once he gives a final wet suck to bring it to its full stiffness, he moves across to the other one, thumbing the first lazily to keep those hot coals of pleasure burning inside you.

Sensing you can take it, he’s rougher with the second nipple, tugging at it with his teeth, sucking harshly and laving his tongue over it when you whimper at the sting. “Perfect for me,” his voice makes out in a gravelled tone, “you’re like a fucking four-course meal.”

You chuckle airily, though it’s cut off by a hitched whimper as he ventures lower yet again, letting his tongue and lips lead the way over the skin of your stomach, until you can feel the warmth of his breath where you need to feel him most. “Jinnie,” you breathe pleadingly, toes curling as he dips out his tongue to wet his lips.

“Will you be good while I taste you, hm?” Jin questions lowly, voice silken like his lips.

You nod with a swallow, but your throat has gone dry just watching him. The sight of his fingers digging in to the flesh of your thighs, his lips pursing, his eyes swirling with mischief and lust. “Need you, Jinnie,” you find yourself pleading again.

He hums in bemusement, and you unconsciously hold your breath as he finally dips his head down. The first contact isn’t his tongue at all, but his lips, pressed to the upper seam of your thigh. You gasp, core clenching, but he pays no mind, laying a delicate trail across your thigh, until he jumps over and begins the other side.

With a whine, you part your legs wider, bare feet grazing on the sunbaked concrete. The rough texture reminds you of the fact that you’re outside, bared to the world, and you whine again. “Jinnie, hurry.”

“Patience,” he chastises lowly, pinching the inner of your thigh between two fingers to make you jump. “I cleaned out the pool for you, the least you can do is let me enjoy you.”

You swallow down your needy moan, head falling back against the lounge chair. “Sorry,” you gasp out instead, hoping he appreciates your manners and takes mercy on you.

Instead, he just grins. “So polite,” the therapist muses, “I wonder how long that’ll last.” One at a time, slow like he’s drawing out your anticipation, he lifts your legs onto his broad shoulders, tilting your hips up to expose you to him better.

The moment he touches his tongue to your core, you know you’re fucked.

Languid, exploratory, he delves the muscle through your folds, swirling once around your sensitive clit before dipping back down again. You sigh out, enjoying every motion, but it’s far too slow, and he knows it.

As you glance down, his lips are stretched in a slick grin, which he makes no attempt to mask. Obscenely, he wraps his lips around one of yours and sucks, slurping at your juices without shame.

You sob, thighs tensing, but he holds you open calmly and gives the same ministration to the other side, collecting your arousal on his tongue like he’s savouring it. More and more leaks out of you at the feeling of him going down on your for his own pleasure, and he groans in approval.

In his grasp, you attempt to cant your hips down to angle your clit closer to his roving tongue, but he deftly ignores your attempt, devouring you at his own pace.

After the clouds pass, the sun pierces your eyes again, and you throw an arm over your face to block it out, body writhing under his slow stimulation. “Ji-Jinnie,” you hiccup, but he doesn’t even reply, fingers clutching tighter at your thighs and ass to latch you onto him firmer.

When a breeze picks up, it wafts over you, cooling the spit on your nipples and peaking them even more, and you shiver at the feeling. Hearing a distant swishing sound, you lift your arm up and glance towards the source, only to go stiff once you see.

About ten metres away, the outdoor dining area is not as empty as it was before, Yoongi pausing with two plates full of cooked meat and potatoes, eyes directly locked on you. With a flip of arousal and dread, you watch as more members of the house file out; Jungkook, Namjoon and Hoseok joining him and gawking when they see you and Jin.

Cheeks flushing violently, you push at Jin’s head. “They-they’re out here, Jin, you need to stop-” you break off as he pulls back and glances over, chin and lips shiny with your arousal.

“Lunchtime,” Yoongi calls out with a wry grin, and you groan as he continues to set the table outside, the younger ones following suit. Namjoon seems the most startled of the four, but not one of them has looked away. Jungkook’s eyes are so wide you can see them rounded from here, a hand pressing to the front of his crotch.

You make another effort to wriggle out of Jin’s grip, but without even looking at you he keeps you locked in, spread for him. “Thanks, but I’m already eating!” he quips proudly, and you sob in embarrassment at the pun, covering your hands and scrunching your eyes shut.

Unable to see, however, you’re taken off-guard when Jin suddenly descends on you like a man starved. You go stiff and shriek at the sudden strong suck on your clit, before clapping a palm over your mouth. The distant sounds of the guys having lunch just makes you drip more, and Jin doesn’t miss it.

“You like that, dirty girl?” You sob at the question, but he just chuckles lowly. “Acting all shy, all coy, but this pussy of yours just loves being watched. Shall we give them a show?”

You barely have time to muster a wordless cry in response before his tongue, lips and teeth are ravishing you with only one intent: to bring you to a screaming orgasm.

You writhe as much as his grip allows you, overtaken by the sudden onslaught of pleasure, but it’s inescapable. While you can muffle your moans with your fist, biting harshly on your knuckles, there’s no denying the four men dining outside can see the way you tremble and arch, and the thought just makes you cry out more.

Your high arrives quickly as you squeeze your eyes shut, not bearing to look towards the voyeurs or even Jin as his tongue delves deep into you, nose nudging your clit as he goes.

Risking a glance over to the dining area quickly, it’s the sight of all four men sitting down, eyes heavy on you as the food remains untouched that sends you over the edge.

You reach out desperately for Jin; one hand buried into his hair and the other clutching at his hand. He holds onto you tightly as he works you through your orgasm until your thighs are shaking and your chest is heaving with the force of it.

When the tremors finally subside, he presses one last kiss to your sensitive clit, and then lets your legs down. You pant quietly as he sits up and pats your pussy playfully with a grin. To your confusion, he then stands up and rubs at the red texture marks that the gauzy fabric of the lounge chair has imprinted, and begins to walk off towards the house.

You frown, sitting up with a still-racing heart. “Where are you going?” you question incredulously.

With a shit-eating grin, Jin sends you a wink, not even bothering to go collect his clothes or hide his straining erection. “Lunchtime.”

“Will Mango be okay?” Taehyung asks worriedly.

Jimin tsks, but his tone is warm as he levels a stare at the younger man. “She’ll be fine, Tae, she’s a big girl. Besides; Hoseok looked like he’d fallen in love. I bet she’s getting treated like a queen right now.”

Taehyung glances down the stairs morosely as they turn the corner. “Good,” he muses, “she is.”

Jimin doesn’t notice Taehyung following him until he steps into his room, only to see the masseuse still behind him. “Do you need something?”

Still in pyjamas soaked from the water fight, Taehyung looks nonetheless beautiful. Jimin takes a moment to look over the tanned boy, his lithe frame exposed by the clinging fabric and his hair hanging long with the weight of the water. His lips are delicately sculpted like from marble, and he can’t help himself from starting at the slight pout as Taehyung asks softly, “does your room have a bath? Jungkook said you did.”

Jimin blinks. “How would Jungko- Oh.” The already-faded memory of Jungkook barging in on his morning routine sharpens back into colour. Of course. “Anyway, yes, I do. Why’s that?”

“Just wondering.” Taehyung shifts, a ring of dark grey on the carpet around him from the water that drips off his body.

Jimin dares a glance at the cameras in the corners of the hallway. If the two of them soak the carpet much more, Sejin will have their heads. Sighing he steps further into his room, opening the door wider. “Do you want to use it?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Taehyung brightens up, grin so broad it exposes his back teeth. “Yes, please, hyung!”

Jimin takes a deep breath to stop himself from mirroring the smile, simply shutting the door behind them both as Taehyung rushes into the bathroom, skidding on the floor with his wet feet. “Careful,” Jimin scolds quickly, “you’ll fall.” Avoiding Taehyung’s imploring gaze, he steps past him to put in the plug and begin running water, shivering at the feeling of his wet clothes cold against his skin. “Do you like it hot?”

“Always,” Taehyung answers without hesitation. Though Jimin can’t see his face, the low timbre of the masseuse’s voice gives him pause. “Can we have bubbles?”

Like that, the moment of tension is broken, and Jimin straightens up with a laugh, turning to him. “We?”

Taehyung pouts again, shaking the hair out of his eyes. “You aren’t gonna shower while I have a bath, are you, hyung? That’s a waste of water.”

Jimin feels his eyebrows rise, but the motion catches his attention in the mirror. He gasps at his reflection behind Taehyung; with the liner and mascara around his eyes smudged like a racoon and his foundation patchy, he looks like a mess. “Goodness,” he sighs, “why didn’t you tell me I look like this?”

Taehyung’s eyes are wide with uncertainty as Jimin rushes to the vanity, hastily fishing in the drawers for an oil cleanser to remove the dregs of pigment on his face. “You still look beautiful, hyung,” Taehyung offers softly.

“I look like a teenage girl that just got dumped.” Jimin scoffs a laugh as he viciously rubs at his skin, rinsing it off in the sink with a sigh. Straightening up again, he winces at the reflection that greets him. Red nose and chin, cheeks round without the illusion of contour, eyes looking too small in his face. Every flaw makes him bite down on his tongue harsher, until he whirls himself around, unable to look longer. With his jaw tense, Jimin tugs off the silver rings that adorn his fingers. “Fuck it, I’ll have a bath.”

Instead of cheering like Jimin expects him to, wants him to, Taehyung just eyes him with quiet concern. Over the loudly gushing faucet, his voice is barely audible as he repeats, “you still look beautiful.”

“Do you want vanilla or peaches and cream?” Jimin offers instead. “For bubbles, I mean.” Busying himself with picking out the bottles from the shower, he misses the frown on Taehyung’s face.

“Peaches, please, hyung,” the younger man requests warmly, shivering at the strange tension in the air. “Peach is my favourite scent, you know?”

“Is it?” The thought brings a smile to Jimin’s lips, as he discards the other bottle and begins drizzling body wash over the stream, bubbles frothing immediately. The bright yet sweet scent begins to fill the room, and Jimin’s smile widens. “It suits you.”

Once the tub is aptly full, and bubbles cover the surface, Jimin caps the bottle and peels the fabric of his shirt off himself with soapy hands, sighing as the weight is removed. He spares a glance to Taehyung, who still stands motionless in the middle of the room in a puddle of water. “You can get in now,” he provides, “I don’t bite.”

The blatant lie tugs a grin from Taehyung’s lips as he obediently begins undressing. “You forget I’ve seen your videos,” he quips wryly.

“Oh, I certainly haven’t forgotten, Taehyungie.” It takes more effort to strip himself from his blue jeans, totally waterlogged, but Jimin kicks off his shoes and does it one leg at a time. Naked, he seeks out the warmth of the water, sighing as he steps in and sinks below the bubbles, glancing over to Taehyung, who avoids his gaze as he slips off his boxers, the fabric slapping wetly on the white tiles.

It’s the first time Jimin’s seen Taehyung fully naked, and he can’t help his eyes from roaming. Smooth chest leading to a narrow waist and soft stomach, Taehyung’s cock standing at half-mast like he’s still unsure whether he should be aroused or not. Hastily, he steps into the bath, facing Jimin on the other side, and Jimin watches those delicate, slender fingers flex on the side of the tub as he settles in. Those fingers that played Y/n like she was an instrument. Those fingers that relaxed Jimin more than he’d felt in years, without even needing a release.

“I did what you suggested, hyung,” Taehyung says lightly, knees poking out of the water as he sticks as far to his end of the tub as possible. He pokes his chin forward, running a finger over his jaw and lower cheek. “I’m growing it out.”

Jimin smiles at the younger man warmly, the warmth of the water relaxing his muscles and softening him more than he’d normally be. Or perhaps it was the earnest, non-judgmental air Taehyung always held. Either way, he finds himself leaning forward slightly to brush his fingertips over the bottom of Taehyung’s face. The slightly sharp texture of exposed hairs and beginnings of a dark shadow evidence that he hadn’t shaved since Monday morning. “It’s growing in fast,” he comments, eyes darting to see the way Taehyung’s pulse thrums visibly on his neck.

Taehyung swallows, eyes locked on Jimin. “That’s why I usually shave everyday,” he explains lightly. Perhaps unconsciously, the masseuse’s legs part slowly, water rushing in to fill the void.

Shifting closer again, up on his knees, Jimin continues to inspect the 5 o’clock shadow on Taehyung’s face. “It looks nice,” he says softly; “handsome.”

Taehyung’s eyes blink widely. As Jimin’s tongue darts out quickly to wet his lips, he wonders if, had there been no bubbles, he’d be able to see Taehyung’s cock stiffening to a full erection below the water. The thought sends blood rushing down to his own dick, and Jimin sighs.

Sensing the silence has extended long enough, Taehyung swallows. “Do you think she’ll like it, hyung? What if it’s too rough?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Jimin points out, voice coming out breathier than expected, and his hand snakes around the back of Taehyung’s neck to drag him into a kiss.

The black-haired boy squeaks in surprise at the first contact, but quickly he’s melting, reaching up to grasp blindly at Jimin’s shoulders with a whimper. The reciprocation simultaneously relaxes Jimin and sends him into a frenzy, and he slides himself closer, between Taehyung’s parted legs to deepen the kiss.

If Jimin angles his head just right, his chin feels the slight prickle of Taehyung’s unshaven face, and he makes a noise of approval low in his throat, nipping at the lips that have swollen under his ministrations. Of course the idea wasn’t for kissing Y/n, but if Taehyung could kiss that good with his scruff, Jimin couldn’t imagine what a joyride Y/n was in for when she’d feel that between her thighs. Jimin grins into the kiss at the thought.

The air is thick with arousal and peaches, and the heady combination has Jimin needing more, tongue slipping out to lave over Taehyung’s lips. The younger man whimpers, and Jimin takes the opportunity of his open mouth to run his tongue along Tae’s, leaning further and further forward until their chests are pressed together.

With a needy gasp, Taehyung pulls away, turning his head just slightly to the side to suck in some air, eyes blown with lust. “Are- Jimin?” he stutters out incoherently, the sound of his panting rivalled only by the sloshing of the water that their movements have stirred up.

Jimin’s heart races; thrill on top of arousal on top of concern, his grin falling. “Do you not want to?”

Taehyung narrows his brows like he doesn’t comprehend, and glances around the room. “But there are no cameras?” he supplies, voice lilting at the end like a question.

“I know,” Jimin explains, feeling his own brain struggling to keep time, “I don’t want the cameras.”

“Then…” The lost look on Taehyung’s face breaks Jimin’s heart, and he resists the urge to press a kiss right between his brows, where a crease has formed.

Jimin wills his heart to slow, taking a deep breath. “I- I think for once, I want to have sex not because it’s my job, but because I want to get closer to someone. I know you watch my videos, but… Taehyung, would you want to have sex with me? Just… just me? Not Park Jimin?”

Taehyung tilts his head, a confused smile beginning to tug at his lips. “But you are Park Jimin-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin cuts him off, leaning back to get out of the tub. “It was stupid and I shouldn’t have-”

“Minnie.”

Jimin freezes, eyes finding Taehyung’s with a wide stare.

The younger boy’s gaze is soft behind black curls, imploring. “I like you, you know? It was never the videos or the persona. Just you. Whether we have sex or not, you should know that.”

The backs of Jimin’s eyes sting. He ignores it, instead settling back down into the now-lukewarm water. “I-” But it’s too much. He doesn’t know what to say, how to deal with the words he hasn’t heard for years and years. So instead, Jimin just cracks a shy smile, heart easing. “I do still kinda wanna have sex with you, though.”

Taehyung laughs, wide and squared, his eyes little crescent moons. “I want to have sex with you, too,” he assures. “Shall we continue?”

Jimin feels his lips stretch instinctively into a smile, before he’s leaning in and pressing them to Taehyung’s again.

Kissing Taehyung feels good; it’s more addictive and heady than he’s ever felt it in years, bar that night with Y/n. Letting his own want and desire take over instead of worrying about camera angles, lighting, viewers - is this why people like it so much?

Taehyung seems to enjoy it, too, gasping into Jimin’s mouth. The blue-haired man can feel the tickle of Taehyung’s lashes as his eyes flutter with every stroke of his tongue, and Jimin swallows a groan wondering what he’ll sound like later if he’s this responsive now.

Testing it out, he runs a hand up Taehyung’s side, seeking out a dusky brow nipple, wet with steam from the tub, and thumbs at it. Back arching suddenly, the masseuse moans into Jimin’s mouth, reaching both hands up to bury his fingers in Jimin’s hair to anchor him.

Jimin continues to circle and flick at it until Taehyung is positively squirming under his touch. Only then does he let his hand slide down again, this time delving beneath the warm embrace of the water, seeking out the hard length between Taehyung’s legs.

“Fuck,” Taehyung gasps out when he feels fingers wrapping around his cock, not stroking yet but with enough pressure to make him need more. “Want you inside me, Jimin.”

“Yeah?” Jimin confirms breathlessly with a grin. Fingers trailing lower, he easily locates the tight ring of muscle, making the younger man groan as he presses gently at the rim with a single fingertip. “Have you done this before?”

“Bottomed?” Taehyung questions. “Of course. I’m fine, hyung.”

Instead of responding, Jimin takes a moment to lift up one of Taehyung’s knees, unfolding it so that it rested over the edge of the tub. Wide-eyed, the masseuse lets Jimin give the same treatment to the other, until he’s spread open, ass no longer quite reaching the bottom as he floats in the water.

Though he can hear the spatter of water on the tile, dripping off Taehyung’s legs, Jimin ignores it and begins to work a finger past the boy’s rim, drinking in his groans as it sinks inside.

Water isn’t the best lubricant, so Jimin goes slowly, and it’s only once Taehyung grows restless with just one finger that Jimin starts to use two. It takes a moment, but as he crooks his fingers just right, Taehyung lets out a shaky cry, clenching down suddenly. “Just there?” Jimin questions with a wry smile.

Taehyung’s thighs tremble. “Right there, hyung, fuck.” The black-haired boy fusses so beautifully as Jimin continues to stretch him out, pads of his fingers focussing on that sensitive bud of tissue inside. “I-I’m ready, Minnie, I need you.”

Jimin’s heart hitches at the nickname again, and his cock throbs at the thought of finally being able to fuck him. “Are you sure?” he checks one last time, receiving a hasty nod.

The moment Jimin slowly bottoms out, hips flush against Taehyung’s ass, he knows he’s not going to last long. Luckily, Taehyung seems to share the sentiment, groaning obscenely and clutching at his own length, hissing at the contact.

“Fuck, Tae-tae, you feel so good,” Jimin sighs as he begins to set a languid but deep pace. It was natural for his tongue to run during sex; dirty talk was huge in his industry, and sometimes he felt like part of him ran on autopilot during his scenes. Slutty pussy this, dumb cock that; but this didn’t even feel like dirty talk to him. As he buried himself in Taehyung over and over, it felt closer to a confession.

“Ah, Minnie,” Taehyung whimpers, beginning to stroke himself in time, chest arching out of the water, “kiss me.”

His eyes are dark with lust but puppy-soft as he blinks up under his lashes at Jimin, and it’s impossible to resist. Not that he wants to, when Taehyung’s lips feel so perfect on his.

The younger boy whimpers delicately into Jimin’s mouth when they’re joined again, and Jimin feels his high creeping up on him. Embarrassingly fast, he’d think normally, but he doesn’t feel embarrassed now.

“I’m close,” he whispers quickly to Taehyung, picking up the pace so that the water sloshes loudly around them, bubbles dissolving.

Taehyung groans, wraps his free arm around Jimin’s shoulders to hold himself closer, and speeds up his hand. “Me too,” he confesses, “cum inside, Minnie.”

With a low curse, Jimin is spilling inside Taehyung, hips stuttering their pace. Taehyung chases his lips through his own orgasm, gasping so much that he can barely reciprocate. It feels dirty and exquisite; the way their lips and tongue join so messily together, shuddering in unison as pleasure wracks their bodies.

Once Jimin finally comes down from his high, he’s panting. Hair damp from the steam and face hot, for once he doesn’t worry about if his o-face was attractive or his voice gravelly enough. He feels beautiful.

---

Taehyung’s nowhere to be found by the time you and the other boys finish lunch, and so there’s nobody to protest when Jin suggests the two of you can look after Mango.

Although not trained, Mango is nonetheless polite, and it’s far past sunset by the time Jin and you finish up your photoshoots and online shopping, Jin happily spending a fortune on a dog bed, pedigree food and enough toys for a whole kennel. He insists it’s because Sejin would have his ass if he asked the producer to spend more of the show’s funds, but that doesn’t stop the therapist spamming Sejin’s personal cell with pictures and messages, determined to make a point.

The two of you are exhausted from a day well spent as you snuggle lazily in Jin’s bed, a laptop propped up on your lap as you yawn away to a documentary on squirrels.

“We can go to sleep if you want,” Jin reminds you as a deep baritoned narrator explains the child-rearing techniques of female squirrels. “It’s past midnight.”

“You’re past midnight,” you retort sleepily, before your brain catches up with you. “Ah. No. Maybe you’re right.”

With a teasing smile and kind eyes, Jin takes the laptop away, plugging it in on his desk before returning back. “I’m glad, you know,” he muses as he slips under the covers again, your arms and legs immediately latching onto his frame.

Once he settles, you place your head on his chest, the internal beating of his heart a soothing metronome. “Glad about what?”

“Glad that this week’s challenge was you sleeping in different beds. I never got to sleep beside you that first night.”

“You could’ve,” you point out.

“It was only the first night,” he allows, voice rumbling in his chest, “I didn’t want to cross any lines and you fell asleep before I could get an answer.”

You hum, snuggling closer even as your whole body is pressed against him. He’s just so warm, and he feels so safe when he wraps his arm under and around you, holding you there. “I was gonna seduce you,” you whine with a yawn. “Tonight, I mean. You didn’t fuck me before so I was gonna seduce you. But you smell so good. I just wanna sleep.”

Jin seems to share the sentiment, muffling the yawn he caught from you. “You can seduce me in the morning.”

“Promise?”

Jin laughs, wincing when it jostles you violently on his chest. “Fuck, sorry. But yes, I promise. Now go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

Your hand unconsciously finds the collar of his pyjama shirt, clutching at it. You feel the warmth of his hand wrapping around it, flipping it over to lace his fingers through yours. You think you could stay here forever, but perhaps tonight is a good place to start. “Goo’night,” you mumble.

Jin’s voice is barely audible, naught a whisper, but you feel it in his chest. “Night, sweetheart.”

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gayestnerdsinfiction · 4 years ago

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Bathtime

“I swear,” Edward muttered, rolling up his sleeves before cranking the handle, “you really are a disgusting creature.” The hose sprung to life, inflating slightly as water began to flow through it. Edward lifted the hose and aimed it at a thoroughly disgruntled Scarebeast. He whined, backing away from the spray while still remaining within the confines of the inflatable pool Edward had set up on the roof of his building.

“You know, maybe if you didn’t get so filthy you wouldn’t have to suffer through so many baths,” Edward pointed out. He watched blood and dirt and all manner of grime running off Jonathan’s feathers with the soap and water, pooling on the plastic under his feet. His talons were scratching at the bottom of the pool, thankfully unable to puncture the thin material due to the makeshift claw caps Edward had outfitted him with.

The creature snuffled almost sadly, turning in a few circles before flopping down onto his stomach and covering his snout with his clawed hands.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” he chided. “You’re lucky it’s just the hose and I don’t have to get in there with a sponge like last time.” During the last time in question, Jonathan had returned home with clay matted in his feathers smelling like gasoline. That had proven to be a particularly arduous bath.

After a few minutes of this, Scarebeast’s feathers were finally somewhat presentable, though he still looked quite mangy and strange when wet. “All done,” Edward announced, turning the hose off.

Jonathan squawked, standing up on all fours and shaking himself dry like a dog. Edward was splattered with drops of dirty water and he groaned, wiping his face with his hand. “Great,” he muttered. “Now I need a bath, too.”

The beast clambered out of the pool, neck elongating as the flat of his tongue swiped out across Edward’s face.

“That’s not helpful,” he chastised, scratching Jonathan’s snout affectionately. “Stay here and dry off while I go inside to clean up.”

Jonathan whined but he did as he was told, curling up on the rooftop as he watched Edward’s retreating form.

“Now let’s just hope you can manage to stay clean for that long,” Edward grumbled under his breath as he opened the door to the stairwell.

#scriddler #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #batman #dc #fic #my fic #writing #my writing #scarebeast

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builder051 · 4 years ago

Text

The always paradox

(Powers/No Powers. TW for suicidal ideation. No one gets hurt.) ____________________

When Steve walks in the door, the first thing his eyes land on is Bucky's silhouette sitting at the top of the darkened stairway. It's evening, the shadows are long, and all the lights are off in the narrow townhouse. It's not far off from the usual, though Bucky typically waits for him in a more comfortable location such as the sofa or the bed.

"Hi," Steve says as he sets down his bag and digs his finger into the heel of his shoe to force it off. "You ok?"

"Um..." Bucky gets to his feet, holding tightly to the handrail. He descends a few steps, and Steve gets a glimpse of his face. Bucky's pale, almost ghostly in appearance. A vein stands out in his forehead, and his eyes are rimmed in red. His hair is matted on one side; Steve can tell he's been lying down, probably wrapped up in a ball and weeping.

"You're not ok, are you." It's not a question. Steve approaches the foot of the stairway.

Bucky slowly shakes his head. He takes another heavy step, leaving one foot on the stair behind until it drags forward, forcing his toes to curl under until it drops down heavily. He winces and visibly shrinks down as if he feels the pain through his spine and perhaps his whole body.

"You wanna come on down?"

Bucky stares at Steve blankly for a moment, then tips his head toward his stump shoulder. It could mean he is indeed suffering discomfort. Or it could mean he doesn't care.

Steve thinks through his options. Make tea? Turn on the television and hope for a soothing nature program? Tune the radio to the classical station? The oldies station?

But looking at Bucky's face, Steve knows none of those are the right answer. He keeps his eyes on Bucky as he slowly climbs the bottom few stairs. "You want me to come up?" he asks.

Bucky shakes his head again. He takes another slow step that brings him down one stair, twelve inches or so closer to Steve. The carpet completely absorbs the sound of his feet, so he may as well be a ghost, pallid and floating, drifting practically in place and making Steve come to him just to prove he's real.

"Ok..." Steve stops. "Tell me what you need, ok?"

Bucky stands there. He looks down at his feet, then raises his gaze to Steve's face. He opens his mouth a sliver, then a bit wider, and he works his jaw silently. "I..." he finally starts. "I want to die."

"Oh, Buck." Steve's up the rest of the stairs two at a time. He takes Bucky by the shoulder of the arm gripping the handrail and pulls his bony body against his chest. "I got you."

Bucky stays stiff for a moment, then begins to collapse in Steve's arms. "I..." he murmurs. "Don't know if I wanna stay."

"I want you," Steve says, pressing his lips to Bucky's ear. He doesn't want this to be happening right now, not when he's freshly home from work and in need of a shower and some dinner. He doesn't want this to happen ever. But Bucky, he wants always, no matter how grim the prospects begin to look.

"Hmm." Bucky shakes his head into Steve's shoulder. A shiver runs through him, sending tremors running into Steve's core muscles. Bucky's head shifts into the crevice of Steve's neck, his eyes wet and dribbling tears down into Steve's collarbone where they're absorbed by the neck of his t-shirt.

It's clearly a sound and motion of disagreement, but Steve won't let him get away with it. He doesn't want Bucky letting it out, not in any way. Emotional release is one thing, though these expressions of sadness are too much. Too much for Bucky to keep in his brain, but too much for Steve to take and absorb for him instead.

"Buck." Steve wraps both arms tightly around Bucky's body and sinks both of them downward. Steve sits first, and he pulls Bucky nearly into his lap. He brushes his lips across the stubble on Bucky's cheek before reaching up to gently comb through the greasy mats on the back of his head. "I'll never let you go. Not ever."

"But I--I--" A sob bursts from Bucky's chest and sounds loudly in Steve's ear.

"Hey, it's ok..."

Another sob comes, this one seeming to originate from deeper down. Bucky makes an odd noise as if he's smacking at the back of his throat, then snuffles into the organic cotton encasing Steve's chest. "Buck," Steve whispers. "I got you, ok?"

"I, um." Bucky gulps, and Steve feels his Adam's apple roll up, then down again.

"You feeling ok?" Steve asks. "You feeling sick?"

"I'm--" Bucky starts, his voice going weak and wet. "I'm gonna throw up."

The bathroom at the top of the stairs is closer, so Steve hauls Bucky to his feet and slips an arm around his waist. Bucky bends over immediately, his hand over his mouth and his elbow pressed protectively in front of his abdomen.

"We're gonna make it. It's gonna be fine." Steve guides Bucky across the landing and into the hallway bath. He paws at the wall to turn on the lights just as Bucky escapes his grasp and collapses to his knees to retch over the unfortunately closed toilet bowl.

"Open your eyes, Buck," Steve says in a rush, sweeping Bucky's hair back and tipping up the now soiled lid. "Just-- it'll be ok."

Bucky leans forward and curls his arm around the toilet seat, his shoulders heaving as he spits up what little remains in his system. Steve sits on his heels behind Bucky, holding his hair up in a makeshift ponytail and petting soft circles into the region of his shoulder blades.

Even when Bucky's finished, he doesn't move. His breathing echoes against the edges of the porcelain bowl, and Steve can see from his profile the wrinkling of his eyes at the corners, showing that he's still in pain.

"What do you need?" Steve asks softly. He lays his hand over the back of Bucky's neck, feeling clammy sweat and what might be the lightest flush of fever.

Bucky shakes his head. "Don't know," he whispers.

"Just c'mere, then." Steve quickly snags the towel from the bar and uses it to create a pillow on his lap.

Bucky pushes himself up and blinks slowly, even more pallid than before, and his puffy eyes set at a squint. Steve holds out his arms, and Bucky burrows into his beltline, somewhat sitting, but mostly lying across the light foam bathmat.

"We're not leaving this room," Steve decides. "Not till you feel a little better." Physically or mentally, he doesn't differentiate. He'll treat both the same. Bucky's not well today, and he needs help. He needs Steve. And in order for Steve to feel completely safe, he needs Bucky as well. "Ok?"

It takes Bucky a full thirty seconds to move his head into a decisive nod. "I don't feel good," he says.

"I know."

"I... I want you."

Steve cracks a tiny smile and pets Bucky's hair away from his face. "I want you too. Forever."

"Forever..." Bucky muses on the word. Then he nods.

Steve's smile grows as he nods as well.

#marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #sickfic #h/c #hurt/comfort #captain america #steve rogers #james bucky barnes #winter solider #powers/no powers #powers/no powers choose your own adventure #mental health tw #bucky vs depression #emeto #emetophilia #illumivomi #stucky

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emospritelet · 4 years ago

Text

Twisted Fate - chapter 25

Last time, Belle had the baby, and Neal and Gold had a conversation that made Gold suspect that there might be a connection with his long-lost son

[AO3]

Gold opened the door quietly, peering inside, and found Belle just beginning to stir. She ran her fingers through her hair with a yawn, struggling to sit up and wincing, and Gold hurried to her side, adjusting pillows and helping her use the buttons to change the bed position. She settled back against the pillows with a relieved sigh, sending him a grateful smile.

“Painkillers have worn off,” she said. “I feel like someone ran me over in a ride-on lawnmower.”

“Do you want me to call the nurse?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

“Oh, they’ll be around soon, I should think.” Belle yawned again. “They keep checking up on me. Is Gideon still sleeping?”

Gold peered into the bassinet, where Gideon was sound asleep, and smiled broadly.

“He is indeed,” he said. “Emma, Neal and Henry are outside, by the way. Perhaps we should wait in the cafeteria until he wakes up.”

“No, it’s fine, let them come in,” said Belle. “He’s due a feed soon anyway.”

“Okay.” He turned back to the door, and glanced over his shoulder. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Liar.”

He crossed his heart with a forefinger, and she smiled.

“Flatterer,” she amended, and he grinned as he went out.

Henry was bouncing on his toes in excitement, barely held back by Neal, and he was first into the room, followed at a somewhat more sedate pace by his parents.

“Hey Belle!” he chirped. “How are you? Mom said you’d be tired. Do you want me to read you a story?”

Belle smiled at his enthusiasm, but shook her head.

“Not just now, thanks Henry,” she said. “I had some sleep, so I won’t have any trouble getting more of it. No need for stories.”

“Hey, Belle.” Emma bent to kiss her cheek. “You look good. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty tired, to be honest,” said Belle, squeezing her hand. “You told me it would be hard work, and you weren’t wrong.”

“Worth it though, right?”

“Oh yeah.” Belle smiled as Neal bent to kiss her in turn. “I can’t believe he’s really here.”

“Is that the baby?” asked Henry excitedly, and peered into the bassinet before wrinkling his nose. “He’s so small!”

“You were that size once,” said Emma.

“Was I all pink and wrinkly like that?”

“Even pinker and wrinklier,” she said, and laughed as he pulled a face. “He’ll fill out, just like you did. Getting born is hard work.”

“We’ll be playing in the park with him and taking him for ice cream before you know it,” added Neal, and Henry grinned.

“When will he talk?”

“Probably not for a while,” said Belle. “But you can talk to him. It would be good for him to hear different voices.”

Henry bent over the bassinet again.

“Hi Gideon,” he said. “I’m Henry. My mom and dad are friends with your mom and dad. I wanted to bring you some toys, but Mom said you were too small to play with them, so we’re gonna look for something else.”

“I’m sure he’d love that,” said Gold, from his position at the foot of the bed. “You’re welcome to come over and play with him any time, Henry. And to read him stories from your book, if you like.”

“Maybe he’ll turn into as much of a bookworm as his mama,” suggested Neal.

“I may have to get new bookshelves, in that case,” remarked Gold, and they shared a grin.

Henry gasped then, straightening up and looking around. “He grabbed my finger!” he said excitedly. “His eyes are open!”

Gideon began to grumble, and then to cry, and Gold quickly went to the bassinet, lifting him out and hushing him gently as he rocked back and forth, one hand gripping his cane as he cradled his son in the crook of one arm. He was smiling, a soft look in his eyes, an air of contentment Belle had rarely seen around him. It was nice to see him happy, she reflected. For a moment she imagined how things could be for them in the future; a loving family, with good friends around them. Perhaps a sibling for Gideon, when the time was right. She suspected Gold would want more babies. She smiled at the thought of him with two small children clinging to his legs as he tried to get around the pawnshop.

“Belle.” Neal’s voice jerked her back to the present. “You awake?”

“Sorry, miles away.” She smiled, shaking her head. “What were you saying?”

“I said Gideon kind of reminds me of Henry when he was a newborn,” said Emma. “I guess babies all look the same, huh?”

Gideon started to grumble again, one arm waving.

“I think he either needs changing or feeding,” she said, and Gold nodded.

“Changing, I think. I can do it.”

“Thanks.” Belle settled back against the pillows with a sigh. “I think I need to take it easy for the next few days.”

“And so you shall,” said Gold sternly. “You’ve done quite enough. Let me take over for a while.”

“No arguments from me,” she said, and yawned widely.

Neal and Emma exchanged a look, seeming to communicate without saying a word.

“Look, we should probably go, you guys look beat,” said Neal, and Emma nodded.

“But we just got here!” protested Henry.

“Yeah, and having a baby is a lot of work,” said Neal, ruffling his hair. “Belle needs her rest. “We’ll go pick out some toys for Gideon for when we visit again, okay?”

“Okay, cool!”

“And we’ll come over in a couple of days, give you guys a chance to settle back at home with him,” Emma added. “I guess you want to get out of here as soon as you can, huh?”

“God, I can’t wait to get home!” sighed Belle, letting her head roll back against the pillows. “It’s hard to get any rest at all in this place.”

“I’ll have you out of here as soon as the doctor says it’s okay,” said Gold, and she sent him a wan smile.

“It’s Dad’s birthday tomorrow,” put in Henry. “Belle, can he have a joint party with Gideon next year?”

Belle laughed, and glanced across at Gold, whose expression had changed abruptly. He was looking surprisingly solemn, his eyes downcast.

“Well, I guess we can think about that nearer the time,” she said. “Happy birthday, Neal. I got you a gift, but it’s in the kitchen.”

“Ah, save it for when we come over,” said Neal, waving a hand. “Makes the fun last longer, right?”

“Right.”

Gideon broke into a wail at that point, and Gold wrinkled his nose.

“Definitely needs changing,” he remarked, crossing to the changing mat.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” said Neal, and bent to kiss Belle again. “See you later Belle. Enjoy being a mom, okay?”

“I already do,” she said, grinning, and kissed him back before turning to hug Emma and then Henry. “Thanks for coming. Sorry I’m such a party pooper. Next time I see you I’ll be much better, promise.”

“Just rest and relax, let Alex take care of you,” said Emma. “Oh, and ice packs really help with the pain. You’ll want some of those.”

“Hmm, can’t wait for that experience,” said Belle dryly, and grinned. “See you in a couple of days. You too, Henry.”

She flopped back against the pillows as they trooped out, calling goodbye to Gold. He waved them off before turning back to Gideon, who had been stripped of his dirty diaper but was still crying. Belle watched Gold clean him up and prepare a clean diaper. He did it quickly and efficiently, dropping the dirty one in the waste and opening the drawer where the baby clothes had been placed and pulling out a pile of clothing in soft shades of white, yellow and lilac. He picked through the sleepsuits before choosing one in yellow. Gideon wailed when he put it on, but Gold picked him up and hushed him, speaking soothing words as he rocked him gently. Gideon’s cries grew quieter, fading to snuffles and then to silence, and Gold kissed the top of his head.

“There’s my boy,” he whispered, and Belle wanted to hug them both.

“It’s time for his feed,” she said. “I’ll take him.”

Gold nodded, carrying Gideon over to her and letting her take him. Belle opened up her nightdress, cradling Gideon in her arms as he latched onto a nipple, and Gold watched them for a moment, that tender look back in his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly. “Both of you. I’m very lucky, Belle.”

She smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand, and he turned away to tidy up the baby clothes. Belle gazed down at Gideon as he suckled, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Did you speak to your father yet?” he asked, with his back to her, and she sighed.

“Yeah, I called him this afternoon.”

“And what was his reaction to having a grandson,” he asked, his tone very even.

“He actually sounded quite cheerful,” she said. “I showed him Gideon over the phone so he could say hello.”

Gold made a noise that might have been anything from approval to irritation.

“He says he’ll come and visit,” she added. “Maybe next week. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” he said, in that same even tone. “He should see his grandson.”

There was silence. Gold put Moe French from his mind almost immediately, replaying his conversation with Neal over in his mind. Things that Emma and Henry had said slipped into the memory, adding to the picture he was forming. The picture that couldn’t possibly be true. Vaguely, he could hear Belle speaking, and glanced around.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said I hope the nurses don’t take too long with those painkillers,” she said. “I pressed the button, but I’m not sure it’s working.”

“I’m sure it is,” he said. “D’you want me to track someone down?”

At that moment the door opened and a smiling nurse came in, file in one hand and a plastic cup with pills in the other.

“Here we are, Belle,” she announced. “Time for your meds. How are you feeling?”

Gold tuned her out as he turned back to his task of rearranging the drawer of baby clothes. It didn’t especially need it, but having a task to concentrate on was helping him to calm the stream of his thoughts and fears before they became a raging torrent that would drown him. He barely heard the nurse leave, but then Belle spoke again.

“What was that?” he asked, and heard her sigh.

“I said I can’t wait to be back in my own bed,” she said.

“Mmm,” he agreed.

“Are you okay?” she asked then. “You seem very distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he said automatically. “It’s nothing.”

“Alex…”

“Seriously, it’s nothing,” he insisted.

“Alright.”

A moment of stillness, the only sound the tiny noises Gideon was making as he fed. He could tell that Belle was waiting for him to speak, no doubt watching him out of the corner of her eye as she pretended that all of her attention was on Gideon. Gold went on folding the baby clothes, taking time to place the sleeves and smoothing out the creases with sweeps of his hands as he wrestled with the tangle of thoughts and emotions in his mind.

“Neal has the same birthday as Bae,” he said eventually.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “He’s the same age, too.”

“That’s - quite a coincidence,” she observed.

“Yes.”

More silence. He placed the folded clothes carefully in the drawer and closed it, turning to face her, his heart thumping anxiously.

“What do you know about his parents?” he asked, and Belle shrugged.

“Not much. I know his mother moved over here from England, and that she left him with Social Services when he was seven.”

Gold reeled backwards a little, as though he had taken a blow to the chest. There was a dull pain like a fist, pushing against his heart and stealing his breath.

“What was her name?” he asked numbly, and Belle shook her head.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“And - and where did she leave him, exactly?” he asked. “Which Social Services?”

“I don’t know. He never went into that much detail.”

He nodded, beginning to pace back and forth, his heart thumping.

“Did you say she moved here from England?”

“Pretty sure that’s what he said. I - I could be wrong, it was only a comment in passing. He doesn’t really talk about her.”

“And his father?”

“He never knew his father. Doesn’t even know his name.”

He nodded again, his pace quickening. It was as though the pieces of a puzzle were sliding together, locking into place with an echoing sound deep in his brain. Belle turned her head, catching his eye as he passed and making him slow.

“Alex,” she said gently. “Please talk to me.”

“I - I don’t know what to say,” he protested, pacing rapidly. “I’m still trying to make sense of all this.”

“You think - you think you could be his father?” she whispered. “You think he’s Bae?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I mean the dates fit, but... I don’t know.”

Belle watched him pace, his limping stride brisk with agitation, his jaw tight. He shook his head, spinning on the toes of his shoes to face her.

“It can’t be true, can it?” he demanded. “I mean it’s - it’s not possible!”

“It does seem like a hell of a coincidence,” she said. “But there again fate’s a funny thing. Imagine if I hadn’t called you that day. Or - or what if we hadn’t had angry sex in your shop that time?”

He gave her a tremulous smile at that, leaning in to stroke Gideon’s head.

“Much as I hate remembering the way I acted back then,” he said. “I wouldn’t change the outcome for anything.”

“No, nor would I.”

They shared a smile, and Belle reached out to squeeze his hand.

“I suppose it’s a simple enough thing to settle,” she said. “You could ask him about his mother and what he remembers of her. What he remembers of his father, if anything.”

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose I could do that.”

“You two have already talked a little about it,” she added. “It wouldn’t be an unusual question to ask.”

Gold hesitated, pulling away from her to pace the room again before turning back, his expression uncertain.

“What if - what if it is him?” he asked.

“Then I guess it’ll be an adjustment,” she said. “For both of you.”

He nodded, still pacing, head down. After a moment he glanced up.

“It would mean Emma would be my daughter-in-law,” he said. “And - and Henry would be my grandson.”

“You’re a pretty hot grandpa, if that’s what was worrying you,” she teased, and he shot her a look that was part amusement and part anxiety.

“If it’s true,” he went on. “It’s gonna turn their lives upside down as well as ours.”

“Well, maybe,” she acknowledged. “I guess it’ll take some time to deal with. Neither of them had parents, and Henry has no grandparents, and then all of sudden it’ll be like we’ve all got more family than we know what to do with.”

Gold rocked back on his heels.

“Gideon would be Henry’s uncle,” he said, looking stunned, and Belle giggled.

“Now that would take some getting used to.”

“God…” He shook his head, his pace quickening, the cane tapping. “I don’t know how to feel about this. Do I have the right to just swoop in and change everything for them?”

“Alex…”

“He must have changed his name at some point,” he went on, gesturing in agitation. “Perhaps he doesn’t want anything to do with his past. Perhaps he’ll hate me. I - I don’t want to cause a rift with him when he’s been such a good friend to you.”

“Alex, if he’s your son…” She shook her head. “You’ve been looking for him for years! He’s spent all that time thinking he was unloved! He deserves to know that at least one of his parents wanted him!”

“It doesn’t mean he’ll want to have a relationship now, though, does it?” said Gold, a desperate edge to his voice. “Oh Belle, what if he won’t talk to me? What if he shuts me out?”

Belle took his hand again, her gaze steady.

“I can’t promise things will go the way you want,” she said gently. “But it would be better to know one way or the other, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “One way or the other, knowledge is always preferable to ignorance.”

“Then you’ll talk to him?” she asked, and he heaved a breath before nodding.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said. “At least then we’ll know.”

#fic: twisted fate #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

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bidoldaccount · 4 years ago

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Grow As We Go - THREE

Word Count: 2,029

Tags: baby abandonment; baby jack; new parents; implied neglect (on mothers part); supportive castiel; fluff; Doctor rowena; AU: modern setting; Mechanic Dean; Teacher Castiel

ONE ; TWO

Read on AO3

Read on Wattpad

Dean groaned as a ringing sounded throughout the room.

"It's Saturday, turn your alarm off," he grumbled, turning to cuddle into Cas' chest. Cas groaned beneath him, patting his back.

"It's the doorbell," he said. Dean whined as Castiel stood up, Dean falling to the bed. Cas grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the laundry basket and slipped them on before shuffling out of the room. Dean followed him with his eyes and laid back with a groan as soon as he was out of sight. He pulled the blankets over his head, waiting for Cas to come back. It was probably just a package, Dean was waiting for a car part and Castiel was always ordering books or supplies for the kids in his class. Dean just hopes it has nothing to do with glitter this time.

"What the fuck?" Dean flipped the blanket off of his head, looking towards the door. "Um, Dean?" Dean shot out of bed at the panicked, confused tone of Cas' voice. He didn't bother with pants as he threw the bedroom door open and looked towards the front door. Dean stopped in his tracks when he saw what Cas was staring at. There on the welcome mat was a car seat, and inside of that car seat was a sleeping baby.

"Is it real?" Dean asked, slowly approaching the door.

"Why wouldn't it be real?" Cas asked in a hushed whisper.

"I don't know, maybe one of our friends is trying and failing to be funny," Dean threw his hands up. Cas thought about it for a second, slowly looking back at the car seat. He bent down and gently touched it, pulling back when it snuffled.

"It's real, it's real, it's real," he sprang back. Dean shuffled a bit closer, peering down into the carseat.

"There's something under the blanket," he said, tucking his hands close to his chest. Cas bent down again, very carefully peeled the blanket up and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Dean then peered outside.

Dean

His name was printed messily on the front of the note, his heart sank as he opened it.

Dean, I'm sorry. I thought I could do it but I don't have the support or money, and if I'm being completely honest, love, to take care of a baby. I know you probably don't remember me, but my name is Kayla. We met at the Blue Moon Bar, you're the first person I had slept with in months. When I found out I was pregnant, I knew you were the father. I tried, I really did, but I didn't feel like a mom, and he just cried so much. I'm so sorry for doing this to you, I really am, but I know he will be better off. This is your son, his name is Jack. I didn't have much because I couldn't afford anything but what the hospital gave me. I'm sorry.

Kayla

"Fuck," Dean breathed.

"What does it say?" Cas asked softly. As Dean was reading, Castiel had brought the carseat inside and closed the door. Dean handed it to Cas, slowly lowering himself down onto the floor. There was a trash bag beside it that Dean hadn't seen as first, so he reached for it as Cas read. It wasn't tied, so he pulled it open and started sifting through it. There were a few diapers, an almost empty pack of wipes, a few onesies, and a birth certificate. Dean pulled it out and cursed softly at it.

"Do you think she's lying?" Cas asked softly, lowering down onto his knees beside Dean.

"He's three months old, if she got pregnant that night, that was almost a year ago, it adds up," he shrugged.

"Fuck," cas breathed. "Maybe you should get a paternity test, just to be 100% sure?"

"Yeah, that's, that's smart," Dean nodded, swallowing hard as they both stared down at the infant. "I gotta call Bobby, tell him I won't make it in," Dean slowly rose to his feet, breathing shakily as Jack shifted in his car seat. It was old, a gray that was fading and dull, it looks like it could have been taken from the garbage. Dean forced himself to look away, turning for the bedroom.

Bobby gave him a little bit of shit at first but when Dean explained what was going on, he told him to take all the time he needed. When Dean walked back to the living room, maybe ten minutes later, Cas had taken Jack out of the car seat. Dean approached slowly, peering over Cas' shoulder at the infant cradled in the crook of his elbow.

"He's so tiny," Cas whispered. He was right, without the blanket, the boy probably wasn't much heavier than he was at birth.

"Kids almost got a full head of hair," Dean said, his heart pounding in his chest. He slowly brought his hand up and touched the boys head, just hovering and running his thumb gently over dirty blonde hair.

"Do you want to get dressed so we can go to the hospital?" Cas asked, peering at Dean over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I," Dean nodded. "I'll be like five minutes," he said.

Dean threw on jeans and a tee shirt, and brushed his teeth before walking back out to Cas. He wasn't positive that he was even breathing at the moment. His hands were shaking as Castiel passed the baby into his arms, his eyes went completely wide when he was fully holding the boy.

"You good?" Cas asked softly.

"I think so," Dean nodded stiffly. Cas hesitated at his side, gently touching his lower back before leaving him and Jack alone in the living room.

"Okay, Jack," the name was foreign and stilted on his tongue. "No offense to you, you know? No hard feelings if you're not my kid, I just, you understand right?" He rambled as he slowly lowered himself onto the carpet. Jack wriggled a bit as Dean adjusted him so he could grab the trash back and dump it out. He gently lowered the boy onto the carpet, watching as his little limbs splayed out in a mock stretch as his eyes opened. He had bright green eyes that made Dean's throat close up. He blinked up at him, his calm breath hitching a bit.

"It's alright, buddy, I'm just going to change you," Dean said as he carefully unclasped his onesie and moved it up. His diaper was practically falling apart, one of the tabs were unstuck and hanging open. "I bet this was really uncomfortable to sit in, huh?" Deans face twisted down as he removed the overfilled diaper, sucking in a breath at the rash that had built up. Jack started wailing as soon as Dean started wiping him down. "I know, buddy, I'm so sorry. I have to clean it or it's going to get worse," he winced as Jack thrashed. He didn't see any rash cream, so he finished wiping the baby down and put a fresh diaper on him, then carefully maneuvered the onesie off. It was soaked through, so Dean tossed it in the empty trash bag with the diaper. Jack was still crying as Dean put another one of the onesies on him. as soon as he clasped it, he scooped the boy up and held him to his chest, standing up to gently bounce him.

"Shh, it's okay, we're all done," Dean comforter, gently rubbing Jacks back.

"Is he okay?" Cas asked as he walked out of the room.

"Yeah, he has a terrible rash, Cas. I," he stuttered, his throat closing. "I know she said she could afford much but this is just fucking neglect," he choked.

"Okay, it's okay," Castiel walked over, gently cupping the back of Dean's head. "He's okay now. We'll take him to the hospital to get checked out, things like this are weird, they'll have to call CPS and they'll have to decide where he goes because technically you're not legally the father," he said.

"But my name is on the birth certificate," Dean said, his stomach clenching.

"Yeah, but you didn't sign it, a woman can write any mans name on the birth certificate but that doesn't make them the father. You could try for emergency custody but they really have no proof that you're related. We're just going to have to see how it goes. We'll take the note, show them there was abandonment on the mother's part, you just have to be as cooperative as possible, this process is hard," Castiel explained.

"You're freaking me out, Cas," Dean said, his face hot.

"I'm sorry," Castiel smiled tightly, his eyebrows still knitted together.

"What if, what if he's not mine? He's just going to go into the system? Then what?" Dean breathed out heavily, his grip on the baby unconsciously tightening.

"Dean, there's nothing we can do except everything they tell us to do. Okay? Just breathe," Cas squeezed his shoulder, guiding Dean through two deep breathed.

"Okay," Dean swallows. "Okay," he blinked hard, trying to gather his bearings.

"We'll have to get a new car seat, I doubt this thing would pass a state approval," cas said, poking the car seat. Dean only nodded as he strapped Jack in. Cas was right, the straps didn't even tighten all the way. He barely remembers Kayla, but if this is how she was caring for his child- if it is his- he really fucking hates her.

Castiel rides in the back with Jack, his hand pressed securely against him to make up for the loose straps. The hospital is a ten minute drive, and Dean white knuckles the steering wheel the entire way there.

"Hi there, how can I help you?" A blonde, wide smiling, nurse greets them when they walk in, and Dean holds Jack tightly as Castiel explains their situation. Her smile falters as she flicks her eyes over to Dean, a sympathetic smile on her face.

"I'll see if there's someone available in pediatrics that can take a look," she said softly.

"Thank you," Castiel returned her smile and guided Dean over to the chairs. Dean sat stiffly, gently shushing Jack when he cried. His foot tapped incessantly on the floor, his knee shaking up and down with it. Cas gently slid his hand onto his knee and he slowed down the movement but didn't stop. He laid his cheek on Jack's head, slowly rocking him.

"He's probably hungry," Dean blurted out after they had been waiting for five or so minutes.

"You're right," Cas nodded and stood. Dean watched with wide eyes as cas walked up to the nurse at the desk. Dean bit at the inside of his cheek, worrying the skin with his teeth as he watched them. Jack fused against his neck, his lips trying to latch on.

"She's going to get us a bottle of formula," Castiel said when he sat back down.

"How'd you do that?" Dean asked.

"Well they give formula and stuff to new mothers so it's not like they don't have the stuff. I already explained our situation so she knows we don't have anything for him," Cas shrugged. Dean only nodded, his limbs still trembling.

The nurse brought them an already prepared bottle of formula, and a tub of what she said they used. Dean thanked her profusely as he took the bottle with shaking fingers.

He had to pull the bottle away several times so Jack would breathe between gulps. Deans eyes filled with tears as he fed Jack, watching the boy greedily suck from the bottle, his eyes darting around the room.

"Mr. Novak?" The nurse that helped them caught their attention after about twenty minutes. Cas stood up first, approaching the nurse and the doctor she was standing next to.

"This is doctor Macleod, she's a pediatric specialist," she introduced.

"Thank you so much for seeing us," Castiel said as he shook the woman's hand.

"Of course, I'm so sorry it has to be under these circumstances," she smiled softly as she looked down at Jack. "Please, follow me."

#Destiel #Dean winchester #castiel #destiel fluff #jack kirby #baby jack #new parents #modern setting #alternate universe

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 5 years ago

Text

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 3

Ford was late.

Stan paced, unable to quell the prickling of anxiety in his chest. Ford was late and it was starting to get dark and he hadn’t come back in the afternoon like he had the past four days Stan had been trapped there. He strained his ears but the only sounds he could catch were the usual foresty noises, squirrels and shit.

Yeah, Ford was a grown man who could handle himself, and yeah, he technically was keeping Stan locked up, but the guy didn’t know it and goddammit, Stan was allowed to be worried about his twin!

He continued to pace and growl to himself as the shadows got longer and the air began to chill. In fact, Stan was still fretting when the crashing in the trees became audible. His fur stood on end and he rumbled out a low growl. Alright, this wasn’t normal. Who the fuck was messing with his brother?

Stan got his answer soon enough, when he picked up Ford’s gasping breaths and panicked footsteps and the pounding and rumbling of something much larger on his tail. Were those wing beats? And yelling and smashing glass. He barked his lungs out, cursing this stupid cage that kept him from helping his brother. The air smelled like blood and feathers, fear and sweat.

Something thudded into the side of the shed. There was scrabbling at the door and then – oh thank god – Ford stumbled inside and slammed it shut after him, wincing as something heavy pounded on the other side. Stan paced anxiously.

What is it, bro? What’s wrong?

“I will very much regret this.” Ford gasped to himself, staggering further into the room with – wait, what was that gleaming in his hand? He was at the cage. There was metal scraping and a click that made Stan stiffen.

Ford paused to catch his breath, clutching the key in one hand and casting a fearful look over his shoulder at the shuddering shed door. The cage creaked. Unlocked. When Stan nosed it hesitantly it swung open before him. Ford winced and took a step back, gaze darting nervously between Stan and the commotion at the door.

“Err… yep. I already regret this.”

The door started to splinter as a head forced its way inside, and Stan didn’t hesitate before lunging forward and snapping a mouthful of whatever was trying to hurt his brother.

Fuckin finally. It had been forever since he had a good fight.

Unlocking Rebus’s cage had been a last-resort sort of thing. Not in the plan, but a lot of things hadn’t gone to plan today. The flock of griffins that Ford had been trying to study had gotten angry and swarmed him. The hollow tree Ford had taken shelter in hadn’t lasted long under their beaks and claws. On the mad sprint home he’d tripped and hurt his ankle somehow.

And then, when he’d finally made it inside, the griffins had started smashing through his upstairs windows.

He found himself bolting for the last place of relative safety, the old shed he’d commissioned Dan to put up as extra storage space, and the one he had recently been using as housing for a very large, very dangerous wolf. Who was currently raging and barking like a mad thing.

It couldn’t get much worse, could it? Rebus was itching for a fight. May as well give him one and hope that it would serve as an adequate distraction.

So long as Ford could keep himself off the menu.

He flung himself into a corner and covered his head with his arms as Rebus surged forward. He tore into the griffin that was half-way through the door. The winged beast’s roars quickly turned into screeches of pain as a chunk of its flesh was ripped clean off, its wings thrashing frantically in an attempt to escape the cramped space. Ford made himself as small as he could against the wall.

Rebus forced his way outside and there were more screeches and yelps of pain, from griffins and wolf alike. The latter was also snarling though – deep, rumbling sounds that seemed to split the air like thunder. Ford considered shutting himself in the cage – would that be safer? – but decided against it when the shed shuddered under the force of thrashing bodies. Better to be mobile.

The mostly-ruined door crashed open, sending the two tussling creatures sprawling inside. A griffin had gotten on top of Rebus and was slashing down at him while the wolf twisted and snarled. Spittle and blood flew from the creatures. Rebus was on his back, vulnerable, and as Ford stared the griffin slashed at his exposed underbelly.

Ford grabbed the nearest object – a metal crowbar from the wall – staggered forward and swung it as hard as he could against the griffin’s head with a satisfying clang.

It screeched and Rebus took advantage of the distraction to surge up and snap at its throat. The griffin recoiled. Its wings thrashed wildly as it struggled to free itself from the enraged wolf, one of them clipping Ford and sending him tripping back to the floor.

The griffin, now limping, tore its way out of the shed with Rebus hot on its heels. It launched itself into the air and Rebus sprang after it. There was a loud ripping sound.

Rebus crashed to the ground with a mouthful of feathers.

Ford gasped for breath. The property around them was suddenly deathly quiet, only the distant wing beats evidence that the griffins had been there at all.

Holy Moses. He dropped the crowbar numbly and tried to remember how to breathe. Sure, dangerous circumstances were numerous when you worked in a place like Gravity Falls, but try telling his autonomic nervous system that.

There was uneven padding and the click-click-click of nails on a hardwood floor.

Ford tensed. Letting Rebus out of his cage had scared off the griffins, but they had been scared for a reason – the creature was dangerous, as it had just proved. What if Ford had only put himself in worse danger? What if Rebus’s calm disposition didn’t last outside of the cage? What if he saw Ford as the next threat to deal with, or prey, or-

Rebus’s shadow fell across him. Ford hunched his shoulders and tried not to look threatening.

A low, canine whine. Rebus stuck his nose into Ford’s hair to snuffle it, which rather ruined the appearance of ‘big scary monster’. Perhaps there was less animosity there than he’d feared. When Rebus licked his hair Ford let out a wheezy laugh of relief and reached up hesitantly to touch the wolf – this time Rebus allowed Ford to pet his ears with a shaking hand. The creature’s matted fur was wet with blood.

“Well,” Ford said finally, “I guess that solves the question of whether or not you’ll try to maul me. I hope.”

Rebus huffed in a way that almost sounded like a laugh. The canine lowered himself to nose at Ford’s injured ankle, letting out another little whine. Ford rolled his eyes.

“You’re more hurt than me.”

He wasn’t lying. Rebus’s coarse, matted fur had stopped some of the damage but there were still bloody scratches across his pelt; the slashes on his belly were shallow but long. They overlapped with old scars.

Once he was reasonably sure Rebus wasn’t going to tear his throat out, Ford rose and made his way carefully outside. Yech, his yard was a mess. Covered in pieces of debris and blood splatters and red-stained feathers. That would be a nightmare to clean. At least he had plenty of samples now?

Stan was glad to be free of that cage and, thankfully, Ford didn’t seem inclined to put him back in it. He was far too busy with putting his house back in order and cleaning up their assorted injuries. Stan stayed very still and allowed Ford to dress his cuts with stinging antiseptic. Just because he was a wolf didn’t mean he couldn’t get infections.

He hadn’t actually seen Ford’s house before – he’d known that his brother lived near some woods, but that was about it. It turned out that Ford lived in a mad-scientist-looking shack in the forest with only a winding road as evidence that he wasn’t alone in this pine forest.

Heh. Pines in the pines.

Stan explored the house yard and kept watch on the darkened forest in case those bird-things made a reappearance, while Ford was sweeping up shattered glass and stuff. The things didn’t come back.

Good. No freaky hell-creatures were gonna mess with his brother, not while Stan was around.

…wait.

Stan was leaving now, right? That was the plan. The fact that Ford seemed to want him around – maybe even saw him as more than just another creature to study – couldn’t change the facts. If Ford ever found out who Stan really was, he would be furious. Even more so now that Stan had kept the secret for so long.

He padded out hesitantly onto the lawn, scanning the forest. He could just… walk away. He’d already paid his dues to Sixer, saving his life. And the Stanleymobile would still be in the woods somewhere.

But…

But.

Ford had needed him today. Who was to say that Ford wouldn’t need him again? Besides, Stan didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go.

What Ford didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right?

“Rebus?” His brother’s call snapped Stan out of his thoughts and he glanced around to see Ford peering around the front door, as if trying to distinguish Stan against the night landscape. Heh. He remembered having crummy human vision.

Stan shook himself and trotted into the light, allowing Ford to spot him. The poindexter’s worried expression turned into a smile.

“There you are, I was worried you’d left.” He opened the door invitingly. “Since you don’t seem inclined to leave, I’m thinking you’ll want to be staying for a while. Inside might be comfier than out there.”

Stan didn’t hesitate to follow him inside.

#please don't see me #the stans #gravity falls #fic #my fic #werewolf stan au #werewolf!stan #chapter 3

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salamanderskin · 5 years ago

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Looking Out

A Critical Role sickfic, Caduceus/Fjord because I will go down with this ship on their ship.

Caduceus likes to make himself useful during the journey, while his Captain just wants to take care of him a little.

Fjord opens the door of the Captain’s Quarters and ushers Caduceus inside. The firbolg has to stoop to miss the brass lamp that swings from the ceiling, giving him a crouched, apologetic look even without soaking wet clothes and obvious shivers.

“What the fuck were you-” Fjord hears the frustrated edge on his voice and tries again. What’s done is done. It isn’t anger anyway, it’s guilt. It was his unclear orders that had the firbolg standing watch in the worst of a freezing rain storm. “Never mind. You’re freezing, ‘Duceus. Let me get you dry.”

Caduceus stands passively, allowing the half-orc to fuss around him. He looks like a drowned rat. All that long, luxurious hair is plastered to his head and falls down his back in sodden tangles, meeting the fabric of his less-than-waterproof coat.

Fjord helps him to peel the coat off, asks, “You mind it I-” and waits for a nod before working on the fastenings of Caduceus' tunic.

“I don’t think I could do it. My fingers are stiff.” Caduceus comments.

Fjord catches the offending digits and clasps them in both his palms, pressing his own warmth into them. This makes Caduceus smile, so he presses a kiss to the back of one to see the smile widen further. The firbolg flexes those long, slender fingers and seems to come back to life as the warmth of room seeps into him. He takes over undressing himself and stands in his smallclothes, which are mercifully dry, then turns from Fjord to give a full body shake, like a dog. Fjord narrowly avoids a mist of water. It’s surprisingly efficient given how short most of Caduceus’ fur actually is, but his long hair remains stubbornly sodden.

Fjord snags a towel and pats the edge of the bed for Caduceus to sit. He sets to work drying that long, silken hair and trying his best not to pull. He even remembers to blot rather than rub, lest he make the mats worse.

“You really didn’t have to take that watch.” Fjord comments as he works, summoning his ‘Captain’ voice. “We could have sent Frumpkin out, or literally anyone else on the crew-” He leaves “that I care about less than you” unspoken.

“I was talking to the gulls.” Caduceus shrugs. “And I’ve got the best eyes of all of us.”

“Yes, but now you’re soaked and-”

Fjord pauses in his ministrations when he feels Caduceus draw an uncharacteristically sudden, shallow breath. He removes the towel to see an uncertain, ticklish expression and sure enough, the firbolg ducks away from him with a sneeze.

“Hhh--ISSSHoo! …’scuse me.”

“-and you’re getting sick.”He finishes.

“I’m-” Caduceus begins, but is overtaken by another “Ussshue!”

“I think I was already sick,” He adds appeasingly.

Fjord isn’t having any of it. “That isn’t better. You should have stayed in the warm.”

“Hmm but I’m in the warm now.” Caduceus shrugs off the towel turns to wrap his arms around Fjord, burning his face in his neck. Fjord can feel how cold his poor nose is still, but is distracted by the warmth of a kiss behind his ear. “And it feels so much better for having come in from outside.”

“If you say so.”

The kiss deepens and they let their bodies collapse back onto the bed. It lasts a good long time and Fjord relaxes into the rhythm of it, relishing slow, shared breaths and contented noises. The moment cannot last, however, and his partner mumbles, “‘scuse me-” and turns away to direct a round of coughs into his shoulder. Fjord is close enough to feel his abdomen kicking with each, and the exhausted slump of his shoulders afterward.

Caduceus turns back but keeps a hand tucked over his face to worry at his nostrils. He sounds stuffy and miserable. Fjord presses a kiss to the broad bridge of his muzzle and sees his slit nostrils twitch like a rabbit’s under the attention. The effect is not unappealing. If anything, the anxious arch of brows and the uncertain little noise he makes are downright cute.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He queries, leaning away from his love to take in the whole of him.

Caduceus considers, pausing to blow his nose. “M’ really cold. I should go get some dry clothes.”

“Borrow something of mine,” Fjord says at once, loathe to let him leave his sight, “or… just get under the covers. You may as well stay here tonight.”

Caduceus blinks and gives a grateful smile; they’ve not slept together, in either sense of the word, for a little while. Between Fjord’s duties as Captain and the need for him to project as air of authority while carrying them out, they have reached an unspoken agreement that it is unseemly for the Captain to be openly railing one of the crew.

Fjord takes the lead by climbing under himself and opening his arms to create a welcoming hollow. Caduceus is truly cold though, waves of shivers seeming to spread from his spine and along his limbs, hard enough to make his teeth chatter.

“Ugh, s’freezing in here…” he grumbles.

“You don’t feel cold to me now,” Fjord frets. “Think you’re working up to a fever?”

“Could be.” Caduceus shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Fjord says, planting a testing kiss on Caduceus’ forehead. It’s hard to tell temperature and he resolves to keep a weather eye on it as the evening progresses.

Caduceus’ answer is a happy hum and he wraps his limbs around Fjord’s and buries his face in the hollow between shoulder and neck. His grip relaxes as enough combined body heat pools beneath the blankets to quell the shivers. Fjord lets his hands wander, loving the contrast of fine velvet fur pulled tight over the firbolg’s lean muscular build. They settle face to face so that he can cup a hand to the firbolg’s cheek.

He’s still sniffling though; sad, irritated little snuffles as he worries under his nose with the back of his hand.

“Leave that alone, you’re making it sore.”

“Can’t.” Caduceus protests, the congestion thickening the consonants to cadt. It makes him sound soft and sleepy, a tone far more adorable than it has any right to be. His eyes draw into an irritated squint and he breathes a shallow, vulnerable little sound before collapsing into his cupped palms with a harsh sneeze.

““uh’HFFSCH”

“Bless you!” Fjord feels his partner’s whole body shudder with it, then the relaxation of an exhale afterward. Caduceus nods his thanks and thrusts forward again, too tired to fully turn his head.

And again- he hovers between them, gaze cast somewhere near the ceiling and features in an expression of ticklish frustration. Fjord finds himself holding his own breath in sympathy, waiting, waiting and “- ISSshoo! Uh--IUSSShhoo!”

“Melora bless you,” Fjord sighs fondly, gathering Caduceus to him again so he can rub soothing circles over his back.

“Ughh… okay, that didn’t feel so good.” Caduceus admits.

“Regretting going out in the rain now?” He makes a neutral noise. “I wouldn’t say that. There isn’t a lot I can do on the boat apart from cook, but I’ve got very good eyes. I like to look out for you.”

That makes Fjord’s heart flutter with warmth. “I know. I know you do. But you don’t need to be doing something for us all the time. We’re just glad you’re here.”

“That’s nice.” Caduceus nods. His eyes are closing, shadowed underneath with tiredness.

“Will you let me look out for you a little now?”

Fjord doesn’t wait for an answer but shifts their position so that the firbolg’s head is resting higher on his chest, hoping the elevation might help with the congestion. Strong seaman’s fingers sift through Caduceus’ damp hair and press into the tightness he can feel in his neck and shoulders. Caduceus practically melts. Fjord doesn’t like the little wheeze he can hear out the outbreath. That’s another thing to keep an eye on.

“Do you need anything? Water? Some tea?”

Caduceus shakes his head. “Just rest, I think.”

The storm seems to be ending; the ceaseless pitch of the ship has settled to a familiar, rhythmic roll. Fjord finds it soothing. He knows Caduceus finds it less so and makes up for it by holding him more tightly and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“You rest, then. I’m keeping watch.”

END.

#I'm not over this soft cow man #and calling his nose a muzzle #idk maybe I'm kind of a furry now #the 'soaked in the rain and catching cold' trope is so good #you can pry it from my cold dead hands #either way let them both be soft #sickfic #wildbros #salamanderskin's fic

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kasdeyathebitterwoman · 5 years ago

Text

A Ninja Warrior Love Story - Part 3

And we back with part 3! Hope everyone is enjoying this series again as well as the updates I’ve been making! I’m really noticing a difference in my writing these days and it’s making writing so much more enjoyable.

Let me know if there are any one-shots, imagines, drabbles, head-cannons, or anything else you’d like to see for Henry Cavill, Chris Evans, and more!

taglist:

@maeleeme

Wordcount: 3,320 (it’s a long one, sorry!)

CW: seeing others makeout; being excluded; being walked away from

At first, Lily didn’t mind Tom or Henry being at the gym, but as the days went on, their presence became increasingly more annoying. Even when they weren’t there physically, the knowledge of it had spread like wildfire. Every morning Lily pulled up to the gym to find hoards of women waiting to get in, most of whom she had to turn away for lack of membership. The ones that did sign up had no idea what they were doing inside and continuously got in her way.

She did empathize to a point with the men. They couldn’t control how others felt or when and where people showed up. Everyone was their own person and did what they wanted, but either Tom or Henry could at least help try to discourage loiterers, she thought. Regardless, after her first encounter with Henry, she hadn’t had the opportunity for more. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d want to. She was getting rapidly annoyed with the increase of confused gaggle of women, Henry’s dog who immediately picked her out of the crowds and followed her around constantly, and a myriad of other issues. She hadn’t had the chance to properly workout in almost a week now and it was starting to mess with her.

Now on Friday, about a week and a half after Tom and Henry arrived, Lily found the entrance to the gym almost vacant. Surprised, she got out of her truck and walked to the front door. Taped to the glass was a handwritten note by Don saying that anyone caught waiting outside without a membership would be reported to the police. Lily smiled and chuckled at the note. Opening the doors, she walked inside and sighed, relieved she finally had the chance to workout again.

Emerging from the locker rooms, Lily popped in her headphones and began blaring her playlist filled with David Bowie, Elton John, and Tom Petty. She hummed along as she got started with a warm-up and was full-out singing by the time she was done. She trotted over to the obstacle course to get a few runs in before others started showing up. Tom insisted that he and Don meet most days at 6:30, so Lily only had a few minutes before that. She got started on the balance obstacles, typically the hardest for her, then quickly moved on to ones that required grip strength. She was hanging on the wave board when movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. It distracted her so when she went to move forward on the board, it moved just enough that she lost her grip and dropped to the mat below.

Looking over to the source of her distraction, she expected to see The Dude or Tom, but it was actually Henry. He was watching her intently, his dog next to him doing the same. She offered him a tight-lipped smile which he interpreted as an invitation to come over.

“Good morning, Lily,” he said, his voice still raspy with sleep. Lily softened a little.

“Good morning, Henry,” she replied, hoping any annoyance with him was not evident in her voice. His dog, Kal, still kept his laser focus gaze on Lily but shifted as if waiting for acknowledgment. Lily chuckled and smiled. “Good morning, Kal,” she said to the dog who immediately jumped up and trotted to her. Henry shook his head.

“I’m honestly very surprised at how taken he is with you,” he said. “Akita’s are pack dogs and generally are not fond of outsiders, but you,” he looked Lily directly in the eye. “I think he knows something that I don’t.” Henry looked at Lily with that twinkle that she didn’t fully understand. It made her heart beat faster and a flutter kick up in her stomach. She smiled in response and immediately changed the subject.

“So, uh, what are you doing here so early?” she asked him. He smiled at her, dropping her gaze for a moment.

“I’m meeting Tom and Donovan for some training,” he said, watching Kal who was now snuffling around Lily’s legs. She giggled a little at the tickling sensation. “Kal,” Henry complained causing the dog to look up at him. From Lily’s perspective, the dog almost seemed to be challenging Henry to stop him. Lily laughed at the scene.

“Do you know what you’ll be working on today?” she asked him, looking up through her eyelashes. If she wasn’t watching him, she wouldn’t have noticed the shift change in his expression. He stared at her for a second before quickly responding.

“Uh, the obstacle course, actually,” he replied, looking around the course. “What is this one called?” he asked, gesturing to the wave board.

“It’s called a wave board,” Lily said. “Our version is a piece of plywood that’s been sanded, attached by alternating mounts. The board itself is cut in a wave, as you can see, but it also moves when you grab it. So this particular obstacle requires a good deal of core and grip strength,” she looked back at Henry who was staring at her, a gentle smile on his lips and that same twinkle in his eyes.

“What?” she asked, but before he could respond, the front door opened. Tom and Don walked in, chatting about something excitedly. Henry and Lily smiled sheepishly at each other and watched Tom walk towards them. Donovan headed to his office to drop his things off.

“Good morning, Lucky,” Tom said brightly. Lily grimaced a little.

“Good morning, Tom,” she replied. Donovan jogged over to them.

“Good morning everyone,” he said. “I hope you’re ready to get started. Lily, do you want to help me with demonstrations?” he asked. She agreed and they got started with the training process. Donovan explained how each obstacle worked, which muscle group was needed for it, and ultimately how one was supposed to effectively beat said obstacle. Lily followed his instructions and did her best to demonstrate what he was explaining. She was acutely aware of Henry’s eyes on her, but she refused to let it affect her ability to perform. Running ninja courses was her favorite past time and no one, not even the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on, would ruin that.

By the end of everything, Lily was very much feeling the burn in her forearms and shoulders, but she loved it regardless. Donovan appeared very impressed with her as did Tom and Henry.

“Alright, so now how about we break off into pairs to go over each obstacle with a little more explanation and guidance?” Donovan asked. Everyone nodded or verbally agreed. “Great, Tom, you and I will work together on the back half; Lily, you take Henry to work on the front half,” he said. Lily’s heart lept into her throat, but she nodded in agreement. She and Henry walked in silence to the front half of the course which included a balance obstacle, the salmon ladder, floating hoops, and the wave board. At the start, Henry looked down at her waiting for her to give him a command.

“Start whenever you want to,” she said and Henry nodded. He stood for a moment getting himself ready then began. Swiftly, he made it through the balance obstacle with ease, then immediately came to the salmon ladder. “Okay, here, since you are taller and bigger than me, it’s going to be really important that you engage your core the whole time,” she offered him. Henry glanced at her and nodded in acknowledgment. Then he hopped up and grabbed the first rung. Lily nodded and cheered him on as he pushed himself and the bar up the four rungs. She was clapping as he reached out to the first floating hoops. Unfortunately, either his grip or his forearm strength gave out and he slipped, dropping to the mat. He groaned and looked to Lily. She smiled at him sympathetically. “At least you made it through the salmon ladder. That usually takes rookies out on their first try,” she offered him. He smiled a little at that, but the smile quickly faded when Celeste appeared out of nowhere.

“Hey Henry, you’re doing great! Do you need any help or advice?” she asked, completely ignoring Lily’s presence. Henry noticed and he stared Lily in the eye the whole time as he replied.

“No, I’ve got a great instructor,” he smiled a little, then flicked his gaze to Celeste who was clearly fuming but struggling to keep it together.

“Oh, okay, great!” she said, her voice too cheery. “I’ll just go check on Tom and Donovan then,” she gave Henry a smile then turned and bounced down the course to the other two. Lily snorted a little and looked to Henry who was shaking his head. Kal had come to sit in front of him almost as if he were defending his owner.

“Alright, let’s go again,” Lily said, hoping to bring Henry back. He nodded his head and started the whole thing over again.

—

Hours later in her apartment, Lily walked around the tiny space, picking up littered clothes and such. She had very few belongings, but what she did have was seemingly everywhere. While she was tidying up the minuscule kitchen, she heard her phone chime in the other room. Setting her things down, she went to see who was messaging her. To her surprise, it was Henry.

Hey Lily, I got your number from Don (I swear I’m not a complete nutter!) But I wanted to say thank you for helping me today. You really are a great instructor.

Lily smiled at her phone for several moments before she decided to respond back.

Hey Henry, it’s no worries. I don’t mind helping out and you’re a pretty good student! Hitting send, Lily dropped her phone back on her bed assuming that was it, but before she could even start cleaning again, her phone chimed. She went back to see Henry had messaged her back.

Ha, that’s kind of you to say! Listen, are you free tonight? Can I take you out for a beer to properly say thank you?

Lily read the message a few times over to fully grasp what he was asking. Henry Cavill was asking her, her out. She bit her lip and replied.

Thank you, I appreciate that, but I have to work tonight. Raincheck? She hit send then sat on the edge of her bed for the response. It wasn’t long before it came.

Sure. I’ll see you at the gym tomorrow then? Lily sighed, feeling a huge amount of disappointment.

Yes, you will. She replied. Henry didn’t say anything else after that so Lily set her phone down and did her best to distract herself before her shift at the bar.

—

At 9 pm, Lily walked into the Lazy Dog bar, one of the three bars in town. It was towards the outskirts of Tayler, which meant that there were fewer people that frequented the bar. Even on a Friday night, the bar wasn’t normally packed. However, with the news of the actors in town, the Lazy Dog was more packed than usual. She smiled at Loraine, the wife of the owner of the bar, who also worked on the weekends with her. Loraine was a former beauty pageant queen and it showed. Her blonde hair was piled high on top of her head, makeup was caked on her face despite her own natural beauty, and she wore a tightly fitted black t-shirt, high-waisted jeans held up by a belt with a large buckle, and platform wedge shoes.

The two women were quite busy for a while, but around 10:30 things began to slow down. Lily was wiping down the counter after a tequila spill when she heard the front door slam open. She looked up and was surprised to see a just as surprised Henry standing in the open doorway. He sheepishly looked around before his eyes landed on Lily behind the bar. A smile grew across his face. He walked up to her and Lily took stock of him. Henry was dressed in a red v-neck shirt that showcased his chest hair, dark blue jeans, and flip flops. His eyes looked a little sleepy and that’s when Lily realized he was quite possibly a little tipsy.

“Hello, Lily,” Henry said, stepping up to the bar. Lily smiled a closed-lip smile.

“Hello, Henry,” she replied. Henry smiled at her wider.

“Uh, I’m sorry about the door. It was a lot lighter than I was anticipating,” they both turned to look at the door and Lily chuckled a little.

“It should be fine,” she said. Henry turned to look at her. His blue eyes pierced through her and she suddenly felt heat creeping up her chest and cheeks. Quickly, she cleared her throat.

“So, uh, can I get you anything?” she asked. Henry continued to look at her, that twinkle very evident in his eyes.

“Sure, do you have any dark beers?�� he asked. Lily nodded. “Great, I’ll take one, please,” Lily nodded and stepped to the side to grab his drink. The entire time, she was acutely aware of the fact that his eyes were glued to her every movement. When she was done, she set the drink in front of him and he graciously took a sip. “Can I ask you another question, Lily?” he asked, after swallowing. A thin line of beer remained on his upper lip and Lily felt butterflies in her stomach at the site.

“Uh, sure,” she said, picking up a glass to begin cleaning it. Henry watched her hands move before he asked his question.

“How did you get the nickname Lucky at the gym?” He asked and Lily groaned.

“Ugh,” she started. “When I first joined the gym I was about as rich as a goat in a dumpster. I had very few gym clothes so I had to raid the lost and found on the first day. I found a pair of decent looking sweat pants and just put them on, not realizing the word ‘lucky’ was branded in giant letters across the butt until The Dude pointed it out,” Henry tipped his head back and laughed a deep, roaring laugh at her story. Lily laughed as well, smiling at the sound of Henry. She really liked his laugh. Lily noticed Loraine power-walking her way and got ready.

“Hey Lil,” Loraine said, rushing up to and around the bar. “I need 5 Dos Equis ASAP.” Lily nodded.

“Yes ma’am,” she said then looked to Henry who was smiling at her. “One sec,” then she got to work grabbing and opening the beers. She put all the beers on a tray so Loraine would be ready to go. That was the case when seconds later, Loraine reached around her, grabbed the tray and dashed off with the tray and a pitcher full of beer for a table. Lily smiled and laughed at the scene until another sight caught her attention. A woman was walking into the bar - no, not just any woman. It was Celeste.

She was dressed to the nines in skin-tight jeans, pointy clear heels, and a sparkly top with a neckline that fell far below her breasts. Almost immediately, Lily felt the self-consciousness wash over her. Tonight she wore blue jeans, a black tank top that showed off her defined shoulders and biceps, and her usual black converse. Unlike Celeste, Lily did not have a chest of any significance. Though it appeared better with the only decent bra she owned, in comparison to Celeste? She didn’t stand a chance. Henry noticed she was staring and turned to see what the source was. They both watched as Celeste sauntered up to the bar. She wore a smirk on her face that was just meant for Lily.

“Oh my god, Henry, what are you doing here?” she asked as if she didn’t know the answer. Henry held up his glass of beer in response then his eyes flicked to Lily, a silent plea in his eyes. Lily smiled as best as she could at Celeste.

“Hey Celeste, what can I get you?” she asked. Celeste turned to her and gave her a look as if she were seeing her for the first time.

“Hey Lucky,” she replied, her words already dripping with venom. “I’ll take a martini. Dry.” a tight-lipped smile was offered as a, please. Lily tersely nodded then got to work on her drink. While she was shaking the martini, Loraine swooped back to the bar.

“When you’re done with that,” Loraine said, multitasking. “I’m going to need you out on the floor clearing tables and running drinks,” Loraine finished what she was doing and darted off. Lily barely nodded in agreement before she was gone. When she finished Celeste’s drink, she went to drop it off, but neither she nor Henry seemed to notice. Henry was thoroughly engrossed in whatever Celeste was saying. It made Lily sick to her stomach to see how quickly he’d fallen for her, so she didn’t mind the distraction of cleaning up the bar.

Lily left the drink and immediately left to begin bussing tables. She focused on that so she wouldn’t be tempted to check the bar. She didn’t want to see what was going on over there. Occasionally, she did have to check to be sure no one was waiting for a drink. when she did, she’d see Celeste touching Henry and preening her body so he’d pay attention to only her. It was a masterful trick and it worked. At one point, Lily had to go to the back room to grab more napkins for tables. As she came out, she was struck by a sight she wasn’t prepared for. Henry’s mouth was on Celestes and though his hands were beneath the bar, she was sure they were attached to Celeste’s body. All the air in her lungs caught in her chest. Lily gasped for air before finally turning on her heel and walking back into the backroom.

She paced the small area, muttering to herself, “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” and when she turned around at one point, Loraine was standing there, staring at her from the doorway. Lily stopped mid-stride and stared back.

“This about that model-lookin man out at the bar?” Loraine asked, tossing her chin over her shoulder towards the bar. Lily nodded and Loraine bobbed her head. “He anything like the other one?” she asked. She was referring to Carter, Lily’s ex. The one that almost broke her. This time Lily sighed.

“I don’t know. No? Maybe?” she huffed. “I don’t know,” she felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes and a flash of anger washed over her. Loraine continued to bob her head then she pushed off the door frame and walked to Lily. She cupped one side of Lily’s face in her hand, gently, as a mother might do to a daughter.

“Sweet girl, you gotta get out of here,” she said. “There ain’t nothing left for you in this dead-end town. We all know you stick ‘round for Ray and Ellie, but they’d understand. They’d know it’s time,” Loraine gave Lily one last knowing look before dropping her hand and walking out. As she did, she told Lily to compose herself, then get back out there to help close the bar down. Lily stood still for a moment before wiping at her eyes before she realized they were wet with unshed tears. She took in a deep breath and walked out of the back room. The last thing she saw that evening was Henry being led out of the bar by Celeste. Watching that, Lily heard her heart crack audibly in her chest.

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captainamericasbeard · 6 years ago

Text

A Long Road- Ch 6

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None

Summary: While recovering in Wakanda Bucky meets a deadly stranger who needs to learn how to heal.

Part 5 // Masterlist

The next morning I wake up next to the fire, as has become habit. Bucky is stoking the embers and brewing tea for us. He serves it and we drink it in silence. The sun is peaking up over the mountains and the birds are a riot of noise and color in the trees surrounding our huts. It’s moments like these where I actually feel at peace. Bucky watches me taking in my surroundings and he can’t help but be taken by the golden light on the apples of my cheeks. Shaking himself out of his reverie he throws the last few drops of tea out onto the fire and stands up stretching.

“Come with me, I’ve got something for you,” he says softly as he moves towards his hut. I stand up and shake the stiffness out of my bones, following him cautiously. He pulls back the fabric covering the entrance to his hut, inviting me in. I stop at the doorway and stare him down.

“I’ve never been in your hut.” I say, my voice full of reservation.

“You don’t have to come in. I can bring it out to you,” Bucky answers unoffended. I close my eyes and clench and flex my hands. You have to find someone you can trust, my mother’s voice rings in my ears. I let out a shaky breath and step into Bucky’s hut. Bucky goes over to the low table and picks something up to bring to me.

“I made this for you,” he says, dropping his head shyly as he hands me a beautiful handmade notebook. The cover is banana leaf and the edges have rough torn edges. It’s expertly laced together. As I take it with shaking hands images flash in my mind. Bright balloons and laughing children. Me with a pointed, foil-wrapped hat on my head. A smiling woman with long dark hair and my eyes. I gasp and tears quickly fill your eyes.

“I remember,” I whisper.

“Tell me about it,” Bucky says, scrambling at his bedside. He finds a pencil and hands it to me. I quickly move to the low table and stool and open the notebook, scribbling furiously.

“I remember another time someone gave me a gift. A birthday party.” I’m grateful for a happy memory and I begin to rail off the images I see to Bucky and into the notebook. The memories start to get really specific as I remember the flavor of my birthday cake and my favorite present I got that year. I’m grinning ear to ear and Bucky sits cross legged at my feet, absorbing every word I say but also entranced by the smile he sees on my face for the first time.

An hour later I’m exhausted. One memory lead to another and my voice is hoarse and my hand cramped from getting them all out. I move to Bucky’s straw mat bed and flop down on my back, clutching the notebook to my chest as though my life depended on it. At this point it does. I feel myself drifting off to sleep as Bucky busies himself at the table.

“Bucky?” I murmur sleepily.

“Yeah, Lucy?” I smile softly at the sound of my name.

“How do I know the memories are real?” I ask worriedly.

“It’s like your mom said, you just have to trust. And from what I know of the Red Room, I don’t think they would plant something so lovely in your mind.” The thought is reassuring and I quickly drift off to sleep.

_______________________________________________________________________

So I decide to trust Bucky. I carry the notebook he gave me with me everywhere I go.

I jot down every snippet, every dream that comes to me. I hold nothing back from Bucky, even when I start remembering the things I did in the name of the Red Room I sit in his hut and sob at the memories and Bucky’s presence comforts me.

Bucky’s hut has become a place of refuge for me. It feels more like home than my own impersonal dwelling. I look around one day and realize it looks like my home too. There’s a second stool Bucky has made for me at the table where a small bundle of wildflowers I picked lay in a clay bowl. The woven mat was replaced long ago by a straw mattress on a low wooden pallet since I nap here so frequently during the day

I spend most of my time with Bucky and luckily he doesn’t seem to mind. We jog around the lake and swim in the cool water when its hot out. We float like angels in the still water and I tell Bucky my memories while he tells me his. My heart is so tender in these moments I almost feel whole.

Bucky teaches me how to weave and I remember my grandma taught me how to knit. Adala requests the supplies from Shuri and I spend an afternoon teaching Bucky. His nimble fingers pick it up quickly and soon we’re racing to see who can make the longest scarf. We’ve decided we'll give them to Shuri to thank her for fixing us. Bucky’s is a soft grayish purple and mine is a shocking orange. Fit for a princess.

At one point I glance up from my knitting at Bucky’s face and my breath is snatched away from me. His face is glowing in the fiery afternoon light as his brow furrows in concentration. It’s in this mundane moment I realize I am wholly in love with Bucky Barnes and that I’d be content to be by his side forever. The thought sets fear in my blood but also hope in my heart. I never thought I’d be able to love again.

We go on like this for months. I slowly break down my walls and offer Bucky a soft pat on the shoulder or a quiet touch on the knee. Bucky receives my offerings with joy, he sees me healing and it thrills him.

Until one day King T’Challa comes striding up the hill to our circle of huts with a long suitcase in tow.

_______________________________________________________________________

I’m frozen to the floor as the lab around me bursts into activity. The jet carrying the team has just landed and they are prepping a table for Shuri to extract the mind stone from Vision. My heart is in my throat as Bucky steps into the room talking in a low voice to his oldest friend. Cap is catching Bucky up on the situation with Thanos but when Bucky’s eyes glance up they lock on mine and his heart stops.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles lowly as he breaks away from his conversation with Cap. He gently guides me by the elbow to a small room off the lab and looks at me with such deep concern.

“I had to see you. T’Challa told me what’s happening.” Bucky’s glare darkens as he looks over at the king who had clearly just averted his attention. “I had to see you before…” my words fail as my eyes drop to the floor. I can feel Bucky’s whole body wants to touch me, to wipe the tears from my cheeks, to push an errant strand of hair behind my ear, to pull me close and refuse to let go. But he’ll never cross that line for me.

I work up the courage to look in his eyes and I see the depth of longing in his gaze. My body is screaming in protest but I can’t bear the separation any longer. Stumbling, I close the distance between the two of us. I draw your arms up to my chest in an instinctive defense position but then I bury my face into his chest. He hesitates, but only for a moment and then he wraps his arms around me and squeezes me tight. He kisses the top of my head before resting his chin on the top of my head.

My whole body is tense and I jerk involuntarily as your training struggles to exert itself but Bucky only squeezes tighter. Eyes still shut I tilt my chin up and find his lips, kissing him while my body silently sobs. I instinctively know this is my last chance to kiss Bucky Barnes. His lips are soft and tender but soon they're whispering “shh, it's going to be ok,” against my ear. My body finally relaxes and melts into his. It's the best feeling in the world.

Bucky pulls away from me and looks me in the eyes. His gaze is even more intense now, as though the kiss had sharpened everything he had felt for me for months

“I want you to wait for me at my place,” he says firmly. I don’t want you anywhere near that battle.” His eyes are blazing now and I know there’s no arguing with him. That doesn’t stop me from trying.

“I want to wait here,” I plead as Bucky shakes his head, “I want to hear what’s going on.” “No. Thanos is coming for that stone and I don’t want you anywhere near it. You’ll wait at my place and I'll find you when its over. There’s no arguing. Suddenly his gaze softens. He takes my face in his hands and wipes my tears with his thumbs. He presses his lips to mine one last time and then Cap is calling his name.

“Bucky,” he says apologetically, “time to go.”

“I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone, slinging his rifle over his shoulders he joins the team. I’m naked without his warmth and my stomach drops knowing Bucky just lied to me for the first time.

_______________________________________________________________________

I run back to Bucky’s hut as fast as I can, my lungs burning. As I run something massive hits the dome and disintegrates in midair. I duck and cover into the doorway of a shop while I stave off a panic attack. The streets turn to chaos around me. I desperately wish Bucky were there to massage my hands and tell me its going to be ok. But he’s not here with me. He’s prepping for a battle I’m pretty sure he won’t return from. The thought makes my head swim.

“I never told him, I never told him.” I sob out loud. I have to get back to the hut, I think. If I go where he told me then maybe he will be there. I push myself off the wall and run to the outskirts of the city.

When I get to Bucky’s hut the goats are in panic. They’re fighting against their pen and two have escaped. I gab a handful of feed and chase after them.

“Sarah! Rebecca! Come here girls,” I call out against the wind that seems to be picking up around me. They hear my frantic calls and come running, following my hand full of food back to the pen. I come in and sit down on the short stool in the pen, giving the girls cuddles and attention to distract them from the strange atmosphere that’s filled the air. They snuffle at my hands and pockets searching for treats.

“It’s gonna be ok ladies. Bucky will be back soon, he promised,” I whisper to the goats as I lazily scratch behind their ears.

Suddenly something shifts in the air. The animals all go quiet and cower. My hand stills and rests against Sarah’s fur as I look around, searching for the source of the disturbance. In the space of a moment, Sarah isn’t there anymore. She flies away into the air leaving behind a handful of what looks like ash. I stand up and as I do a few of the other goats vanish right in front of my eyes.

I can feel my insides turning. I look down at my hands and watch them turn to ash. Bucky’s name is on my lips and then those are gone too. As I fade to black all I can feel around me is the gentle breeze carrying me away. My last thoughts are of Bucky and the gentle hope that he’ll meet me wherever I’m going.

_____________________________________________________________________

I’m tagging those who have expressed interest in this story by leaving comments or binge reading it. This last chapter loomed over my head for months and I finished it because you all were so encouraging and loved these characters along with me. Thank you and I hope you like the ending.

@camrynwithnoe @lylahkp @hermionesalvatore84 @ninjawolfgirl21@markusstraya @lyaksandrovna @booksteaandarainyday @dorkatron2000 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @jll72-blog

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #bucky #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #Wakanda #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #Winter Solider #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider imagine #winter solider drabble

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darkobsidianquill · 5 years ago

Text

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Twelve.

The next morning after breakfast Harry headed for the kitchens with Ron and Hermione in tow. He was slightly surprised that neither of them knew where the Hogwarts kitchens were, or how to gain access to them; especially considering all the nonsense that Hermione had been going on about all year with the bloody house elves. Not that Harry had really been paying it any attention.

He actually hesitated in taking her in there since he was sure the sight of the room full of house elves, slaving over stoves and the like would result in some annoyingly long lecture about human rights and the evils of magical enslavement, but he really didn't have much choice. Sirius's letter had said to bring a lot of food, and the kitchen was obviously the best place to get it.

Harry had actually put some legitimate effort into ignoring Hermione's idiotic campaign to free the house elves all term, and as such, had also ignored the house elves themselves. This was why it was an honest surprise when he saw Winky, Mr. Crouch's house elf, in the corner in an obvious state of inebriation, holding a bottle of butter beer.

The other house elves were scampering about, quickly collecting food for the three Gryffindors, and Dobby was speaking excitedly with Hermione, but Harry's eyes were trained on the sick-looking little elf.

He had first seen her in the top box they sat at during the Quidditch World Cup. She was there to hold a seat for Mr. Crouch, but he had never showed up. And then after the mayhem with the Death Eaters and the dark mark in the sky, she had been found with Harry's wand, and accused of having cast the spell herself.

Mr. Crouch had fired her on the spot, and had seemed visibly furious with her. The whole thing had been terribly confusing at the time.

And now, she was working in the kitchens of Hogwarts? Or... well, not working so much as getting wasted, but she was still here.

Harry wondered if she knew anything about Crouch impersonating Moody...

"You ready, mate?"

Harry blinked and turned back to his two friends who were waiting for him expectantly. Ron was holding out a wrapped bundle of food from the house elves.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, taking on an excited, carefree mask as he took the bundle and shrunk it with his wand before sticking it into his bag.

The trio left the castle and began to make their way down the path towards Hogsmeade.

They busied themselves with window shopping for the morning. Harry spent some time in the local bookstore, but was extremely unimpressed by their selection. There wasn't a single 'questionable' book in the whole store.

He spotted a shadier looking little shop that several of the Slytherin students came in and out of, but he couldn't shake Ron or Hermione long enough to go check it out.

There was a small grocer in town that Harry had never had a need to visit before, but he slipped inside now and found a selection of magically preserved food that would last a few weeks. The food from the kitchens would help feel Sirius now, but from the desperate wording of his godfather's pleas, Harry could only assume that getting regular food was a problem for the man. The food he brought from Hogwarts wouldn't last more than a day or two, but the food he bought would last him quite a bit longer.

Hermione praised him on his planning and smart thinking but Harry just shrugged it off. It seemed like common sense to him.

He shrunk his purchases and added them to his bag.

At one thirty the trio headed down past Dervish and Banges towards the meeting spot described in Sirius's letter. As they neared it, Harry spotted a very familiar looking large black dog. The smile that spread across his face was authentic for once and he hurried his pace.

"Hey Snuffles," Harry said as he came up to his 'dogfather's' side and reached down to pet his messy matted fur.

Sirius was holding a collection of newspapers in his mouth and made an amused coughing sort of noise around them before turning away and making his way past the stile.

The trio climbed over and followed him out of town and towards the mountains on the outskirts of town.

The terrain grew rockier and rockier and harder to traverse, but Sirius just kept going. It took nearly a half hour before they came to a stop, and by that time, Hermione and Ron were distinctly out of breath. Even Harry felt his endurance reaching a limit, and was relieved when he saw the opening to a cave, and Sirius disappearing inside.

The trio entered and found Buckbeak the hippogriff inside, tied to a rock. The three bowed and waited until the half-eagle, half-horse beast had bowed back, showing his acceptance of them.

Ron and Hermione rushed over to pet him, but Harry turned his attention on Sirius, who had just finished transforming back into a human.

He was wearing the same gray robes that he had been a year prior. His hair was longer than it had been when he had fire-called hair in the fall, and it was matted and dirty. Sirius looked thinner, and clearly worn and exhausted.

"Are you out of your mind?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me?" Sirius responded, with a note of surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

"Performing my duty as godfather."

"You're going to get caught!" Harry exclaimed.

"You three, and Dumbledore are the only ones aware of my animagus form. The villagers are coming to know me as a lovable stray. I can't take too much food though, or they'll start to notice."

Harry huffed and shook his head in mild exasperation. He slipped his bag off his shoulders, removed all of the food and began to unshrink it.

Sirius's eyebrows rose into his forehead, with apparent surprise at Harry's use of a fifth year charm – why, Harry couldn't imagine. He really didn't understand why shrinking things wasn't covered sooner. It's not like it was a hard spell, and it would have been damn useful to know in years prior, since he could have kept his trunk hidden away from his uncle...

The surprise at Harry's spellwork was lost as Sirius registered the mountain of food, and his stomach made a loud growling noise.

"Chicken!" the man gasped, hoarsely, with a relieved thrill in his tone.

"There's a bunch of preserved food in here too. It'll last you a couple weeks, I hope. Picked them up in the local food market," Harry said, pointing at the jars and boxes of varying nutritional options he had purchased. "Are you planning to stick around Hogsmeade?"

Sirius nodded as he began to tear into a chicken leg with much the same fury that his dog form would. "I wanted to be on the spot. What with your last letter... and other things, considered... Things are looking a bit too fishy lately. I wanted to stay close."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What other things, exactly?"

Sirius nodded his head towards a few yellowing newspapers on the cave floor a few feet away. Harry walked over and spread them out. There were two, but it was the first one that really caught his attention.

Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch

The second said, Ministry Witch Still Missing – Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved.

Harry picked up the one about Crouch and began reading.

"What's the deal with Crouch?" Ron asked as he came to stand behind Harry and look over his shoulder.

"He hasn't shown up to work since November, apparently," Sirius said before taking another bite of chicken.

"Yeah... he didn't show up to judge the last task, either," Ron said, looking thoughtful. "My brother is his personal assistant and had to fill in for him."

Harry continued to skim the paper, and a few lines jumped out at him: hasn't been seen in public since November... house appears deserted... St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment... Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness...

"My brother did say that Crouch is suffering from overwork," Ron added.

"He did look rather ill when I saw him the night my name came out of the cup," Harry added absently. He figured that Crouch must have been using his illness as an excuse to cover for his absence while he impersonated Moody. He still had no idea why he was doing that though.

"Hey, Sirius?"

"Yeah, pup?"

"Do you know much about him? Crouch, I mean? What were his loyalties in the last war?"

"Oh I know quite a bit about him. And his loyalties were definitely with the light. He headed off quite the crusade against You-Know-Who and his followers. He was the one who sent me off to Azkaban – without a trial."

"What!" Ron and Hermione gasped together.

"Without a trial!" Harry exclaimed. "You're kidding!"

"No, I'm not," said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads.

"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," Sirius said. "He's a great wizard, Crouch is, powerfully magical – and power-hungry. Definitely never a Voldemort supporter, though. Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side.

"Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning – I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers – powers to kill, rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without a trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you – plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened..." Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."

"Crouch's son was caught?" gasped Hermione.

"Yes," Sirius said, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak before tearing into a loaf of bread. "Nasty shock to old Crouch, discovering that lil' Barty was a Death Eater."

Harry nearly choked. "What?"

Sirius blinked at Harry with confusion. "What, what?"

"What was Crouch's son's name?" Harry asked, shaking himself out of his moment of surprise.

"Bartemius Crouch Jr. But everyone called him Barty, from what I understand."

"Barty..." Harry breathed.

"Ringing some bells, pup?" Sirius asked, sitting up straighter.

"Er..." Harry faltered, "I'm not sure really. What happened with Crouch's son, anyway? Was he really a Death Eater?"

"I can't say for sure, but he was definitely seen with some people who I would guarantee were. As for what happened to him, Crouch tossed him into Azkaban."

Hermione gasped. "His own son!"

Sirius nodded, and he didn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though... they all went quiet in the end... except when they shrieked in their sleep..."

For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them.

"So he's still in Azkaban?" Harry asked as his mind began working away furiously.

"No," Sirius said, dully. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."

Harry paused. "He died? Are you sure?"

Sirius looked at Harry with a bit of confusion for a moment. "I'm sure, all right. He certainly wasn't the only one to die in Azkaban. Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, and they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw old Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it."

Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up a flask of pumpkin juice and drained it.

"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic... next, his son dead, his wife dead, and the family named dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic towards the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

A silence descended upon the cave while the group processed Sirius's words, and Sirius continued to eat.

Theories and possible scenarios were flying through Harry's mind while he sat in the thick quiet. A man named 'Barty' was helping Voldemort. It was his job to try and set up Harry's capture.

Bartemius Crouch was the one who had pushed to have the tournament reinstated. He was one of the people running the darn thing, and had loads of contact with the cup. He could have easily had the opportunity to put Harry's name into the goblet of fire.

But Bartemius Crouch Sr. actively fought against the Death Eaters and Voldemort, and he most certainly wasn't the man that Harry had seen with Voldemort, in his visions. Which meant that Barty Crouch was not dead.

So Crouch Sr. and his wife had gone into Azkaban to visit their dying son. Crouch Sr. had left 'practically carrying' his wife. Barty had died, and the dementors had buried him. There had to be a body left behind, and Crouch's wife was reported dead shortly after Barty died.

Would Crouch Sr. actually have left his wife in Azkaban and snuck his son out? Crouch Sr. could have given Barty polyjuice potion to look like his wife, in order to sneak his son out of Azkaban, but polyjuice only lasts an hour, so that wouldn't have kept his wife looking like his son for very long

… Unless he killed his wife right after giving her the potion. The body doesn't revert if it's dead.

Bloody hell...

But what had he done with Barty since then? Kept him hidden somehow? Would Crouch Sr. really be helping his son, if his son was helping Voldemort? Perhaps Sr. was under the Imperius when he put Harry's name into the cup. And now he was missing because... he was dead? Or being held captive?

Harry didn't know. There were any number of different possible explanations.

But one thing was for sure. The Bartemius Crouch that Harry kept seeing on the map where Alastor Moody was supposed to be, was not the man Harry had thought he was. He wasn't Crouch Sr., he was Barty!

"You alright there, Harry?" Sirius's voice broke through the thick fog of contemplation and Harry blinked.

"Huh? Oh yea... just thinking."

"Well, pup, we probably ought to discuss what you saw going on between Snape and Karkaroff," Sirius said, taking on a rather serious look to his face.

Hermione and Ron both looked at Harry with confusion in their eyes.

"What is he talking about, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Oh! I totally forgot to tell you two," Harry exclaimed, acting as if he honestly had just forgotten, and not that he had intentionally hidden it.

"I er... saw Snape and Karkaroff having an interestingly heated conversation a number of months ago. I was under my invisibility cloak, so neither knew I was there... I saw the two of them on the Map and got suspicious, so I went down into the dungeons to spy on them."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Harry, will you ever stop being so suspicious of Professor Snape? Do you honestly think that Dumbledore would –"

"He's a Death Eater," Harry said, cutting her off.

Ron's eyes went wide, but Hermione's face shifted instantly to disbelief. "He is not, Harry! That's ridiculous!"

"He is, Hermione! Or at least, he was. He's got the dark mark on his left forearm. So does Karkaroff. That's why they were talking. Apparently it's been getting clearer over the last few months and Karkaroff freaked out. He's scared. From the conversation I overheard, it sounds like Karkaroff is pretty convinced that Voldemort won't be particularly pleased with him. Said something about Dumbledore protecting Snape, but not having anyone to protect him."

Hermione's jaw had dropped and she was staring at Harry with stunned shock.

"You saw it?" she gasped. "Are you sure!"

"Well... I saw it on Karkaroff's arm. He was holding up his sleeve and shoving his arm in Snape's face. But from what Snape said, it was obvious that he had a mark too."

"But you didn't actually see the dark mark on Snape's arm?" Hermione said, pointedly.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron groaned. "Come off it already! Why do you keep defending him!"

"I just don't understand why Professor Snape would have saved Harry's life in first year, if he was really a Death Eater. If he was really loyal to You-Know-Who, he would have just let Harry die!"

"Yeah, well like Harry said, Dumbledore protects Snape, right? If Snape let Harry die, Dumbledore probably wouldn't keep protecting him, now would he?" Ron said, as he folded his arms over his chest, indignantly.

"Perhaps, but Professor Dumbledore wouldn't trust Professor Snape if he was really loyal to You-Know-Who! Now would he?"

"Dumbledore doesn't know everything. He didn't know that You-Know-Who was on the back of Quirrell's head our whole first year, did he?"

I don't know... did he? Harry grumbled sarcastically, internally as he secretly scowled. Sometimes he really wondered...

"What do you think, Sirius?" Harry said to try and put an end to Ron and Hermione's pointless bickering.

"I think they've both got a point," Sirius said, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid he was," Sirius added and Ron grinned. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters."

Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names. "Rosier and Wilkes – they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges – they're a married couple – they're in Azkaban. Avery – from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse – he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never properly accused of being a Death Eater – not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."

Hermione was frowning. "Alright, lets say for a moment that Professor Snape was a Death Eater... he would have had to done something that earned him Professor Dumbledore's trust if he got a teaching position here. Dumbledore would never allow someone who was actually loyal to You-Know-Who teach here!"

Sirius shrugged and set down his pumpkin juice. He lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Harry.

"Well, got any other interesting news to inform me of? I hear your performance in the tournament was spectacular."

"Oh... yeah, I guess," Harry said ducking his head and shrugging.

"Oh! Oh, Harry! You have to tell him!" Hermione said suddenly and Harry looked at her with total confusion.

"Tell him what?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, tell me what?" Sirius echoed.

"About your transformation, Harry!" Hermione said with exasperation.

"Oh! That," said Harry.

"Transformation?" Sirius asked with a confused furrowed brow, looking between the two of them.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and huffed slightly before continuing. "Er, yeah... so I've been keeping a big secret from everyone."

"What sort of secret?"

"Well, for a bit under a year I've actually been secretly trying to learn to be... an animagus," Harry admitted with a sheepish smile.

"You've what!" Sirius gasped.

"Yeah, so I sort of... did it."

"Did what?" Sirius asked in confusion.

"The transformation. I did it."

"What! That's impossible! Less than a year? And you're only fourteen!"

"Yeah, well I guess when I put my mind to something I can actually be a fast learner sometimes. Plus I had some real strong incentive there in the end because I realized my form would be useful in the second task."

"You're an animagus?" Sirius asked just to make sure he was really understanding everything.

Harry grinned and shrugged. "Yeah. Guess so."

"Bloody hell! And you said your form was helpful in the task? What is it?"

"Er... yeah, well that's sort of the biggest reason why I kept it a secret. I mean... I didn't even tell Ron or Hermione I was doing it because I was afraid how they would react when they found out what my form was."

Sirius frowned and looked at Hermione and Ron. Hermione was giving Harry an encouraging smile, but Ron was little a bit ill.

"Well, let's here it pup. It won't change a thing. Just get it out."

Harry heaved a sigh and squared his shoulders. He actually was a bit nervous about telling Sirius about his snake form. It wasn't really his animagus form, but this was his story and he had to stick to it for consistency. Despite all the changes Harry had gone through, Sirius was still somewhat important to him.

"Alright... well, I'm a snake," Harry said quickly.

Sirius blinked. "A snake?"

"Yeah, a sea snake to be specific. A Sea Krait."

"You turn into a snake?" Sirius asked again.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, a snake."

"A great, ruddy, huge snake," Ron put in now, still looking a bit pale with the subject matter.

"Is that so?" Sirius asked, looking from Ron back to Harry for confirmation.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Can I see?" Sirius asked.

Harry had been afraid of this question. He still wondered if an actual animagus would be able to tell that the transformation Harry was undertaking wasn't an animagus transformation, but something else entirely.

He took in a deep breath and nodded his head. He got down onto his knees, like he had when he demonstrated for Hermione and Ron and focused his mind and his magic on performing the transformation. A moment later, he was laying flat on the cold ground, looking up at the stunned face of Sirius Black.

"I told you he was huge," Ron said.

"That he is," Sirius muttered before blinking and then looking down at Harry with a slowly spreading grin. "Merlin, Harry... this is... this is just... incredible!" Sirius threw his head back and laughed before looking back down at Harry again. Harry slithered around a bit, coiling his body into a pile and raising his head and first few feet of his body up off the ground so that his head was at eye level with Sirius who was sitting on the ground.

Harry hissed out a laugh, and Sirius's chuckled lightened as he looked at Harry with interest. Ron was looking pale again from the sound.

"Isn't it amazing?" Hermione chipped in and Sirius began to nod his head emphatically.

"Yes, Hermione. It is. Harry, this is truly a remarkable achievement. I really don't care what your form turned out to be. Being able to perform the animagus transformation after less than a year of training, and at age fourteen is just amazing."

Harry nodded his head and quickly transformed back into his human form.

He grinned and ducked his head sheepishly. "You really think so?" he said, trying to play up the modest card.

"I really do," Sirius said with a proud smile. "Well now we've got to get you a Marauder's name!"

Harry blinked at Sirius. This hadn't actually occurred to him, so he really hadn't given a nickname any sort of thought.

"That sounds like fun," Ron said. "Your form is a dog and you're Padfoot. Professor Lupin is a werewolf and he's Moony. And Harry's dad was a stag and he was Prongs, right?"

It didn't go unnoticed that Wormtail was neglected from the list.

"Right," said Sirius.

"So... something to do with a snake..." Ron said slowly as he screwed up his face in concentration. "Scales? Forked tongue..."

"They're legless lizards, so Legless?" Hermione said, shrugging. "Or Fangs? Oh – Venom?"

"Do you have venom!" Ron paled considerably.

Harry chuckled. "Actually, I do," Harry said smirking. "Hmm... Fangs and Venom both have potential, but Hagrid's dog is named Fang, so that's sort of taken. Don't know how I feel about Legless, but it's not too bad either."

"How about Stripes? You've got that white and black stripe thing going on," Ron offered.

"Hmm," Sirius hummed, "Okay, so we've got Scales, Legless, Venom, and Stripes, or Stripe? What do you think, pup? It'll be your nickname?"

Harry paused and ran the different options over in his head for a minute. "Er... I guess Stripe works for me," Harry said, shrugging. It didn't scream 'snake' to him, so if anyone outside of their group ever heard the nickname, it wouldn't be too suspicious.

"Alright, pup. Stripe it is," Sirius said with a proud grin. "The newest Marauder. Merlin, kid, I still can't believe you really did it. And on your own too. Wow..."

Harry ducked his head. He felt the tiniest bit of upset in his gut for lying to Sirius about this, but it wasn't something he could really do anything about so he violently shoved it away in his mind. "Thanks," he mumbled in forced shyness.

"Anyway," Sirius said, shifting his attention away from Harry and onto Ron. "On to other matters before we call it a day. You say your brother is Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"

"I can try," said Ron doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy though. Percy loves Crouch."

Sirus heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes.

"What's the time?"

Harry had his wand out with quick, practiced ease in the blink of an eye and cast a tempus. "It's half past three," he said.

"You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen..." He looked particularly hard at Harry. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of the school to see me, alright? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."

Harry almost snorted at this, but took on a slightly cowed look and nodded his head as he toed at the ground.

Considering that Barty Crouch was currently impersonating his defense teacher, he was probably in a lot more danger in the school, than out. But he wasn't about to go telling Sirius, or anyone about his suspicions regarding Crouch.

"Alright Sirius," he said with a weak smile.

"Good. I'll feel a lot better when this ruddy tournament is over. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?"

He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. "I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," Sirius said, "see if I can scrounge another paper."

He transformed into the great black dog before they left the cave, and they walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of them to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back into Hogsmeade and up towards Hogwarts.

– –

AN: ** several passages from previous chapter were taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling

– –

Harry was exceedingly frustrated that he wasn't able to get down to the Chamber that night, but Ron and Hermione had pounced on him as soon as they were back at the school about not having told them about Snape and Karkaroff. It was difficult, but Harry continued to play it off as having just slipped his mind. They didn't seem entirely convinced, but he didn't honestly care. They'd get over it.

Sunday Harry managed to give them the slip and went down into the chamber, and back into Slytherin's study. His companion joined him in his mind and directed Harry to Slytherin's desk and told him to feel along the bottom of the desk and hiss out a parsel release spell. Once accomplished, a thin book fell down onto the floor from its place, stuck to the underside of the desk.

It looked incredibly delicate, and Harry feared that the ancient parchment would crumble under the pressure of his fingers. He set the book onto the desk with incredible gentleness and fingered the cover gingerly.

He opened it to the first page and instantly realized that the damn book was not in English.

"Okay... so what language is this?" Harry asked his companion with mild frustration. It didn't even look familiar.

It is... Elbirin... Old Aldric...

Harry blinked. "That, unfortunately, means absolutely nothing to me."

Old Aldric was the language... of the British Elves... prior to the Tartessian War... and the Celtic takeover in Britain.

Harry looked back down at the book with greater curiosity. Elves!

"I take it, that you aren't talking about house elves?"

House elves... are the punished... perverted descendants of those... who defied... the elven high council...

That didn't actually explain anything to Harry – if anything, it brought more curiosities, but he expected as much from his companion, and didn't bother to press the subject. He did wonder if he had stayed awake in more of his History of Magic classes, if Professor Binns ever talked about any of this in between his endless rantings on goblin rebellions. He certainly had no recollection of anything called the Tartessian War, or any discussions on an ancient elven race in Britain.

"Alright... so this is in an ancient elvish language. Is there a way I can translate it? Or would the house elves know it?"

It is... lost... to the punished ones... There is a book... on the language... go to the far corner... by the mirror...

Harry did as he was directed and was gradually led to an almost horrifyingly large book on the Old Aldric language. He thumbed through the enormous old tome with widened eyes.

'Phonology' was the first section. In it, it described the consonants, then vowels and something called 'vowel harmony'. Next the 'Phonotactics', accent, and linking?

Next section was called 'Morphology'. It covered roots, affixes, word formation on derivation and compounding, and then the book got into the nouns and adjectives, propositions, pronouns, verbs, tenses and conjugation...

Harry felt utterly overwhelmed. Was he going to have to learn an entire bloody language just to translate this book?

He sighed and let his head fall onto the desk in front of him. He was not looking forward to this.

He picked up the enormous book on Old Aldric and began reading the first chapter. After an hour, he left the chamber with a headache and the language book in his bag. He wasn't willing to take the other one out of the chamber with him, since it was far too old and fragile looking. He would have to do his translation work only in the chamber, but he could still read up on the language while in the common room.

– –

The rest of the week dragged on. Harry was anxious for Defense and the opportunity to continue his investigation into 'Moody', and if he was being honest with himself, he had a deep, powerful desire to do something utterly reckless, pertaining to the man. He was still in the process of talking himself out of it though. Despite what he wanted to do, and what he needed to do, he had to wait because he didn't actually have Defense until Thursdays, and couldn't come up with a good excuse to approach Moody out of the blue.

Monday was Herbology, which was boring, but bearable; and then Care of Magical Creatures, which was anything but boring, and only occasionally bearable. After lunch, however, was Divination, which was never bearable at all. They were working on Shell Scrying at the moment, which Harry found utterly idiotic.

The idea was that you hold a sea shell up to your ear and the 'sounds of the ocean' that you heard from it would eventually turn into little voices from sea spirits or some such nonsense, that would whisper prophetic things to you.

The whole exercise just grated on Harry's nerves, and made him wonder that much more about this mystery prophecy that had set the dark lord against him, and utterly fucked up his entire life.

Tuesday was History of Magic – boring – and then Potions after lunch. Harry's performance in Potions class had improved steadily over the term. He had a pretty firm grasp on ingredient interaction, and proper preparation now – or at least a good grasp on how to look it up and cross-reference things correctly. Something which Snape had never actually explained to them, but had somehow expected them to just magically know.

Because of his improved performance, and his tendency to actually know the answers to every question Snape threw at him – thanks mostly to his companion, who stayed in Harry's aware mind almost every potions lesson – Snape had significantly cut back on how often he actually called on Harry in class. This suited Harry just fine, and that trend continued as they brewed a Cough Away potion.

Wednesdays Harry only had a single class – Charms – and spent the rest of the day down in the chamber, slowly working on the translation of the book. He was at least relieved that the ancient, crumbling tomb was thin. It was only about fifty pages long from what he could tell, so at least he wouldn't have to spend an eternity to translate some enormous 800-page book to get to his answers. Translating fifty pages he could deal with. At least... he hoped so.

His work was slow and tedious. He had a new bound notebook of parchment specifically just for translating the book, and was slowly making his way through translating the early pages. From what he could tell so far, it seemed like a log of some historical events in the ancient elven race's history. Nothing that seemed to apply to Voldemort's so called 'task'.

Late into the evening, Harry's stomach reminded him that he had been down there for an extremely long time, and he finally climbed back out of the chamber and made a quick detour to the kitchens before heading up to the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione's curiosity was becoming more and more annoying with each passing day, and this evening, it unfortunately hit an all time peak. The second he entered the common room, she set in on him, asking him where he'd been all day and what he had been doing. She dragged him out of the common room and into a nearby empty classroom so that they could speak privately, but this only irritated Harry further since it denoted the expectation, on Hermione's part, that Harry would be telling her what he'd been up to.

Harry had been using the excuse that he had been jogging around the lake to get into better form, and then practicing various hexes by aiming at trees and into the water. Today, she had apparently gone out to the lake to look for him and seen that he was not there.

"Harry, I just want to know where you were!" she moaned in frustration after several minutes of annoying bickering. "Why won't you just tell me? What are you hiding from us Harry! We're your friends! You know you can trust us!"

"Do I? Do I really know that?" Harry shot back, finally growing too irritated to maintain a friendly mask, or make any more excuses.

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, flinching back as if she had just been slapped.

"Tell me, Hermione – what reasons have I got to trust either you or Ron?"

"Harry! You know you can trust us! We're you're friends!"

"Yeah, were you my friends last November after my name got pulled out of that blasted cup?"

"How many times do I have to apologize for that, Harry! I'm sorry! I was an idiot! I swear I won't ever abandon you again like that!"

"And I'm just supposed to trust that, am I?"

"Yes!"

"The way I look at it is I can trust that you guys will be there for me; base all my plans on having you two there, to rely on if I end up in a pinch, and then end up getting utterly screwed if either of you bail on me again, or aren't there when things go south. Or I can just plan for it all on my own and be prepared to handle whatever comes at me on my own. Personally, I prefer to be prepared to handle things without the need of any assistance, because chances are, when the shit hits the fan, I'm not going to have any assistance."

"Harry..." Hermione whimpered as her lip quivered. "But we can help you! You don't have to tackle the whole world alone!"

"You can't help me in the third task, Hermione. No one can. I'm going to be going into whatever deathly task they come up with, all alone."

"But Harry..."

"No, Hermione. I'm done with this conversation. What I do and where I go everyday is my business. Now BACK OFF!"

Harry spun away from her and stormed out of the classroom, down the corridor, and back into the common room before storming up the stairs towards the boy's dorm.

He was sick of them. All of them. Merlin he needed to get the hell away from the school for a while.

#Harry Potter #Tom Riddle #Dark!Harry #Tomarry #Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

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