#I left her scars and darkened hands off on purpose.

[loupy-mongoose]

So... the brain rot I mentioned...

I doodled a little comic related to it.

I still don't know that I'll actually make this canon, or at what point I'd slot it into, but... I'm at least having fun with the idea. :3

(Implied vomit ahead)

And then I was given the idea for a follow up.

There is one Pokemon that Jamie will. not. deal. with.

Kleavor is that, cranked up to 11.

[yandere--stuck]

nosramus's relationship headcanons, maybe? 🫶 idk if you write for them, but if not, ok!!

but speaking sincerely with all my heart; i've been following your blog for a while, and i'll tell you-- i sincerely love your writing, like really - very really !! i giggle and do 10 spins in my room when you post about my favorite characters (or characters i don't even know, 🤭🤭) maybe that sounds not honest ((i don't even know)), but i really mean it.

AND

hope you have a good night/or day (or whatever time is) !!!!!!!!!!

Thank you so so much!!! That's so sweet of you to say and I'm so glad you enjoy my works aaaaa ;w; it means a lot!!

I hope you have a great day/night yourself and that these are good <3

---

🤍 Immortality is both a blessing and a curse, Nosramus has found. Though she finds enjoyment and purpose in her studies and in the mundanity of life, even within the dungeons of Fear and Hunger, this has also led her to a life of loneliness. Many days spent with only herself for company. Her guard is there, of course, but he's not really much for company. It's even manageable most days. But the longer the future stretches out in front of her, the more the chasm in her heart where others had once touched deepens and darkens further.

💛 Such isolation gives her cause to look into different areas of study - such as The Soul. Everyone is born under a specific Soul type that will shape who they are and how their life will play out. Less understood, however, is that concept of a Soul Mate. The idea of one Soul bearer having one (or more) Souls that are naturally attracted or drawn toward one particular Soul type or even particular individual that bears a particular Soul type that seems to inherently click with another's. Once, she had thought she found them. But, she was wrong. She was betrayed and forgotten. In the end, they were the worse for it and Nosramus, in the grand scheme of things, was far better off. Still, she was left scarred by deception. To be alone was better than being hurt again in such a way. It was better for a long, long time. But now, the darkness and isolation of the catacombs have become almost too much to bear. She can feel her Soul call out for the touch of another.

🤍 Brave adventurer, what is it you seek? Her, perhaps unknowingly…? Why else could Nosramus feel you within the halls? Your footfalls echoing through her head, the brightness of your spirit felt pulsing in her own Soul. A feel of giddiness makes her entire body shake. She can't concentrate on her studies. She can't even hold a cup of tea steady without shaking. She sees flashes of you in her enlightened mind's eye. So desperate is Nosramus to see you in the flesh. Is this what it feels like to meet your one and only? A part of Sylvian's design perhaps. The anticipation and impending doom of meeting who you are meant to be one with. Nosramus can't help to distract herself much longer, nearly running from her laboratory as she feels you enter the mines.

💛 Don't be afraid. She can see you from the shadows. She will wait as long as you need to step into the light and see her. Nosramus tries to keep her smile from widening too greatly. She introduces herself. Tries to ignore the burning sensation in her very being. Extends a hand out to you and tells you the kettles on. Care for a cup of tea? She smiles even as you hesitate. Of course you're hesitant, poor thing. All alone in such a place without her. How did you ever survive? When your hand slips into hers, Nosramus is nearly set ablaze from the inside-out. Oh, yes, she thinks she'll keep you.

🤍 As a show of good faith, Nosramus offers you to partake in her potions and peruse her tomes. Not like you'll be leaving with them. The home she's made feels so much more alive with you inside it. Like you were always meant to be here. Your voice is music to her ears. She implores you - why are you here, where are you from, who have you left behind, what do you love, what do you despise, what are your dreams and wishes. She sprawls down notes when she gets a moment between preparing your tea. Just the beginning of her study of you. When she sets your cup in front of you, she makes a show of giving her own a hearty sip. And by the time you've realized what's happened, you can barely keep your head up. Poor dear. 

💛 You must understand. Or, you will understand, eventually. Nosramus has been burned before. She wants to trust you, but can't quite yet. But, it's okay, pet. She will take care of you while you learn how much your meant to be. She can hardly be near you without touching you - holding your hand, stroking the top of your head, pressing soft kisses across your face. When she must rip herself away from you, her guard will watch over you. One day, you'll be free to be lucid when kept in her quarters, but not yet. She must show you that your Souls are meant to be one. She cannot wait for the day that Sylvian blesses your union and you finally do become One.

[sirendeepity]

[ Multicharacter; part iii ]

A/N: I planned to publish this on Friday and drop a completely unrelated one-shot, like, four hours ago, but apparently said one-shot didn't magically write itself (rude.) So yeah, I think the writing high is going down. You'll never see me again. Anyway, this is the infamous dramatic version I went for to close this little adventure of sorts, and I sincerely hope it will make you sad. Enjoy <3

T/W: mention of injuries, blood, loss;

W/C: 2.2k

Rhysand had come and gone and come again, and would make his way back to Velaris in moments. To maintain some semblance of order in the city while Feyre tended to the injured, he’d said. The shocks had been so violent they’d caused trouble there too, although not as severe. There had been a couple more aftershocks, but they were getting far and few in between. A good sign, he had to remember himself. Something to hold on to.

Not long after the second shock, they had found Gwyn. Or rather, she had found them, crawling out of a little hole between a boulder and a collapsed column while using a hand to keep a scrap of fabric pressed to her forehead. She had all but cracked her skull open, and Cassian had no idea how she could even stay upright, let alone be lucid enough to talk to them, telling them who she’d seen where before the ceiling rained down on them so they would know where to look first while searching for the missing priestesses.

As soon as Feyre was done patching her up, Gwyn had cleaned the blood from her freckled face and tied back her matted hair—the red strands even darker now—, and was up and about, helping other injured priestesses. Azriel had kept close to her, leaving her side only when she’d purposefully stomped as far away as she could. Even then, his shadows had kept circling like vultures. There was not a breath Gwyn could draw that Az was not aware of. Even if he was three levels lower—or something close to it. It was hard to make that distinction when the entire thing had collapsed onto itself and the third level was also the fourth and the fifth. Cassian and Azriel had brought down faery lights to scatter around, a small blessing against the dense blackness of the pit. The lowest levels were fully blocked, but Cassian remembered Nesta telling him about some unspoken rule between the priestesses that kept them well away. It did use to host Bryaxis, once upon a time, and Cassian could very much see why they would steer clear from the shadows.

Cassian and Azriel wasted no time worrying about what-ifs. The majority of the priestesses had already been found and carried away, left in the hands of those better equipped to take care of them, but a couple of names were still missing from the list. Nesta was among them. Emerie, too. Cassian had felt like the biggest piece of shit ever when he felt angry and disappointed every time they found someone who wasn’t her. Because his Nesta was still down there, somewhere, scared and hurt and alone and he kept wasting time with other—

“Cass,” Azriel called, a scarred finger pointing downward. “Look, there’s something.”

Cassian squinted, but couldn’t make out anything. Catching his eye again, Azriel monitored for him to let his siphons darken, the lights turning a faint red and blue color.

Then, he saw it. Behind a collapsed column almost entirely pressed against the wall, was a wildly fluttering light. It was a flimsy thing, really, and was off more often than it was on, but it was there. Despite everything, that tiny light refused to turn off entirely. As if it had a purpose, a reason.

Cassian landed as close as he could, careful not to upset the red blocks, not knowing what was supporting them or what they were supporting back. He couldn’t see much past his nose, so he called magic into every siphon on his person, washing the space around him in red light.

And came face to face with yet another obstructed way. The stone was coated in some dark substance, its sickly sweet scent stenching the air around them. Azriel grazed the surface, fingers coming back black. Even his shadows seemed uneasy at being close to it.

Cassian shared a look with his brother, dread crawling up his spine. Something was wrong. With the House, something was wrong with the House.

Cassian reached for the bond, that priceless golden thread tethering him to Nesta. He’d kept it pulled tight to the point of breaking, not daring to let it—let her—go half an inch. Now he wanted to grab the thing with both hands and pull so hard he’d drag her out of whatever hole she’d fallen into.

Where are you, Nes?

[ *** ]

“You have to do it.”

Nesta weakly shook her head, as she’d done every time Emerie had tried to coax her into her plan. They were completely cut off from the rest of the library, the bubble of space even smaller than when she’d first found it. If Nesta tried to stand, she had to bend her head all the way to the side to fit. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

“Nesta.”

“No.”

The worst was that during one of the last shocks, a large stone had fallen over the boulder already blocking Emerie’s left wing, with another piece of wall leaning on it. There was no way of moving one or the other without risking that pathetic excuse of a ceiling to crush them both.

Following Emerie’s advice, she’d tried to call her silver flames to her, and Nesta wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. She’d quickly learned why, when the realization of just how doomed they were had hit her like a hammer, her body tuning liquid as she slumped to the ground.

“Nes.” Emerie’s voice was hoarse, as if those three letters cost her more energy than she had left to give. “There is no getting out of this, and you know it.”

Nesta looked, truly looked, at her friend’s tired face. Dust and dried blood crusted her cheeks, her hair, her neck. There was a furrow to her brow, and her eyes were shut closed. She must be in so much pain.

“Not that much, really.”

Nesta must’ve said that last part out loud, then.

“You can’t move your wing.”

“I haven’t been able to for quite some time now.”

She was not talking about that specific moment, the situation they were quite literally stuck in.

“They’re a nuisance on a good day,” Emerie murmured, eyelids fluttering open.

“Emerie,” Nesta tried to catch her attention, but her friends went on undeterred.

“Not to mention the chronic nerve pain, and the muscle pain, and-”

“Em.”

“-the constant reminder of what I’ll never get back.”

Emerie didn’t meet her eyes, staring straight ahead and blinking against tears.

A lump got stuck in Nesta’s throat, and she had to swallow to work past it. She placed a hand on her friend’s cheek, whispering, “Em, look at me.”

She didn’t. Or maybe couldn’t.

Nesta lowered herself until their foreheads touched, and closed her eyes as tremors seized Emerie’s body.

“Please,” her whispers turned into a plea. “Please, Nesta. Please.”

Nesta was crying as she reached down, looking for the knife she knew Emerie always kept in her right boot. She could see the hilt in her palm, her knuckles turning whites as she gripped it tightly, yet she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel the clothes on her, clinging to her body from sweat and blood and dirt. Couldn’t feel her lungs expand in a slow, steady rhythm. She couldn’t feel that tug, that light inside her chest, that sense of wrongness that screamed at her to stop, stop, stop!

She couldn’t feel a single thought inside her head, couldn’t hear a single sound past the ringing in her ears.

She must’ve told Emerie to bite down on something, or maybe not a word had left her mouth and the female had made that decision by herself.

Nesta blinked, and time seemed to slow as she pressed the blade against the leathery surface of the wing, and the skin gave way.

[ *** ]

Cassian couldn’t hold her closer if he tried. Azriel had already winnowed away with a passed-out Emerie bleeding all over him, leaving Cassian alone with Nesta. He’d led her out of that gods-forsaken cavity, hands trembling against the need to wrap his arms around her and squeeze until their bodies became one and the same. Instead, he had just allowed himself to hold her close to his chest, basking in the very material and real feeling of her body pressed against his, before swooping her off the ground and carrying her to safety.

When he landed, Cassian realized Azriel hadn’t made it far before healers had jumped on Emerie, tending to her bleeding—missing—wing.

Still in his arms, Cassian felt Nesta inhale sharply and looked down to see her blink madly. Her dirty fingers dug into his arms, breaths becoming shallow and skin turning an even paler, waxy shade.

“Oh, gods,” she breathed. Reality had caught up to her.

Cassian tried to pull her away, intent on finding a quiet, private corner for the two of them, somewhere he could properly tend to his mate. He didn’t make it a step before she slumped against him. He lowered them to the ground, murmuring into her ear as she helplessly whispered, “What have I done, what have I done, what have I-”

“Nesta,” Cassian tried to call her attention to him, going as far as grabbing her chin to turn her head away. She couldn’t even get down a full breath, and tears had begun to freely spill down her cheeks, leaving tracks.

“She’s going to hate me,” she said. “She’s going to hate me forever.”

Her voice broke on that last word, and his heart broke with it.

“She won’t, Nes-”

“She’ll never forgive me!” Her voice rose, and her sobs rocked through her body like a physical blow. Gwyn reached them, kneeling in front of them and combing Nesta’s flyaway locks away from her temples.

“I knew it was a bad idea but I listened to her anyway and now- Now-” She choked. Coughed.

“It’s going to be okay, Nes,” Cassian cleared his throat. He chose to overlook the way Nesta curled against herself, trying to make herself smaller, tinier. Less space she took up, less ruination she would cause.

From the corner of his eye, Cassian could see Gwyn nodding encouragingly at his words. She grabbed Nesta’s hand in hers, bringing them close to her mouth, uncaring of the stains on her skin.

Nesta took a couple of shaky breaths, swallowed, and then said, “I should’ve known better.”

“She told you to do it, Nesta. Didn’t she?”

“She was in pain! Desperate! She would’ve told me anything to make it stop.” Nesta tried to free her hands, to hide them when no one could see the consequences of her actions, but Gwyn held on tightly. Cassian felt Nesta’s pain as his own. It was unbearable.

“You better not say that once she wakes, or Emerie is going to tear you a new one.” Gwyn’s attempt at lightheartedness worked only in part. Nesta didn’t say anything back, but tension still lined her features. She just closed her eyes and leaned her head back against his chest.

“We’ll be alright,” Gwyn murmured against their tied hands, then repeating the words again and again and again. Like a prayer. Like a plea.

Cassian kept idly stroking her hair, her back, her legs, until she went limp in his arms, exhaustion finally taking hold of his mate’s body. The Invoking Stone Gwyn had placed between their closed hands had helped with that, too.

[ *** ]

Nesta woke to a throbbing head and the intense desire to throw up, guts and all. She kept her eyes closed, basking in the warmth and softness surrounding her. Muffled sounds came from somewhere, but she chose to focus instead on the steady thump-thump-thump right by her ear. If there was one thing Nesta Archeron knew, it was that right there, she belonged. Right there, safe between her mate’s arms, she was at peace.

“Hey.” His voice rumbled through his chest, the words ricocheting against his ribs.

Nesta peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth, swallowing thickly. “Hey.”

She opened her eyes, blinking at the sudden brightness. It was gone a moment later, when one of Cassian’s wings extended to block out the light. Nesta’s heart dropped at the sight. It all came crashing down on her, much like the library did.

Cassian’s hold tightened slightly around her. “We’ll be alright,” he whispered into her hair.

Nesta closed her fists, and something inside her hand dug into her skin. She opened her palm to a blue stone, a faint light coming from its core. Healing light, she realized. Gwyn.

Nesta gasped, tears brimming her eyes.

“We’ll be alright,” Cassian repeated, his finger moving over her spine.

“Will we?” She muttered.

Her response came a second later. Not from Cassian’s lips, but in the form of a jeweled egg-shaped object appearing at her feet.

It missed one little leg, some of the gems had fallen off, and there was a deep dent on one side. Still, it opened for Nesta when she gently touched a fingertip on it. Music poured out of it in a much lower volume, the melodies turning distorted and off-key at times and skipping between notes at others. There was no stopping the tears that fell past her chin as Nesta held the Symphonia close to her heart, and as the music slowly died down, she said her farewell.

“We’ll be alright.”

.

.

.

TAGS: @lady-winter-sunrise

[ali-annals]

you put me on and said i was your favourite

Cardigan AU Masterlist | Ao3 | Part One | CW: smut, first times (both 18+) | WC: 3k

Pairing: Jason Todd x Marinette Dupainn-Cheng | M | A/N: Set between when Jason and Marinette left the school and showed up for brunch at Wayne Manor.

“I want to sleep with you.”

Jason turned from the movie to stare at her. “What?”

“I mean, I don’t want to pressure you, of course! But, when you’re ready…I will be.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course, cheri .”

Jason searched her face for several moments, studying her open, sincere expression. “Thank you, Pix.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We should set some boundaries first, huh?”

“That’s a good idea. Start simple?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, tell me what you definitely do and do not want, Pix.”

“Uh, it’s our first times, let’s just take it as it goes. I want to talk and check that both of us are okay with everything. No super kinky stuff yet.”

“Of course, Pix. And if there’s something you want to try, ever, just tell me, hey?”

She coloured a little. “I will. You too?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you, Pix. I agree we should take things slow. Do we need to…get anything?”

Marinette shook her head, the colour in her cheeks darkening. “I got them…just in case.”

“You could be a Bat with your preparedness, Pix,” he grinned.

She smiled brightly at him. “If I had to, I’d rather be a Bat by a different way.”

Dropping that bomb on him, she abruptly changed the subject. “Now that the ground rules are out of the way, I want you to kiss me.”

“With pleasure.” Jason’s hand slid behind her neck to cup her head as their lips met. It started off sweet and romantic, a soft press of their lips. 

Then Marinette swung her leg over his and straddled his thighs, nipping at his lip. The mood changed, the kiss becoming rough and the air heating up. 

Marinette hadn’t realized she’d started rolling her hips until she brushed up against him and he let out a choked groan. Curious, she tried rolling her hips, on purpose this time. 

“I see your smirk, Pixie.” Jason’s voice had gotten deeper, and his hand moved to her waist and yanked .

She faceplanted in his neck, plastered to his front in a most pleasant way. Jason’s surprisingly soft lips brushed down her neck as he searched for spots that made her react the most. She shivered when he hit that spot and ground down onto him in pleasure. 

Jason nipped her lightly and she repeated her actions, searching for friction.

Realizing she was face deep in his neck, she decided to return the favour and began a line of wet kisses up and down his neck and jaw. She nipped his earlobe and backed away to pull his her hoodie off and free her hair, leaving her only in a thin black camisole and her jeans.

Jason groaned again. “You’re killing me, Pix.” He stood and hoisted her in his arms as she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

The easy way he lifted and carried her made her insides warm and her heart skip a beat. She eagerly pressed her mouth to his, prodding his lips with the tip of her tongue. 

Her back hit the wall but Jason kept moving, his sturdy form pinning her between the two. The pressure only made her squirm more, letting out a needy whine as he nibbled on her sweet spot.

“You’re still sure about this, Pixie?”

She nodded emphatically.

“Do you want me to leave your shirt on?” he met her eyes seriously.

“No,” she whispered.

His eyes softened and he kissed her sweetly. “Thank you for trusting me, Pix. I promise to do my best not to let you down again.”

“I know, mon amour.” She kissed him back, harder, reminding him why they were in her bedroom.

Her back met her bed and she realized belatedly that they'd switched positions. He pulled his lips off her and she tried to draw him back with pressure on his neck from her arm.

“Pix, can I at least take my shirt off?”

He smirked and winked at her speed to release him so he could pull his shirt over his head, revealing his toned, muscular torso, littered with various scars but even more beautiful in her eyes. 

“Why are you so hot, it’s unfair,” she groused, unbuttoning her jeans and kicking them onto the floor.

Jason sat propped against her headboard, only in his boxers. She crawled slowly up the bed to him, dropping kisses on various scars as she inched her way up. Eventually, she was straddling him again, cupping his face in her hands and dropping gentle kisses on his cheeks, nose, eyes, chin, and finally lips.

“Don’t freak out when I take my shirt off, okay?” she asked lowly. 

Jason leaned forward, pressing a surprise kiss to her swollen lips. “I’ll love you no matter what you look like, Marinette. I promise I won’t freak out.”

Smiling shyly, she slowly drew the hem up, then yanked it over her head in one smooth motion, squeezing her eyes shut.

It was the first time he had seen anything more than her arms, which were already plenty scratched and scarred. 

Slowly, he trailed a finger over the worst of them.

“Mari…I’m so sorry you had to go through that, alone.” He softly kissed each scar, as she had done to his. 

He glanced up and saw her gazing down at him, a tear in her eye. “Thank you, Jay.”

He smiled up at her and softly ran his hand through her hair. “I think you are beautiful inside and out, Pixie. The scars do nothing but show me how strong you are and how much you fought, and that’s just one of the things I love about you.”

Marinette brushed the lost tear off her face and kissed Jason thoroughly. “I love you so much.”

She made a half-hearted effort to return the mood to the eager sensuality it had been before, but they were too emotional, and it remained more soft and loving, less active horniness.

Many kisses were exchanged on each other’s bodies, scars covered in love.

Eventually, the two fell asleep, curled into each other’s arms.

Jason woke up to Marinette twitching in his embrace.

“Pixie?”

Realizing she was in the middle of a nightmare, he gently shook her. When she still didn’t wake up, he propped them up against a pillow and began carding his hands through her hair, whispering reassurances in her ear, hoping they’d reach her subconscious. 

After a few minutes, she settled, staying still and appearing more peaceful. 

A couple minutes later, her eyes cracked open and she stared at him sleepily.

“Hey, you feeling okay?”

“It was okay…as far as nightmares go.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Jason continuing his finger-combing and Marinette tracing patterns on his hand draped over her shoulder.

“Do you want to go back to sleep, or do something else?”

In response, she turned and kissed his jaw. “I have a couple ideas,” she smiled flirtily.

They hopped off the bed and headed for the bathroom, in a rush to brush their teeth before continuing where they’d left off last night.

The feeling of Jason’s calloused fingers rubbing over her rough skin sent shivers of the most pleasant kind through Marinette. His incredibly soft hair brushed against her as he kissed his way down her chest, all of the sensations overwhelming her and making her more and more aroused.

Jason licked a stripe across her belly button, the cool air brushing across the trail of saliva and making her stomach muscles clench.

Hints of his stubble tickled her thighs as he kissed up her knee, and Marinette was one string of sanity away from demanding he stop his teasing and pushing his face where she wanted it, but this was an unspoken competition and she was not going to-

A cool wave of air hit her dripping slit and the last string snapped.

“Jason!” she growled.

Sensing the imminent danger, he gave her a cheeky wink and settled between her legs, her thighs closing around him to keep him where she finally had him.

A burst of pleasure hit her a second after she felt his tongue lick up her slit, and her hand flew to tangle in his bicoloured locks, a loud moan escaping her. “Do it again,” she said breathlessly.

He bent his head in earnest and, guided by her grip on his curls, licked in swirling patterns around her swollen clit and down to her soaked hole, sending strange new sensations through her body that sent the most pleasant sparks to her brain.

His tongue experimentally entered her hole, and he brought his hand up to rub her clit in loose, lazy circles.

Marinette gasped and tugged harder on his hair, her thighs tightening even more around him. “Don’t stop.”

Jason pulled off her enough to slide his finger in his mouth, then slid it into her hole as he returned to his previous efforts of tonguing her clit.

The strange feeling of his finger in her, stroking the rough patch of skin that made her clench around him, and his tongue circling her clit in tighter spirals soon sent her to the edge. “I'm close!” she gasped, rolling her hips into his face and feeling like she was in the middle of a firecracker.

His free hand came up to play with her nipples, sending a stream of stimuli sparks throughout her body and making her burn even more.

A couple more licks sent her to the top and she fell over the edge in a glorious explosion, chanting Jason’s name.

Jason rubbed his sore jaw and watched in awe as his incredibly sexy girlfriend came down from the first orgasm he’d ever given her. A pretty flush had spread over her skin, her breasts were heaving, and her hole was dripping, all because of him.

She opened her slightly dazed eyes and waved a hand loosely at him. “I’ll return the favour in a minute.” She huffed, currently a little lacking in oxygen. “That was amazing.”

He smirked in pride and leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead and run his hand through her hair and down her face and neck. 

Once her breathing had steadied, she propped herself up on her elbows. "Can I try giving you a blow job?"

"Uh…absolutely."

He shuffled his boxers down his legs and leaned against the headboard, curiously watching Marinette kiss her way down his chest. 

She took him in her hand and slowly moved it up and down, then bent her head lower to curiously lick at the head.

Wet warmth surrounded him as she took the first couple of inches in her mouth. 

He groaned and bunched her loose hair in a fist, fighting the urge to buck his hips and tighten his grip.

She set a steady rhythm, bobbing her head up and down slowly as she grew accustomed to the experience; one of her hands moved to play with his balls.

Surprised, he tugged on her hair a little rougher than he'd intended, and she let out a little moan, which didn't help his situation.

"Pix, stop; I'm close."

She glanced up at him, nearly making him come right then. "Don't think I can handle it?" She challenged. 

"U...uh…no, I just didn't want…"

She giggled at having rendered him incomprehensible.

"I want to try it–if you're comfortable with it."

"Yeah, go for it."

She doubled down on her movements, hollowing her cheeks, sucking, and humming and moaning gently, the vibrations tickling him most pleasantly.

He tapped her head, keeping his hips still through sheer force of will. "Gon' come, Pix."

She hummed louder to let him know she heard and bravely swallowed his load, a hint of white escaping her lips as she coughed.

Jason hauled her up and kissed her, uncaring of the taste; he was an assassin, dealing with any and all types of bodily fluids came with the job. This was certainly the most pleasant encounter in a while.

Jason kissed down her neck, alternating nibbling and soothing with his tongue. He made his way to her chest and began gently stimulating her nipple with his lips, sending tingles throughout her body. His hand moved to her free breast and he plucked her nipple between two of his knuckles while he ran his thumb around her areola, the contrasting sensations making her feel as if she was unravelling.

His other hand traced delicately over her skin finding bundles of nerves, the airy pressure urging her to beg for more.

"Jay," she mumbled.

He looked at her, starry-eyed and rosy-flushed, the early morning sun casting a glow over her lips, red and swollen, her skin dotted with marks, her hair a gorgeous mess. She was otherworldly.

"Yes, Pixie?" He replied huskily.

"More."

"Where?" He teased her. "You're the one who wants to communicate everything clearly."

She flicked his forehead and rolled over to the nightstand.

He couldn't resist. Smack !

She turned and stared at him. "Did you just slap my butt?"

He gave her his best, most innocent grin.

Marinette frowned and held up the bottle of lube. "Oh, so you want me to put this back?"

He decided to call her bluff and shrugged. "Do what you want, Pix."

She tossed the lube to the mostly-untouched part of the bed and lunged, straddling his thighs and pinning his arms above his head.

"I have an idea," she purred. " Anything I want?"

"Okay, I'm sorry! I was calling your bluff!" He yelped.

Her lips twisted in satisfaction. "Good boy."

She freed his hands, which was a major mistake on her part.

He settled them on her waist and yanked her naked core firmly against his thigh.

"I can feel you dripping for me, Pixie." His voice was rough and she stared at him, wide-eyed. 

He pulled her towards him, dragging her swollen clit along the muscles, sending overwhelming signals to her brain.

She braced her hands on his shoulders and started rocking back and forth, creating a rhythmic friction.

He looked so pretty beneath her, her nails digging into his shoulders, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure as he watched her move, his curls all tousled and his lips kiss-reddened.

She noticed he was fully hard again and wrapped her hand around him, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure and a groan to escape, though he bit his lip.

Jason lifted her off and quickly yanked a condom out of the nightstand drawer.

She handed him the lube and he squirted a small amount onto his fingers.

Marinette was sure she was wet enough but figured better safe than sorry. The first two fingers slipped in easily, though the lube was unpleasantly cold compared to the heat of his thigh.

Jason hissed as he felt her squeeze around him, carefully moving his fingers in and out until she was loose enough for a third.

When he could fit three in comfortably, he rolled the condom on and lubed up.

The first couple inches were slow and easy to take, as she was used to the stretch from his fingers, but the next few she consciously relaxed and breathed purposefully.

It definitely felt…different…but as he slowly moved, finding the best angle and amount of force to use, the pleasurable feeling grew as she edged closer to the peak. Jason shifted so his weight was on one arm, freeing the other to rub her clit and provide more stimulation.

The sheer closeness of their bodies, coupled with the love and trust they had for each other, made Marinette feel overwhelmed with all the good emotions, turning her into a soft gooey mess.

Jason's soft lips met her own, swallowing her cries as she fell over the edge. 

A few thrusts later he joined her, collapsing bonelessly over her. His body gleamed with their combined sweat in the early morning light, damp curls falling into his eyes and giving him the appearance of a statue.

She reached up, tenderly brushing his hair back, one hand resting on his neck.

His large hand cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping a tear from her eye. "Why are you crying, Pix?" 

"I just…you make me so happy. I just love you so much and I got really emotional. I'm okay, Jay. That was amazing."

His face softened as a smile stretched across it. "It was– you are amazing. I love you so much."

He pressed soft kisses against her face for several minutes, exchanging tender words as they cuddled. 

Eventually, they got up and Marinette headed to the bathroom to clean up. She emerged a few minutes later, dressed and hair braided, to find Jason sprawled in her bed on his phone, the sheet draped dramatically across his legs, leaving his torso bare.

She admired the view, noting how right he seemed there, her heart full.

He glanced up, his eyes filled with love. "Hey, it's family brunch at the Manor today. D'ya want to go?"

"What?"

"Do you want to come with me, as my girlfriend, to meet my family over brunch in…an hour and a half, give or take?"

Jason wanted her to meet the Bats? A smile crept over her face. "Absolutely, cheri ."

Then reality crept in on her love bubble. "Should I bring something? What should I wear?"

"Alfred will have plenty of food, but he has one failing: he can never make palatable waffles. Steph will love you forever if you bring some," he suggested. "And you can wear whatever you want, you'll look gorgeous in anything. None of them will care anyways; they'll show up in sweats and gym clothes and bathrobes. In those jeans and turtleneck, you'll be the best-dressed there, aside from Alfred in his suit, of course."

Marinette pulled out her favourite waffle recipe and prepared the ingredients. Jason started on the wet ingredients, while she whisked the dry together after strictly warning him against making any jokes about it.

Soon a lovely stack of golden-brown waffles filled the warm oven. Marinette put them in the insulated bag and grabbed her jacket and boots-it was spring, but still cool in the early morning, and the wind increased the chill when they were on Jason's bike.

Jason locked up after her, double-checking it for security, and followed her down to the garage to his motorcycle. 

Marinette put the bag of waffles into the backpack she'd brought along and sat behind Jason, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He revved the motor and sped towards the Manor.

[imtryingmyfuckingbe]

The Truth is: I’m a Liar

Word count: 29,352

Bucky x Mom!Reader

The front door slams, echoing through the house. Y/N’s chest heaves, breathless from the struggle. Blood, sticky and warm and real— she tells herself so thrice until it settles as a reverb in her head— paints her fingers to match her nail polish. It stains her dress and speckles her kitchen floor, whereupon she kneels. Her hands shake around the handle of the chef’s knife.

Five years.

She moved to Lambertville five years ago, took up a new name and a fake personality she perfected: a job at the bank because she fell off the Ivy League track she began in her youth when she birthed her baby and started a life as a single mother making ends meet and trying to give her daughter a normal, stable life. Parks on the weekend. Structured lessons before preschool, and then during, and then when Winnie moved on to kindergarten. A babysitter who she vetted and tested before trusting him with her kid.

She built a life here, goddammit. A lie, but a life nonetheless, constructed from the rubble of who she left behind. Painstaking details so well crafted her neighbors believe it and her coworkers don’t ask questions; brought to its knees by a ghost at her table.

Or, what should be a ghost. Instead, a man with gnarled skin and scars, a fierce, ugly grin, holding a vendetta like a flame, darkened the corner of her kitchen.

It played in slow motion, him rising from the table. His voice rebounds in her head against the lock boxes she stored her past in. ‘It’s high time I get what I’m owed’, he said around his sneer.

Old reflexes kicked in, muscle memory unused for years. A lunge and a grasp and stab. The squelch of the blade when she pulled her arm back and aimed again. His grunt of pain when he tried to block it and it went through his hand. The ringing in her ears.

She sets the knife in front of her, parallel to her knees. The sun shining through the windows glints off of the metal, mocking and surreal. She wipes her hands on the skirt of her dress, twisting her fingers in the fabric; scrubs at her skin until the blood transfers, save for the stain it leaves in its wake.

She exhales through her nose with a forced calmness, wading through the ocean of leftover panic in her chest. A list. She needs a list. A purpose.

The floor, first. Clean the floor and go from there.

She unties the bow holding her dress closed, grimacing at the perspiration sticking it to her arms and her back. It peels away with more effort than usual, her movements slow. The breeze from the overhead fan raises goosebumps on her skin, the sweat drying into a cool coat.

With the edge of the skirt, she wipes the knife, careful of its blade and her fingers. She tosses it into the sink, where it clatters against the other dishes.

The heavy fabric, built to withstand the springtime cool, soaks up the blood splatters on the floor. She needs bleach and a mop and to burn this dress and shower a thousand times over until the water runs clear and she can breathe.

She sends partial, bitter gratitude upwards that Peter, the babysitter, picked Winnie up after school. That Brock fucking Rumlow broke into her home and threatened her on a weekday. Y/N long ago promised to hide this side of her life from Winnie, to tell the same tales she sells the curious neighbors to her daughter. She refuses to allow an egotistical fuck who should’ve stayed dead to force her to renege on that promise.

She balls her dress into a bundle, tucking the bloody portions in on itself to hide them. Her knees ache from kneeling on the floor. It hurts to stand. She grips the countertop to steady herself, cold and shaky and angry.

Livid.

See, her father left before she knew him and her mother liked a drink and a man more than Y/N. She grew up in a house on fire, the bones of it creaking with old ghosts who lived far past their time. Anger, frustration, loss— it burrowed its fingers into her young enough for it to morph into a sick comfort. A blanket of sorts that she wrapped around her shoulders and carried like a shield and a weapon— the right person’s hands make the most innocuous thing dangerous, she learned.

In her kitchen, white-knuckling her dirty dress, it returns in a tidal wave. All at once, overcoming the peace she sought. She put to rest the girl in her youth, shucking her ways to take on the role of a better mother. Caring, gentle, honest. The thing is, she hid those parts of her away but not out of reach.

With a mechanical decisiveness, she stalks to the drawer by the refrigerator. It slides open on a whisper. The gallon freezer Ziploc bag pulls from its box on a whisper. The dress falls into the bag on a whisper, and she presses out the air and zips it shut on a whisper, too.

She used to live, thrive in the murmurs of her work— methodical and calm. It fits her to return to it now.

She places the bag in the back of her freezer, behind two loaves of bread and the chicken nuggets Winnie loves. Surveying the kitchen, with the pots hanging on the wall and the snack pack she made Winnie on the counter, it looks like it does on any given day. Lived in but clean, small remnants of their lives a decoration.

Y/N clenches her jaw, scanning the room. It should reflect the new upset in her life; the new and harsh reality. If things worked like that, her body would reflect her life; her grief, her misgivings, her misdeeds. It’s both a small mercy and a large mockery that skin and rooms scar less often than the wounds wrought within.

She shakes her head, casting out the lamenting of intangible markings. She needs to hurry before Peter brings Winnie home from their after-school date.

From beneath her kitchen counter she retrieves disinfectant wipes and a bottle of bleach, slamming them on the counter. She keeps her mop bucket on the floor of the pantry, along with rubber gloves that extend up to her elbows. She pulls the rubber taut, securing it.

First, the floor. Normally, she uses scented cleaner, diluting it with water. Now, she grabs the dish towel hanging off of the oven and falls back to her knees. She breathes through her mouth, the bleach too acidic and stinging in her nose to power through it.

She takes it tile by tile, wrapping the towel around her pointer finger to get into the grout. Her hand cramps in its tight fist around the towel and against the floor. She scrubs harder. She cleans past where the blood splattered, working her way over where he stepped to erase his presence in its entirety.

She crawls around the table, the floor biting into her knees and the trail of bleach harsh on her skin. Her elbow hits a chair from an errant swipe, the shock of it running up and down her arm. She hisses and ignores it. At the chair where Brock sat, she scrubs the legs and the seat and the backrest. Between the slats, beneath the lip of the seat. Anywhere he may have touched.

The panic evolves into a calm purpose, her harried movements slowing but no less vigorous. The smell of the bleach fills the room and lingers on her skin. If she glares at the open space hard enough, she thinks she sees lingering specks in the air. She throws away the towel.

At the sink, she looks from the bleach in her hand to the knife and back, and then shrugs, dumping a superfluous amount over the dishes. She needs to change her sponge anyway, she reasons, scrubbing at the blade. She cleans the remaining dishes in turn and with the same intent— the plates front and back, the pot in all of its crevices— and puts them in the dishwasher to run.

When she finishes the last one, she turns to the sink itself. She loves the basin, a focal point of the room. It sits in the center of the countertop, a stainless steel that extends far enough for dishes to pile up without it looking messy. The faucet is tall with a curve in its neck, its head extendable. She cleans that, too, just in case.

She misses the sink already, knowing they have to move. She plans to take care of Rumlow herself, since James failed, but he tainted the charm and the comfort. He broke in and sat at her table and dirtied the floor. Dirtied her peace.

She shucks the gloves, throwing them and the sponge away.

What did he touch before she found him? Did he snoop through the cupboards out of twisted curiosity? Her pantry? Did he run his finger along the counter to leave behind his prints like a marking?

She doesn’t know, but she knows him. Knew him. Brock loved mind games, so much so Bucky trusted him less and less the more he reveled in them. He enjoyed playing a shadow in his object’s peripheral vision, disappearing when they turned their heads. Walking through a room with heavy steps to announce his presence, and then prowling like a panther to make someone think he left to abuse the element of surprise.

Y/N found it amusing, once upon a time. The people they targeted deserved the paranoia and confusion. She played the game, too, until Brock turned it into a habit. His intention shifted from scaring those who deserved cold sweats of fear to wanting a hush in the crowd when he walked into the room— no matter if his so-called friends stood in the audience.

Before Y/N left, Bucky talked about ousting him. They, the family she forged through fire and brimstone, had no place for a man hellbent on power.

She cleans the counter with the wipes for that reason. The handles to her cupboards and drawers. Over the stoves and its knobs and the oven door. She cleans and cleans until the surfaces of her kitchen shine and it smells like a hospital. The itch in her fingers urge her to keep going, to pull out her plates and cups and clean the shelves; to throw out her tablecloth and maybe the table, too.

The time on the stove stops her. 4:43. Winnie comes home soon, and Y/N needs to shower.

Sticky sweat and disinfectant linger on her skin. Her underwear clings to her body like a plastic wrap— uncomfortable and tight.

Y/N dries her hands on a paper towel, scanning the room. Good enough, for what she needed done. She turns the fan to its highest setting, hoping to dispel the heavy smell, and cracks the windows along the far side of the wall.

4:47.

She runs her tongue over her teeth and nods. Her feet pad across the floor, not unlike any other day. The living room looks the same, with its haphazardly tossed pillows and throw blankets, Winnie’s toys put away in a bin in the corner of the room. The stairs creak under her steps, the house old but renovated. The shower handle squeaks when it turns and, though it takes a minute to warm, the water is scalding and the pressure heavy.

Like any other day, except blood stains her fingers and the skin on her knees burns.

She cleans herself with the thoroughness of the kitchen, from head to foot and back. First with her hands, scrubbing between her toes and behind her knees and ears. The water runs a light pink circle around the drain, and then it runs clear.

She cleans again with a washcloth, lathering in the discount body wash she got at the local drug store. It fills the bathroom with the scent of flowers and spring, carried through the steam.

She cleans herself again.

And then again.

She rubs her skin raw until the water runs cold and then some.

The slow encroaching freeze steels the fire in her belly, like lava meeting water exploding into volcanic rock— a slower danger, but one nonetheless. She stands until the steam dissipates and reveals her feet once more.

The shower handle squeaks when she turns it off.

The faucet drips and the towel rubs against her skin. Outside, a car honks and someone shouts their grievances, and then silence. A floor below, Winnie laughs.

Y/N closes her eyes, resting her forehead against the shower wall, and focuses on her daughter. Peter murmurs something back which makes Winnie giggle harder and louder. It’s for her that Y/N swears to watch the life leave Rumlow’s eyes; to ensure he can’t enter their lives again and threaten their livelihood.

It’s for her that Y/N forces herself to step out of the tub and get dressed. One foot in front of the other, one pant leg at a time. Leggings, sweatshirt, socks.

Y/N never wanted to have children. She feared herself incapable of the nurture necessary to do it right; of the ability to not fuck up a kid like her mom fucked her up. She took the pregnancy test on a hunch and laid in bed for a day when it came back positive. No matter who knocked on her door, she turned them away. Natasha picked the lock, took one look at Y/N, and crawled in bed beside her.

It took thirteen days to make a plan, and three more to execute it.

Winnie’s voice draws Y/N from her room like a beacon, and down the creaking stairs once more. Peter sits on the floor holding an action figure and a pony while Winnie wiggles a stuffed animal at him. She pauses on the bottom step, hand on the rail, and watches.

Peter slipped into their lives with ease. He reminds her of Pietro, always sunny, always smiling. He laughs and he jokes and he knows how to answer Winnie’s questions in a way that satisfies her. Y/N wishes she could see her friends with Winnie, can imagine it with a clarity unmarred by the years, and then scoffs. She’ll find out soon enough.

Winnie jumps up, turning to face Y/N. “Mama!” she shouts, gleeful and young.

Peter grins at Y/N, too, catching the stuffed animal Winnie throws over her shoulder in favor of running to Y/N. “Hey, Jenn,” he says.

Y/N loathes the lies she tells Peter, a kid she thinks trustworthy. Still, if one person knows her real name, she risks it spreading. She forces herself to smile and steady Winnie, who throws her arms around Y/N’s waist.

“Hey, baby,” she says, leaning down to press a kiss onto Winnie’s head. She caresses her hair with one hand, the other palm against her back. “How was your day?”

Winnie heaves a great sigh, as if burdened with the woes of the world. She shakes her head against Y/N’s stomach. “I hate math,” she groans.

Y/N laughs. “Me too, kid.” She runs her fingers through Winnie’s hair, gently untangling the snatches. “But it’s important! You said you wanted to touch the stars, right?”

Winnie shrugs. “I like looking at them, too.”

Peter stands, tossing the toys in their bin along his way to lean against the couch. He crosses his ankles, hands perched on the back of the couch. “We went to the park and learned about the animals there, didn’t we, Win?”

Winnie pulls back from Y/N, looking up at her. She nods with vigor. “Yeah, Mama. There’s lots.”

“There sure are.” She peers into Winnie’s eyes for extra fortification, drawing strength from their light and joy. “Hey, Peter?” she asks, still looking down.

“What’s up?”

Y/N tucks a strand of hair behind Winnie’s ear and then looks at him. “Do you mind watching Winnie for a little bit more? I need to make a phone call.”

He smiles, confusion apparent in the drawing of his brows. Normally, Peter leaves after he drops Winnie off. Y/N takes phone calls around her all the time, but Y/N doesn’t want to leave Winnie alone— not with the risk of Brock around the corner.

“Uh, sure,” he says slowly.

She nods, smiling quick and ingenuine. His face scrunches up further. “Thanks.”

She kisses Winnie’s head and then spins her by the shoulders, pushing her towards Peter. Winnie offers a soft protest, but goes, casting a glance over her shoulder at Y/N. They return to their spot on the floor, Winnie on her knees and Peter crossing his legs over each other.

Y/N forces herself to look away and return to her room.

On a hook by her door hangs a long unused purse. The colors faded with time and sun exposure, and dust coats the pleather exterior. She hung it up when she moved in, never touching it and hardly looking at it. Now, she stands before it, arms crossed.

If a bag could talk, this one says ‘so it came to this, you foolhardy girl’. She bought it at a flea market in the city, in the DUMBO archway, because it matched her jacket and she happened to walk through it when she felt she deserved something nice. It cost three and a quarter dollars, and came with a free fortune paper in the inside pocket. She can’t recall what the fortune said, only that she laughed and elbowed Nat to show her.

When she made her plan to leave, she emptied it and tore a hole in the inside pocket, revealing the insides of the purse. Within that makeshift pocket, she placed a cheap burner phone and its separate battery. Never used, save to program one phone number.

She bites the inside of her cheek, chewing the skin. She never planned to touch the purse again, let alone stick her hand inside and grab the phone. She allowed herself to reduce it to a marking of her past, a memento of what she left, without a chance of needing it for more.

Y/N rolls her eyes. She dealt with far more nerve wracking things than digging through a purse for a battery and a phone. She slides a finger up the strap of the purse, unhooking it. The items inside jostle. With both hands, she holds the bag, tapping her fingers along its back.

“So it came to this,” she murmurs, sitting on her bed.

She pulls the flap open, the magnet clicking when it releases, and peers inside. Black fabric lines the sides, sagging against the back wall where she cut into it. She reaches through the opening, feeling along the bottom. Her fingers brush against the smooth plastic of the phone, and then she reaches further for the battery.

Two small, innocent without the knowledge of their meaning, objects rest heavy in her palm. She exhales, pulling out her hand. She drops the bag to the floor, focusing on the phone. It looks like the day she bought it— small and gray. She flips it over and forces the back off, then slides the battery into its spot. It clicks into place with a sound only deafening to herself.

Backing returned, she turns the phone over. The small screen on the front lights up with the date and time she turned it off before it corrects itself. She thumbs it open, presses one, and then the call button. With a forced steady hand and bitter bravado, she puts the phone to her ear.

It rings twice before the line clicks. Silence, pregnant with tension because the person on the other line knows the severity of receiving a call from this number.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks.

She sighs, his voice a balm for the torrent of emotions in her chest. Once upon a time, when their wild youth let way for moments of reprieve, Bucky’s voice put Y/N to sleep. She sneaked out of her mother’s apartment to his, or vice versa, and they laid in bed, where Bucky spoke softly and sweetly, Y/N’s head on his chest.

“Got it in one,” she whispers.

Something rustles on the other side of the line. Bucky clears his throat. “What’s going on?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. She wets her lips. “You said you took care of it.” It comes out harsh and biting.

“What are you talking about? Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Brock, James.”

Silence, like Bucky holds his breath. Y/N scoffs.

“I came home from work and he was in my kitchen, James. My house.”

“Where are you now?” he demands, tone shifting off center of the Bucky she knows. Knew.

She never imagined a life without it molding to fit him. Will he recognize her? Will she recognize him? “I’m home. I stabbed him. Twice. He ran.”

“You stabbed him?”

She stands to pace, the energy thrumming in her veins too strong to ignore. “Yes! What was I supposed to do? My kid, she was gonna be home soon and he wouldn’t— it doesn’t matter! You said we were safe!”

“Y/N,” he whispers, and she missed hearing her name on his lips more than she missed the name itself. “Calm down, please.”

“Don’t! Don’t tell me to calm down.” She lowers her voice despite her desire to scream until her lungs give out; to claw and kick at the world until it tells her why she deserves this. Above all, she loathes for Win to hear her yell. The thin floors allow for anything to fall through, including the sudden silence beneath her, Peter’s quiet murmur, and then a return of conversation. She huffs.

“Steve’s on his way. He’ll be there soon. This shouldn’t have happened. I thought— it doesn’t matter. I’m getting Nat and we’ll leave.”

Y/N halts, facing the mirror perched in the corner of her room by the nightstand. “How soon will Steve be here?” she asks slowly.

Bucky coughs. “He can be there in twenty.”

Y/N huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “What’s he doing near Lambertville, James?”

She knows. It makes sense; Bucky never left well enough alone. She foolishly believed his promise to let her cut ties, though even then it felt like a stretch. Bucky loves wholeheartedly; it nearly killed him a few times. He protects those for whom he cares, and that spans a state and the miles between herself and him. Frustration bubbles, but the comfort of knowing her friends— her family— watched over clashes with it. The day fills her chest, weighted and tangible, a cocktail of waning adrenaline and present anger and soft longing, sour on her tongue and slow going down her throat.

“Been keeping an eye on me, have you?” she goads, but gentler than the ire the words suggest.

Bucky sighs. “We’ll talk about this when I get there.”

“I suppose I’ll just ask Steve. I’m sure he’ll answer.”

“Y/N,” he warns, sharp and pointed.

The flow of the conversation, the familiarity of Y/N pushing boundaries and Bucky trying to draw her in, eases a weight that long found home in her bones. “See you soon, Buck.” She flips the phone shut without awaiting a response, more pressing things taking place at the forefront of her mind.

She needs to excuse Peter and prepare Winnie before Steve arrives.

She tosses the phone and catches it in one motion, and then slides it in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

Peter looks up when Y/N returns, an eyebrow cocked. “Everything good?”

She nods. “Yes. Thank you for staying, Peter. I’ll account for it in your check. You’re good to go now.”

He waits a moment, scanning her face, before pushing to a stand. Winnie follows suit, clutching her superhero bear to her chest. “It is always a pleasure, Your Majesty Winifred.” Peter offers a small bow, drawing his arm across his waist.

Winnie giggles and grins, returning with a curtsey. “You are very welcome.”

Peter nods once to Y/N, gaze lingering, and then departs on a final wave. He eases the door shut behind him to prevent it from slamming.

Winnie returns to the floor, picking up her toys. Y/N joins at her side, sitting with her back against the bin. She holds an old Barbie doll with marker stains, smoothing the cut up hair back. “Winnie, honey.”

“Yes, Mama?” Winnie mirrors Y/N’s position, holding the stuffed animal in her lap. She cranes her neck to look up at Y/N.

Y/N sighs. “I’ve got an old friend coming soon. Someone you’ve never met.”

Winnie stays silent, her face blank. Children pick up on more than adults deign to believe, evidenced in Winnie’s gentle stoicism. Y/N loathes to know what other traits she unwittingly imparted unto her daughter.

“His name is Steve. I was friends with him before you were born.”

Winnie nods. “Is he nice?”

Y/N smiles. “Yeah, honey. He’s real nice. I think you’ll like him.” She sets the doll to the side, turning so she faces Winnie. She pulls her legs beneath her and rests her elbow on the lip of the bin. The sharp edges of the wood dig into her skin. “And, after, I have a few more friends coming.”

“From before?” Winnie asks, somehow impressing upon the ‘before’ like she understands the separation between her mother’s two lives.

“Yeah,” Y/N says on a sigh, tapping her pointer finger to Winnie’s nose. “They’re nice, too. Their names are Bucky and Natasha. I think you’ll love them.”

Winnie frowns. “Bucky?”

“It’s silly, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!”

“He’ll fit right in, then, won’t he?” Y/N grins, wiggling her fingers at Winnie and leaning forward.

She reaches for Winnie’s sides, tickling her. Winnie gasps around laughter, doubling over. “No, Mama! Stop it,” she wheezes.

Y/N does, pulling Winnie into her lap so they sit back to chest. She rests her cheek on Winnie’s hair and closes her eyes. Winnie plays with her fingers, intertwining and twisting their hands together. Y/N tightens her hold and sighs.

For a moment, she pretends the looming weekend holds games and reading and relaxing. That she sits with her daughter, holding her because she wants to and not as a means to prevent the pieces fracturing in her chest from piercing a lung.

Winnie, in all of her five year old wisdom, stays silent, focusing on their hands and unprotesting of the quietude. Winnie separates Y/N from Before and the Y/N Now, a thick line dividing her life into two sections. Y/N can’t imagine choosing to not have Winnie, despite the necessary losses in her endeavor to raise her well.

She hopes she raises her well, at least. Her own mother thought herself a fit parent, but it left Y/N with little love to show for it. If Winnie ever looked at Y/N the way Y/N looks at her mother, it would break her heart.

A knock on the door, two quick raps, interrupts. Y/N sighs, opening her eyes. The setting sun shines through the windows, casting a golden glow across the room. She revels in the peace a moment longer, and then tucks the wistfulness away.

“C’mon, kid.”

Winnie uses Y/N’s shoulder to stand. She steps back, looking down. “It’s okay, Mama. Right?” She places her palm on Y/N’s cheek, a mimicry of how Y/N comforts her when she gets upset.

“Yeah. I just don’t wanna get up, I’m so comfy!” She tries for lighthearted, but it falls flat on her ears.

Winnie smiles anyway, grabbing Y/N’s hand as if to help her up. Y/N stands with a groan, pretending to use Winnie’s grip, her legs numb from sitting. “Thank you, honey. Go sit on the couch, please.” She pats Winnie’s back, who listens with less fanfare than her normal attitude.

Y/N fortifies herself. How does someone prepare to see a face from their memories? A person they once relied upon and then left? It aches like pressing a bruise.

Another set of knocks pushes her forward the five steps to the door. Her hand hovers over the knob, a second’s hesitation, before she twists it to reveal Steve. His motorcycle helmet rests tucked between his arm and side. His hair sticks up every which way. He looks the same, save for the wrinkles around his eyes and the beard. It drives a splinter into her heart.

“A beard?” she exclaims, focusing on the easiest thing first.

Steve laughs, full bodied and whole. “Shut up. Lemme in.”

Y/N grins back at him, shaking her head and swallowing all the varying words on the tip of her tongue. She opens the door wider and steps back, motioning him in. Steve scans the room, starting from the left where the toy box rests to the staircase, and then returning to the couch. Winnie peeks over it, her eyes and the top of her head visible, her hands holding the cushion. She ducks down when Steve’s gaze lands on her.

“Well, well, well. Who’s this little one?”

Y/N cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. “This, here, is Winnie. Come say hello, honey.”

Steve’s head whips to look at Y/N, his eyes wide and lips turned down in a contemplative frown. “Winnie?” he draws out.

Y/N avoids his eyes in favor of focusing on drawing Winnie out. Her head pops back up. “Yes,” Y/N confirms. She clears her throat. “Come on, baby.” She holds her hand out.

Winnie shakes her head but stays peering over the back of the sofa. Her eyes flick from Steve’s riding boots up to his hair. “You’re Steve,” she says with all the bravado of a child who knows the truth.

He slowly turns to face her once more. “I sure am. I hear you’re Winnie.” He pauses, almost imperceptible, between ‘you’re’ and ‘Winnie’.

Y/N rolls her eyes. Steve dons a bleeding heart in his chest and on his sleeve. His emotions flick across his face plain as day for anyone to read, and Y/N used to know him front and back and front again. He thinks fast and draws conclusions faster.

“Not a word,” she whispers out of the corner of her mouth.

Steve wets his lips but nods. He steps closer to the couch and to Winnie. “I’m a friend of your mom’s.”

Winnie uses the cushions to push to a stand. “Yes. I know.”

Steve laughs. “Do you, now?”

His teasing tone washes over Y/N. Her head swims with vertigo, trying to make sense of the past standing in her living room talking to her present. Merging into one image, a memory and a fact. She missed this: the comradery, the jokes, the closeness. She regrets for half of a second, taking this away before Winnie experienced it, and then shuts the thought down just as fast. She made the right decision.

Winnie nods. “Mama told me.”

“Oh?” Steve prompts, stepping closer.

Winnie cranes her neck to look at him. “Uh huh.”

The swirling in Y/N’s gut intensifies. “All right, all right. Winnie, can you go to your room for me? I’ve gotta talk to Steve.”

“Mama,” Winnie whines, pouting.

Y/N snorts. “Go on.”

Winnie huffs a sigh. “Nice to meet you,” she says through her glower, the effectiveness lessened by her round cheeks and wide eyes.

Steve snorts. “You as well, Winnie.”

She tries one more time to change Y/N’s mind with a kicked puppy look she perfected too young, but Y/N waves her onward. Winnie stomps across the floor, her shoes lighting up with each step. Y/N bites her cheek to stop from laughing at the sight. Winnie’s door closes with a slam, and then opens again. “Sorry,” she says, albeit without conviction. Her door closes again.

Y/N strains to hear if Winnie intends on pressing her luck by sneaking back downstairs, but the door remains closed. She exhales.

“Come here,” Steve says, quiet.

Y/N steps into his arms, sagging into the hug. His heart beats a clear cadence through his jacket where she purposefully presses her ear. He rests his chin on top of her head. She holds him as tight as she can, forcing her mind blank save for the acknowledgment of the comfort and familiarity.

She hugs Winnie and no one else. While Winnie soothes the ebbing and flowing of aches, she missed these hugs. The ones where she feels small and held; protected and safe.

Steve smooths his hand down the back of her head, landing on her neck. He squeezes, an old gesture of solidarity, and then releases her. Y/N sighs, hollow and full all at once.

“Good?” Steve asks.

Y/N smiles, small and tired but honest. “Yeah. Come on.”

She leads him to the kitchen, the furthest point in the house from Winnie’s room. It allows them privacy, and, above all, bolsters Y/N’s resolve. The wall of cleaner they hit upon entrance brings forth her earlier adrenaline and anger.

Steve coughs around it, shaking his head. “What happened in here?” He settles against the table, setting his helmet behind him.

Y/N crosses her arms and leans against the counter across from Steve, the same spot Brock attacked her. “Buck didn’t tell you?”

“No. He called me and said to get here. That he and Nat and a few others would be following.”

Y/N looks over his shoulder and out of the window. Light pinks and purples and oranges paint the sky, darkening into the blue of the night. The trees lining the sidewalk sway in the breeze. A couple walks past hand in hand, grinning and laughing and easy.

“Brock.”

One word, but it holds the weight of a promise unfulfilled. Steve tenses, his leftover smile vanishing for a grim set to his lips. “What?” he barks. “No, we—”

“— Apparently you didn’t.”

Steve looks down at his shoes. “Y/N, I—”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not— there are more important things to deal with right now than how he survived. Like the fact that he did, and knows where I live and that means he knows about my kid.”

Steve nods.

“How long have you guys been checking up on me?” She wants to get it out of the way; all of it.

His head shoots up. “I—” He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Bucky told you?”

She snorts. “No. I figured it out when he said you’d be here in twenty minutes. What else would put you near me? You expect me to believe it’s a fucking coincidence?” she hisses. “How long?”

“Since you moved here.”

“How often?”

“Y/N…”

“How often?”

His jaw clenches. “We didn’t have a schedule. At least once a month, when time afforded it. It’s a quick drive, all things considered.”

Y/N lets that settle. Once a month for five years. She never caught them, and they never showed themselves. That hurts the most, carving a wound right down her center. If they ignored her boundaries anyway, why not go all in and show their faces?

She sniffs, shaking her head. “Whose idea?”

Steve laughs once, humorless and dry. “Whose idea do you think, Y/N?”

She thought so. “Okay.” And she can’t help herself now, because it builds in her lungs and leaks into her chest, a pressure chamber all on its own upset by the newfound revelations of what passed her by and it leaks out through the holes poked by the splinters. “Why didn’t you— no one ever…” she shakes her head, the words acidic on her tongue. Heavy and harsh, like the stench and taste of the bleach.

Steve sighs. “We didn’t want to mess it up. You deserved— deserve— a normal life. Out of all of us, you had the best shot of it. Hopped on the straight and narrow. A job at a fucking bank, of all the places. You wiped your hands clean, Y/N. We weren’t gonna ruin that for you.”

Small mercies, she supposes. “And he never— I mean, I’ve been here this whole time, and…” Words come easily to Y/N. She thinks and she speaks and it makes sense. After today, she knows nothing except keeping Winnie safe and herself whole.

“He never came. Said he couldn’t.”

She blinks back the tears threatening to spill, saving them for a later date where she can fall apart alone with only herself as judge, jury, and executioner. “Right.” It comes out weak, stilted. She clears her throat and tries again. “Right.”

Silence settles, a thorned bush of flowers. Beautiful and kind, but bloody otherwise. Steve shifts, pulling out a chair and sitting gracelessly. He crosses an ankle over his knee, hands clasped in his lap. His gaze pierces through Y/N, searching past her façade for more than she says or reveals. She knows Steve well, despite the difference in time and space, but it goes both ways.

They used to share conversations with looks and nudges and quiet scoffs. The habit stays, a muscle unused but there, and Steve uses it to parse her thoughts.

“Winnie?” he asks, a hunch and a lifetime and an accusation all rolled into one word.

“I only told Nat.”

“And you think he won’t put two and two together?”

“Well, Steve, when I named her I thought I’d never see any of you again. I was tired and alone and miserable, okay? I just, it felt right.” She pushes off the counter, itching to do something, anything, other than suffering Steve’s weighted silence in response.

Dinner. She can make dinner.

She ignores Steve’s unfailing attention heating her back, stalking to the pantry. She needs to grocery shop. She meant to do that this weekend. Careless for what she grabs, she retrieves the ingredients for pasta. An easy dinner, but at least she can watch the water boil rather than turn around.

The pot clangs against the sink when she fills it, and then the stove when she sets it down. Water splashes over the edges. She glares at it and turns the burner on anyway.

She gathers the onions, tomatoes, peppers, and chicken sausage and lines them up against the wall. Steve shifts behind her. The cutting board clatters on the counter, covering the rustling of his clothing. She reaches for the knife, stopping short of the block and clenching her fist.

Right.

Brock. Bleach. Dishwasher.

She decides on the bread knife, the only other large knife in the block. Peppers first, so they sauté the longest. She cuts the stem and then halves it, foregoing the knife for her fingers to tear out the seeds and glands.

Thoughtlessly, she chops the pepper into slivers and tosses them into the pan. She works through the onions and the tomatoes, stirring when necessary. The process takes time for its parts, but not its complexity.

She lucked out with Winnie, who eats most of what Y/N serves her with minimal complaint. If all else fails, the chicken nuggets in the freezer suffice. The chicken nuggets hiding her bloodied dress.

She slams her hands on the counter, head hanging. The chair scrapes from the force of Steve standing. She points to the freezer with the knife. “I have a dress covered in blood in the same fucking place as my kid’s chicken nuggets.” Her voice shakes. She sniffs. “A bloody dress in the freezer. It sounds like a joke. What’s the punchline?”

Steve’s fingers wrap around Y/N’s wrist, lowering her hand and taking the knife. He reaches around her to set it on the counter. “Let me,” he says softly.

Y/N shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut until they hurt.

Steve spins her by the wrist until she faces him, grabbing her by the shoulders and rubbing. “Y/N, go sit down.”

“Steve,” she whispers, like his name on a harsh exhale says what it needs to.

“I know. I know. Go sit down.” His hands drop, one sliding to her back to push her forward.

She allows it, taking the encouragement to the table and sitting in Steve’s seat. It creaks as she settles, elbows on the surface and her head in her hands.

She used to deal with this shit on a daily basis. A blood stain? No problem. Toss it out and get a new one when income allows. Someone attacks her? Easy-peasy. Throw an elbow or a hook or a kick to their knee so it bends the wrong way. Angry beyond reason? Some sorry motherfucker is bound to test their luck and offer an outlet. Lonely? Go home.

But if she throws out that dress, she risks someone finding it. And no one attacks anyone in Lambertville, so why would she need to defend herself? If she attacked someone, the police would arrest her rather than chock it up to another brawl. And she can’t go home, not in a way that matters.

Home is a hole in her chest and longing she swallows with her coffee and speaks around to her co-workers. Home is a shitty apartment and loud mouthed friends and reckless abandon. Home is her kid and this godforsaken house in this godforsaken town.

Intangible and something she tricked herself into believing she made peace with. Instead, she tucked it away like the rest and carried on like it weighed nothing at all.

The front door bursts open, banging against the wall.

Y/N stands, her heart in her throat and her hands in fists. Steve steps in front of her, wielding the knife and squaring his shoulders. They wait on bated breath for the heavy footfalls to bring forth their owner. Y/N clenches her jaw, staring at Steve’s back.

His shoulders sag and he shifts.

Bucky stalks in, face set in a grim frown. He nods once at Steve and continues past. His hands cup Y/N’s face, turning her head beneath the light. She bites back the sigh at having his skin on her skin again while Bucky slides his palms over her arms, looking for an injury.

She bats his hand away, pulling forth the annoyance from the phone call. “You stop mother-henning me.”

“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes, but he pulls her into his chest.

Y/N returns the hug, nose tucked into the junction between his shoulder and neck. She inhales, pulling as much of his scent in as possible. It overpowers the bleach and phantom smell of fresh blood. She closes her eyes and hugs him tighter.

Behind them and off to the side, a new voice mingles in murmurs with Steve. Sluggish to think from the inherent comfort of Bucky’s arms, it takes Y/N two seconds too long to register Natasha’s soft tone. Y/N gasps, presses an old habit closed mouth kiss to Bucky’s shoulder, and pushes him away, turning to Natasha. Heat fills her cheeks when she realizes what she did, but she carries on like she used to, stepping into Nat’s open arms.

They rock side to side, swaying with the force of the hug. “Nat,” Y/N says into her cheek.

Natasha laughs, breathless and joyful. “Y/N,” she responds.

It says enough about the vitality of their friendship that they understand each other. They let go, Natasha keeping an arm around Y/N’s waist so they can lean into each other, and face the others. Steve dumps the pasta in the strainer, running cold water over it. Bucky leans against the table, arms crossed and a small, just the corners of his lips, smile brightens his face.

Y/N dips her chin in acknowledgment of him and he nods back. She intends to rip him a new one later, but for now she revels in the proximity of her family. The holes in the pressure chamber in her chest lessen, mended by Nat’s arm and Bucky’s eyes and Steve’s quiet cooking.

They exchange glances in turn, awe marred around the edges by the reality of why they stand in the same room for the first time in a long time. Y/N looks at her feet when it overwhelms her, clearing her throat.

“I’d say welcome to my home, but I have a feeling you’ve seen it before.”

Nat squeezes her side. “It’s nice. Never been inside.”

Y/N shakes her head and laughs. Leave it to Natasha to look the tension in the face and make a joke. “Well, here you are.”

Bucky looks away, the smile dropping from his face and leaving nothing in its wake.

“Dinner’s almost ready, kids,” Steve singsongs, waving the wooden spoon he uses to combine the vegetables, meat, and pasta sauce. He shoots Y/N a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised.

“Right.” She wipes her sweaty palms on her leggings and steps out from Natasha’s arm.

The overwhelming warmth fades to a low thrum in the back of her mind, present but hindered. Y/N ignores the heat of their attention on her retreating back, walking with purpose to retrieve Winnie. She rounds the corner to the stairs, opens her mouth to shout for Winnie, and then sighs.

On the third to last step sits Winnie with her knees to her chest and her arms around her legs. She stares back at Y/N with wide eyes, caught in her eavesdropping. Y/N shakes her head. “How long have you been here?” She sits on the step next to Winnie, nudging her side with her leg. “Hm?” she prompts, purposefully soft to keep the worry from her voice.

Winnie plays with her fingers. “I just heard someone come in and—” She shrugs.

Y/N smiles, nudging her again. Winnie looks up. “Do you remember me saying I have more friends coming?” Winnie nods. “That was them. They’re a little less polite than Steve, so they didn’t knock. We always knock, right?”

“Yes.” She leans into Y/N’s side.

“Well, I’m glad you know that, honey.” Y/N wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Are you hungry?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” Winnie exclaims, brightening.

“Steve made pasta. Is that okay?”

“Sure, Mama.”

Y/N stands, holding her hand out to help Winnie down the last steps. At the entrance to the kitchen, Winnie hides behind Y/N���s legs, peeking around to observe the newcomers. Natasha and Steve joke quietly while they plate the food. Bucky took the pulled out seat at the table. He watches the other two with fond eyes, shaking his head.

Y/N clears her throat, drawing their attention. Natasha turns first, dropping to a crouch. “Well, hello, there, ma’am,” she greets, light and airy. “Who might you be?”

Winnie waves but stays hidden. Y/N places a hand on her head, smiling at her daughter. “C’mon, kiddo. Say hi.”

“I did,” she whines, pouting up at Y/N.

Y/N scratches her head. “Are you gonna eat behind my legs? We’ve gotta go sit down, silly.”

Winnie sighs with her whole chest, throwing her head back. “But what if they don’t like me?”

Y/N looks from Winnie to the rest. Natasha still crouches, Steve places the plates at the table, and—

“Not there,” Y/N blurts when Steve places a plate in the spot Brock sat in. She scrubbed the damned thing clean, but she refuses for anyone to use it. She intends to burn it, along with her dress.

Steve, unaffected, shifts the plate one seat over. Bucky’s eyes flicker between the chair and Y/N and back, a glower present on his face. He lands one more time on Y/N and she shakes her head.

Natasha clears her throat, breaking the tension. “Well, I know I’m hungry and I’d sure like to sit at a table and eat. I don’t know about anyone else here.” She slaps her thighs and stands, taking the seat next to Bucky and across from Steve.

“C’mon, kiddo,” Y/N encourages.

Winnie protests with dragging feet but follows. Y/N takes the head of the table, next to Bucky, and Winnie pulls herself into her booster seat; Steve found her dinnerware— plastic plate and fork and cup. “Dig in, kids.”

They do, the clinks of their forks against the plates filling the silence. Y/N focuses on Winnie, watching her watch the newcomers with curiosity. Her gaze lands on Natasha more than the others, and when Nat catches her she looks in haste to her food.

Steve cooked well, the chicken sausage crispy and the vegetables soft. She enjoys eating a meal someone else made, a luxury afforded the few and far between times they eat out. Maybe she can coax one of them to do the dishes for her.

A tug on her sleeve draws her attention. Winnie leans over, beckoning Y/N closer and closer until she cups her mother’s ear. “Why are they here, Mama?”

Y/N’s grip tightens on her fork. She wondered when Winnie would ask, but she didn’t come up with an answer in that time. Y/N refuses to lie to Winnie. She molds her answers to an appropriate response for a kid, but she won’t lie.

She pulls back, flashing a fake grin at Winnie, and clears her throat. Bucky eyes her, chewing slowly. “Well, baby, I need their help.” Not a lie, but not the full truth. Maybe Winnie will let it—

“— With what?” she presses.

Y/N sighs, twirling her fork in the pasta for the sake of a distraction. “There’s an unkind person who…” She shakes her head, starting again. “There’s someone new in town who I know and they aren’t kind. And my friends are good at dealing with unkind people, to make them kind.”

It works enough for Winnie to nod, settling back in her seat with a contemplative frown. Y/N rests her fork against her plate and props her head on a fist. Winnie pushes her food around her plate, flickering between staring at her hand and her audience around the table. Bucky, Nat, and Steve train their eyes elsewhere, respectful of her hesitation.

“Is it the man at my school?”

Y/N tenses, swallowing a reflexive curse, and lowers her hand with purposeful patience, flattening her fingers on the tabletop. “What man, honey?” she asks through a clenched jaw.

Winnie sniffles. “I saw a man at recess. He seemed angry. Mister Nick was there.”

“Oh?” Y/N prompts. “And then what happened?”

Winnie shrugs. “I dunno. I was playing.”

Y/N tries to smile, but it feels brittle and stilted. “That’s okay. Thank you for sharing.” She closes her eyes and wets her lips, controlling her breathing.

She wishes she drove that knife into his heart and twisted. She imagines the squelch and the mess and his snarl morphing into pain; his pulse slowing to a stop and the light leaving his eyes. The part of her who fought without hesitation, no holds barred, rears its ugly head, berating her for failing so miserably to protect the one person in this world relying on her.

She clears her throat and looks at Natasha, who stares back with a perfected steeled gaze. She juts her chin out. Natasha stands. “Do you want to show me your room?” she asks Winnie.

Winnie looks up, startled and eyes wide. She nods, mouth dropped in awe, already clambering down from her seat.

“Come here, kid,” Y/N says, pulling on the napkin by her plate.

She dips it in her cup of water to dampen it, and then rubs at the sauce stains around Winnie’s mouth. Winnie pouts, looking from Y/N to Natasha and back, as if worried Natasha might change her mind and no longer wish to see her things. Y/N cleans the speckles on her hands and deems her shirt a lost cause.

“Okay. Go ahead.”

Their footsteps recede, along with Natasha’s gentle murmuring and Winnie’s replies. Y/N waits for the last stair to creak and Winnie’s door to shut before turning to Bucky and Steve, who share the grim set on her face. “I want him dead.”

Bucky lays his hand on Y/N’s. She yanks it away, pushing to a stand. By the day’s end, she expects her pacing to leave tracks on the floor, a memorial for the turning of events. The turning of her life with a sharp left into her past, a road she thought blocked off for good. Turns out, only she avoided it— everyone else took it like normal.

“Y/N,” Steve starts.

“Don’t!” She whirls on her heel, pointing an accusing finger. “Do. Not. Not only was he here, Steve, he was at my kid’s school. Her school!” She returns to pacing, shaking her head.

A dangerous, useless record of ‘what if, what if, what if’ plays on repeat. What if he got in? What if he got Winnie? What if—

Bucky spins her to face him, one hand on her shoulder and the other on the back of her neck. He steadies her. “We’ll take care of it, okay? You two take off for the weekend. He won’t be a problem by Monday.”

Y/N leans into his grip, pressing it harder into her skin with her hand on top of his. She missed him so wholly his presence soothes old wounds she figured out how to live around. She aches to crawl into his arms and burrow under his skin, into his veins, into his bones.

It’s not enough.

He came because she called, but he’ll leave just the same. She won’t allow herself the comfort of his safety for him to rip it away again. It will kill her.

She peels his hand away from her neck and steps back. “I can’t,” she whispers, hoarse, placing his hand by his side. “I already ran once. I packed up my life and high tailed it to suburban hell, but I made it work. I’m tired. I’m tired, Bucky. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life running— not with a kid. She deserves better than that. And what kind of mother am I if I don’t make sure she’s safe? I should’ve done it before, but I was scared.”

“You were pregnant, Y/N. You had an excuse.” He crosses his arms.

“Yeah, well, now I don’t. She’s got her whole life here.”

“Kids are resilient.”

“They shouldn’t have to be!” she protests, mirroring his tense posture. “They shouldn’t have to have things to be resilient about. I’m her mother, Buck, and that means I gotta be better than my own. Bigger, stronger, scarier.”

“Y/N, we turned out okay, didn’t we? We were okay.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Look at us, James. You’re in a glorified gang and my neighbors don’t even know my real name. I wouldn’t say that we turned out particularly well. I want better for my kid. That means if there’s a monster under her bed I am going to kill it myself.” She pauses, collecting herself. “I can’t run again. I won’t. I ran last time and it caught up to me. It needs to be me. I need to make sure he’s dead. Once and for all.”

“Y/N,” he pleads, voice low.

She smiles despite the effort, meeting his eyes. “Always the fixer, huh, Barnes?” She sniffles and shakes her head. “No. I’m telling you no.”

He stares her down, unyielding to her stubbornness. They came to a head many times for this reason— blowing up because she stood her ground, harebrained and foolhardy according to Bucky. She yelled and protested; he begged and sought to show her reason. She doesn’t yell anymore, and she sees reason.

She thinks it the most reasonable request to see this to the end, if only for Winnie’s sake.

Steve stands, drawing their attention. “You said Wanda and Sam came?”

Bucky nods once.

“Then let them take Winnie for the weekend. To Tony’s. He has that vacation home off the coast an hour out.” He looks at Y/N. “Is that okay?”

She nods, tucking away the glaring apprehension of an hour’s distance between herself and her child.

“Bruce can meet them there, and Clint can meet us here for back up.” His eyes flicker between Y/N and Bucky, unsure of which authority to settle on.

Y/N steps out from behind Bucky, taking the initiative. He may front the Commandos in New York, but she protects her homestead here, now matter how small. She calls the shots. “Okay. We get Winnie out tonight. I’ll call her out of school and I’ll call off work. I want this done by dinner tomorrow.”

“Miller time, right?” Bucky supplies through a biting half-grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Miller time.”

Bucky shakes his head, jaw clenched. Y/N huffs, but accepts the offered acquiescing despite his glaring disapproval. She nods her gratitude to Steve, casts one more look at Bucky’s turned back, and turns on her heel.

Natasha and Winnie’s conversation reach to the base of the stairs. Y/N pauses, rearranging her expression until it softens from apparent frustration to unaffected pleasantness. She walks slowly, trailing her hand along the rail, to avoid making noise. She wants her fill of Winnie’s laughter to tie her over until she finishes this and Winnie comes home.

She pauses at the door, peering through the crack. Natasha sits criss cross on Winnie’s bed, holding a faded teal and purple spider. Y/N smiles fondly. Natasha gave Y/N the stuffed animal after her positive test, laying claims to the ‘best aunt’ title.

Natasha, despite her hard exterior, loves children. She wanted a part in raising Winnie; spoke with wonder about all she planned to do. It killed Y/N when she told Nat she needed out, and that meant leaving everything behind. Natasha, one hell of a woman and a steadfast sister, offered her shoulder and shifted her plans to include Y/N’s departure for the sake of her kid.

Y/N raps two knuckles on the door frame, poking her head in. “Well, hello, ladies. Mind if I join?”

“Mama, I was telling Miss Natasha about school! And the birds and the park and Peter.”

“Oh?”

“She sure was. You’ve got a smart one, here, Y/N.”

Y/N grins, proud. “Yeah, I do. I don’t know where she gets it from.”

Natasha snorts. “Beats me.”

Winnie tugs on Natasha's hand, vying for her attention. Natasha focuses on her, face serious and eyes wide. “Yes, ma’am?”

“What’s your favorite animal? I told you all of mine!”

Natasha smiles, soft and fond. “Yes, you did. I like…” she draws it out, tapping her chin and pretending to think. Before Winnie can press, Natasha grabs the spider in her lap and shakes it. “Spiders!”

“Ew,” Winnie grumbles.

Y/N leans against the wall, content to watch the two.

“What? You don’t like spiders?”

“They’re scary.”

“No, no, no. They’re smart, like you. Cunning. They can learn and get smarter. They see colors, too.”

Winnie’s mouth drops. “What?” She turns to Y/N. “Mama, is that true?”

Y/N looks at Nat, who nods. She shrugs. “Yeah, why not.”

“Wow,” she says, awed.

Natasha hands her the plushie. Winnie holds it with newfound reverence, staring in its many beady eyes. She pokes them in turn. She turns it this way and that, examining its legs and asking Natasha more rapid-fire questions. Natasha answers just as fast, amused and entertained.

Y/N lets her marvel over the toy, using the time to gather her thoughts. She needs to pack clothes for Winnie. Her pillow. She sets about it, moving quietly to avoid drawing Winnie’s attention. She can relax for the time being.

Y/N piles clothes into a pink and purple duffle bag she bought Winnie as a part of a gift set for her birthday. The methodical movements and calculating of items keeps her head clear of wayward thoughts. She cares about packing the right amount of underwear and pants and pajamas and socks; nothing else.

She leaves them to retrieve Winnie’s toothbrush and paste, and her towel. Winnie loves the towel for its depiction of the Disney Princesses. Her favorite changes based on the day, but Moana appears more often than not these days. Y/N rubs the end of the towel between her fingers, the fabric pilled and rough from frequent use. She makes a mental note to buy a new one.

In the room, Natasha and Winnie lay on their backs with their legs against the wall, turning their feet left and right. Winnie giggles and elbows Natasha. “Again!” she commands.

Natasha grins. “Okay, okay,” she concedes, doing as asked. She says a sentence in Russian, slower than her normal dictation.

Y/N huffs and rolls her eyes. “Are you teaching my kid how to curse at me in another language, Romanov?”

“Nah. You know all the fun words, anyway.”

“I’m sure in the back of my mind.” She sets the completed duffle bag by the door. “Any room for dear old mom in that huddle?”

Winnie exclaims the affirmative, taking Natasha’s spot when she shimmies over to make room. Y/N crawls in beside Winnie, twisting to lay on her back and rest her legs along the wall. Shadows of stars dot the ceiling from the glow-in-the-dark stars she put up when she first moved in. Some fell over the years while others held on tight. The Big Dipper above the bed misses a star at the top corner of its bucket and on its tail.

“Winnie, would you like to meet more of my friends?”

Winnie squeals, tapping her hand on Y/N’s arm. “Mama, yes. You have so many!”

Y/N laughs. “Yeah, I guess I do.” She grabs Winnie’s hand to hold. “Would you be okay with spending the weekend with them?”

Winnie pauses her movements, looking up at Y/N. She frowns. “I have school tomorrow.”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

Her face brightens, her grin pushing up her cheeks. “Really?”

Y/N hums her assent. “It’s just you and them, though. I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

Winnie jumps to her knees, hands on Y/N’s stomach. She leans in with enthusiasm. “I will, I promise. Is Miss Nat coming?”

Y/N tucks a fallen strand of hair behind Winnie’s ear. “No, honey. I need Nat here.”

She frowns for a second before shaking it away, the light returning. “That’s okay. Who are they?”

Her worry of Winnie’s apprehension at staying with new people washes away. “There’s Wanda and Sam and Bruce and Tony.”

Winnie pouts. “Only one girl?”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Sam would love to play dress up with you,” Natasha interrupts, winking at Y/N.

Y/N shakes her head, grinning back. “And Bruce is super smart. You can tell him all the things you know. He might even teach you some things you don’t.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And Tony, he’s smart, too. But if he asks if you want to experiment, what’s the answer?”

Winnie looks away as if the response lingers in the air over her road map rug. She clenches and unclenches her fingers in Y/N’s sweatshirt and then shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You say ‘No, thank you, Mister Tony’.”

The confusion clears. “Okay, Mama. I can do that.”

“I know you can, baby. So what we’ve gotta do now is get you bathed and changed into jammies. Sound good?”

Winnie deflates, throwing her head back with all the dramatics of a five year old. “But I wanna play with Miss Nat,” she whines, elongating Natasha’s name.

Y/N pokes Winnie’s cheek with her pointer finger until Winnie concedes her attention to her. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can play with Nat again,” she singsongs.

Winnie’s head hangs, but she offers little else in the way of disagreement. It’s small fanfare to get Winnie in the tub. She requested to bathe herself a month ago, and held true to it since. Y/N runs the faucet, directing Winnie to tell her when it warms up enough, and plugs the tub. Winnie clambers in on her own and shoos Y/N out of the room, citing independence this and privacy that.

Y/N slides down the wall, settling on her butt with her knees drawn to her chest. Natasha sits next to her. In the bathroom, Winnie splashes and talks to herself. Y/N leans her head on Nat’s shoulder.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Natasha grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers. They held hands often, once they forged their way through each other’s harsh exteriors and found solace in the shared company. Y/N allows little physical comfort, save for from those whom she loves best.

It took time to gain each other’s trust, in spite of their supposed youthful naivete. They met in passing at the high school before Nat dropped out; shared a few classes and Steve as a mutual friend. Y/N hated Natasha with a vengeance; thought she wanted to take Steve away and by proxy Bucky, because the two are a package deal.

Natasha found Y/N crude and short-sighted, unable to withhold her emotions should the situation need a cool composure. They spat and fought, to the point where Bucky and Steve sought to keep them apart for everyone’s sake.

It took a damning fight between Bucky and Steve for Y/N and Nat to band together. Bucky complained to Y/N about Steve until he ran blue in the face and then some. Steve glowered and glared and shut down. Y/N heard enough and, because of her quick-draw bravado, she approached Natasha before the opportunity arose for it to happen the other way around. She smiles now, remembering the sigh Natasha heaved, accepting Y/N’s momentary truce to get the boys’ heads on right.

Except, the momentary truce turned into a begrudging friendship turned into Y/N decking a girl for shit taking Natasha behind her back and Natasha cleaning Y/N’s knuckles, calling her names in that fond tone of hers.

From then on, the separation of Y/N and Natasha whittled down until they formed a group. It shifted over the years, grew, broke, mended, to form what Bucky lovingly calls the Howling Commandos— a name created the night of his nineteenth birthday after too much stolen liquor and a trip to Coney Island despite its closure until May. The name stuck, no matter how much Y/N teased him for it.

“How are you?” Natasha asks, rubbing her thumb along the back of Y/N’s hand.

“I feel like you know. How many times did you come around?”

Natasha sighs, the shoulder Y/N’s head rests on rising and falling. “Enough. Steve and I rotated the most. Tried to convince Buck, but you know how he is.”

“Do I?”

“C’mon, Y/N.” Nat elbows her. “You know him best. Probably better than Steve,” she teases, poking at a secret Y/N told her late one night after a hard cry.

“Hey, now,” Y/N warns. “I just wish you’d said something. One of you. Any of you.”

Natasha rests her cheek against Y/N’s head. “You asked us not to.”

“I was wrong.”

“Wait, say that again. Let me get that on tape.” Natasha shifts to grab her phone from her pocket, pretending to unlock it.

“Oh, hush. Who did I get my righteousness from, again? Rhymes with ‘rat’?”

Natasha gasps, feigning indignation. “How dare you?” she declares around a grin.

They settle, Y/N hooking her right leg over Nat’s left. Winnie’s quiet splashes persist in the other room, a calming soundtrack. “I missed you,” Y/N whispers like a secret meant to go unheard.

Natasha squeezes her hand. “I missed you, too. I really wanted to tell you, I need you to know. It wasn’t easy. I just…” She shakes her head. “I was so mad at you,” she murmurs. “When you left, it felt like— god, I felt so small.”

Y/N exhales, her breath shaky. She feared Natasha’s resentment, but it comes expected. She harbors it, too. All the feelings she tucked away without naming rise, her chest a well so deep it echoes with the remnants of a life long passed and wounds unhealed in spite of it.

“I get it. I do. There’s more to it than you told me then, and I can make my guesses but…” She shrugs. “You’ve raised a good kid, Y/N. Watching from afar sucked, but it was nice to see you and Winnie— also, ‘Winnie’? Really?”

Y/N groans, resting her head against the wall. “I know, I know. Steve said the same thing when he heard.”

“You told Steve about—?” She gives Y/N a pointed look.

“Oh, god, no. He figured it out today.”

“What’d Bucky say?”

Y/N purses her lips, focusing on their intertwined fingers. “Well, I haven’t exactly said her name in front of him.”

Nat barks a single laugh, incredulous. “Are you shitting me?”

“No,” Y/N whines, covering her eyes with her free hand. She sighs, running her palm down her face.

“How do you expect to get around that?”

“Willful ignorance?”

Natasha laughs, shoulders shaking. “You fucking idiot.”

“Language. Little ears.”

“As if you can refrain from swearing.”

Y/N sighs, grinning. “It’s been hard, I won’t lie.”

She means it as more than not swearing around Winnie. Moving on and creating a life, however small and feeble, took greater effort than Y/N expected to dole out. She contemplated giving up and moving back more times than not in that first year, when Winnie woke with screeches and needed more attention than Y/N thought possible to give. It took a steel spine she forced herself to fortify to stay; to not beg for a forgiveness she hoped she wouldn’t need.

“I have a request.”

Y/N waits for Natasha to continue, her silence a prompting in itself.

“Can we, I, whoever you agree to— I wanna come back, after this. I can’t do this again, Y/N. I miss the hell out of you. Nothing’s the same. I don’t have anyone who returns my shit the way you do. Steve tries, but he’s got his own brand of smartass. It’s not the same. Bucky’s all stoic and shit now. Like a fucking heartbroken loser, damn him.” She turns to face Y/N, wrapping her other hand around their clasped fingers. She pleads with her well-crafted pout, one she perfected to get what she wants. Her words ring true, despite her purposeful expression. 

“I’d like that. A lot.”

Natasha grins, triumphant.

“I’m not coming back, though. I can’t. Winnie’s life is here. I’m not gonna uproot her.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re a good mom. Better than any of our own.” She looks down, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. In a small voice, the boldest show of emotions coming from Natasha, she says, “But you can visit, right?”

Y/N smiles and nods. “Yeah. Common ground. Central Park or something.”

Their faces scrunch in faux disgust at the same time. “Manhattan? Really?”

“We won’t go below 96th street.”

Nat snorts. “Brighton, take it or leave it.”

Y/N gasps, slapping Natasha’s arm. “You just want to impart on her our Coney Island days, don’t you?”

She shrugs, unrepentant. Before she responds, Winnie pokes her head around the door jam. “Mama, I’m done.”

“Oh! Good job, baby. Go get dressed.”

Winnie does, stepping over Y/N’s and Natasha’s strewn legs. Y/N leans into Natasha one more time before pushing to a stand, pulling Nat up behind her. “You wanna help her choose an outfit? I think she likes you.”

Nat grins. “Yeah, I do. I like her, too.”

Y/N squeezes her hand once and drops it. “Grab the duffle bag on your way down,” she calls over her shoulder.

She bounds down the stairs, lighter than before. They have a plan, at least an outline of one, that keeps Winnie safe. Winnie likes Natasha, and Natasha wants to come back. It bolsters her relief.

Steve lounges on the couch, stretching across its cushions with a book from her shelf hovering above his face. It’s an old romance novel she picked up in a fit of mindlessness, seeking a distraction from her newly mundane life. The first few years wore on her, with few places to go for company she enjoyed and a baby that didn’t respond in a way that made sense.

She read a lot in that time. Learned how to crochet. Watched enough documentaries she knows a small encyclopedia of random facts. Bought and killed plants. Bought more plants until she learned how to care for them and what ones needed what light and how much water.

She flicks the cover of the book. Steve pulls it down, an eyebrow raised. “This how you got your kicks?” He waves the book.

“Wasn’t getting them anywhere else.”

Steve snorts. “You should tell Buck that. I’m sure he’d be happy to hear it.”

She frowns, confused. “What, that I was lonely and miserable? He’s that mad at me?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He lays the book open on his chest, crossing his arms behind his head. “You got the kid sorted?”

“All packed. Nat’s helping her choose her outfit.”

His grin softens. “I’m sure she’s having fun.”

“They both—”

A clattering in the kitchen followed by a curse stops her. She leans over the couch to look through the archway. At the sink, Bucky rolled his sleeves up and is elbow-deep in soapy water. He scrubs the pan with vigor, suds splashing onto the counter.

“God, he’s a mess.”

“You don’t sound so torn up about it,” Steve observes.

Y/N pulls away from the display in the kitchen, narrowing her eyes at Steve. “What’s that mean?”

Steve sighs as if burdened with great knowledge he must bestow upon the village idiot. “Nothing, Y/N. Just that it’s been five years and you still look at him like he hung the sky just for you.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, I, I’m not—”

“— and Bucky’s been a little shit since you left,” he continues over her.

“I had to, Steve,” she barks.

He softens. “I know. I’m glad you did. That doesn’t change what you left behind.”

Y/N bites her cheek, forcing down the frustration. She swallows around the stone in her throat. When she left, she thought they’d bounce back like any other time someone left. If she considered that it might linger, it threatened the budding determination to build a better life. Would it hurt more if they moved on? Would that make it easier?

“I didn’t think he’d care that much.”

Steve flops his hand on the back cushion, giving Y/N his palm. She considers it for a moment, the significance of this conversation and her conversation with Nat; the weight of Bucky doing dishes at her sink in her home in some small town in New Jersey. That he came when she called.

She lays her palm over his, and whispers with great difficulty, “When we’re done with this, Steve, he’s gonna leave again. Or I am, depending on how you look at it. Either way, I’m leaving and he’s staying or he’s leaving and I’m staying.” She shakes her head. “I did it once but I don’t think I can do it again.”

The last harsh and vulnerable honesty she told happened under a blanket pulled to the headboard, in stilted whispers to Natasha. She can’t afford to bare her tender spots, not without revealing too much to the wrong people.

“He’d stay if you asked him to.”

She smiles, sad and final. “I want him to want to stay.”

A knock cracks the moment. Y/N steps back and clears her throat. Through the window of the door, Wanda and Sam peer into the room. Wanda waves when she spots Y/N, her grin pushing her cheeks up and wrinkling the skin by her eyes.

“That them?” Bucky asks from the kitchen archway. He dries his hands on a towel, looking past Y/N to the door.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, soaking in his outline in the doorway. She pretends, for a small, sad second, that he occupies that space regularly. Then she turns the feeling off, forces it back down, and opens the door.

Wanda rushes her, throwing her arms around Y/N’s neck and almost bowling her over if not for Sam catching Y/N’s forearm to steady them. He squeezes and lets go, stepping back. Y/N returns the strength of the hug, one hand on Wanda’s back and the other on her head.

Clint happened upon Wanda and Pietro in an alleyway, huddled together behind a dumpster and making plans on how to steal food. He coaxed them back to the bar their group frequented, promising food and warmth. Pietro, lovely and trusting to a fault, followed behind him with Wanda in tow. The Commandos took them in and there they stayed.

Wanda releases her, grabbing Y/N’s cheeks and staring into her eyes. Liner smears Wanda’s waterline and lid, messy in the purposeful made-unmade look she strives to achieve. Y/N rolls her eyes, uncomfortable under Wanda’s piercing gaze. “C’mon, now, kid. Lemme go.”

“You need more sleep.”

“Probably.”

“No,” Wanda protests, turning Y/N’s head in the light much like Bucky earlier, albeit not searching for wounds but something only she knows. “Definitely.” She drops her hands and steps back.

Sam steps in, offering a short but just as warm hug. He pats Y/N’s back and returns to his spot. Y/N claps once. “Right, well. The gang’s all here.”

As if waiting for those words, Natasha follows a bounding Winnie down the stairs. Winnie halts at the bottom step, eyes wide and flicking between Sam and Wanda. She hops from the step, her backpack jostling.

With confidence she lacked earlier in meeting Bucky, Steve, and Nat, Winnie walks to short distance to Y/N’s side. She lips her hand into her mother’s and peers up. “You’re Wanda. And you’re Sam.” She points to them in turn then looks at Y/N.

“Yes, honey. Good job.”

Winnie grins, triumphant and satisfied.  “Okay. Let’s go,” she declares.

A smattering of stifled laughs scatter the room.

“She’s certainly yours,” Sam teases.

“She is. She’s also right.” The light atmosphere shifts off center, the group reminded of its purpose. Y/N kneels in front of Winnie, pulling her in by the straps on her shoulders. “What’s in here, kid? Contraband?”

Winnie’s face scrunches up. “What’s that?”

“Nevermind. You got all you need?” She tightens the straps for something to do.

Winnie nods. “I got my books and my spider. Auntie Nat has my bag.”

Y/N’s breath lodges in her throat. She looks from Winnie to Nat and back. “Auntie Nat?”

Winnie shrugs, unaware of the weight and meaning behind her words. “My teacher said an aunt is my mom’s sister. You're my mom, and she’s your sister.” She says it matter of fact, like it makes sense because the truth makes sense.

Y/N sniffs and nods, eyes on Nat over Winnie’s shoulder. “Yeah, honey. Your teacher is right.”

Natasha looks away, adjusting the bag in her grip. Her side profile offers a view of the corner of her mouth twitch. Y/N takes it.

She clears her throat and focuses on the task at hand. “Well, now that we’ve got that sorted, you’re gonna go with Sam and Wanda, okay? And you’re gonna be on your best behavior, right?”

Winnie nods.

“Right?” Y/N says again, stretching it out and grinning.

Winnie nods again. Y/N wiggles her fingers in Winnie’s eyeline before dropping them to tickle her. Winnie screeches, laughing. “Yes! Okay. Yes. Best behavior.”

Y/N stops, pulling her in for a hug. She presses her cheek into the side of Winnie’s head, closing her eyes and swaying, memorizing the impression of Winnie against her chest. A small weekend away pales in comparison to why Y/N tasked Sam and Wanda to watch her daughter, but her heart flutters dangerously in her chest nonetheless at the prospect of not seeing Winnie for three consecutive days. She squeezes harder and presses another kiss to Winnie’s temple.

“Mama,” Winnie whines around a mouthful of giggles, wriggling in Y/N’s arms to get away.

Y/N sighs, but concedes. She stands, keeping a hand on the back of Winnie’s head, and turns to Sam and Wanda. They watch her with knowing eyes, the former with a soft grin and the latter with muted pity. Y/N wades through it in favor of forcing out a smile. “All right, guys. Time to hit the road.”

Natasha steps up to her side, nudging their shoulders together. Y/N takes the kindly offered strength as well as the bag. Winnie, in her excitement, pushes past the group, bouncing on her toes. She grabs the door knob, shaking it.

“Come on,” she urges, turning to face Y/N.

Y/N nods and Winnie yanks open the door, bursting into the night. Sam and Wanda follow behind them, and the rest behind Sam and Wanda. Y/N’s car, an SUV rated best in children’s safety tests she traded her beat-up Mustang for, awaits them at the curb. Streetlights gleam against its finish and paint the road in yellow. Winnie beats them to it.

It's a small fanfare to buckle Winnie and stow the bags. Sam takes the driver’s seat, Wanda in the passenger seat. Y/N hovers over Winnie, double and triple checking the straps. Winnie follows the movements with her eyes, curious but calm. Y/N tugs on the hem of her shirt to straighten it, smooths down her hair, wiggles the stuffed spider she brought along to make Winnie laugh.

Her heart threatens to claw its way from her chest through her throat and out of her mouth. She swallows to keep it down, and pulls the shirt hem once more. A gentle cough behind her jolts her. Winnie needs to get going, and now. Y/N wants to keep her safe, and that means letting her leave— even if it hurts.

Y/N presses a final kiss to Winnie’s forehead.

“It’s all right, mama. Right?”

Y/N smiles against Winnie’s skin. “Yeah, baby.” She trails her hand from Winnie’s hair over her cheek, pausing to caress her thumb over the bone, and then forces herself to pull away. She clears her throat, nods at Sam’s pointed look, and closes the door.

A hand guides her onto the curb, wrapping warm around her forearm. She leans into its owner, siphoning the support to strengthen where her will fails. The car rumbles to a start, headlights switching on. Winnie taps the window and waves with her stuffed animal. Y/N waves back, and then Sam pulls away from the curb.

In the silence of the night, broken by their breathing and the ringing in Y/N’s ear, she and her hodgepodge group of friends watch Sam drive away with her heart in the back seat.

Bucky’s other arm— and of course Bucky offered his side for her to lean on, because who else can hold her up with the ease of years spent fortified and vulnerable— wraps around her waist. She allows it, or pretends she weighed her options in the first place, pressing further into his chest. His hair, shorter than before but long enough to frame his face, tickles her ear.

The taillights of her SUV, a target of red in the distance, disappear on a left turn. Y/N exhales. It rattles in her chest and rebounds against her ribs and fights to offer a facsimile of relief.

Behind them, two sets of footsteps retreat into Y/N’s house, accompanied by hushed conversation. Bucky rests his temple against Y/N’s, pressing into her skin. It weeps from the missed touch as if her skin has a mind of its own, roaring louder than the fear hiding in her throat. She allows it, she pretends, like allowing Bucky to shape himself around her rather than her needing a pillar and needing it to be him.

She allows and allows and allows, because if she admits she has no choice in the matter— that she never did— it threatens to bring her to her knees. She allows them back into her life, and allows Winnie’s leaving, and allows Bucky to hold her fractured pieces together.

He squeezes once, kisses where his head rests, and then pulls back far enough to untwine them but not let go. His hands grip her waist, fingers digging into the skin as a reminder, and turns her. Y/N blames the lamp overhead for her fuzzy vision and not the tears threatening her lash line. Bucky swipes his thumbs beneath her eyes, drawing them upwards to frame her face.

“You good?” he whispers.

Y/N grabs his wrists to pull his hands away, but her own, without her commanding, press his palms harder into her face. She sniffs, shakes her head. “Yeah,” she says to the ground. “Yeah. I’ve just never…” She shakes her head again, trying to dislodge a thought that makes sense. “She’s my whole life. I’m scared. I’ve never been this scared.”

Bucky sighs with his chest, his shoulders rising and falling. He tightens his grip. “I know. She’ll be okay. Once this weekend is over, it’s back to business as usual.”

Y/N opens her mouth to protest, to say she wants for more than the new normal she forced herself to fit into like a too big foot in a too small shoe. The words form on her tongue and sit on the edge of her lips, but she can’t. She refuses to beg for him, not out of pride but care: for Winnie, for Bucky, and, mostly, for herself. As she did in the past, she will slide her foot into the shoe and suck it up rather than listen to Bucky deny her. Pretending she withheld his choice is easier than giving him the chance to break her heart further.

So, instead of saying that, instead of laying her love bare, she nods and withdraws his hands from her face. “Yeah. Business as usual.”

Bucky frowns, eyes tight, like he sees past her forced civility. She walks away before he can ask, stalking into the house. Natasha and Steve sit on the couch, talking lowly. They stop when she comes in. Under other circumstances, she would rib them for circumventing her obvious chemistry for false platonic love. Now, she nods to them, short and quick.

“Come on,” she commands.

Without waiting for them to follow, she continues into the kitchen and then to the door leading to her basement. She flicks on the light by the stairs as she passes. It illuminates her humdrum basement— boxes of Winnie’s outgrown clothes alongside her outgrown toys alongside pieces of Y/N’s life she left to collect dust. Mementos and frames without pictures greet anyone who ventures into the space.

Y/N had a lot of time on her hands when she moved here, first pregnant and without company and then with a newborn who slept scheduled hours. During those scheduled hours, along with her crocheting and reading, she grew restless. Tired in a way sleep didn’t remedy.

She needed to use her hands. Ached for it. They itched and they itched until she gave into the silenced part of herself.

It took a month to draw up the plans and a year to execute them.

Past the boxes and the cleaning supplies and disassembled furniture, a row of metal shelves cuts the room in half. Only, if someone saw the room after her work, they miss the thin line in the middle of the shelves. It fulfilled the child in her who longed for a secret room in which to hide, and the Commando in her who needed to prepare— for what, at the time, she didn’t know.

Now, she pushes aside a bike with training wheels, put away for the winter and yet to come out again, and presses on the middle shelf. It scrapes against the floor, a harsh and loud screeching of metal against concrete. The false shelf opens inward to hide the scratches on the floor from wayward eyes, and on it the trinkets shake and then settle.

Despite the years spent away from the room, she traverses it with ease to the wall whereupon rests the light switch. She flicks it on, revealing an old wooden table at its center and various preparations around the room— weapons gathered over time, files on her neighbors and co-workers, and outfits she loved too much to part with from her days prowling the night-fallen city for something to fight, amongst other things.

She stands, hands on her hips, surveying a room she thought abandoned.

“What the fuck is this?” Natasha asks around a laugh, running a finger along the backside of the metal shelves.

She examines her finger before wiping the dust on her pants, eyes wide as she takes in the room. Steve and Bucky block the doorway, shoulder to shoulder, bearing the same awe and slight befuddlement in their expressions. Y/N smiles, less hindered than before, at seeing her old cohorts in the space she kept for herself should the need arise.

Y/N sweeps her arms open in a presentation of the room. “My bunker.”

Steve sputters, stepping in and leaving Bucky at the entrance. He walks as if dazed, head on a slow swivel left and right. “You built— you built a bunker?”

Y/N shrugs. “All in a day’s work. Well, a year's work, really. Took a bit to avoid suspicion.”

He snorts, shaking his head bowed over the open file on the table. She forgot about that, having left the room in haste upon hearing Winnie crying for her through the baby monitor. For some reason, after that day, she never came back. She tries to remember what changed, but it doesn’t come. Some things die a quiet death sometimes. This room happened to be one of them.

Until now.

Steve flips a page in the file. “Is it safe to assume you have one of these on everyone in town?”

Y/N leans against the wall, crossing her arms. “Just the ones I interacted with the most. Grocery store clerks, doctors and nurses. Things like that.”

“Do I even want to know how you got all of this information?” Natasha asks from where she peruses the section of the wall showcasing knives.

Y/N shrugs. “The internet is a plentiful place for information.”

Bucky, silent for far too long, finally joins them inside. He looks over his shoulder as if something awaits behind him, and then shakes his head. Y/N bites her tongue to keep from asking his thoughts and instead lets him look his fill.

She joins Steve at the table, standing across for him, and waits for the other two to finish their gawking while pretending not to watch Bucky walk the perimeter. He half smiles, just the corner of his mouth, at the old leather jacket hanging from a hook in the wall. He fiddles with the sleeve, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, before letting it fall.

“All right,” he says to the filing cabinet next to the jacket. “You’ve brought us here for…?”

Y/N clears her throat for their attention. In a deep voice, she begins, “I have gathered you here today because—”

“Y/N,” Natasha chides, rolling her eyes.

Y/N sighs. “Fine. It’s because this is my preparation room. For what, I don’t know, but I have it and we’re going to use it so we can make a plan to finish Rumlow and keep my kid safe. Got it?” She phrases it as a question but leaves no room for argument. “Good.”

Bucky and Natasha share a look of raised eyebrows and one set of pursed lips, but join Steve and Y/N at the table. The four stand on their own sides of the table, looking between each other in turn. An undercurrent of excitement hides in their glances. For the first time in a long time, they come together to do what they used to.

Whiplashes of memories overlay the present picture. Them at a lunch table, the week before Natasha dropped out, making plans to see each other with the same frequency as before, disavowing the notion that they risk drifting apart. Another, at Bucky’s mom’s kitchen table, older and more worn but still hopeful to help. And then at a pool table in a bar, despite their ages, joined by newcomers who fancy the idea of feeling important; who want to help the people like them because they couldn’t help themselves.

They came about their self-proclaimed duties by happenstance, walking by a man harassing a lady outside of a club. She shirked his advances, but he ignored her drawn posture in favor of cornering her. Y/N, fueled with years of bitten down rage, swerved from the group to intervene. They followed and it bolstered her resolve. Five minutes of confrontation later, the woman thanked them and the man walked away with his head hung. After that, Y/N sought out ways to keep her corner of the world safe. Turns out, Bucky and Steve and Natasha followed suit on their own.

Y/N came across Bucky holding a guy who manhandled his kid by his throat against an alleyway’s wall. He turned upon her calling of his name, eyes wide and mouth open. The fear on his face, the shame, mirrored her own when her anger at the world bled into the guise of helping the wayward neighbors facing trouble. She swallowed it, then, to step forward to Bucky’s side, offering her support.

Somehow, after, it turned into a purposeful searching of misdeeds to rectify with a tight fist and threats they followed through on to prove a point, and then into making plans and drawing lines for who keeps an eye on where. The rest, the new people and the true forming of Howlies, grew as they grew. Looking back, Y/N can’t identify the turning point of a group of friends trying to better other’s lives instead of their own into the glorified gang she calls it now.

She shakes her head, forcing herself to focus on the present.

“I want it quick and easy,” she starts, hands braced on the table.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Clint?” Steve interjects.

“When is getting here, by the way?”

“Soon. He had to finish something up with his building and then he said he’d come.”

“Perfect, then we can sort this out and fill him in when he gets here.”

“And how do you suppose we sort this out?” Natasha counters.

Y/N bores into the file across from her, closed since Steve finished it. “Me.” She looks up, from Steve to Nat to Bucky, the latter of which frowns. “He came back for me, or to finish whatever he thinks he started.”

“No,” Bucky objects fiercely through clenched teeth.

Y/N rolls her eyes, pushing off the table to stand straight. “We’re not doing this, James. It’s my head on the line, my kid. I lay the stakes.”

Bucky works his jaw, looking away. He nods once, short and stilted.

“So, what? You wanna dangle yourself in front of him like a piece of meat? How do you know he’ll take the bait? As much as I think him an ignorant man, he isn’t stupid, Y/N,” Natasha says, always the voice of reason.

Y/N shrugs. “He knows where I live. He probably has eyes on my house, so he knows you’re here. If you guys leave—”

“—Absolutely not!” Bucky interrupts, loud and commanding.

“Let me finish! If you leave, park a few blocks away, far enough for him to think you really left, you can circle back. Come in through the cellar.” She stares hard at Bucky, meeting the fire in his eyes with her own, daring him to counter her.

He doesn’t look away but he also doesn’t answer. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at him to respond, something that used to bring them to blows. She doesn’t have time to fight him and get angry and then try to resolve it, not now.

In a calmer voice, strained but quiet, she says, “And then you, all of you, will be here and we can bring him down. Keep a rotating watch outside for him. He’s hard to miss, what with the scars.”

“How do you know he’ll take the bait, Y/N?” Natasha presses.

“I don’t!” she shouts, turning on her heel for the façade of a moment’s reprieve from their heavy attention. She faces the wall with a corkboard, pictures thumbtacked to its surface and strings of various colors drawing relationships between the people in her town. She traces the green line for business between Winnie’s nurse and the pharmacy tech and the bartender off the place on Sixth Street and Jefferson. The string colors the board bright and messy, Lambertville a small enough town for everyone to have business with everyone.

“I don’t know, okay? But it’s the best I’ve got, because I don’t know shit about where he is. If he comes here, which he has already done, need I remind you, we get the upper hand. I know my house. I know the streets by my house.” She turns to face them again. “If anyone else has a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Steve sighs and fiddles with the folder in front of him, tapping the sheets of paper to fit back inside and straightening it. Natasha looks at her chipped fingernail polish, brightened by the whitened skin around them from pressing too hard into the table. Bucky’s anger slips away intentionally, his jaw unclenching and his shoulders sagging. A sad understanding replaces it, and Y/N can’t decide which she hates more.

“Well, isn’t this just a party?”

Y/N whips to face the entryway, dropping her hands to prepare for a fight. In the space stands Clint, hands on his hips, sporting a black eye and a cut through the arch of his eyebrow. He quirks it, lips pulled in an amused smirk. Y/N relaxes.

“When’d you get here?” she asks, stepping forward.

Clint embraces her, swaying side to side. He presses a kiss to her temple and then releases her. “Just a few minutes ago. For someone so worried about someone breaking in, you sure do leave your door unlocked.”

Y/N snorts, shaking her head. “We’ve been busy. Plus, it’d make this job a hell of lot easier if he just burst in.”

Clint hums, looking around the room in the same fashion as Bucky and Steve and Natasha before him. He rocks from the tips of his toes to his heels, back and forth, hands shoved in his pockets. Y/N takes her place at the table and allows him a moment to take it in.

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you, Y/N. Not bad.” He sighs and focuses on the group. “So what’s with all the yelling?”

Nat waves in Y/N’s direction. “This one here wants to use herself as bait.”

“Ah,” Clint says like it all makes sense.

Maybe it does, in his eyes. Y/N threw herself into fights with reckless abandon, aching for the familiar relief of split knuckles burrowing alongside the forever present triumph of doing what she believed just. It landed her in their makeshift medic’s office more times than she could count, Bruce mending her cuts and icing her bruises, Bucky reprimanding her from his perch on the counter.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Steve tries, quiet and unsure in a way contradicting his towering stature. He used to be smaller, and the shortening of himself now is a habit long formed but unnecessary. “We’d be here for back up, to keep it easier to manage.”

“So that’s it? That’s the plan? Smoke and mirrors?” Bucky asks in more of a taunt than a confirmation.

“We’ve done it before,” Clint provides, taking a spot next to Steve. “A lot, actually. Worked more times than not.”

“What about your kid? What if something goes wrong? Then what happens to her?” Bucky presses, reminding Y/N she never told Bucky Winnie’s name.

Steve and Natasha share a look over Clint’s head.

“I’m trying not to think about that.”

“Your actions affect her, Y/N.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t built her whole life around my actions? I’m not a fucking idiot, James. But if I think about her then I’ll be paralyzed because she is my life. My life. And that means—”

Y/N freezes. The phone in her pocket, the burner that only Bucky knows the number for, blares its jumpy ringtone. It fills the silence, echoing off the walls and back— haunting despite its bubbly tone. With slow hands as if the damn thing bites, she reaches into her pocket and pulls it out, placing it in the center of the table. Bucky’s eyes widen, flicking from Y/N to the phone and back.

Y/N withdraws her hand, gripping the lip of the table. She sniffs, shaking her head. “Buck?”

“I gave the number to Wanda. Just in case.”

The noise stops, the small screen lighting up to display one missed call. Y/N exhales, reminding herself to breathe. She wants it to be a coincidence; a telemarketer or misdial. Nerves wrack up and down her spine, electrifying her skin and the air.

Y/N doesn’t believe in coincidences.

It rings again.

She wets her lips, drawing the bottom one in to chew. Twice in a row.

A phone with an old number who only one— no, two— people in the world know, ringing twice in the span of a minute?

Y/N looks at Bucky for a split second to gather herself and steal some of his perpetual calmness, then snatches the phone from the table. She holds it in her palm. It vibrates against her skin. A Lambertville area code. She runs her thumb along the seam, contemplating.

The ringing stops.

Y/N waits on bated breath for it to ring again, the silence roaring in her ears. It stays still and quiet at its spot in the center of the table as if afraid to make noise due to the table of stares boring into its face. 

“Do you think—?” starts Natasha, interrupted once more by the tone.

Y/N inhales enough to bolster herself and then flips the phone open, pressing the call button. Her hands shake as she brings it to her ear. She looks into Bucky’s eyes, the rest of the room falling away to a tunnel vision of the cool blue-green.

“It’s about time, kiddo!” Brock jeers.

Y/N seethes.

“You know, it’s just such a small world. You’ll never guess who I ran into at a gas station a few miles outside of Lambertville.”

Y/N closes her eyes as tight as she can, hanging her head. “What do you want?”

Brock snorts. “To finish what we started, of course. You’ve been very disrespectful, Y/N. Wasn’t it you who taught me about manners?” he tuts.

A hand overlays her own, warm and comforting. She can’t suffer that kindness right now, not when she needs fire and wrath. She pulls her hand away, wrapping it around herself, and backs up until her back hits the filing cabinets behind her. They clink together, jostled by her weight.

“What do you want?”

“You’re no fun these days. I remember when we used to have fun, don’t you? And then you had to go and ruin it.”

Y/N refuses to argue semantics with a son of bitch like Brock. “Brock,” she barks.

He sighs. “Fine, spoilsport. I want to talk without you stabbing me. One last time, Y/N, for old time’s sake. Also, I have your kid.” He tacks it on like a side remark of the possible future rain— as if it may disrupt plans but they won’t know until it starts pouring.

Y/N clenches her jaw. “Where?”

“You know the town well enough by now, I’m sure. You know that theater off of Bridge Street? Closed for renovations?” Something rustles on the line. “It’s nice in here.”

Y/N doesn’t respond, waiting for his demands. Come alone; come without weapons. Whatever plan he made to get her to him for her daughter’s sake. God, Winnie must be frightened. And Sam and Wanda, what did he do to them?

She lets her imagination run to stoke the fire in her chest. She needs all the strength she can wrap her fingers around, enough to wrap those fingers around Brock’s throat and squeeze.

“You can bring your buddies. I know they came. It’s sweet, isn’t it? You called and they came, even though you abandoned them?”

Y/N opens her eyes, looking from concerned face to concerned face. What’s his play?

“See, your pals, your Bucky, made some enemies, even more in your time away. You got your friends, and I got mine. I figure it’s only fair to give them a fighting chance. Hit us with your best shot, Y/N. Remember that? God, what a time,” he sighs. “See you then.” He hangs up.

Dazed, Y/N pulls her hand away. It dangles at her side, the dial tone ringing loud enough to hear. Brock has Winnie. Her daughter. Her life. She sent Winnie away, right into Brock’s grimy fingers. She thinks of those hands and their past, the blood and the dirt and the cuts, touching her daughter. Holding her. Subduing her.

The phone shatters against the wall, and it’s only then that Y/N realizes she threw it. She looks at her hands, tracing the lines with her eyes and wondering how she holds her daughter with them when they, too, donned the markings of endless fights. A small scar slices the center of her palm from her pinkie to her thumb, a reminder of an altercation gone wrong.

“Y/N,” Bucky whispers.

It starts her into action. She slaps his outstretched hand out of the way, pushing past him to her wall of weapons. A security blanket. A plan Z in case plans A through Y failed. She tunes out the protests behind her, grabbing the first weapons in her sights.

A trench knife and its forearm holster. A tactical knife for one calf, and a Ka-bar for the other.

“Y/N,” Bucky says again, grabbing her arm.

She wrenches it away, ignoring him and reaching for the only two guns she procured before leaving the room to collect dust: a SIG Sauer best for conceal carry and a Smith & Wesson for her thigh.

“Y/N! You really think this is the best plan?” Natasha interjects.

“Yes, I do,” Y/N mumbles, tightening the straps of the holster on her calf and moving on to the next.

The motions, old and unused, settle the harried panic. She did this daily, once upon a time. Her hands didn’t shake then, and they stop shaking now. Knives then guns, the SIG in a holster hidden by her sweatshirt and the other present on the outside of her thigh.

She scans the room for anything else, ignoring the stillness of her friends with their worried attention on her. Between Steve and Natasha, who joined together while Y/N turned her back, her leather jacket hangs from the wall. She wore it just shy of threadbare, her favorite piece of makeshift armor. It lacks the Howlie insignia Kate embroidered on the other’s, a talent she perfected for something to do with her hands and clear her mind, but it belongs to Y/N’s past just the same.

She slides between Nat and Steve, lifting it from its perch. The soft leather folds and sags in her hands. She rubs the fabric between her fingers and thumbs, pressing it against her nose to breathe in the scent. The years in storage rendered its musk stale, but comforting nonetheless. She slides an arm in, the lock boxes in her mind unclicking and revealing the parts of her she thought long laid to rest.

Before she slips into the second sleeve, Bucky grabs her arm once more, his grip tight and warning. He tugs her to face him, leaning in to stand eye to eye. “You’re half cracked and wild, Y/N. What did he say?”

Y/N scoffs. “What do you think he said, Buck? He’s got Winnie. He’s got my kid. I’m half cracked and wild ‘cause I gotta get my kid, and—”

“—Winnie?” he whispers, eyes wide.

Y/N tenses, realizing her fault. Winnie’s name burns on her tongue alongside the reason. She didn’t plan to tell him, at least not like this. The weight in the room and of her slip up join the sticky sweat on her skin, a heated blanket in the middle of June. She swallows, and it hurts.

“She’s yours.”

He shakes his head, brows drawn and mouth agape. “I, what?” he asks on an exhale.

“Don’t act so surprised. We fucked and then I’m pregnant, you can’t tell me you weren’t suspicious. I never told you because I didn’t want you to choose me, choose us, out of some fucked up sense of obligation.” She spits the words with the ire built over years and ignited tonight.

He shakes his head, eyes wide. “I didn’t know. I thought— well…”

“You thought what James?”

He looks to the floor, to her shoes resting beneath where her jacket hung. 

She scoffs, pulling her arm away to finish putting on her coat. “You know, rumors spread like a fire, especially around small groups of friends. You think your men are impervious to gossip? I didn’t say anything because it was pointless. The more I would’ve protested, the more they would’ve believed it. Tell me, how many men do you think I slept with before or after you?” she accuses, knowing the answer.

For all that she and Bucky grew up together, some parts of themselves got lost in translation as the years passed.

He swallows, sluggish. 

“Two.” She holds up two fingers as if evidence. “Two before you, long before you. None after. You wanna know why Brock targeted me, Buck? Why he couldn’t leave well enough alone? Why, no matter how many times I told him no, he didn’t stop? Because he thought I was the town slut and he took it as an insult that I wouldn’t fuck him.” She shakes her head, tired and over it. Tears gather on her lashes. 

He whips his head to look at her. “What? Why didn’t—“

“Because I was pregnant, and I just wanted— it doesn’t matter what I wanted. We’re not having this conversation right now. I need to get to Winnie. You can help or not, I don’t care. But you will not stand between me and my child, do you understand?”

Despite the force of her declaration, she doesn’t want to do this without him. Without her friends behind her, pretending to allow Bucky and Y/N privacy like she didn’t hear Clint’s hitched breath when she told the truth for once in her goddamned life.

Bucky steps back, staring at her. She wonders how she looks to him.

He nods.

Y/N exhales, relieved despite the weight, and grabs her boots, stalking past her friends to the stairs. They creak beneath her, a familiar noise charged with the tension. They sound again when Natasha follows her up, and then the rest.

Her kitchen, lit by the moon through the windows and the light from the basement, glares back at her. This morning, she made breakfast at the stove and packed Winnie’s lunch. She watered the plants on the window sills and washed the dishes.

This afternoon, she cleaned it within an inch of its life. The once strong bleach smell lingers on the floor and table and in the air, a reminder of the turning point. It feels like months ago that she kneeled, peeling off her bloodied dress and preparing for Peter and Winnie to come home.

Now, she walks through it, casting aside the memories. Later, when she packs up and moves again, this time with Winnie, she’ll split herself into a new Before and After, leaving this kitchen behind.

Dazed, lightheaded and viewing herself from a bird’s view, she laces her boots up. Natasha sits beside her on the couch, doing the same. She leans into Y/N, a solid weight along her side. Her quiet whispers go unheard in Y/N’s ears, the rush overtaking the kindness. Y/N nods, absentminded and focusing only on her next steps.

Plan B, because Brock cut Plan A to pieces. Get her kid. Whatever else happens, happens. She makes peace with it now, refusing to dwell on the repercussions of what protecting her child makes of her. No one, not an egotistical fuck nor the love of her life, knows the cruelty in her devotion.

Bigger, stronger, scarier, she told Bucky. She meant it then and means it now.

Steve rode in on his bike, Bucky and Nat in the latter’s Mustang. She and Y/N bought a matching set the day Y/N turned eighteen, celebrating the illusion of freedom. The driver seat welcomes her like her own car, molding to her body. She caresses the steering wheel, a biting grin on her lips not for the happiness of familiarity, but the memory of the fear it instilled in the right people doing the wrong things. She reveled in the power of scaring scarier men with an innocuous drive down the road.

She revels in it now.

Natasha takes the passenger seat, Clint the back, and Steve and Bucky on Steve’s motorcycle. The car rumbles to life, its frame shaking with the transformed engine into a powerful beast. Bucky and Nat spent the summer after getting the cars working to better them, Steve and Y/N sat on coolers drinking beers to jeer rather than help.

Y/N pulls away from the curb, slow and purposeful. If committing one crime, don’t commit another, she learned. She drives the speed limit, focused on the road and not the houses she passes or the stars shining down their disapproval, if stars talked.

Her house, right on Main Street, sits in the center of town— a purposeful move when she bought it. Bridge Street, with the old theater, is a five minute drive through store fronts, house rows, and across the street from a cemetery.

Natasha watches her from her seat. “That was certainly a choice.”

Y/N hums, half listening.

“I mean, what a way to tell Buck he has a kid.”

Y/N sighs, grip tightening on the wheel. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Natasha says and means.

The conversation ends there, more said in the silence than through words. She won’t carry the guilt of whatever she does to Brock and his lackeys, but the guilt of telling Bucky that way, of throwing it in his face as a cruel motivator, will sit in her gut alongside the other good intentions that paved the road to hell.

Steve swerves into the left lane, riding parallel to Y/N. She keeps her eyes forward, but acknowledges him with a flash of the high beams. They used to do this, too, on nights meant for forgetting. They raced and they chased and they ran circles around whatever empty parking lots they found.

Y/N slows, turning right. She creeps to a stop in front of the theater, Steve parking behind her. Low lights shine through the stain glass windows, the front door cracked and bleeding out onto the front steps. The bones of the theater resemble its old business— a church that lost followers after a scandal with the pastor and his wife. The city council renovated it in the early 2000s, relabeling it for community use. They left the bell and the signage and the history, put in a stage, and called it a day.

The keys jingle when she pulls them from the ignition. She steps out. A cold wind rushes her, the year not late enough for warm nights. The eerie silence on the street accompanies the storm in her chest, broken by crickets and their boots on the ground. She stands shoulder to shoulder with Nat and Steve, Bucky and Clint on the far ends.

Her fingers tap against the gun on her thigh as she surveys the entry points. In her research of the congregation after learning of the scandal, she found a blueprint revealing a door in the back. She points to the side of the building, silent.

Natasha, Clint, and Steve nod in unison, stepping out the line up. They creep along the side, sticking close to the shadows and out of view of the windows. Bucky shifts to take Steve’s spot next to Y/N. She allows it for a moment, taking the kindness despite her deserving of less, and then forces herself onward.

On a routine run, she paused at the crack in the door to scan the room. Now, she bursts through, the door banging against the wall from where it rebounds.

Rows of chairs fill either side of the room, leaving a center aisle. On the stage down front, two men whip to look at her. The dark haired one laughs, reclining in his chair. The other one, younger and greener from his visage, looks between the laughing man and Y/N and Bucky.

She stalks down the aisle, unclipping the strap of her holster and withdrawing her gun. In hands used to the weight, she levels the sights on the knees of the laughing man. A bang rings out, rebounding through the space, sharp and disorienting.

He stops laughing, falling from his chair.

The other kid stands, backing up with hands raised. Y/N pulls the trigger, downing him. He screams, curling in on himself.

She braces one hand on the stage and jumps up, towering over the men at her feet. To her left, tied to a pole beyond the curtain, Sam calls for her. “I’m sorry,” he says around a fat tongue and split lip.

She shakes her head. She doesn’t have time to bear his guilt alongside the torrent of fear and anger in herself. Instead of responding, she focuses on the once-laughing man. He groans in pain, eyes squeezed shut but lips pulled into a disgusting grin. His whine morphs once more into stilted laughter.

“Fuck, you’re—”

Y/N steps on his wounded knee, grinding her toe into it. He screams, curling further into himself and panting. “Where’s my kid?” she demands.

“Crazy bitch!” he yells. “You have no idea wha—”

A bang and he sags, head lolling back. Y/N looks over her shoulder. Bucky’s arm lowers to his side, his own gun smoking in his grip. She nods her gratitude and returns to the other kid. God, he’s young. Too young to deserve getting in the mix with these lowlifes. He chose to, unfortunately, and that motivates Y/N enough to transfer the weight of her boot to his knee.

He cries out, tears streaming down his face.

“Where’s my kid?”

“I’d answer her if I were you,” Bucky warns, low and harsh.

“Rumlow!” he shouts through his crying.

She presses harder, leaning her weight into her leg with her gun leveled on his head. “I know that, you stupid fuck. Where?!”

He groans but raises a shaking hand over her shoulder, pointing up. Y/N follows the direction, turning. In the rafters, leaning over the edge of the fence with his hands dangling as calm as can be, Brock smiles his wicked, vile smile down at her. He wiggles his fingers in a wave, cocking his head to the side.

“Quite the show,” he commends, his voice echoing.

Y/N raises her gun to point at his head. The distance puts a clear shot at risk, but she can deal with the repercussions of that. A bleeding man is a vulnerable man. Brock holds his hands up as if they create a formidable barrier between himself and a bullet, his mouth pulled into a faux pout.

“I just wanna talk, Y/N. Then you can take little Willie back.” He says her name with disgust, purposeful in his misnaming. “I haven’t touched a hair on her head, I cross my heart.” He uses his pointer finger to draw an X over the left side of his chest.

Y/N imagines pulling the trigger and hitting that spot.

“She’s not here. That means if you kill me, you’ll never find her,” he warns as if privy to her ire and intentions.

She wishes he could see into her mind, if only to watch her kill him in every crafty way she learned— for walking back into her life, for touching Winnie. In the years since leaving the city and her life, she put away the desire to hurt someone out of anger and not need; it rushes her in full force, overcoming and torrential.

Y/N clenches her jaw, but lowers her gun to her side. Brock raises a brow, eyes flickering to the floor. She clicks the safety on and sets the gun on the ground. “The other ones, too, please.”

Y/N glares at him, unstrapping the knives from her calves.

“I’m sure you have another one hidden. I’m not a fool.”

She lifts up her sweatshirt and unclips the SIG, raising her hand to wave it at him as if to say ‘see? Last one’. It joins her other weapons on the floor. Brock nods, satisfied, and uses the railing to hold himself when he leans back. It shakes from his weight.

“Y/N,” Bucky says lowly, grabbing her forearm. He pauses at the outline of her final concealed knife and squeezes once.

She turns into him to whisper in his ear. “Help Sam and Wanda. She’s here somewhere, Buck. He wouldn’t let her get far.”

Bucky looks from her to where Sam and Wanda sit, the latter slowly waking up.

“Please. I’ve got this.”

Bucky nods once and lets Y/N go. He steps back, taking the heat of his body with him.

“Good guard dog,” Brock mocks from above.

Y/N closes her eyes for a breath, steeling herself, before pushing through the curtains. A ladder leads upwards and into the rafters. She unhooks the chain stating only authorized persons can use it, and starts climbing.

The ceiling stops ten feet high where the V of the roof begins, the ladder extending that length. Y/N works quickly, her boots thudding against the rungs in tune to the racing of her heart. Below her, Sam eases Wanda into his lap and Bucky crouches next to them, his head craned back to look up at her. She smiles at him, feeble, and then pulls herself onto the rafter.

It spans four feet wide and five times as long. Halfway down, Brock sits in a folding metal chair, one ankle crossed over the other. He nods at the matching chair across from him, against the opposing railing. Y/N straightens, pulling her shoulders back and her head high, stalking down the length. The grate clangs with her steps, the structure shaking.

Eyes on Brock, she takes the seat.

He trails his gaze from her shoes to her head, settling on meeting her glare. “Your kid is scrappy,” he starts.

Y/N runs her tongue over her teeth. She taught Winnie a few ways to defend herself, small things capable of a kid. Go for the eyes. The nose. Use fingernails. Kick. Scream. It settles little in her to know Winnie listened. What does that matter if it didn’t work?

Brock points to his cheek. “I got this from her. You teaching her all your neat tricks? She know how to use a knife and a gun, too? You gonna teach her your… other skills when the time comes?” he goads.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, looking away. Dust motes float in the air over the seating area. Ropes from an old production hang from a beam overhead. She counts the fibers she sees from here rather than look at him.

“C’mon, Y/N! We used to talk all the time, do you remember? Catch me up, what’s new with you? Aside from the name and the child and the job, of course. Actually, how about I catch you up on me, since I already know everything about you?” He says it slowly, taunting her.

She bores into the rope harder.

Brock sighs. “See, I got into a horrible accident. A fire, of all things. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” He picks an invisible piece of lint from his pants, eyebrows raised as if expecting a response. “ Well, when I got out, the healing took quite a bit of time—”

“Brock, what do you want?” she barks, tired of his monologuing. She knows what happened to him, and anything after doesn’t matter.

He shrugs. “You really hurt my feelings, Y/N,” he pouts. “And then you put your dogs on me? I just want to know why.”

She scoffs, clasping her hands together on her lap.

“Look at me.”

She ignores him.

“Look at me!” he roars, hoarse and loud.

When she refuses, he grips her chin between bruising fingers and yanks her head to level with him. He sneers, close enough for his breath to sour the air. Y/N glares at him. He shakes her head, his snarl softening into a grin. “See how easy that was?” he coos.

Y/N wets her lips.

Brock, unbeknownst to her left hand creeping up the sleeve of her right arm, leans out of his seat and across the aisle to handle her. His unbalanced weight tips the chair onto its front legs, the metal scratching on the grate when he shifts.

“Why does this matter?” she asks for the sake of distraction.

Brock huffs, his grip tightening, and rolls his eyes. Y/N takes the moment to wrap her fingers around the hilt of her knife.

“Because you disrespected me. I am a man deserving of reverence, you see. And you just…” he tsks.

Y/N unsheathes the knife, the sound hidden beneath his voice. “But why my kid, Brock?” she pleads, as if she cares for his answer.

He opens his mouth to respond. Y/N takes the opening, withdrawing her knife. It enters his thigh with a sick squelch. He falls into his chair, gasping. Y/N, hand still gripping the hilt, follows, shoving it harder into his skin.

“Oh, you’re sneaky,” he commends, his hands coming down over her own.

She braces to fight against him, but he twists the knife. Y/N stills, a bolt of confusion interrupting her grip. In the second she foolishly untenses, Brock jolts forward, slamming his head into Y/N’s nose. It cracks from the force of his strike, pain sweeping across her face. She falls backward, dizzy. Blood rushes from her nose, leaking into her mouth.

The thing is, she got used to the pain of taking hits. Reveled in it, even. It heated the fight in her, made her vicious where she once held control.

She uses the sweatshirt sleeve to wipe under her nose. It stings, tears mixing with the blood. She pulls the fabric away, blood staining it.

Across from her, Brock groans. He grips the knife with one hand, the other around the wound, and pulls. Before the blade leaves his muscles, Y/N springs forward and slams it back down. Brock yells, head thrown back. His chest heaves with his breaths, his teeth stained with blood from his own broken nose.

Without looking, she reaches above for the rope. It pulls against her palm, the fibers rough and old. “You stupid fuck,” she chokes out around the blood and the coarse laughter bubbling in her throat.

She wraps the rope around his throat twice and yanks it. Brock’s hands fly to his neck, fruitlessly pulling on the makeshift noose. The reddened blood vessels in the whites of his eyes brighten the small tears along his lash line. He gapes like an ugly, unrepentant fish.

His cheeks and forehead flush from the lack of oxygen. Y/N loosens the rope.

“Where is she?” she demands in a low tone.

Brock sucks in a breath of air to waste it laughing.

Y/N pulls the rope.

His struggles matter little against her force and his weakness. The knife in his thigh shifts when he kicks at Y/N’s leg, aiming for her balance. She steps out of the way, seeing his hit move in slow motion with sluggishness.

Red washes over his face. She relaxes the rope again.

“Where is she?”

He shakes his head, grinning. “You’ll never get her back, Y/N. I went through trial by fire—”

“—Oh, shut the fuck up,” she shouts over his taunts, pulling once more.

Brock’s neck cracks from the force, his body twisting towards where she holds the rope but held in place by the tension point on the beam. His ineffective fingers grip his throat, no longer fighting. His eyes slide shut faster than he forces them open.

Y/N shifts closer to him, the rope slackening. “Where is—”

“—We found her!” a voice shouts from below.

Brock’s eyes widen, his mouth gaping open. Y/N sighs through a sickly satisfied smile. “Well, would you look at that?”

Brock wraps his fingers around the rope a second too late. Y/N pulls the slack tight, wrapping the rest of the length of her end around his throat. She threads the tip around the rope hanging from the beam and secures the end where the binding meets his neck. He struggles with renewed vigor, the laughter and malice drained from his eyes, true fear taking their place.

Y/N steps back, surveying her work with a quick glance and deciding the rope will hold. She exhales through her nose, using the sting and the pain for strength; for conviction.

His chair tips easily, when she pushes him. The shaking railing put up little fight against the weight of his body. It breaks, pieces falling to the seats below. The rope creaks from Brock’s swinging body, hitting against the rafter.

Y/N pushes away the cruel, sick pride swelling in her chest. She runs to the ladder and skids down it, missing rungs and nearly falling. Her boots hit the ground with a resounding thud. Past the curtains, in the center of the stage, Wanda kneels over a false portion of the floor, whereupon the two men sat. Someone dragged their bodies to the side.

Y/N skids the rest of the distance on her knees, bumping into Wanda. Below them, Natasha holds Winnie in her arms, rocking and shushing her. Bucky, Clint, and Steve stand around them, quiet and tense. Y/N sits, dangling her legs to jump, but Wanda grabs the back of her jacket.

“Wait,” she says.

Y/N stares at her, indignant and confused. “Get off of me. I’m going to see my kid.”

“Like that?” Wanda counters, waving to Y/N’s face.

Y/N presses her fingertips to her cheek, pulling away with blood on her skin. She looks at Winnie and then Wanda.

“She’s been scared enough, Y/N. Here.” Wanda wraps her sweatshirt around her hand and reaches for Y/N’s face.

She wipes the skin to the best of her ability, apologizing when Y/N hisses. Y/N cares little for the pain or how she looks. She needs to hold Winnie and check for wounds and— god, she just needs her kid.

“Okay,” Wanda whispers, pulling away.

Y/N turns to the hole. Bucky stands beneath it, looking up. He outstretches his arms. “Come on.”

Y/N jumps without hesitation, trusting Bucky to catch her. He does, hands on her hips, and steadies her. She offers a rushed “Thank you” and pushes past him, falling to her knees at Natasha’s side. Winnie looks up, tears shining on her cheek.

“Mama,” she cries, pulling away from Natasha and jumping in Y/N’s arms.

Y/N lets the force knock her back, landing on her butt with her knees bent to brace Winnie’s body against her own. She presses a hand to Winnie’s head and wraps an arm around her body, holding her tight. “Oh, baby,” she whispers, sniffling.

Y/N rocks them side to side, Winnie trembling in her arms. Around them, her friends shuffle and whisper. Someone climbs their way out of the floor, and then another two follow. Y/N doesn’t need to look to know Bucky stayed with them, and that Natasha and Steve and Clint took their leave.

Into Winnie’s hair she says, “The rafters. Tell Steve to check him.” Her voice is steady and cold, despite the shaking in her hands and the pressure in her chest.

Bucky calls up to Steve, telling him to do as Y/N asked.

“I tried, Mama. I tried,” Winnie wails into Y/N’s shoulder.

“I know, honey. You did so well. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She repeats it until the words taste like mashed potatoes on her tongue and lose their meaning, and then she says it more.

How can she make this okay? She took Winnie away to save her from moments like this. The fear, the uneven ground on which she stands, paralyzes her. She dealt with tantrums and friends and nosy neighbors, but not this. How does a mother save her kid from remembering this?

Bucky said kids are resilient, and Y/N told him they shouldn’t have to be. She means it, but what does she do when her kid needs that resiliency? Winnie is young and bright and bounces back, but from this?

“Y/N,” Bucky says from above. “We gotta go.”

Y/N holds Winnie tighter, shaking her head. Outside, Brock waits in the rafters. She refuses to subject Winnie to seeing a body hanging; a man her mother killed.

“The rafters,” she presses.

Bucky sighs, resting his palm on the back of her neck. Y/N opens her eyes. Bucky crouches next to them, expression sorrowful and as full as it is empty. “Steve’s taking care of it. We gotta get her outta here, sweetheart.” He rubs his thumb beneath her ear, trying for comfort and failing if only for the circumstances.

“C’mon,” he encourages.

Y/N exhales. “Okay,” she concedes.

She readjusts Winnie, wrapping her legs around her waist and keeping her head tucked into her shoulder. She waits for Bucky’s instructions, too exhausted to think beyond keeping Winnie from seeing things a kid should never see. He looks from Y/N to the floor above and back.

“I’m going to hold her and you’re going to jump out, so when I pass her up she can go straight to you again, okay?” he asks gently but leaves no room for argument.

Y/N nods but hesitates to pass Winnie over. Bucky steps into her space, not reaching for her daughter but for Y/N. He pulls her in, wrapping his arms around both of them and resting his chin on Y/N’s free shoulder. She sags into his chest, dropping her forehead to his shirt, and breathes in his scent.

Some things never change, like his cologne mixed with his natural smell. Like the comfort his arms bring. Like the fluttering in her chest that whispers ‘home, this is home’. Bucky kisses the junction where her shoulder and neck meet, like she did to him earlier today and a million times before. She returns the gesture, then shifts to pass Winnie over.

“Mama!” Winnie cries at the change.

“It’s okay, baby,” Y/N coos, caressing her head. “Bucky’s gonna hold you so I can get out and then you, okay?”

Winnie shakes her head, eyes pinched shut. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know. I know. But we gotta, baby.” She leans down and presses a long kiss to Winnie’s forehead then steps back.

Above her, Clint reaches through the hole, fingers extended. Y/N jumps the short distance between their grips, latching onto Clint’s wrist and Clint to hers. He leans backwards, pulling her up. When the edge of the floor comes close enough to grab, she reaches out and uses it to pull herself up the rest of the way. Arms wrap around her waist, bringing her to solid ground.

Below, Bucky holds Winnie. He stares at her head tucked into his chest, his free hand floating in the air around her head before it settles in her hair. His body sags with a sigh. Y/N’s heart wrenches at the sight, at the rubble of a love she believed long dead, at least from the other end. She lied to herself and she lied to Bucky and she lied to Winnie.

Bucky straightens, looking up. He nods at Y/N, then whispers something to Winnie. They shift, Bucky raising Winnie in the air by the waist. Y/N reaches down, grabbing Winnie’s hand. “Hold on, honey. Hold on tight.”

Winnie listens, wrapping both hands around Y/N’s wrist. Behind her, Clint holds her hips to keep from toppling over. With the added help, she heaves Winnie out of the hole and into her arms. Winnie curls into her chest.

Y/N backs up, allowing Bucky the room to jump and grab the floor with Clint’s help. Over her daughter’s head and in the rafters, Steve wipes Y/N’s knife on his shirt until the blood transfers. He severed the rope holding Brock up, its frayed edges unmoving.

Y/N pushes to her feet, a hand on the back of Winnie’s head to keep it down. “Close your eyes,” she says, just in case.

She sniffs, looking from friend to friend. Wanda sports a budding bruise on her cheekbone, her hair in disarray. Sam holds his shirt to his lip to staunch the bleeding. Natasha slips into the space between Y/N and Clint, standing close enough to hear her breathing. Bucky stands on Y/N’s other side, his hand hovering over her lowering back.

Steve joins them after descending from the ladder. The blood stains his shirt, but otherwise he bears no mark of what the night brought.

“Were there any others?” Y/N asks lowly, as if her voice will break the precarious peace.

“No. Just these three,” Steve says.

“You’re sure?” she presses.

“Yeah?” He frowns. “Why?”

“He said there were people who we…” she shakes her head, not wanting to say the words in front of her daughter.

Steve’s face clears with understanding. “Yeah. It was just them.”

“Good. Okay. That’s good.”

Clint clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Why don’t you guys get going? Take the car. There was another one in the back the rest of us can pile into.”

Y/N nods slowly, struggling to process anything past the weight of Winnie in her arms. She turns, looking at Bucky, hoping her plea to take control comes through in her silence. Bucky nods. “I think that’s a good idea.” He steps in closer, his hovering hand finally setting on her back and heating her skin despite the barrier of her jacket and sweatshirt. She leans into it. “You guys take care of this.”

No one asks what he means. They know. A short round of confirming nods, and Bucky presses Y/N onward, to the stairs on the left of the stage. He walks her down the aisle she stormed an hour ago and down the steps of the theater. Y/N trusts him to lead her, her will and energy drained in equal measure. He opens the back door of the Mustang, stepping aside to allow Y/N to slide in, Winnie holding tight and refusing to let go.

She makes it work, settling into the bench seat. She rests her cheek on Winnie’s head, closing her eyes. Winnie’s chest contracts and expands with her breaths, in tune with Y/N’s. Her small fingers grip the lapel of Y/N’s jacket as if she wants to crawl inside. Y/N knows that feeling.

The car turns on, jostling the pair as Bucky drives away. Y/N shifts, setting her chin on Winnie’s head to meet Bucky’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He looks away when she catches him, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He swallows and nods, but doesn’t respond.

The drive takes less time than how it feels, Y/N’s sluggishness slowing the truth and stretching it into something her head tries to make sense of. The houses and store fronts she passed on the way to the theater look the same; dark due to the time of the night— morning, actually. The homes boast gardens and nice lawns; the shops sales or delicious desserts.

It’s Y/N that is different; changed within a few hours beyond recognition. She reckons her life readied her for the shifts to come, but she doesn’t feel prepared. The sweat cooled on her skin in a sticky blanket and her ears ring. Her head pounds and her eyes strain to stay open through the stinging.

Perhaps she didn’t change, not exactly. She reverted back to her old self, a person who no longer fits in her life. She thought she missed the city and herself, but she moved on and grew without it. Trying that person on after so long without her is stifling. Can she be both people at once? Or only ever a self-made sinner or a suburban mother?

Bucky opens her door, having pulled up to her house. She takes his offered hand, using it to leverage into standing without knocking Winnie’s head. Her tremors stopped somewhere along the drive, replaced with quiet sighs— a marking of sleep.

They shuffle into the house, turning on the necessary lights to see but not disturb Winnie. Bucky halts at the bottom of the stairs, rocking from foot to foot with his hands in his pockets.

Y/N smiles, using her free hand to cup his face. He closes his eyes and leans into it. “I’m just putting her to sleep. I’ll be down.”

He nods against her palm, following it for half a second when she pulls away before righting himself. His weighted attention heats her back as she climbs the stairs to Winnie’s room, careful to avoid the loudest creaks.

Winnie’s room remains a vision of earlier: the bed mussed from her playing with Natasha, the bottom of her dresser open from where Y/N forgot to close it all the way. Y/N pauses in the doorway, taking in another thing left the same while the people inside it changed.

She lets the grief consume her for a harrowing moment. It winds through her bones and flows through her veins. It joins the pounding in her head and the ringing in her ears. It stings with her nose and aches with her feet. It becomes a person within her, filling her to capacity because one body can only hold one person, but here she holds three.

She swallows it down and presses on, like she trained herself to do in her youth. A talent she carried with her into her adulthood and crocheted into the blanket laying across Winnie’s bed. She peels it back and lays Winnie down, untwining her arm from her neck and hand from her lapel. Winnie shifts when Y/N covers her, holding the blanket as she did Y/N’s jacket.

The rocking chair in the corner of the room beckons for her to sit. She listens, abandoning her promise to return to Bucky. He can wait.

She feared the worst upon Brock’s call. Him killing Winnie, hurting her beyond repair. Never seeing, holding, touching, kissing her daughter again. In the seconds where Brock withheld Winnie’s location, Y/N imagined who else she could become. If she thought herself reckless and cruel before, a life without her daughter— a life wherein Brock took her— the loss would mold her, shape her, beyond recognition.

Winnie sighs, drawing her knees up.

Y/N exhales. She won’t find out what kind of monster she can become, not anymore. Not with Winnie sleeping soundly across the room, safe and home and alive. Alive, alive, alive. Y/N swears, as she did before, to make it right.

If she must remold the world to better fit Winnie now— young, sweet Winnie who has a Before and After like her mother— she vows to do it. She never wanted Winnie to section her life off in parts; to divide herself between two times and force sense into any part of life she can.

She props her elbow on the air of the chair, her chin on top of her fist, and pushes her feet into the floor to rock the chair. She bought it for Winnie’s nursery, and couldn’t part with it when Winnie grew too old to want to use it. Y/N sat in this chair to watch Winnie sleep in her crib, to nurse her, to read to her.

Salt touches her lips before she realizes she’s crying, slow but full and so real it hurts. She sniffles, wiping her nose and hissing at the sting. Her shoulders shake with the effort to keep her sobs silent. She covers her eyes with a shaking hand, hiding herself from the room and the space and the new truth.

It wracks through her chest, the chair quaking with her.

She gasps, pressing her other hand to her chest to berate her heart into slowing, only it bolsters the beat and it bolsters the desolation and it bolsters, bolsters, bolsters, until she isn’t a person at all. Just grief married to grief in flesh and bone.

She laughs around the tears, quiet and spiteful. She sure knows how to suffer. If suffering deserves a class, she deserves to teach it.

Hands brace her thighs, stopping the chair and leaning her forward. She pulls her hand from her face. Bucky looks up at her, kneeling at her feet. He reaches up, wiping beneath one eye and then the other. It’s that, his skin on her skin, his eyes on hers, his face drawn and his smell and him coming when she called— it breaks the walls she tried to build between them for the sake of saving her heart, less so piece by piece and more so by a row of C4 reducing it to dust.

She flings her arms around his shoulders, stopping only when their bodies meet and refuse to melt into each other. He wraps his arms around her in return, just as tight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her skin.

The words form on her tongue for why he shouldn’t apologize, why it doesn’t matter now, why she doesn’t care how he hurt her and how she hurt him, so long as he stays. Instead, she shakes her head. “Me, too.” She is sorry, more than she can bear to admit, not out of pride but for fear of draining herself dry by the time she finishes.

Bucky pulls back, his hands coming up to where her shoulders meet her neck. Unshed tears shine in his eyes, bright in the darkness, reflecting the slowly rising sun through the window. He sniffs, using his grip to draw her forehead to press against his. She mirrors his hold, thumbs on his jaw and fingers on the sides of his neck.

“I didn’t want you to go, not without me,” he starts in a hushed whisper. “But I thought… I was worried I’d put you guys in danger. More people want my head than yours; it’d take more to disappear me, and you needed to get out then. There wasn’t enough time. But I wanted; I need you to know that I wanted.”

Y/N wets her lips, tasting the last of her tears. Their breaths mingle. Too much clouds her head to get out in a way that makes sense. “I didn’t know,” she decides on. 

Bucky sighs. “I guess we both kept things from each other.”

It stings but it’s true and fair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— it wasn’t my choice to make.”

“No, but it was still the right one. For Winnie. For you.”

She lets that settle in her chest, his absolution for her gravest mistake; her cruelest act of love. It stifles the rushing in her ears.

Y/N pulls back to kiss Bucky’s forehead, tilting his neck back to look up at her. “I miss you, Bucky. A lot. I’ve made a life here because I’ve had to, for Winnie. But it hurts, like a contestant ache in my chest and my bones and I just— I just miss you.”

Bucky coos on a sigh. “I know, baby. I miss you too, like a limb. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Y/N thinks about it, staring into the distance at a poster on the wall. He came when she called, and he means this now, she bets her life on it. She thinks about their past, her present and how it diverges from his. The Commandos back home and the ones cleaning up her mess here. If she asked Bucky to leave them, he would do it in a heartbeat. Less than a heartbeat.

She almost does, opens her mouth to ask for it because he’ll say yes, but she stops. He made them, his family, from the ground up. Leaving them will hurt him more than it did her. On the other side, she won’t risk Winnie’s life on the off chance something like this won’t happen again. She won’t take Winnie away from her stability. Her friends. Her life. Y/N refuses to introduce her daughter to the life she left.  

“I don’t know, Bucky. I can’t ask you to leave the Commandos for me. I just won’t. It wouldn’t be fair. But it wouldn’t be fair to Winnie to uproot her life, either. Nor am I willing to risk her life because I miss you.”

The constant sacrifice of loving someone wholly wears on her bones. She wouldn’t change a thing about Winnie, or anything she did for Winnie; she only wishes it were easier.

“Do you trust me?” Bucky whispers.

He asked her this once, years ago in their wild youth, and she said yes without hesitation. It tastes like a memory and truth when she whispers it now. 

“Then I’ll take care of it,” he promises. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Y/N sighs, the weight of choosing gently lifted from her shoulders. She nods, conceding to his authority if only for this relief.

“Y/N,” Bucky whispers.

She hums, rubbing her thumb along his jaw.

“Can I please kiss you now?” he begs, small in a way Bucky rarely gets save for when unsure.

“Please,” she whispers in turn, just as pleading and off kilter.

He eases her forward, pausing just before their lips meet. His breath tickles her face, gentle and warm. Whatever he searches for on her face, he finds. He pulls her the rest of the way forward, their lips touching enough to feel it but not enough to satisfy her.

She forgoes his hesitance, pressing into him once more and kissing him with all the love she missed giving him. It was always Bucky for her. Always.

She tries to show him as much with her lips and her tongue, to tell him without words how she longed for him despite the distance. That the heart in her chest belongs to him even though that same heart knows better how to be cruel than loving and kind.

Bucky’s hands fall from her neck to her waist, steadying her. He tilts his head for a better angle, his nose brushing against hers.

Y/N startles back with a gasp, panting. Bucky looks up at her with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice thick.

Y/N can’t help but to huff a laugh. She presses her fingers to her lips and shakes her head. “My nose.”

“Oh, shit,” Bucky says, rising on his knees. “We need to set this.” He tilts her head in the dim light as if looking for something past the break.

“Not here. I don’t want to wake Winnie.”

Bucky looks over his shoulder to Winnie. A small smile ticks up the corners of his lips. He sighs and returns his attention to Y/N. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Y/N drowns in his gaze, warm and tired but tangible through the rays of the rising sun shining across his cheeks. He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, allowing her to drink in her fill, patient in a way only he knows how. In the liminal space between them, time halted and peaceful, the events of the night fall back. Bucky takes the space, settling into the spot in which he belongs.

Voices below and the gentle closing of her front door break the moment, not in a way that shatters but in a return to reality. Y/N offers a small smile which Bucky returns. She holds her hands against his on her cheeks, squeezes once, and withdraws them. The time for intimacy will come, but it does not belong in her daughter’s room or with her broken nose.

Bucky, in his easy understanding of the words unsaid, presses a kiss to her knuckles. He stands, pulling her with him. She follows like a magnet to metal; like the moon around the earth— wherein he is the moon and she is the earth, and he is the earth and she is the moon.

He waits in the doorway, leaning against its frame, while Y/N checks one last time on Winnie. Her hands press between her cheek and her pillow, eyes moving beneath her lids and mouth gaped for small gasps. Y/N smooths her hair back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Winnie shifts to follow the touch before settling once more into her slumber.

Y/N meets Bucky at the door, sliding past him to the hallway. He lingers for a second, facing Winnie. Y/N allows him the illusion of privacy, waiting for him at the top of the stairs. They need to talk about this, Winnie, and what comes next. Bucky said he’ll take care of it, and Y/N trusts him to do so, but she knows a kiss and a precarious peace forged after a night wrought with panic and anger does not take the place of the hard conversations in their future.

Bucky shuts the door, leaving a crack of space open, and joins Y/N’s side. Hushed conversation meets them from where they stand, the voices low and slow and tired. Y/N braces herself to rejoin her friends and the severity of what they finished. Bucky’s hand on her back lends strength to push forward.

She steps heavy on the stairs that creak, a kind announcement of their coming presence. Bucky follows a step behind her.

Her friends lounge around her living room, Wanda leaning into Natasha’s shoulder on the couch, Steve to Natasha’s left. Sam and Clint occupy the arm chairs perpendicular to the sofa, the former with his head reclined against the backrest and closed eyes. Clint sits with his back against one armrest and his legs dangling over the other, Sam’s hand absently on his shoulder. He looks up when Y/N appears.

All things considered, they don’t look too bad. Sam’s lip stopped bleeding and Wanda suffers rope burns and a sore head, but otherwise they made it out better than expected. Clint dons the most wounds from whatever he took care of before joining their crusade.

Y/N takes a spot on the floor across from the couch, the coffee table between herself and her friends. Bucky stands next to her, leaning against the entertainment center with his arms crossed. The group shares similar looks in turn, both full and empty and tinged with relief.

“It’s done?” Bucky asks above her head.

Steve hums his agreement and leaves it at that. The less they know about how they took care of the bodies, the better.

Y/N wraps a hand around Bucky’s ankle, rubbing her thumb against the bone. He shifts closer to her side.

“What’s next?” Wanda asks, eyes closed and cheek squished into Natasha’s jacket.

Y/N waits for a response, from Bucky or Sam or whomever, but her friend’s attention falls to her. She looks up at Bucky, who stares at her, too. She supposes the responsibility falls to her, since it affects her life and her child. When Steve tried to mediate her argument with Bucky in the kitchen, she chose to step up and take control. Despite her fatigue and general desire to crawl inside of Bucky and sleep for as long as possible, she accepts their gentle pressing for her to decide.

She sighs. “I don’t know. You guys go home, I guess. I stay here and make it work. Help Winnie process.” Y/N shakes her head, out of her depth.

The strength from her friends dissipates as fast as it came. She sags, leaning her head against Bucky’s leg. His hand settles on her head, fingers caressing behind her ear.

“We set your nose,” he says, taking over. “That’s what’s next. And then we get some rest, and deal with everything else tomorrow.” He looks at their friends in turn as if they might protest.

No one does. Sam grumbles his reply, head still craned back, and the rest nod tiredly. They’re beaten but not broken, exhausted but alive, and that’s enough for now.

“I have a bed in my room and a pull out in Winnie’s,” Y/N offers, limited in places to sleep for never having company.

Bucky clears his throat, red tinging his cheeks. He averts his gaze from Y/N, staring at his feet. “I, uh, I know someone in town who has some extra room.”

Y/N straightens, narrowing her eyes. “Who?” she demands, sharp and accusing.

Bucky wets his lips and sighs. “Don’t be angry.”

Y/N leans away to better scowl at him. Who does he know in town? Why does he know anyone in town besides her and Winnie? She knows the answer to that, in the recesses of her mind behind the overwhelming fog of exhaustion. Leave it to Bucky to make contacts in her home because sending her friends to check up on her doesn’t suffice his need to protect.

He rubs his fingers from behind her ear to down her neck, massaging away the knots in her muscles as if to subdue her budding frustration. “Peter,” he admits quietly.

Y/N closes her eyes and inhales. Of course. Her babysitter. It checks out. “This is a conversation for later, James,” she concedes.

“Ooh, ‘James’,” Natasha taunts with a half-smirk.

“Shut up.” Bucky flicks his eyes to Y/N and then away.

She lets the tension sit on his shoulders, hoping it weighs enough to prepare him for his future admonishment, before relaxing into him again. She can’t blame him, she loves just as fiercely and off center of normal. If he left for a town of new people, she would keep an eye on him, too. She intends to save that admission after scolding him.

Bucky sorts out who goes where. Clint and Sam take Peter’s offered couch, standing with great effort and bidding their goodbyes. They pass by Y/N, Sam caresses her head on his way by and Clint bends down for a one armed hug and kiss to her temple. The door whispers shut behind them.

Natasha volunteers to sleep on Winnie’s pull out before anyone else can. She dislodges Wanda’s head from her shoulder and stands, marking her claim by her readiness. She nods once to Y/N, an acceptance of the responsibility for protecting Winnie. On her way by Steve, she runs her fingers through his hair. Y/N resolves to talk to Nat about that, ask her why she denies herself happiness. They deserve each other.

Y/N threatens Wanda and Steve when they try to decline her designation of her bed. They deserve a good night’s rest, especially Wanda. Bucky supports her with a firm, no-nonsense tone. Steve rolls his eyes at that, mumbling under his breath about Bucky taking the chance to return to Y/N’s good graces. Nonetheless, he carts a half-asleep Wanda upstairs.

Bucky offers his hand for her to stand. He pulls her up and into his chest, holding their intertwined hands between their bodies, his other palm against her back. He presses their cheeks together. “I never could let you go, not fully,” he admits into her skin.

Y/N sighs. “He’s a good kid,” she grants, tucking away the scolding and the questions for tomorrow.

Bucky leads her to the couch, sitting her in the center. She looks up at him, silhouetted by the early morning light, his hair a halo. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers, brushing his thumb from her temple to the corner of her lip.

She watches him leave, following his form around the couch and to the kitchen. A rustle and the murmur of a cabinet door closing, he reappears holding a torn sheet of paper towel. He sits next to her, angling their bodies together, and rests his palms on her cheeks, stroking the bone. “This is gonna hurt,” he warns.

Y/N snorts and regrets it, the pain reverberating through her face in mocking of her shirking his words. “I’m well aware.”

Bucky fondly rolls his eyes, the ire diminished by the smile playing at his lips. He braces her nose with his palms. “On three?”

“Oh, as if—”

She gasps, the bone in her nose crunching. Nausea erupts in her stomach and up her throat. She swallows back the bile. “Ouch,” she moans.

“I told you,” Bucky teases.

He twists the ends of the paper towels and inserts them into her nose, mumbling his apologies when she hisses. She broke her nose once before, and dealt with far worse wounds after it, but the current sting overcomes her. The last injury she cared for came from a mishap in the kitchen, remedied by Neosporin and a Hello Kitty Band-Aid. She long forgot pain past minor cuts and scrapes.

“You’re a mess,” Bucky says.

Y/N kicks his leg, too enervated to form a smart-ass response.

“Come on,” he encourages, pressing her backwards with a hand to her shoulder.

Her back meets the couch. She sinks into it. Bucky shifts her to slide between her and the backrest. He pulls her close with an arm around her waist, tangling their legs together. If she had half the mind to speak, she would tell him how his chest belongs at her back; that her heart beats to his cadence, and she breathes in when he does. Exhales when he exhales.

Instead, she sighs and presses against him. He tightens his hold and presses a kiss to her shoulder. It says enough that she leans into it and he does it again, that her skin prickles with solace from his proximity. That her eyes close and she slips into sleep without a fight, warm and safe.

She awakens colder than when she fell asleep, her back no longer heated by Bucky’s body. The once soft morning light brightened into a glaring across her face, the slats in her blinds directing it to her eyes. She squints, pressing up to her side, and looks around.

Small laughter sounds in the kitchen alongside muffled clangs. Y/N leans forward, peering through the doorway. Bucky stands at the stove, his clothes and hair sleep mussed. Steve leans against the counter next to him, nursing a steaming cup of coffee and staring towards the table. He sports a small grin behind his mug, eyebrows raised.

Y/N observes their easy movements. Bucky flips something in the pan, then looks over his shoulder. He chuckles softly at whatever he sees before returning his attention to the food. Y/N smiles, allowing herself to believe for a moment that Bucky intends to make a home out of her home; to cook breakfast and make coffee and smile over his shoulder at Winnie’s laughter.

Y/N flops onto the couch and stretches, extending her arms above her head and her toes over the armrest. Her muscles ache and her face throbs and her head pounds, but it fades into the background of her morning, well-earned relief quelling it enough for her to smile. She relaxes, sagging into the cushions and closing her eyes.

They have miles to go before their lives return to normal— as close to normal as possible, at least. New, frightful experiences to traverse in a way Winnie understands, helping to make sense of why bad things happen to good people. Why mother’s lie to their children, and how to grow from it.

The prospect of giving Winnie the tools she needs daunts Y/N, heavy and looming in the distance, but the weight lessens when thinking of Natasha, who wants to rejoin Y/N’s life and find space in Winnie’s. At Bucky’s voice telling her to trust him; he’ll figure it out. He’ll take care of it. At her friends, who she abandoned but returned, not just when she called, but when time allowed them to check on her and her daughter.

Hell, even Peter, a liar just as much as Y/N and for as good of reasons as Y/N.

Five years alone, learning how to keep herself whole and running while teaching her kid the same tricks. Wake up and eat. Go to school. Learn. Make friends. One day at a time; one pant leg at a time. She kept going because she had to, for Winnie, but now the reasons for why she lived before, beyond motherhood and caretaking and fear, returned when she called.

It’s all she thinks now, and when Steve walked through her front door, followed by Bucky and Nat, then Wanda and Sam, then Clint. A parade of her friends, of her family, dropping their lives when she asked. She refuses to leave them again; promises to keep them in any capacity they allow.

She shuns the quiet fear of vulnerability, casting it away, and vows to stay this time.

On the high of new company with faces of old, she sits up. She pulls back the blanket someone laid over her while she slept, draping it over the back of the couch. Her boots rest neatly side by side under the coffee table, despite her forgetting to take them off before she fell asleep.

Y/N smiles at them and the weight of the silent action— the gentle kindness of caring for someone when they can’t see it to offer gratitude.

“Mama!” Winnie shouts, jumping from her seat at the table when Y/N stumbles into the kitchen.

Y/N crouches, catching Winnie in her arms. “Hi, baby. How’d you sleep?”

Winnie struggles in her hold, pushing away so they stand face to face. “Good. Auntie Nat was there.”

Y/N hums, nodding. “Yes, she was.”

“Mister Bucky is making pancakes for us!” She points to Bucky, who steadfastly keeps his attention on the pan.

Y/N pats Winnie’s head and stands. “He sure is. That’s nice of him, isn’t it?”

Winnie shakes her head vehemently, her hair flying in her face and catching in her teeth from her wide grin. Y/N snorts, hooking a finger around the strands and tugging them free. Winnie pulls her head away with a pout, annoyed. Y/N pokes her nose to make her smile again. It works enough for Winnie to return to her buoyant demeanor, too loud for the pounding in Y/N’s head but not enough for her to squash it. Winnie turns on her heel and returns to her seat, Natasha on her right and Wanda on her left.

An empty spot at the far end of the table where the chair Y/N bleached signifies its discarding. Y/N huffs, overcome with the rush of affection for the blanket and boots and the damned chair. She admires the space for a moment longer, then turns to Bucky. He whips his head back to the stove as if she didn’t catch him staring.

She rests against the counter to his left. “Was that you?”

“Was what me?” he asks the pancake.

Y/N rolls her eyes but leaves it well enough alone, except to lean over and whisper, “Thank you.”

Bucky reaches behind her and procures a half-filled coffee mug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he fibs, handing her the cup.

She takes it, both the shirking of accepting her gratitude and the coffee. It’s his, based on the cream and sugar. Another thing unchanged despite the years. Two cream and a dash of sugar. Still, she sips it gratefully.

Around her, her friends shuffle and converse, casual exchanges of words she ignores in favor of enjoying the background noise it provides. The bleach scent long dissipated, in its place wafting vanilla and cinnamon. She bets if she checks behind Winnie’s chicken nuggets someone discarded her bloodied dress, and hazards a guess at whom.

A knock at the front door signals the arrival of Clint and Sam, who enter without prompting. They trail into the kitchen throwing barbless ribs at one another. Another form, hunched over and hiding, follows in their shadows.

Y/N sets her coffee mug on the counter and crosses her arms. Peter stares at the tile, shame a neon sign through his frown and drawn expression. Y/N narrows her eyes at him, daring him to look. Around them, the quiet conversation halts save for Winnie’s ramblings. Bucky deposits a finished pancake on a plate and pours the batter for another one.

Peter’s gaze flicks up to Y/N’s and then down again. She sighs. “Did he pay you?” she accuses, knowing the answer.

Bucky freezes, surreptitiously glancing over his shoulder, lips thinning when he sees Peter. Sam and Clint stand off to the side, leaning against the wall with their shoulders touching, attention on Bucky. Steve’s gaze flickers between Y/N, Bucky, and Peter, and Wanda and Nat pretend to focus on Winnie.

“Well?” Y/N prompts.

Peter clears his throat. “Yes,” he admits, posture wilting further.

Y/N holds the tension of the moment, powerful from her relaxed stance at the counter, and then grins. “Good. You probably could’ve asked for more than he’s been giving you. We could’ve split it.”

Peter’s head shoots up, confused. “I—what?”

Y/N shrugs, retrieving the coffee mug and smirking through a sip. “Oh, c’mon now, Peter. Do you take me for a fool?”

“You knew?” Peter and Bucky exclaim at the same time.

She didn’t, but she lets them think she figured it out ages ago, if only to watch Bucky’s expression morph into annoyance and Peter’s into bewilderment. Natasha rolls her eyes from her seat, reading through Y/N’s ploy.

The atmosphere lightens, Peter uncurling his shoulders and Bucky returning to the burning pancake. He flips it with his fingers and yelps, shaking his hand to cool it. Winnie laughs.

“Idiot,” Y/N scolds fondly.

“Shut up.”

She does, training her eyes on his profile. His attempt to feign ignorance diminishes at his sporadic glances in her direction, lips pulled up in a smile. She watches him watch the pancakes, flipping them and pouring more batter until he empties the bowl. Sam and Clint elbow past Steve for the coffee and Peter joins Winnie at the table.

It’s all right, all things considered. The chatter fills her usually quiet kitchen, and the gaping whole in her chest. She memorizes the reflection of the sun on the tiles and the clinking of Bucky setting plates in front of the respective eaters, superimposing it over the slideshow of yesterday and every day before— so why they leave, she can pull it from the dusted corners of her mind and relive this moment.

Bucky passes her a plate, taking place by her side. He elbows her. “You didn’t really know, did you?” he whispers.

Y/N shrugs, cutting into the pancake. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Okay. Then I’m lying.”

“Y/N,” he whines, drawing her name out.

She hopes he says it for the rest of their lives, just like that. Sweet like the syrup dripping from her fork, and long like the time she wants with him. Still, she doesn’t grant him the truth, content to omit this one lie.

“Come here,” he says, aware of their audience and the intimacy in the gesture.

She looks at him, leaning forward as if incapable of resisting, pulled into his orbit like a comet and making quick peace with how it may kill her. He meets her in the middle, their faces a breath and a hair between.

“Can I?” he mumbles, flickering between her eyes and lips, awaiting her response.

He’s always been good at that: patiently holding his hand out until Y/N takes it, to jump with him into the unknown. To take the plunge. She does, closing the gap for a short kiss tinged with coffee and morning breath and vanilla. It’s like coming home after a too-long trip to find everything exactly how you left it, changed only by distance and time but never by absence. 

“Ew,” Winnie groans.

Their friends laugh and then echo the sentiment. She pecks Bucky’s lips one more time for theatrics and because she can. She earned it. Bucky pulls back with a loud smack, scrunching his nose and grinning. A balled up napkin hits his cheek and falls to the floor, sparking a full chested laughter around the room, but most importantly from Bucky and Winnie.

Y/N laughs too, breathless for the relief of hope in her kitchen. Breathless for the fullness in her chest, not from grief but from a love long swallowed, crawling its way out of its lockbox, nestling into the spot named for Bucky, right next to the spot for Winnie.

She exhales, overwhelmed in a way she wants to stay, and digs into the rest of her pancakes. The rest will come when it comes, but for now she savors the bite and the moment.

[lantsovsupremacist]

nikolai lantsov: currents

warnings: nikolai lantsov being the best man ever wouldn’t you know 🙄☝️

spoilers: set during king of scars but no major spoilers!!!

you looked up from the paperwork strewn about the desk situated in a far corner of the war room. tucked away here, you would never be the first target. some might call it paranoia or chalk it up to the trauma of the civil war, but you simply preferred a spot to observe quietly in the shadows.

toyla and tamar followed the king inside, nodding at zoya, genya, and david surrounding you.

“oh. it’s you. it’s all of you. i...” the man, or more likely boy, who skittered into the room spoke in a squeaky tone, “an absolute honor. a dream, really.”

briefly meeting nikolai’s eyes as he turned around from shutting the door behind him, you transferred your line of sight to the figure now bowing at your feet. zoya scoffed, eyes rolling to the heavens. genya and david shared a cohesive frown.

dropping the pen from your hand, you pushed your hair over your shoulders and straightened. you listened thoughtfully as he gave an introduction to each of your fellow grisha, recounting his apparent conclusions of them. when he treaded the sparkling waters that were genya, your face began to drop into anger.

“the first tailor, who bears the marks of the darkling’s blessing.”

her flinch did not go unnoticed by you. and as the only one whose temper rivaled yours kept hers in check, you failed to. the pressure immediately began to decrease in the room and the air dry of any moisture. nikolai’s head whipped up, perhaps the one most familiar with your temperament (other than zoya in your shared youth—never happy to be on the receiving end of a soaked kefta in class).

his hands flew up, taking a step towards you, bartering with any position he could gain. your fierce protection over genya was not unknown to those close to you, a flaw in the monk’s faulty perception. you let your shoulders fall, calming any potential downpour.

if yuri noticed your show of power, he made no move to address it, “ravka’s most powerful tide maker. oh the stories of how the darkling sanctioned you with the power to drown men on land.”

you froze but not because of a lie. his words were all true. the darkling hand selected you for this special training at age eleven. you allowed the legend to transpire, protecting you much like kaz brekker, dirtyhands of ketterdam. this was not a lore you would repeat with starry eyes and dreams of an otherworldly fantasy. none of the lives you had been forced to take before jumping ship to join sturmhond during the civil war could be washed away.

for all of your hard edges and brutal words, there were chinks in your armor that could not be hidden. tamar and toyla brought a hand to their weapons in startling unison. zoya’s eyes called out for yours.

nikolai’s features immediately darkened, an eclipse shadowing the usual light in his eyes. he rose from his chair slowly, exhibiting all of the power that he had inherited.

the shameless monk managed to hold himself upright but the unchecked tremble of his fingers exposed the fear instilled by the king’s actions.

“if i ever hear of her name—any of their names—leaving your mouth again,” nikolai began, his words sharper than the edge of his sword, “for any purpose in any country,” nikolai paused to watch yuri shrink under his steady gaze, “there will be nothing left for your believers to mourn into martyrdom.”

you held your chin high, your eyes twin daggers poised to launch across the room and eagerly embed themselves in a target. the ire in your chest began to subside upon witnessing yuri’s response to your boyfriend’s threats, only to be readily replaced by a flush of desire as his hazel eyes sharpened.

breaking eye contact with the monk who could not decide where to offer his, you glanced about the room. zoya had steeled herself beside you, radiating enough anger to address each of yuri’s mislead and misspoken opinions. even david’s face appeared from behind the book in his hands, though he kept his page by leaving it open to rest on his lap.

“am i correct in my assumption that you have heard me clearly,” nikolai’s voice carried across the walls, not quite commanding any longer but instead demanding the attention of those stood inside.

“y-yes your highness,” yuri stumbled out weakly as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his wiry nose.

after finishing up matters with your friends, nikolai took off out of the room, glancing back to make sure you intended to follow. you fell in step behind him, remaining quiet until you reached the stairs leading up to his chambers.

“i could have handled him, you know,” you pressed nikolai, hands repeatedly flexing and unflexing as they brushed against the sides of your blue kefta. your tone held no anger, simply indicating a truth.

nikolai drummed his fingers against the railing, pausing before turning back to face you, “of course you could have, love, but where’s the fun in that for me?”

you appreciated his willingness to defend your honor but the playfulness in his tone felt forced. he did not even make an attempt at his trademark smile imbued by charm and confidence. you decided in that moment that you would do to see it’s safe return.

“nik,” you spoke, repeating yourself after the absence of an answer, “nik.” your hand finding its way into his own hanging limply at his side.

“do you really see yourself in that way?” his voice shook, nearly choking on his final words.

any time the topic was brought up, nikolai was reminded of your stance. you had broken down to him the night after the darkling fell at the hands of alina starkov. no matter any of your friend’s persuasion, you stood firm in your position. you deserved to pay for the harm you inflicted on so many innocent. you were a monster, one who had given in to being handcrafted by another.

the untroubled nature with which he typically carried himself had vanished. your own expression faltered. his particular kind of magic, knowing smirks and careful quips that were like incantations for smiles, vanished.

and while it was normal for nikolai to drop the facade of a charming king around you, the pain held in his eyes plummeted your heart into your stomach.

“i think i did once,” you replied airily, not wasting your breath on a lie that nikolai could surely detect before the sound waves settled, “right after the war ended.”

nikolai chewed on the inside of his cheek anxiously, “but you’ve intentionally chosen past tense to describe these feelings.”

“yes,” you nodded, drawing your lover closer to you by the lapels of his jacket, “always so observant. it’s only of the many things i admire about you.”

nikolai sighed, closing his eyes and letting his blonde curls fall upon your forehead. you brought a hand up to stroke his cheekbone, soaking in the warmth of his skin pressed up against own.

“your strength,” nikolai said after a moment, drawing a hand to your waist, “your perseverance.”

“hmm?” you hummed quietly in question, content to reside with him inside this moment only belonging to the two of you.

“qualities i admire in you, my love,” he smiled after a moment, not entirely to be described as filled with confidence but surety nonetheless.

the flush of color in your cheeks always reminded nikolai of the pink dahlias planted in his favorite corner of the garden. maybe it was because it was where he had first kissed you. he decided that was probably his reason, although he never needed one to justify the beauty of either the memory or girl in front of him now.

too caught up in the memory, nikolai’s lips dipped to yours. you could always grasp a lingering taste of saltwater no matter how far away he was from sea, how many weeks removed. it reminded you of home. it was home.

“i love that you protect me, sobachka” you whispered against his lips, down his jaw and neck.

you did not need the exaggerated tales of your terrifying capabilities to destroy to wear as armor anymore, for you had the best man you had ever known to guard you.

as his hand wove into your hair and the other spiraling lower down your back, your breath hitched in your throat when he answered, “i can do so much more than that, my sea.”

nikolai settled on a simple quip, something guaranteed to make you smile. as a boy, he dreamed of a girl who would laugh at all of his jokes. when he grew, he figured many would be forged, a fallacy to fall in good graces with the king. he had yet to detect a lie within the giggles that left your lips.

the golden haired king would do anything to see you smile. he would pour hours into chasing perfection for you. once, he had even allowed toyla to confer with him about romantic poetry. despite the recitation being quite dreadful, you had laughed the most you had in a long time that day. now, just to catch up with the smallest piece of that magic again, he brought a new poem to you each night.

“i thought that i had seen the most gorgeous sights as sturmhond,” he began, unable to help biting his lip at your smallest quirk of a smile, “the volkvolny showed me how to fall in love with the endless waves at sea.”

you sucked in a breath, immersed in the way he spoke so intentionally. he was entrancing. you loved to hear about his travels before you met him, immersed in his storytelling.

“but none of them were every as beautiful as the ones you make,” he finished with a grin.

instead of reaching up to smack him at the cliche, you ignored your first reaction and instead pulled him closer to you. with your hands tucked against the back of his neck, you allowed your thumb to ruffle his lose and unruly curls. here, he was soft and gentle, untouched by his role.

“our ship had four other tidemakers,” you voiced softly, recalling your betrayal of the darkling after sturmhond’s crew imposed a mutiny, “but you chose me to lead the crew. you told me that was because i was the most powerful, but i certainly wasn’t with the waves. my power was not as practiced with currents.”

“but they were the prettiest,” he chuckled with puppy dog eyes honoring his nickname.

you gaped at this confession, “are you telling me you picked me as a leader during a war because the waves i created were pretty?” the initial seriousness in your tone melted away with every breath.

“i remember calling them the prettiest,” he twisted your hips, swaying you with him, “didn’t help me that the girl that could make them was the most gorgeous one i had ever seen. darling, i’m a prince, so i will inform you now that i have met a lot of people.”

your laughter was more delicate now, trailing off as you found direction in his eyes, “i had not been trusted with currents in years,” your voice softened, “he wanted my power elsewhere. i hated all of it. do you know the only memory i have of my parents is my father guiding the currents with me while we fished outside of town as a child? i was so excited to create like that with my power but all i did was destroy,” fighting back any moisture building in your eyes, you continued, “you gave me that back, nikolai.”

nikolai felt his heart stir inside his chest. he caught up to one of his most favorite smiles of yours. a rarity it was, reserved for the quietest and most understated moments that you could hardly share due to the both of your occupations and temperaments.

“i love every part of you,” nikolai dictated, “every drop of saltwater in the sea could not compare.”

you repeated the phrase before stilling, “well, now you’ve gone and ruined this with another one of toyla’s fictions.”

“ah, ah,” he tsked, “i made that one up myself, love.”

[fvrxdrm]

5 Times

Pairing: Damnation!Leon Kennedy x Reader

Warning(s): None

*****

4 times Leon didn't confess his love and 1 time he did.

One

It was the giggles that sailed upon your boat, the laughter, the smiles. You both saw the funny in everything and that was your bond. You could be serious too; you loved deeply of others more than what was generally accepted. So you guessed the humor was how you let out the tension that kind of love brings. In those silly moments you were perfect, and they were the sweetness you needed in rough times. That's what friends do, right? It's the love that makes doors in emotional brick walls, the love that makes everything possible.

That's what Leon always thought. It was so cordial and unique in a way that he felt like what he valued so much was somehow outlandish and alien. He couldn't distinguish what comes out of him whenever you were with him and every tingle that raises hills on his skin was a puzzle he was unable to solve.

"I'll see you around," you mumbled against his chest.

"Yep." Leon unwrapped his arms around you albeit slowly, reluctant for some reason, and smiled through his pursed lips. "I'll see you around."

He watched as you wended your way from his house and into your home, a teasing tug pulling his lips at the ghost of your own against his cheek.

Two

Under the dim lights and the colorful ornamentations, your raiment sparkled against the gleam, catching the eye of many guests, predominantly Leon. You looked like a princess wearing a headband that imitated a crown, a top and a pair of pants embellished with a winking glint that could be mistaken as diamonds from afar, and heeled leather boots that comically made you look tall. Your hair was in a loose and messy braid with a few strands hanging just beside your face and a light chain that twisted along your H/L H/C locks.

Leon was in awe, no doubt. His focus was glued to your appearance. Even when his friends were making random conversations with him, he found it unbearably hard to keep his icy blues away from you.

"You should just ask her out, you know. You've been staring at her with heart eyes the entire night," Chris spoke as he followed the trail of Leon's gaze towards you.

Leon broke away from his stupor and shook his head at the man's voice, his blood rushing towards his neck and face.

"What? No, no. You're mistaken. I-I don't like her like that."

"You sure? Last time we were drunk you were yelling about how much you love her right into my ear."

"We were drunk, Chris."

"And? What's that saying again? A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts?" Chris simpered as Leon's eyes widened in surprise.

"What? Th-that's not true!" He denied.

"Mhm, sure. Anyway, my girlfriend's probably looking for me now," the taller and bulkier man said. "At least ask her to dance."

As Chris' footsteps faded away into the beat of the music, Leon thought about what he had said.

Did he actually like her, or was it just something he was confusing himself with? Either way, you were still a treasured dear to him and whether or not his heart was romantically beating for you, he would still value you the same, although he would probably be a bit clingier if you did end up together.

For now, he'll just ask you for a dance, go with the flow, and see what happens.

Three

The night rode in on a horse of pure midnight velvet, beckoned by the stars under the glow of a full moon. As the colors of the day rested, perhaps dreamt of the morrow, the forest became its monochrome beauty, darkened greens and golds that made an ever-changing, ever-present puzzle, question and answer united.

Fire danced beside you as you and Leon laid against under the constellation of stars and talked the night away, smiling and laughing at every jest that was told.

It felt pleasant to be in his arms and he felt warmth as a wild heart beat in his bars.

"This one," you began, leading his fingers towards a raised and silvery part of your skin, "I got this when I was younger. I got stabbed by a pencil."

"A pencil?"

"Yeah. My friend and I got into a fight and it was buried, like, 3-fucking-inches inside of me. And holy shit, my teacher didn't fucking notice it while I was bleeding profusely. I was leaking hamburger helper!"

Leon busted a gut and pulled you towards him even more as he shook in laughter.

You went on and on about the most absurd things that had happen during your childhood until you lost all energy and eventually fell asleep in Leon's arms.

You looked peaceful, he thought. Your face was so serene as if nothing had really affected you in any way. The world was cruel, but you only sought for the brighter side and stood along it with your back turned to the hell it truly bore. Your lips were parted lightly, and hair just a tad bit messy from all the exaggerated movements you'd done while telling your stories and tossing your head back while laughing. A part of your skin was showing as your top rode up, and he couldn't the blush that crawled up to his face when realized his hand was rested on that patch of skin.

He smiled.

Maybe he did like you, or love you. If his admiration wasn't enough, then his heart reassured him.

Four

"Oh, fuck!"

You swam away from Leon as fast as your arms and legs could fight against the water as he chased you, muscles and quads aiding him. Compared to you, he was more skilled in this type of stuff while you had chicken legs with barely anything of assistance. So it was no surprise when he caught up to you with spider hands and wrapped his arms around your waist. He tickled your stomach, the bareness of it making the stimulation all the more patent and making you guffaw while squirming in his arms.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" You cried in between laughter. You turned around to face him when you felt his hands making a stop against the side of torso and looked at the wonders of his eyes steadily and intensely.

You didn't notice it, but Leon's breath hitched at the proximity of your faces, the hot air that flew out of your nose hitting the droplets on his face. You were in a daze. Both of you. It felt so intimate and bona fide that for a second that was your only reality.

Your fingers trailed up his chest, neck, and finally his cheek, and for a moment, your hand was still on his face with only your thumb moving to stroke the scar that was stripped away from his hair. Leon furrowed his brows. The inside of your lip was lightly bitten as you thought about your next action for a moment. But decided that fuck it, life is short. If he felt the same way than congrats! But if he didn't, well, it's either he'll pull away or kiss back with no purpose. And hey, what's the matter with making out with your best friend?

And so, you drew a bit closer, albeit rather slowly in case Leon wanted to pull away. But seeing as he was copying your motions, you saw his intention and pressed your lips against his in a shy lip-lock.

Five

Leon tugged on his tie as he looked at the people dancing around inside of the venue, his heart doing a little dance of its own when he saw you smiling with the crowd.

He blew a sigh, the breeze intertwining with the air. He could see the party from the balcony: flashes of different color schemes, the swaying of dresses as the women moved, the chattering of people as they drank the glasses of champagne. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe this was all about you and him; two souls entwined by love.

"I see you didn't invite me," a sultry and velvety voice said from beside him. He knew who it was and it didn't faze him anymore to see her appearing uninvited as she always did.

"What are you doing here, Ada?"

"What, I can't go see two of my favorite people anymore?"

"Well, it always ended in a mess, anyway, so what's the point." Ada chuckled in response and leaned back against the railing, the smile her giggling left still ghosting on her face. It was all jokes, fun, and games to her for a moment until she turned serious and gazed at you from a distance where you couldn't notice.

"Take care of each other, Leon. You both are worth more than what you give yourselves credit for," she muttered. "I wish I could've given her the life you're giving to her now. But I can't, and I'll remain like this until I die."

In the depths of her mind, Ada reminisced on the time when she was in Leon's position. She gave the love you needed and wanted, and cared for you in so many ways. But she was a mercenary, a wanted one at that, and she knew that one day, everything would be thrown into a void or burned until it turned to ashes. So, she broke what you had off and handed you to Leon where he could give you a better life.

Leon couldn't say anything. It seemed rude and odd but he remembered when you knocked on his door, drenched in rain water and sobbing everything from your chest. It hurt to see you like that. And so, he promised. He promised to be the best husband he could ever be and shower you with everything he could give you.

"Leon!" Your voice rang out as you ran towards him with a wide smile on your face, startling the both of them.

Leon turned towards where Ada stood but saw that she was gone as if she was nothing but an apparition that was made by his mind.

He was befuddled for a moment, pondering about his encounter with the woman, but found his heart racing as you came closer to him.

What transpired was long forgotten and all the world could see how Leon mimicked the smile that defined the joy you brought to him. He was just happy to share such a beautiful moment with you and he optimistically wondered about what was ahead of you.

He pulled you towards him and spun you around as he battered your face with kisses, whispering 'I love you's and so many more sweet nothings against your cheeks while you laughed in his arms.

Hidden within the shadows was the raven-haired woman, imitating their smiles as she watched the intimacy from afar. She felt like her mission was done and although it hurt, she was thankful for what she'd done. Leon was going to give you the life you deserved and he was going to fill the holes she'd left.

*****

This was rushed. Lol. And I'm using my phone. How was it tho?

This was the outfit I had in mind. Feel free to change it though.

[whythinktoomuch]

stranded in memory

It’s not clear how Lex has managed to pull it off, but he did; he got into Supergirl’s head, and he did it quite literally so as to achieve it quite figuratively, and now Kara Danvers might be lost forever. 

It’s after the second attack—the second time Supergirl storms into the DEO to demand, where are you keeping them?—when they first notice the ugly scar at the base of her neck. 

Red and angry, poorly healed despite living on Kryptonian skin. 

No one manages to get close enough to examine it though, what with Supergirl tearing through metal walls and burning down entire facilities to conduct her frenzied search. 

But whatever it is, the mechanism embedded in her skull has somehow made it so that Supergirl can look Alex Danvers right in the eye and strike her down with heat vision for masquerading as her sister. 

The resulting burns forcibly put Alex on bed rest despite extensive, swear-riddled protest. 

“It appears that Kara’s retained all her memories, but none of ties to reality that would allow her to recognize you,” Brainy concludes to the comfort of absolutely no one. 

“Well, is she even Kara anymore then? Shouldn’t we approach this like we would any other threat?” asks one lone agent, subjecting himself to Alex’s absolute unmitigated fury in the process. 

Lena keeps her distance at first. She’s seen the damage:  

her penthouse somehow upended, 

countless conference rooms and offices at L-Corp torn apart, 

the entirety of National City scrambling for cover as Supergirl makes reckless use of all her superpowers. 

And she knows that Supergirl must be looking for her too. Lex wouldn’t have done any of it, without the guarantee that Lena would end up coerced into direct involvement. It wouldn’t be worth it otherwise. 

And so, she locks herself away in an underground, lead-lined panic room, built for such an occasion. 

Because... well, if it’s true that Supergirl almost killed her own sister, how could Lena ever hope to survive the encounter? She wasn’t even on good terms with the Supergirl that would remember her in the first place.  

But then, things grow darker and even more dire. No one’s died yet, by some unbelievable stroke of luck, but there have been many close calls. So many that the city has started losing faith in their own Girl of Steel. 

And Supergirl has been winding down, slowly but surely, her physical condition unable to keep pace with her inner drive. It won’t be long before some branch of the government or another successfully shoots her down, but there’s only one that will never go for the kill shot. 

So, Lena finally resurfaces and joins forces with what’s left of the DEO, and gets to work on a kryptonite-powered snare. It almost works. 

Supergirl flies right into the trap, immediately twined by thick cords of sickly bright green wrapping around her body. She starts thrashing against her bonds, growling out warnings in a dead language whenever anyone tries to get close. 

"Okay, this isn’t working, guys,” Dreamer says, after her third attempt and subsequent failure to grab hold of the wrists tied behind Supergirl’s back. “She’s still too strong.” 

But at the sound of Dreamer’s voice, the red disappears from Supergirl’s eyes. She sits up, startled, and calls out, “Nia?” 

They’re all overwhelmed with relief then—Supergirl, and maybe even Kara, included—because at last, Lex’s device seems to have worn off.

But when Supergirl turns around to greet Dreamer, finally face to smiling face, a darkness sweeps back over her features. “You,” she says, her tone strangled with bitterness. “Who the hell are you, and what did you do with Nia?” 

Dreamer frowns, utterly baffled. “Kara, what are you talking about? It’s me... Nia.” But she takes a step too close, and Supergirl headbutts her into the ground. 

A brawl ensues, and Supergirl manages to throw everyone off her and escape by way of ungainly, lumbering flight, still bundled in kryptonite laced restraints against all impossibility. 

They find the mangled contraption some miles away in pieces. 

Nia’s head is very bruised and somewhat concussed, but she thankfully emerges from the medical bay relatively unscathed. 

Ultimately, Lena’s the one who figures it out, by repeatedly asking for the play-by-play of the failed capture and then reviewing the body cam footage for further research. There’s no way to know for sure, of course, but time is definitely running out, with Supergirl now facing an entire fleet of military aircraft armed with kryptonite. So, Lena takes her findings and rushes onto the scene. 

Supergirl is making her last stand, forced into a final corner with her back against the wall, eyes still blazing with heat vision. Until she hears a familiar voice crackling in her ear, the DEO comms whirring back to life. 

“Kara?” calls the voice, and Supergirl becomes a statue, breath stuttering, almost unwilling to believe her own ears. “Kara, can you hear me...?” 

“Lena...” Supergirl says her name like a prayer, a slight tremor starting up in her legs and traveling all over. “You’re okay? Oh god, you’re okay...” 

Everyone starts yelling then—Alex and Brainy and Nia, nameless stiff-lipped military men trying to secure a clear shot at the fallen hero—but Lena heeds none of it as she walks onto the battlefield. Supergirl whips her head around, regarding her approach with suspicion. 

“It’s still me,” Lena says through the earpiece. “Right now, I’m just in the lexo-suit for my own safety.” 

“I... I can’t see your face...” 

“I know, Kara. I know.” 

Lena, now firmly in the way of anyone who plans on taking aim at Supergirl, stops just a few short steps away from her. “Okay, I need you to trust me now, Kara.” 

And Kara, the Girl of Steel now fallen to dust, starts to cry. “Something’s wrong, Lena,” she says. “Something is so terribly wrong with me, and I don’t know what to do...” 

“I know, and it’s going to be okay,” Lena says, her own emotions sealed away behind purpose. “But right now, I just need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Kara?” 

Kara nods right away, one hand roughly swiping at her eyes. 

“Close your eyes.”

Kara draws back, shoulders stiffening, a bright red gathering in her gaze. 

“Kara, it’s still me,” Lena tells her gently. “I can come to you, but you just need to close your eyes first.” 

“Why?” Kara demands. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Kara’s eyes run all over the sleek design of the lexo-suit, swallowing hard when her x-ray vision can’t breach the surface. “It’s you?” 

“It’s me, I promise.” 

Kara shuts her eyes, disappearing the threat of heat vision along with the darkened blue of her sunken gaze. Warnings come flooding through Lena’s earpiece from well-meaning almost friends, but she gets out of the suit anyway. The tell-tale hydraulic hiss of the lexo-suit opening brings a low rumble to Kara’s chest, but her eyes still remain shut tight.   

“All right, Kara. I’m right here, okay?” Lena says, and Kara struggles to keep her eyes closed at the sound of her voice, now unfettered by technology or static. “No, you’re okay, Kara. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m right here.” 

Lena repeats the sentiment a few times as she approaches Kara in a careful stride. The closer she gets, the harder Kara breathes, teeth gritted and grinding in frustration. 

“Hey, I’m here,” Lena says once within reach, and Kara’s hand shoots out, catching Lena around the wrist. It’s a painful grasp, but Lena grimaces her way through it. “It’s me. You can tell... right?” 

“... Yes,” comes the trembling, grateful answer. 

“Your mind’s playing tricks on you,” Lena explains to her, still soft, still gentle. “Lex did something to your brain, and... you’re just having some trouble trusting what you see right now. But we’re going to fix it, okay?” 

“Okay.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut even harder, and finally lets her hand slip off Lena’s tender, bruised wrist. 

As Lena starts unwinding the scarf from her neck, she lets her eyes roam all over Kara’s face; she’s never been quite this close before. It looks a little different at the moment, somewhat worse for the wear. Deep creases in her strong brow, lips worried and worn, ash and blood of innocent bystanders smudged across one cheek, and her eyes... fluttering, but firmly shut. 

All it would take is one blink, Lena realizes. One look, and she could very well lose her life in Kara’s arms. 

Kara’s breath hiccoughs when she feels soft cotton wrapping around her head, smelling of Lena’s sweat and perfume, and covering her eyes. And all at once, she’s surrounded by the people she loves. 

Alex embracing her and tugging her to safety, whispering words of regret and forgiveness into her hair. 

Brainy and Nia patting at her shoulders, squeezing her hands, as they offer all sorts of affirmations. 

But Kara reaches out, blindly and yet somehow all too aware, and manages to snag the hem of Lena’s shirt. She gently, desperately tugs Lena closer. “You’ll stay with me?” 

A warm hand carefully undoes Kara’s grip on the shirt, inviting it instead in a tangled grasp, both firm and comforting. 

“Always,” Lena says. 

(next part here)

[kendochick-moor]

Feb 5, 2017 - Naruto - Arranged Marriage - ObiSaku - Kekkei Genkai - Moukuton and Sharingan

AN: I posted this to my DW in October 2021. Sharing here on Tumblr since I’m dumping a number of old WIP here atm. I recently (... this year....?) received a request for an Obito/Sakura fic. I racked my brain assuming I'd never written them before (which is kind of astounding considering I've written Fugaku/Sakura... multiple times!). Lo and behold, I found this draft of a Smut Monday fic from 2017, 4.5 years ago. And it's an ObiSaku. The hidden wonders of my G-drive and faulty memory will never cease to amaze me.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! It's incomplete (unfortunately, sorry), but it's something for 'WIP Wednesday'. :)

FYI: If there are any ObiSaku fans out there who'd like to collab on this (read: give me ideas/enable me), please let me know! I like the setup for this fic, though it's a bit dark.

Pairing: Obito/Sakura Rating: Definitely M Words: 1,000 (approx) Squick warning: darker!fic, prisoner!Obito, prisoner!Sakura (in a way), arranged marriage/marriage law, age gap, breeding kink maybe? --------------------------

Sakura glared at the heavily scarred former ninja across the table, swallowing hard.

“Do you accept,” asked Danzou smugly.

His hands folded together atop the surface of the table, the man smirked at the firm line Sakura’s brow drew and the tightness of her jaw.

Her lips refused to form the words so she forced herself to nod.

“Good.” His jagged, graying teeth leered through his cracked lips as he smirked.

*****

The cell door far below the surface groaned and screeched as the ROOT operative dragged it open. He—or she, as ROOT operatives were nearly sexless—turned to look at Sakura and she understood that the agent would not follow her into the cell itself.

“The papers—”

“Were already signed. There was no need for a ceremony,” said the ROOT op.

Sakura peered into the darkened cell. She had signed her half of the papers first, completely unsure which prisoner she had been assigned. Danzou arranged it that way on purpose, to keep her in the dark and off-balance until the very last minute. A controlling bastard to the last, that traitor. But with them wedded, at least any progeny resulting from the arranged marriage would be a lawful citizen of Konoha.

Her stomach clenched; could she really do this?

“One with a strong kekkei genkai. We cannot afford to lose the opportunity to ensure its continuance in the Village.”

“Who—” she began, but he waved her away, turning his back to her.

“Ensure all forms of contraception are metabolised from your system within forty eight hours and proceed to the maximum security detention center,” said Danzou, his low, rumbly voice resonating with consequence.

Sakura had bitten her tongue to keep from making demands.

She prayed her Shishou would be found soon. Sakura couldn’t keep pretending her fealty was true when she was forced into situations like these.

With measured, confident steps she entered the dark cell.

Behind her the door slammed shut with a high-pitched grinding of rusted metal hinges, sealing her off from the rest of the prison and leaving naught but an echo behind.

Her heart sped up in her chest but Sakura lifted her chin and proceeded into the cell.

Silence dominated the damp cell once the echo faded. The air was heavy with moisture and she wondered at the physical state of any prisoner left in such conditions.

There was a whisper of sound from her left and she tensed.

“So it’s you,” came the low, velvety male voice. It seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it yet.

It was too dark to make out his features, but her eyes were adjusting to the low light and she could make out a vague form standing against a wall towards the rear of the room.

She nodded. “Yes. Were you… briefed?”

The hesitation in her voice made her wince internally. She was supposed to be in charge of the proceedings. She was the free one, wasn’t she?

“...Ah.”

She waited, but he provided no further comment.

Together for the first time, Sakura wasn’t sure what she’d expected from their first interaction. This man, this stranger, was her ‘husband’—on paper at any rate. Now they were left to consummate their paper marriage until she carried to term a child that yielded his kekkei genkai. She honestly wasn’t sure what was worse; enhancing her fertility to ensure she conceived on the first attempt, or delaying the possibility of conception but being forced to return repeatedly until it happened.

She took a breath and walked further into the darkness.

“I…” Her voice trailed off.

‘I’m sorry’. ‘I know this is rape’. ‘Even if you’re a criminal, you don’t deserve this’. ‘I honestly don’t want this’. None of them really grasped the enormity of their degrading situation, or would help either of them. They wouldn’t break the ice. They wouldn’t ease their fears or uncertainties, hers at least.

“Are you untouched?”

His words and tone were almost gentlemanly. He sounded older than her, perhaps by a decade or so, but not ancient by any means. It was with some relief that she realised she would not be forced to be intimate with a geriatric prisoner of war. Her shoulder blades shook off their mild shiver as she relaxed. Of course, if he was only a bit older than herself, he was also possibly in very good physical shape and thus a potential threat to her wellbeing. He was, after all, housed in the deepest recesses in Konoha’s maximum security prison,

“I’m not a virgin,” she answered, clearing her throat. “Are you?”

She heard his faint snort, and it conveyed genuine, if dark, amusement.

“I’m not that ugly,” he said.

“That’s a relief. It was so dark I was worried the ROOT op was trying to spare us both,” Sakura said. “I’m Haruno Sakur—”

“I know who you are.”

Sakura’s advance through the cell had brought her nearly to the prisoner—her husband. She paused at the tension in his voice. The first prickle of fear raised the hair on her arms and tightened her shoulder blades.

“Have we met?” she asked, loosening her arms at her sides. Just in case.

There was a soft scoff from under the shinobi’s breath, and she felt the currents of air around her move as he stepped closer to her. When his warmth was within arm’s reach he stopped, leaning over her.

He’s tall, she realized.

“You don’t remember me?” he asked.

Sakura bit down on her tongue which reached out to wet her lips. His voice was so familiar…

“I’m—your voice is so familiar—but—”

He let out a breath that fanned over her left shoulder. “It will come to you,” he said.

There was a short pause before Sakura felt him reach out and pat her arm before taking her hand.

“The bed is here,” he said.

The thin covers rustled as he drew them back, and Sakura nodded. She wasn’t sure what he could see of her in the dark, as she could barely make out where he was, but her legs bumped against the metal frame before she sank down onto the worn pallet that masqueraded as his mattress.

(TBC?)

[toshisurtsdottir]

Unnoticed - Chapter 2

Summary: Toshi is the most successful thief the undercity ever had. She is known to be able to steal anything while staying undetected. However, after stealing from the undercity´s most feared crime lord, she finds herself in big trouble.

Warnings for this chapter: Language

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“What happened?” Sevika stood in the doorway, eyes locked on Silco, who was still staring out of the window. His expression was hard as he turned around, eyes burning into Sevika, the window slammed shut behind him.

“The ‘Vixen’ or so she calls herself. She stole my coat and cigars.” He hissed, his fists clenched. To say that he was angry was an understatement.

“I will find her and bring her here. You will have your coat back in no time.” Sevika assured him, preparing her metal arm for battle. Silco slumped down in his office chair, stroking his fingers over his scar as he thought.

“No need to. We will pay her a visit. Tonight.” He finally said, darkening eyes fixated on the empty cigar box in front of him. Next to it lay a single strand of white hair.

Toshi’s heart was racing. Emotions of success mixed with those of failure. Silco saw me, I wasn’t careful and now he knows who stole his belongings. But she had escaped. She had his beloved coat and a bunch of luxury cigars to enjoy. But still, she had made mistakes she wouldn’t have done if she hadn’t been this excited. Focus, Toshi! She scolded herself, stopping in a dark alley. It seemed empty, so she took off her mask and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. The more she thought about what she had just done, the more she started to regret it. She looked up at the sky, lost in thoughts. The bar was probably off limits for the next couple of days, as long as she was wearing her mask. She could change her clothes and take off her rings, dye her hair black. Nobody could possibly suspect a thing. She straightened up and sighed. “Ugh, I love white hair though.” She chuckled and shook her head, making her way home.

When she arrived, she tossed the coat onto the couch. Right away she lit up one of Silco’s cigars, sinking into her armchair to relax. She took the first puff. “What a pretentious piece of shit you are.” She chuckled. The cigar tasted expensive but horrible. She decided to put it out, not feeling the need to continue smoking this. Her eyes fell back on his coat. She got up and stalked over to it, caressing her hand over the soft fabric. It felt very high quality, but she could also see under further inspection, that the coat was worn and had been repaired plenty of times. Stitches had been redone; patches had been sewn on the inside of the coat. And all above, it reeked of tobacco, sandalwood, and spices. She eyed the coat a little longer. The smell was intriguing, almost inviting. She had to admit to herself, even though he was her enemy, that Silco smelled good. After inspecting it a little longer, lost in thought, she placed the coat aside and went to the bathroom. It was time for a little makeover.

Two hours later, a brand new Toshi left the bathroom. Her hair was now a vivid black, except for a streak of hair she had left white for style purpose. She had put on a black button up, paired with tight, black leather pants. She wouldn’t dispense her sense of fashion just to escape Silco. Reluctantly, she left her rings and other jewellery on the desk. Instead, she took a set of beautifully decorated throwing knives with her, attaching them to her silver belt. She left her home and made her way down the streets of the undercity, which were bustling with the local nightlife.

When she arrived at the bar, an odd sensation ran down her spine. She shook it off and entered the bar. To her delight, everything seemed normal. She could see Cheat sitting in his usual spot, waiting for ‘the Vixen’ to arrive. However, tonight and for many more nights to come, he would be waiting in vain. Toshi ordered a plain glass of vodka and sat down in the corner of the bar, surveying the surroundings. Silco wasn’t here, perhaps he wouldn’t come. Maybe she was safe after all.

The ease she felt was soon evaporated into fear when suddenly, the front door opened and an angry looking Silco entered the bar. Outside, she could see Sevika guarding the door. Toshi felt her heart sink into her stomach.

Fuck.

Although the music kept playing, the bar went silent, heads turning towards the new guest. It was easy to say that the people of Toshi’s bar were either scared of Silco or ready to beat him up.

Silco surveyed the surroundings, eyes lasting on Toshi longer than she would have hoped for. She just looked back at him with hard eyes, sipping from her Vodka. Internally, all her bells were ringing. Then his eyes went past her, and he walked to the bartender, ordering a drink.

Toshi breathed out, trying to calm her nerves. She shouldn’t have come here. Not tonight. She kept making mistakes and she hated herself for it.

Her eyes went to Cheat, who was clenching his fists angrily. His jaw was tense, and his eyes were burning into Silco’s back. Some people chose to ignore his presence and went back to their normal conversations.

Silco turned around, eyeing the guests once again. He made his way through the masses of people, looking pleased when they ducked their heads as soon as he came close. He passed by Cheat and went straight to the corner of the room, towards Toshi. To her demise, he sat down in front of her, tapping the side of his glass.

“You should have dyed all of your hair.” He said scaringly calm. He reached out towards her, tucking the white strand of her behind her ear. Toshi moved out of his touch ever so slightly. It would be stupid of him to cause a scene now, surrounded by people who hated his guts. Toshi knew that and her indifferent expression did not change. He leaned forward, his scarred eye giving away his anger.

“You took something from me. I want it back.” A smile tugged at her lips.

“What are you smiling at?” Silco asked impatiently.

“Oh just, what exactly do you plan on doing if I won’t?” She smirked and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She felt cocky.

“I could start with revealing your secret identity. People will hunt you down, you won’t be able to hide anymore.” Silco shrugged.

Toshi just scoffed at that. “What secret identity? I am not who you are searching for. But I got paid heavy to dye part of my hair white.” She smirked. His eyes flicked down her body and then back up to her face.

See anything you like?

“And you just so happen to sound like the woman who robbed me today, hm.” He took a sip of whatever fluid he was drinking. It looked like whisky to her. She winced internally. Another mistake she had made and forgotten about.

That’s why you keep your fucking mouth shut.

She scolded herself. But it was too late now.

“And you sound like one of my exes, but I know for certain you are not him, so what?” She smiled, her right hand moving down to take a hold of one of the knives she brought.

“Put that hand back up on the table or I will call in Sevika. She would love to meet you.” He hissed. Toshi raised an eyebrow but did as she was told.

“Alright, here is the thing. If I give you back your stuff…” Toshi leaned forward, a weak attempt of pretending she wasn’t scared.

“… I can’t rely on you not killing me anyway.” She finished, emptying her glass of vodka for some courage.

His eyes darkened. Just when he was about to speak, Toshi slid over the cigars she stole from him, along with the one she started but didn’t finish.

“You can have those back. They’re disgusting.” She rolled her eyes.

“Silco, you came into my bar, threatened my life and expect me to fear you. You aren’t home. Neither you, nor Sevika are in the position to fight me right now.” She smirked, shutting him up when he tried to speak yet again.

“Listen. These people here support me, not you. Cheat over there-“ She nodded in his direction. “…He would die for me. I know that because he is hopelessly in love with me. With the ‘Vixen’. Most people here are. Bless their poor souls. What I’m saying is, try anything and you will be busy fighting off all these guys while I disappear once again, right under your astonishingly long nose.”

Which suits you better than you think.

She grinned, white teeth showing. The vodka had done its magic. “You see, I’m not a complete fool. And if you keep on threatening me with these sweet nothings of yours, I will show you that I do in fact have a few nice tricks up my sleeve. You may have the other big fish under control, but not me. Don’t forget that.”

Toshi got up and walked past Silco, who seemed to already be calculating his next steps. He grabbed her by the wrist harshly and pulled her back, staring right into her eyes. A few people got up from their chairs when they saw what happened, including Cheat.

“This is not the last time we meet. This could have been handled without bloodshed, but you had to ask for it.” Silco hissed. A shiver ran down Toshi’s spine. She was left speechless for a moment but soon came back to herself and managed to free her wrist from his grasp.

“We will see about that.” She growled, so close to his face now that she could smell the same cologne she had smelled on his coat. With that said, she straightened up, put on her fox mask and left the bar full of flabbergasted people behind her as she escaped through her usual window.

[jaskiersvalley]

I just reached the bottom of your writings and felt the need to say that i appreciate you. You’re really cool and im happy I stumbled upon you.

You are far far too sweet. This has been sat in my inbox for so long because I don't think anyone has called me cool before and I wanted to bask in that. I really appreciate you too and I'm really happy you stumbled upon my blog. So I hope you're still in the fandom and enjoy this little bit of odd zombie AU.

CW: Zombies, apocalypse, Resdent Evil/Last of Us inspired AU.

Last Hope

Nobody expected the Continent to turn to shit. War had been on the horizon, Nilfgaard was advancing but not once did anyone expect them to have been experimenting with creating superior soldiers to fight for them. Allegedly the idea had been to harvest some of the Continent's monsters' attributes and imbue them into soldiers, creating a new class of warriors. It hadn't worked. But what Nilfgaard did manage to create was a virus like no other before. It turned humans and animals into mindless, violent creatures whose sole purpose was to feed, preferably on human flesh. The virus spread like no other, bringing the whole Continent to its knees.

Pockets of survivors remained, walled up in thick stone keeps. Kaer Morhen was one such sanctuary. Witchers, it turned out, weren't immune to the virus. Letho had watched Serrit and Auckes succumb to it, had put them down before setting light to where they'd been trying to stay safe and he set off to find somewhere, anywhere, that would accept him. The cold didn't impact much on the undead, they still moved just as deadly fast, unencumbered by things like fatigue, hunger or frostbite. Still, he made it up to the keep and was welcomed in. It was probably the most full Kaer Morhen had been in a long time. There were witchers, sorceresses, humans, dwarves, vampires and who knew what else, all coexisting and trying to make the best of their lives.

"I heard rumours," Letho said over dinner. "There's someone immune to this whole wretched thing down South."

"And I heard a rumour that taking a shit over the parapets cures piles," Lambert shot back with a snort. Being cooped up with so many people didn't exactly suit him, even when Aiden was there along with Eskel too.

Yennefer sat up straighter. "I've heard that rumour too. Sent word out that if it's true, we're probably best placed to try and find what makes the person so special. Maybe derive a cure from them."

Not long after, Gaetan arrived with Guxart. And with some news.

"There's a man and a girl travelling North. Allegedly with the hope of a cure."

The others exchanged looks, not wanting to believe rumours. Hope was a dangerous thing, but they could all use a dose of it. Things had been bleak to say the least.

Guxart picked up the story. "There's a lot of people gunning for them. So far they've evaded being captured, left quite a bloody trail too. We saw what remained of a tavern. Allegedly the group living there had been luring in weary travellers with the promise of safety, only to throw them into a fighting ring." Unfortunately such stories weren't unusual, humans had the most disdainful ideas of entertainment at times. Guxart pressed on, "If it was those two then I hope they're not headed here. They left no survivors, cleared out the place of humans and undead alike. It was a massacre."

There was nothing to do but wait. A week passed, then another. The hope they'd felt at the mention of a possible path to a cure dwindled and turned into bitter disappointment at the backs of their minds. It was almost three weeks later that there was a commotion on the path to the old keep. The undead who lurked in the trees were snarling and howling as two figures broke into a sprint on the last stretch of the path, pursued by quite a hoard of hungry zombies.

"Get the gate!" Vesemir bellowed and it was a mad dash to open the gates while armed. They weren't quick enough and a scuffle broke out as the two travellers were up against the gates, the undead descending upon them. A sharp scream went up from what sounded like a young girl. The gate opened and Eskel reached out, pulling her in first before Lambert gruffly yanked her protector in too. The others pushed to slam the gates shut, bolting it once more.

"Cahir! Are you okay?" The girl ignored them all in favour of checking over her guardian, wisps of blonde hair sticking to her sweaty face.

"I'm fine." A gruff answer and the so called Cahir looked up at them with an exhausted, hollow gaze. "This is Kaer Morhen, right? We were told this is where we had to come. She's Ciri, I'm Cahir."

Vesemir stepped forward with a brisk nod. "Welcome. Let's get you settled. From what I hear, you had quite the journey."

Yennefer ushered Ciri away and the others trailed after her, curious to see what someone immune to the virus looked like, acted like. The left Eskel to lead Cahir to a room of his own.

"Nilfgaard's quite a way," he said by way of conversation, ignoring the way Cahir rubbed his wrist under his cloak.

"Vicovaro is even further." The answer was a little prim and offended. "I'm not Nilfgaardian."

"My apologies. If you want to clean up, we have a communal bath in the lower levels. You're welcome to join us."

The offer seemed to go ignored as Cahir simply flopped on the bed and closed his eyes without even kicking off his worn boots. Eskel couldn't begrudge him, such a journey was long and tiring even before the world went to shit. To then have to cross the Continent while chased by who knew how many people wanting his precious charge and the unending masses of undead no doubt made the whole thing exhausting.

Dinner was bubbling away in a large cauldron over a fire and the chores for the day were done. It was quite common for most of the residents of Kaer Morhen to settle in the baths, one of the few remaining luxuries left for them. To everyone's surprise Cahir bumbled in a little while later, still sleep rumpled but without his cloak. It left his ragged and torn shirt in full view, including where one sleeve had been ripped off at the elbow. On his lower arm was a freshly applied bandage with blood that had seeped through in an all too telling pattern. Cries of alarm went up as they spotted the bite.

"You've been bitten!"

"How could you endanger us like this?"

"You idiot!"

It was a cacophony as various witchers jumped out of the baths, reaching for their swords and heedless of their nudity. There was a very real danger in their midst that needed to be taken care of. Cahir held up his hands in a placating manner, surrendering without a fight.

"If I may?" He pulled his shirt over his head and the others tried to make sense of what they were seeing. His body was littered with scars from bites. Some were healed, others still scabbed over. When the trousers slid down, Cahir's legs were no different.

"What the-?" Lambert scowled.

It was the exact moment Yennefer arrived, Ciri in tow. She gave Cahir a once over. "It would seem we made some assumptions. Cahir, when you're rested and fed, I'd like to take a sample of your blood and hair please."

Next to her, Ciri giggled and tucked a strand of hair out of her face. She walked up to Cahir and took his bandaged arm in hand, inspecting his handiwork.

"You're getting better at this," she announced. "Hopefully it's the last one you've taken for me or anyone else though."

Her words were followed by an eerie silence in the baths as the others mulled over everything.

"So-" Eskel rubbed the back of his neck with a small frown, "-is Ciri your daughter?"

A bright laugh bubbled out of Ciri at that. "If only I was so lucky. I was his escort and bodyguard. Our pursuers often assumed that me being so young looking meant I was the immune one and Cahir was protecting me. That deception worked well for us."

Guxart cleared his throat. "We saw a tavern that was a fighting ring."

Both Ciri's and Cahir's faces darkened at that. It was Cahir who answered.

"We survived. But barely." His hand rubbed over his shoulder where a large chunk had been torn out, leaving a visible dent. "Had to lay low and recover for a while after that. Ciri injured her throat."

"And you got a bitch of a fever. You're the worst patient ever, always fidgeting and poking. It's a miracle only that bite got infected so bad."

Cahir stuck his tongue out at Ciri and she poked him in the stomach. In turn Cahir ruffled her hair and danced away. Taking it as a challenge, she dashed after him and gave him a shove that sent him flying, landing with a big splash in one of the baths. Spluttering and laughing, he surfaced.

"Oh you little bitch!" He playfully splashed water in her direction but Ciri let out a scream and the water froze mid arc before dropping into a sad little puddle on the ground.

The others stared at her in awe and horror. She grinned at them with a shrug. "You didn't really think they'd send some random, helpless girl as a bodyguard, did you?"

A hand landed on Ciri's shoulder as Yennefer smiled down at her. "You and I have a lot to discuss. How would you feel about learning how to control your powers even better?"

For the first time since the news that there might be a solution to the virus, hope trickled back into the lives of the residents of Kaer Morhen. It wasn't going to be an overnight solution, they knew it wasn't going to be easy. But they were one small step closer to a safer, happier life and that was more than enough for them after years of despair.

[alj4890]

Angst Prompt

Requested follow-up to One Fateful Night

Part 2: The Dark Before the Dawn

A\N Sorry again for One Fateful Night’s angst. This picks up right after and goes a little into the future for Liam and those that survived the earthquake. It gets pretty dark in places and is long, but I think it ends on a hopeful note.  

@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30​ @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @sweatyrysconnoisseur @motorcitymademadame

Masterlist

The rest of the unity tour was canceled. Unable to speak his reasons why he couldn't do it, Liam left that in the hands of his father and Regina. He didn't want to face the people without Riley by his side, without Drake standing steadfast, without Maxwell's unfailing optimism, without Hana's gentle support.

He had simply lost the will to fight.

Olivia had returned with him to the palace. Neville soon followed, insisting that he would do whatever Liam needed him to. Kiara, devastated by Penelope's death had retreated back to her family estate. Rashad was sent to Domvallier to recover from his injuries. Bastien refused to take time off and was doing his duties from a wheelchair.

Liam ignored all of it. He went to his chambers and remained secluded from the world for days. He refused entry to anyone who knocked. He simply sat there staring at the few mementos he had of those he had lost.

He flipped through the photographs Maxwell had insisted on taking of the three of them through the years. He paused at the few his mother was in, wishing she was here now to tell him how to move on from something like this. She had encouraged his friendships with Maxwell and Drake, knowing he would need them to face life in the public eye.

And now he would never have them again.

Setting the old album aside, he reached for the key chain Riley had given him the night of the Coronation. Thinking of that night and their confessions of love only to be so cruelly parted...his head dropped as he carefully set it back on the table. Next he picked up the pearl he had given her. The plans and hopes they had while meeting in secret. It had helped him through every moment he was kept from her side.

He then lifted the photograph Anna had taken of them for their engagement. Liam's fingers trembled as they brushed against the image of Riley. Her smile so warm. Her eyes so filled with joy.

Reaching for a decanter, he attempted to metaphorically drown his sorrows. In one night he had lost everything he had held dear. How was he to go on from this? There was no enemy to slay, no way to find those he loved and rescue them. Nothing. Nothing except funerals to attend. Nothing but giving them to the cold, unforgiving dirt.

All he had ahead of him was visits to graveyards. He knew his father didn't have much longer to live. It would be just one more loss in his already devastated heart.

Death was what his life had become. He had feared that when his mother was poisoned. Many a night he would wake up crying at the thought of being completely and utterly alone. This long forgotten fear rose up within him, showing that it hadn't been a nightmare. It had been a premonition.

Dropping his head in his hands, he sobbed into the void that had become his only companion.

*****************

Armed with a key, Olivia forced her way into Liam's room. With the first of the many funerals coming up, she knew she needed to get him prepared. The public would be looking toward their king, needing to see him standing against the worst life could throw at him.

Her steps faltered when she saw him. He was slumped over in a chair. Empty decanters sat in front of him, a few tipped over on the table with drops of whiskey spilled out.

The tumbler he had been using had fallen to the floor. The remnants of his drink had stained the Persian rug. His clothes were rumpled. Nearly a week's growth of beard had darkened his sunken cheeks. Dark circles under his eyes completed the look of a man trying to escape his tormented thoughts.

Olivia had to harden her heart. There had always been something about Liam that brought out an unusual softness in her. But that was not what he needed. He needed order. A purpose. Something to get him to step back out in the world.

Grabbing his shoulder she shook him hard.

"Liam!" She snapped in a louder than usual tone. "Wake up!"

He opened his bloodshot eyes with a slight groan. He weakly raised a hand to his head while trying to escape her unyielding grip.

"Get ready." She ordered. "We've got things to do."

"What things?" His hoarse voice cracked.

She ignored his question.

He forced himself to focus on her bustling about gathering his clothes before going into his bathroom. He could hear her starting a shower.

She returned with a determined set to her chin. "Hurry up." She pulled him out of his chair. "We don't have all day."

He stumbled forward, catching himself against a dresser.

Olivia bit her lip as she watched him painstakingly retreat into the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, she bent to the task of straightening his room. Her gaze fell on the objects he had been using for his only source of company. Tears sparked her eyes when she noticed the photographs.

It wasn't fair. Liam might think he was the only one to suffer with his losses, but she was just as deeply affected. They had been her friends too. A family of sorts, one of her choosing after losing her own at such a young age. She couldn't help but depend on them. Maxwell had been the chipper, up for anything brother she wouldn't have thought she needed. Drake had been her sparring partner, always keeping her wit sharp for any upcoming altercation. Riley...

How had the one she never could quite see completely as her enemy become an actual friend? She had won Liam from Olivia, and yet...and yet Olivia had been grateful. If there was anyone in this world who saw and loved Liam like she herself had, then it was Riley.

And how could she not care for someone who did as Liam deserved?

It was all for nothing. Olivia was left alone once more. Perhaps even more so than when her parents had died. At least then she had been able to lean on Liam. Now he could barely function. It was now her turn to be the one he could depend on in their friendship.

He stepped out, pulling her from her thoughts. He stood there as if at a loss of what to do, whether he should even bother putting forth an effort.

Olivia brought him a jacket and held it for him to slip on.

"We'll eat on the road." She told him, giving him a push out the door.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"A few places." She told him. She glanced back behind her where Regina had remained out of sight. The worry on the Queen Mother's face eased some at seeing Liam out of his room. She nodded gratefully to Olivia before retreating in the shadows to report this small success to Constantine.

****************

Liam stared out the window as Olivia drove him through the capital. He ignored the people going about their day as if the world had not stopped. He didn't bother to focus as he used to on the state of the roads or on some of the older, historical buildings.

He simply didn't care. He figured it was only a matter of time before these things were taken from him too. The terrorists were probably lying in wait for when they could destroy the last of what had once meant something to him.

"I don't suppose you've spoken to anyone at the hospital." Olivia said, cutting through the oppressive silence.

Liam merely shook his head.

She waited in the hopes he would ask about Hana and Madeleine. She needed to see that the old, kind to a fault Liam was still there, only buried amongst his immense sorrow.

The silence stretched once more between them.

"I have." She said, fighting against tears of frustration.

He didn't move. He simply stared out the passenger window.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Madeleine's recovery is slow yet steady. The doctors believe though that her fair skin will always be marked with scars."

Liam didn't even blink.

Olivia grit her teeth. "Hana though has not been having an easy time."

Liam stiffened somewhat at that.

Olivia pressed on. She was determined to get him talking. Hopefully once he started he could get rid of the despair that was destroying him.

"Her parents want to take her home to Singapore but the doctors don't believe she is strong enough yet." She swallowed down her own lump of emotion. "When she was told of...of..."

Liam finally face forward. "Told of everyone dying on us? Told that I had failed in saving anyone?" His bitterness slashed across Olivia's stuttered denial at that last one. "Told that her life would never be the same again?"

"Liam, you--"

"I don't want to hear it." He responded.

"You must!" She yelled, hitting her steering wheel in her anger.

Liam didn't flinch. He didn't act like he had even heard her.

"Hana needs you! Madeleine does too." She turned into the hospital parking lot. "We all need you to--"

"To what?" He roared. "Give more empty promises that we will get through this? That we will find our way back?" He jerked his seatbelt off. "I respect them too much to lie to them. The last thing they need is a broken man trying to rally their spirits." He opened the door. "Find someone else, Olivia. I'm not the man they need."

"You are!" She scrambled out, tears falling down her cheeks unheeded. "Liam, we all need you right now. Friday is the first set of funerals. We need you there to help us say goodbye."

Liam walked off without a word.

"Liam, please!" She pleaded, chasing after him. "Even if you can't speak during the service, let those of us who love you help you."

He paused before gently pulling his arm out of her grip. "I'm sorry, but I can't do what you ask of me." His bright blue eyes were filled with tears as he raised them to hers. "I'm done, Olivia."

"Liam, you're allowed to grieve." She reached for his hands. "Take as long as you need. But your friends and country need to grieve with you."

"They won't after I inform them of my decision." He took a deep breath. "I'm giving it up."

"Giving what up?" She asked.

"Everything. The crown. The throne." He looked about. "I'm leaving this country and moving somewhere that isn't filled with memories."

"You can't!" Olivia grabbed the lapels of his jacket, shaking him in desperation. "You can't let the terrorists win! We--"

"Why not?" He bit out. "They might be the right rulers for Cordonia. My legacy has been nothing but death. My brother gave it all up because the pressures were slowly killing him. My mother died trying to do what was right. My father gave up the crown because he is dying. I've done nothing but bring death and destruction to those I love the most." He gripped her wrists and wrenched them from his jacket. "I can't do it anymore."

"Yes, you can." She followed him when he walked off again. "Just try a little longer."

He laughed bitterly. "Try? Why? My reign is already marked with uncertainty. I'm a king without a queen or heir." He released a deep frustrated breath. "What's the point, Liv? Every time I try, I get knocked down. Losing...losing Riley, Drake, and Maxwell..." He shook his head. “It is too much.”

"Promise me you won't decide anything today." Olivia pleaded. "Please?"

He ran his hands over his face. He looked up as if for divine intervention before nodding. "I won't hold the press conference today."

"Good." She relaxed some. She knew now that she would have to fight him these next few weeks over his decision. The last thing she wanted to see was his giving up on his destiny in the midst of his grief.

Slipping her arm into the bend of his she tugged him toward the hospital.

*******************

"Come in." Hana called out.

She didn't want anymore visits from her parents but couldn't bring herself to tell them. Hearing that her marriage prospects were now completely gone due to her injury had done nothing but bring her further into depression. Did they not see that what she had lost was so much worse than the lower half of her left leg?

Her dearest friends, her best friends, those that knew her better than anyone on earth were gone.

And I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get a chance to save them. Nothing.

Olivia smiled softly at Hana. "I brought a surprise."

Hana sat up straighter when she saw Liam sheepishly appear.

A sob burst from her lips as she reached for him to hug.

Liam's Adam's apple bounced a few times as he struggled to swallow his sorrow. He couldn't ignore her need for comfort and hurried over to hug her. Olivia quietly stepped out so they could grieve in privacy.

"Oh Liam!" Hana cried against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry." She clutched the material of his leather jacket, wishing they would all wake up and realize this was nothing but a dream. 

"I'm sorry." He choked out. "I couldn't save them." His tears began to fall freely. "I failed them, Hana. I failed you. I failed everyone!"

She pulled back and gently cupped his face. Blinking through her tears she shook her head. "You didn't fail any of us, Liam. You saved me and Madeleine. Bastien. Rashad and--"

He clung to her. "What am I to do now? Hana, you know I can't face life without Riley. How can I go on after this?"

"I don't know." Hana hugged him again. "But you know Riley wouldn't want us giving up on life." She glanced down at her legs under the blankets. "No matter how hard it is, she would encourage us to keep fighting."

"Hana, Riley was my life. My heart." He lowered his head into his hands. "She was my strength to keep moving forward no matter what was thrown at us."

Hana reached from some tissues, sharing a few with him. "I know. She gave me the bravery I needed to tell my parents that I was more than a marriage prospect for some noble. Now..." Her breath hitched. "Now I don't know what I am or what to do."

Liam moved off her bed and collapsed in one of the chairs by her bed. "What are we going to do?"

Her hand found his. "We help each other. Isn't that what we would hope Riley, Maxwell, and Drake would do if they had lived and you and I had died?"

He wished that had been the case. Not Hana, but that he had been the one Death had come for. He would gladly switch places with them, anything to escape this unending ache in his heart.

He felt Hana's hand squeeze his.

He looked up and saw her trying to be brave for his sake.

Liam didn't know if he could. "I've been thinking of abdicating."

Her lips parted in shock. "Abdicating!"

"Everywhere I turn there is a memory of them." He explained. "I..." He gave up speaking.

"They wouldn't want you doing that, Liam." She reminded him.

He knew she was right, but he couldn't think of moving on as if his very heart had not been ripped from his chest.

"They say when a person loses a loved one that they should wait a year before making a big decision." Hana said, lacing her fingers with his. "Maybe that is what we both should do. My parents want me to go back to Singapore, and I've been tempted to so I won't be reminded of everything."

Liam slowly nodded. "I wouldn't blame you if you did move back home."

"I think what I need is to be with you. Olivia. Madeleine. All of those we still have." She tried to explain. "I need those memories, no matter how much they hurt, to help me heal."

Seeing that he didn't know how to take her advice she gently squeezed his hand again. "Why don't we wait on any decision and just try to get through these next few days."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Did Olivia tell you to say something like that?"

Hana felt her first laugh in over a week burst out. It sounded hollow, as if her body had forgotten how to make the joyful sound. "She might intimidate me at times, but no, she didn't put me up to this."

His lips curved somewhat before settling once more into a thin line. He knew from her words and Olivia's that no one would accept his abdication.

*****************

Madeleine did her best to look presentable. She picked up the small mirror she had insisted be left on the small bedside table. Her eyes touched on the angry, red scars gracing her face and head. Her arm and legs bore others that were long and jagged.

Taking a deep breath, she fluffed the hair that had not been lost in the deep gashes to her scalp. Refusing to give in to the need to cry over something she had no control over, she smoothed her covers and waited to greet her king.

Olivia had shared with her what he wanted to do. Madeleine knew what the fiery duchess wanted her to say and act when she saw him. But she thought she knew how best to respond.

With plan in place, she looked up when she heard a knock to her door.

Liam came in at her bidding him to do so.

He didn't pause in his walk to her bedside like so many did when they first saw the extent of her injuries. She felt her proud façade crack at that. Only Liam would be kind enough to pretend there was nothing unusual about her current hideous state.

Her own parents had handled it horribly. Her mother had been unable to look directly at her without bursting into tears. Her father had bemoaned the fact that she hadn't been able to trap either prince or any other well standing noble before her looks were destroyed.

Just what any young woman needed to hear when awakening from a near death experience.

Liam bowed over her hand while placing a kiss upon her scarred knuckles. "My lady, forgive me for not checking on you sooner."

Madeleine swallowed before asking him to sit. "How have you been?"

His red eyes lifted to hers. "How do you think I've been? I've lost three people I loved. The country lost them along with Penelope and her family. Portivira is destroyed. The Sons of the Earth burned the royal orchard." He slumped in his seat. "I've lost everything, Madeleine."

"Not everything." She corrected. "I know I'm not Riley or Drake or Maxwell." She grimaced at trying to find the right words. "But I am here for you in whatever capacity you need."

"Thank you." He replied automatically. "Your dedication to Cordonia is to be commended."

"It's not--what I meant--" Madeleine closed her eyes briefly when tears pricked her eyes. "Liam, I meant I will be there for you. As a friend." Her nose wrinkled. "As odd as that sounds, I am sincere."

He nodded once more. "Thank you."

They both sat there lost in thought.

"Do you," he cleared his throat, "do you think I should abdicate?"

Madeleine's eyes narrowed in thought. She knew her next words could possibly be the most important of her life.

"Have you done something that could or has harmed Cordonia?"

His eyes widened some. "No."

"Do you no longer care for our people?" She asked.

"No, of course not." He muttered.

"Do you not wish to help them?"

"It isn't anything like that."

"So, your reason is something more selfish." Her green eyes hardened when they met his. "Like Leo, you decide to walk away when ruling becomes too much work."

Liam got to his feet. "It isn't like Leo's reasons! I lost the woman I was to marry. My best friends! Everywhere I turn I am haunted by what was and what could have been. How can I possibly fight Cordonia's enemies when I've lost my sources of strength?"

Madeleine sniffed dismissively. "Every person has lost someone that was their support. If everyone gave up when that happens then this world would crumble to dust."

Liam took a step back from her cold tone. "Madeleine, don't you--"

"Don't I what? Miss any of them? Are saddened by their deaths?" She allowed her sorrow to show. "Of course I do. I might not have been thrilled to be tossed over for Riley, but I would have had to be a blind fool to not notice what she did for you and Cordonia. The same for Maxwell and Drake."

Liam sat back down. "Then what do you think I should do?" He looked down while his bottom lip trembled. "Riley made me a better king."

"Then by all means think of her when you must make a decision." Madeleine told him. "Liam, for whatever reason, fate has placed you as King of Cordonia. You." She stressed. "We've all known you were the better ruler when Leo was our crown prince. It is a great burden, but one that you've never hesitated to carry."

He ran a hand over his eyes. "I wanted to do what I could for the country."

Her lips eased into an approving smile. "As all rulers should be." Reaching over, she patted his shoulder. "I know it won't be easy, but I can't think of anyone better to guide us into the future."

"I feel so lost." He admitted to her. "How can I guide anyone when I no longer have the ones who were my own compass?"

"You'll find a way." She said with certainty. "It may take time, but you will."

He sighed before running his hands through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Madeleine."

"For what?" She asked. "The earthquake was something no one could stop."

"I know." He stood up. "But I'm still sorry."

She nodded in acceptance.

Liam kissed her hand once more and promised to do better checking on her and Hana as he left her room.

Madeleine slumped back against her pillows when her door clicked shut. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she hoped she had somehow said the right thing to him.

Turning to bury her face in her pillows, she allowed the tears to be for herself, Liam, and those they had lost.

******************

That afternoon, Liam departed from Olivia and insisted taking a walk by himself. He went to the private beach and slipped out of his shoes and socks. Rolling up the cuffs of his pants, he began to walk slowly along the shore, allowing the waves to roll over his feet.

He flipped his collar up when the early fall breeze blew by, hinting at an incoming cold spell. He thought it served his mood perfectly. The summer that had once been his world had ended, bringing the cold cruel reality to crash down upon him.

His happily ever after had truly been a dream not meant for the real world. He should have known that he couldn't bring a fairy tale to life. It couldn't survive the cruelness of fate.

He continued his stroll while thinking of his visits with Olivia, Hana, and Madeleine. His conversations with them had only paused his decision. Even if he were to wait as long as Hana suggested before abdicating, what good would it do? He would still be unable to regain what he had lost.

"Liam?"

He paused and turned to see his father walking towards him.

"May I join you?" Constantine asked.

Liam gave a brisk nod before focusing once more on the waves lapping at his feet.

They walked on in silence for a spell. Constantine glanced every so often at Liam’s face, searching for any word that could possibly help his son.

"Who is next in line to the throne?"

Constantine stopped in his tracks. "Who is next in line?" His eyes narrowed in concern. "Why do you ask?"

Liam shrugged. "Shouldn't an unmarried, childless ruler know these things?"

"Son, you have your whole life stretched before you. Give yourself time to grieve and heal. Then--"

"My enemies are at the door." Liam snapped. "Even if I somehow survive them and whatever next hell Cordonia thrusts me into, I will still be without a wife or heir."

Constantine gestured weakly toward a set of lounging chairs. "Sit with me for a moment."

Liam's brief burst of anger turned to resignation when he noticed his father's trembles. Placing an arm around him, he helped ease Constantine down.

Liam took the chair next to his and focused on the ocean. He wondered how he could still find such beauty in it when it had been the final place Riley and Drake had lived.

"I'm going to abdicate, Father." He stated.

Liam was surprised by the silence that followed his declaration. He expected his father to be pleading with him to reconsider or furious for even thinking it.

Instead, he found his father looking more sympathetic than he had ever appeared before.

"I made the same decision when your mother was taken from me." Constantine admitted softly.

Liam's eyes widened. "You did?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Your mother was everything to me." His gaze became distant as he was once again in the past. "She was life itself, my strength." His lips curved into a bitter smile. "She never held back her thoughts and opinions on how we should rule." He met Liam's eyes. "I loved her with my entire heart."

Liam ran his hands down his face. "What," his voice was raspy, "what made you decide to remain king?"

"I'm afraid it wasn't one out of duty or believing anyone needed me." Constantine admitted. "My reasons were purely selfish. I knew the only way to find the ones who took my Eleanor from me was to be in absolute power." His hand balled into a fist at the memories. "For years, vengeance kept me focused on my kingly duties."

"When did it change?" Liam asked.

"It was actually you that opened my eyes."

"Me?" Liam's brow furrowed. "What did I do?"

"You were ten years old." Constantine's lips curved into a tender, proud smile. "Leo was his usual, rebellious self. He had just turned sixteen and was supposed to attend his first official ball. He was trying to get out of it when he found out he would be obligated to dance with every visiting nobles’ daughter, regardless of how attractive they were."

Liam's eyes narrowed as he tried to recall that night.

"As I was walking past the ballroom, I heard your gentle, yet firm correction to his behavior. You were reminding him what a good prince was supposed to do. Be there for his subjects. Kind. Understanding. Sacrificial." He chuckled again. "It was just the slap to the face I needed."

Liam slumped back in his chair. "That ideal is meaningless."

Constantine slowly nodded. "If I had heard it after your mother died, I would have dismissed it too." He reached over and placed his hand on top of his son's. "Time doesn't necessarily heal all wounds, but it does help in how we view them." He swallowed. "There were years where the very thought of your mother brought me to my knees. Her loss was like a festering wound that never eased."

Liam knew that feeling all too well.

"But now, though I miss her just as much as I did before; my memories of her bring me comfort." He squeezed Liam's hand. "They make me grateful for every single second I was allowed with her."

Liam blew out a shaky breath. "Well, unfortunately I can't find and fight the earthquake that took Riley. I don't see the point in being king for revenge."

"True." Constantine nodded. "But Riley, Drake, and Maxwell believed in you. They went on the unity tour for you, for your reign to be successful. Not for themselves. Not for Cordonia. All because they thought you and you alone were worthy to be king."

Liam swallowed a few times as stray tears fell from his blue eyes. "I don't deserve it. I didn't deserve their faith or..." He huffed while wiping his eyes. "I'm not worth it."

"They would say you are." Constantine swung his legs to the side and pushed himself up. "You remaining king is a way to honor them and their efforts to help you be the best one you can be."

Liam pressed his palms to his eyes as a sob tore through him. When he felt his father's arms come around him, he buried his head against his shoulder while shaking with his cries.

Constantine gently rubbed his back while promising he was there for him. That he wouldn't have to go through this alone, that he had him, Regina, and those of his friends that had survived.

Liam clung to him, unable to speak.

Father and son clung to each other as the sun set.

********************

The next few weeks had Liam attending and speaking at the funerals of those that were no longer with them. He didn't bother to try and mask his heartache in front of his people. The nation was touched by his honesty and mourned with their young king.

Constantine and Regina remained by his side. Olivia and Neville traveled with him to each graveyard. Hana and Madeleine were allowed to attend some of the funerals. Rashad stuck by their sides, even helping to push Hana's wheelchair.

Seeing them each time he took the podium reminded him of why he was doing this. His father's words about honoring his beloved and best friends gave him the strength to speak of the type of people they had been.

He didn't know how he got through those first few weeks. Though it took a great effort, he forced himself to get back to his duties. Routine helped him remain focused on what he needed to do and gave him opportunities to continue to grieve.

The rest of the unity tour was canceled. Liam instead spent his efforts in rebuilding Portivira and in replanting the apple orchard. Out of respect and because he couldn't stand the thought of a ball without Riley, he canceled the rest of the year's planned balls and palace events.

With little chance to catch the king in a position that would bring about his downfall, the Sons of the Earth were soon desperate and making foolish decisions to attack during the daylight. Many were rounded up by Bastien's elite task force. Anton was found holed up in a long forgotten Nevarkis stronghold and died in a shootout with the king's guards.

After months of turmoil and uncertainty, Cordonia was once again in a state of peace.

Constantine lived long enough to see it come about. With his sons and wife at his bedside, he quietly passed away after telling them each how much he loved them.

Liam kept working. After two years, he hosted his first ball, an engagement one for Rashad and Hana. He had smiled and gave a sweet toast to the couple, all while remembering his own happiness he had once had with Riley.

As the years went by, he was able to think back on Riley, Drake, and Maxwell with a soft smile on his face.

Then the fifth year as king, he was approached by Madeleine.

"Liam, I think it's time for you to host another social season with potential suitors."

A denial rose to his lips.

She held up her hand to silence it. "I know, but you need an heir."

"There is already an heir. The throne goes to Olivia if I die."

"Liam." She huffed. "The crown needs to be stable. The people want to see you happy with a family." She shrugged her shoulders. "Cordonians are a sentimental bunch."

A family. That had been his heartfelt wish for years. Could he do that? Have one without his Riley?

"I will think about it." He conceded.

Madeleine smiled at him. "Good." She curtsied and left him alone.

Liam rocked back in his desk chair. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"My love," he whispered. "What should I do? You were the only one I could ever picture myself marrying. Mother to my children." His brow creased. "Am I ready to try to find something that can’t possibly compare to what I had with you?"

He closed his eyes, wishing he could find the answer.

"Liam, dear?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at Regina.

She smiled warmly at him. "You fell asleep. Dinner is ready."

He apologized and rose to follow her out.

He halted mid step as the afternoon sun glinted on Regina's silver hair. The answer he needed was right there. He looked back up to the heavens.

His lips curved softly. "I understand. Though no one can ever compare to you, perhaps I can have the kind of luck my father had."

[drwcn]

The Shadow Beneath the Light 

Concept: Sect Master Wen Qing & her harem of Jiang heirs demonic cultivators. CQL!Verse. 

[Part 1] Part 2

(long post, tw: scars)

~

The remnant heirs of Yunmeng Jiang all had scars, Wen Qing knew.

She discovered Jiang Yanli’s first. 

“Do you want me to help you remove them,” she had asked the oldest Jiang when her brothers brought her to Nevernight for Wen Qing to ease the ravage of demonic cultivation on their sister’s constitution. Wen Qing was good at that, erasing scars. She had helped herself along these many years; Wen Ruohan didn’t like weakness, and scars were much too telling. 

“No.” Jiang Yanli replied, and Wen Qing found her steel like resolve magnetic. 

“What they did to me cannot be undone, Wen-zongzhu.” Jiang Yanli raised a pale hand from the dark medicinal bath Wen Qng had put her in, water dripping from her wrist down to her elbow, rolling across the countless white lines that marred her once untouched skin. With a twist of her wrist, tendrils of back smoke danced between her bony fingers and gathered in her palm. 

She closed her eyes. “But they’ve paid for it.” 

There was no point in asking her how these fine scars made by thin blades came to be, or what others scars she carried that could not be seen with the eye. Nevernight received reports from Wen Chao himself when he had captured the three Jiang children. Having been raised beside him, Wen Qing knew her cousin’s nature well, and she knew even better the pettiness of his mistress Wang Lingjiao. 

...the Jiangs have fallen under our might, stripped of their powers and dignity alike...

Even Wen Ruohan had scoffed at his son’s letter in distaste and muttered “that idiot boy” before sinking back into deep meditation. In his later days, he had little energy for anything else but controlling the Yin Iron. 

It made him easy to kill. 

After she’d slain him, Wen Qing had preserved his body in her laboratory, and ordered him to be studied in detail by her healers. The physiological effects of demonic cultivation on the body: such uncharted water, so much untapped knowledge, a realm of unexplored potential. She wasn’t going to get another subject that was as readily available and un-missed as her predecessor. 

And if this just so happened to allow the three Jiangs to bear witness to his systematic disassembling while his de-brained head floated in a glass tub above her workbench... well, that was a convenient bonus. 

Wen Qing was not a nice woman. 

Fortunately, the Jiangs weren’t looking for nice. 

~

She married Jiang Yanli on an auspicious summer day. 

With the memories of Yunmeng’s vengence still so fresh in their minds and Qishan Wen’s new political foundation so precarious, it seemed wise to keep to a serious, private agenda. Yet, this was Sect Master Wen’s da’hun, an official affair if nothing else, so no corners were cut when it came to matters of ceremony and sanctity. Though it was not the lavish event that Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian had dreamed of giving their sister in their youth, Wen Qing made sure that Jiang Yanli was afforded every measure of respect and dignity. 

They rose early in the morning, bathed, and meditated to clear their minds. At noon, they climbed Nevernight’s tall stairs together to bow and pay homage to the heavens and gods. There was no song, no music, just the high altitude winds in their ears as they bond themselves to each other, witnessed in full by their brothers, their parents’ spirits and their disciples. 

Then later, inside the sanctuary of their wedding suite - the only place where Wen Qing gave in to her impulse to make it as decorated and luxurious as she knew Jiang Yanli deserved and desired - the young Sect Master of Qishan Wen allowed herself to be unwrapped by her new fu’ren and to unwrap her in return. 

“It’s all yours,” Wen Qing promised within the cocoon of their canopy, the air dense with the heat of their coupling. Her body tingled in pleasure where Jiang Yanli’s hands had mapped out its planes and claimed them for herself. 

“Hm?” Her new wife laid propped on her elbow by her side, the curtain of her hair falling around her pale shoulders, lips dark, kiss-swollen, and smiling. She was the very definition of beauty, the epitome of divine, and living proof in Wen Qing’s mind that mere mortals could not taint perfection. “What’s mine?” 

Her heart, they both knew, would have to be shared. In fact, Wen Qing suspected Yanli rather preferred it this way: all of them in Wen Qing’s bed and in her life, so that none would have to be without the other. To the outside world it may seem like a harem, but Wen Qing understood without a doubt that there could be no others, nor did she want there to be. 

She reached for Jiang Yanli’s free hand, laced their fingers together and pressed a tender kiss to her palm. “Everything. All that I am - my titles, my powers, my lands - they’re yours. Fu’ren, you are my fu’ren, my legally wedded spouse, my only wife. I entrust myself, my life to you.”

“Yanli,” she whispered, caressing her wife’s - her wife, what miracle! - face with the back of her knuckles, her thumb brushing her lips open and then down under her chin, along her neck, across her clavicle and over the mount of her left breast, a motion which earned her a soft moan from Yanli’s parted lips. “I can’t turn back time, can’t undo the past, but henceforth I will do everything in my power to ensure the happiness of you future. Qishan Wen Sect lies at your feet.”

Jiang Yanli’s eyes darkened incrementally with her every word, darkened in a way that had nothing to do with the yin energy that flowed through her veins.  

“I like it when you call me fu’ren,” Jiang Yanli leaned closer, her gaze falling to Wen Qing’s lips. “Say it again.” 

“Fu- mhm!” 

Her words were lost somewhere in between them. Jiang Yanli shoved Wen Qing onto her back and caught her lips in a kiss that was truly too filthy to have come from any good gentry girl, and proceeded to show her just exactly how much she liked it.

~

 A-Ning once asked her once why the Jiang siblings would agree to marry her, despite the Wens being the reason for all their tragedy. Wen Qing told him that there could be no greater karmatic justice than if the clan from whom Wen Ruohan and his sons took everything became the bloodline to inherit Qishan Wen’s future. 

~

Jiang Cheng’s scars are ragged and angry, overturned flesh, long and deep. 

They hurt him on the days when the weather turned and the temperature dropped. His temper was terrible on those nights, and with the dark powers aggravating his spirit, that made him dangerous. 

Wen Qing didn’t mind. She was a Wen, and Wens practiced ways of the fire, and for Jiang Cheng she would set her mountains alight to keep him warm for a moment. 

Two days after Jiang Yanli became the new lady of Nevernight, Wen Qing welcomed Jiang Wanyin into her harem with a small private ceremony of their own.  He looked odd in proper red; it wasn’t his colour, but his smile was sweet and shy and Wen Qing lost herself a little in those eyes. 

He was her consort, what a strange notion to think about. Even now she still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it. Dukes and emperors had concubines and consorts, cultivators rarely did. She wasn’t the first but certainly one of the few. Not to mention, she was the first female head of family in Qishan Wen’s history. A female Sect Master with a harem of demonic cultivators, what a colourful tableau they must seem to the world. 

She asked Jiang Wanyin before he committed himself to her if there was any part of him that minded that he couldn’t be her legal husband, that she couldn’t give him the same prestige she gave his sister. He shook his head. After everything, he and Wei Wuxian both agreed that Yanli came first and that they would honour her before all others. Wen Qing thought this was perhaps their way of atoning for a mistake that was never theirs to begin with, but as much as she didn’t agree, she understood why the boys couldn’t let go of the guilt of not being able to protect their sister. 

(Sometimes, they would tell her stories of what they endured at the hands of Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao, and how the three of them survived the months they spent together in the Burial Mount. It gave her nightmares, those stories, she who didn’t lose a wink of sleep after cutting off a man’s head.) 

Jiang Cheng couldn’t be her husband in name, but she made sure to arrange for him all the sweet and homely customs that normal couples would enjoy on their wedding night. A veil for him to lift from her face, and wine for them to drink with their arms entwined. He looked confused when the merry old wives, who were her wedding attendants, led by Grandma came to her with a bowl of half cooked dumplings. 

She took a bite. The merry wives chuckled and asked, “sheng bu sheng a?”  

Jiang Cheng blushed. He understood. Wen Qing bit back a laugh and nodded, “sheng.” 

Then they were left alone. Jiang Cheng was still blushing, even though what was supposed to happen next would hardly be their first. 

Hm, on second thought, perhaps it would. 

Their times spent together prior to this had always been accompanied by special assists that Wen Qing was quite good at using and that Jiang Cheng was quite delighted at receiving. She didn’t bring them tonight. She figured that tonight of all nights he would want her a different way, just as she wanted him. 

Jiang Cheng shuffled back onto the bed and glanced in further confusion at all the dried dates, peanuts, longan and sunflower seeds spread across the silk. “What? Did we run out of plates?” 

Wen Qing climbed leisurely onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Use that big boy brain of yours and think.” 

It only took a couple more seconds before it clicked. “Oh”. His blush darkened. “Wow they’re really serious about this stuff.” 

“What?” Wen Qing teased, purposely gyrating her hips to grind down against him. “You don’t want to?” She could feel him, and he definitely wanted to. 

His hands spanned her waist, pulling her closer. “I never said that.” 

Unlike Yanli, Jiang Cheng needed a firm but gentler hand. Something consistent, unwavering, safe. Wen Qing cradled him between her thighs and within her arms. The heat from her golden core flowed out from her fingertips, crawling up his spine and along his scars to warm him from within. 

Jiang Cheng panted against her neck, clung to her tightly and pressed desperate kisses where he could. 

“I’ve got you,” she whispered against his ear, as their shared pleasure dizzied her usually sharp perception of the world. “I’ve got you. A-Cheng, Wanyin, I’m with you, you’re safe, you’re good, you’re so good, so good, you can let go, let go. Let go.”

In the back of her mind even as their world exploded into blissful white lights, a single thought lingered. You’re not allowed to die.

Afterwards, when he curled up quietly at her side, pillowed against her soft breasts, she found herself running her fingers through his hair and lulling him to sleep with her visions of their future. Yunmeng would be free, she would tell him. Lotus Pier would be cleaned and rebuilt just as the three of them remembered. She would send her most trusted subordinates to the Jiang library, to preserve their books and scrolls. She would dispatch her most agile trackers to find remnants of their disciples and Jiang elders travelling the lands so that they may help to pass down Yunmeng Jiang's wisdom and guide the steps to train their young folks... 

“Young folks,” she mused. She could still feel his spent between her legs, a bit sticky where it was starting to pool under her thighs, and a daring part of her wondered if it would happen tonight. “Hm.”

“Someday,” Jiang Cheng mumbled, half asleep. “’hm many d’you want?”  

“The better question is how many your sister wants. Fu’ren is calling the shots on this front - ha ha - stop!” Wen Qing shrieked a little as his sneaky fingers danced across her sensitive ribs. The bastard knew just where to tickle her! 

“What?” Jiang Cheng grinned, pulling her closer and apparently no longer interested in sleeping. “A-jie has high expectations, we can’t disappoint her.”

“Hm yes,” Wen Qing smiled, melting into his kiss. “That would be unacceptable.” 

~ 

The stories about them, the stories that the Jins were spreading, painted a wretched affair. 

Wen Qing didn’t have to hear it to know that it must be bad. The cold blooded assassin betraying the man who raised her, decapitating his head and usurping his rule, overthrowing him to steal Qishan Wen Sect from under him. She claimed zero tolerance for his tyranny and yet, not months later, she had taken in not one, not two, but three of middle kingdom’s grandmasters of demonic cultivation. Within a year, she’d married all of them. A harem. She was the only master of a major sect to have one. Word on the street was that the Jiangs were her puppets, her slaves, that she owned them. 

What people didn’t know is that although she usurped Wen Ruohan and assumed his power, in doing so, she had also assumed his debts, the debt that Qishan Wen owed Yunmeng Jiang. Yes she owed Gusu Lan as well, so she sent her resources, and yes she owed Qinghe Nie, so she sent her healers. But the Jiangs...what could she do for them? 

So no, the Jiang remnants were not her puppets, her soldiers, nor - heaven forbid - her slaves. They were her debt, a debt she could never repay, and would owe for the rest of her life. 

~

Wei Wuxian’s scars were the worst. They were the only kind she couldn’t do anything about because they were inflicted with the spiritual fire brands of her own clan. 

Wen Mao, their founder, had them forged when he established their sect. It was intended for their own disciples who’d committed the gravest of crimes. Once inflicted, the evidence of it could never be removed through any healing methods known to man. It was never meant to be used for torture. 

Wen Chao clearly didn’t care, or more likely he didn’t know, since he barely bothered to read his own ancestor’s teachings.  

The first time Wen Qing saw Wei Wuxian’s scars, it was when she had finally wrangled him into her clinic to have him examined for damages from demonic cultivation. She had examined his sister, and she had examined his brother. They both got better under the care of her and her team of healers. Only Wei Wuxian resisted, even though he was the most aggressive practitioner of the them three. 

When he finally shed his upper robes, Wen Qing understood why. He was covered in them. Her assistant healer actually swore aloud and flinched, though Wen Qing’s withering glare had him quickly lowering his eyes to apologize. “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional.” 

Wei Wuxian shrugged. 

He drank a lot and was indiscriminate about his liquor, but once in a drunken stupor he confessed that he missed Gusu’s Emperor’s Smile. So when Wen Qing proposed to him like his siblings wanted, she expected him to refuse. Wei Wuxian wasn’t the type to be forced to do anything no matter how much his brother and his sister wanted him to. 

Except he didn’t. 

“You understand what I’ve saying right?” 

“Yeah. Being the concubine of the most attractive young Sect Master in the land - no offence Zewu-jun and Chifeng-zun - uhm some would call me a lucky bastard.”  

Wen Qing was baffled. “If you’re sure. You know I wouldn’t let the Jins do anything to you or Yanli or A-Cheng, marriage or no marriage.” 

“Pff, I’m not afraid of the Jins, and why wouldn’t I be sure?” 

“Because....Lan Wangji?” No need to beat around the bush about these things. She was there when the two of them fell out of the cave together, wrists bound with Gusu Lan’s head ribbon. 

Hm. 

Wei Wuxian glowered. “Well, more reason to get married isn’t it? If I’m part of your inner court, your harem, the venerated and righteous Hanguang-jun can’t reasonably come and force me to go back to Gusu with him so he can exorcise the evil out of me.”

“He said that?” Somehow the dots just didn’t connect.  

“Not in so many words.”

Right. 

Well, in her defense, Wen Qing didn’t really know Lan Wangji all that well, so she couldn’t be blamed for what she did next. 

Two days after her ceremony with Jiang Cheng, and four days after her da’hun with Jiang Yanli, Wei Wuxian dressed himself in red and Wen Qing came to him with a giant vat of Qishan’s finest alcohol. 

There was none of the grandeur she afforded Yanli (he wouldn’t have preferred that even if she could arrange it), nor any of the sweetness she shared with A-Cheng (“He’s the sentimentalist in the family not me”, waved Wei Wuxian dismissively). Wei Wuxian just wanted a good time, and Wen Qing obliged. 

In short, they got drunk. Blindingly drunk. Over many, many rounds of drinking games which started with betting and ended with stripping, both of them worked themselves up enough to get their hands on each other. 

Probably. 

She was not entirely sure. When she woke up the next morning, she was on the floor with a pounding headache, completely naked, sore all over and wrapped in a red silk drape that somehow came down from the wall. The bed behind her was still made, which meant they never made it there. 

A groan came from the table. Crammed under there, Wei Wuxian was also completely naked. He shuffled out, rolling over onto his stomach, blew the errant strands of hair from his face and whined, “Ow! I’m so sore. Did we fuck?” 

“Uh...” What time was it? Surely way too early for any decent person to ask her to do a medical exam on herself. Wen Qing squinted against the light streaming in from the windows. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

Wei Wuxian padded down his body and winced when he reached his backside. “Yeah we did.” He gave a triumphant pump of his fist. “Alright! Mission accomplished.”  

Wen Qing laughed. Wei Wuxian sat up and laughed with her. She laughed harder when she was sure that his mirth was genuine.  

She felt lucky. She had a household: a brother who was safe, respected and maturing into a fine young man every day, a wife who was the pillar of her life, a consort who she loved very much, and a man who kept things interesting. A family. 

Wen Qing laughed, but she laughed too soon. 

~

“Gusu Lan Sect is sending an envoy next month to Nevernight for the trade negotiations.” Wen Qing paced the length of her wife’s private study. 

Jiang Yanli raised her eye brows. “Yes...we’ve spoken about this. Everything is in order, is it not? Lan Xichen was very reasonable in his letters. Certainly more agreeable than Jin Guangshan.” 

Wen Qing smacked the newest letter down on Yanli’s desk. “This was delivered to me personally this morning, addressed to the both of us. I can’t believe I’m receiving something of this nature from Zewu-jun of all people.”

Jiang Yanli picked up the slip, glanced it over, and fell silent. “Oh.” 

“Yanli, ‘Oh’ is an understatement, this is an outrage!” 

The intention of the letter was very clear; Lan Xichen wrote on behalf of his brother Lan Wangji for Wei Wuxian’s hand in marriage. 

The ladies stared at each other, in utter, shocked silence. No matter how close the Twin Jades were, there was no version of reality in which Jiang Yanli would believe that Sect Master Lan would ever stoop to asking a fellow Sect Master for her concubine, like Wei Wuxian was some kind of giftable property. This has to be a mistake. 

“Listen to this language. ‘My brother, though he may often find it difficult to express his affections, feels deeply for Wei-gongzi.’ Gongzi, he wrote, not xiansheng. ‘As there are regrettably no elders present for either the Jiang or Wei family, I must then seek blessing and permission from you Wen-zongzhu and Wen fu’ren, the current head of the clan with whom Wei-gongzi resides and his adopted elder sister’.” Jiang Yanli read aloud, pausing to exclaim, “I - I don’t think he knows!”

“How could he possibly not know? Jin Guangshan is fabricating nasty stories about us in every tea house, tavern, and inn. How could Lan Xichen not know?!” Wen Qing dug the heels of her hands into her eye socket in frustration. “Wen zongzhu and Wen fu’ren - he knows we married.”

“Yes, you and I. The vernacular used on the streets is the Jiang heirs, so maybe he thought it didn’t include A-Xian. In any case, you haven’t gone out in public with him yet.” Yanli tried to rationalize. People knew about Jiang Cheng because Wen Qing had taken him on an inspection of Qishan Wen’s cities and citadels three weeks ago. Everyone saw: subsidiary clans, townsfolk, peasants, travelling merchants. 

“That’s true.”  Then Wen Qing suddenly had a thought. “At the risk of sounding like a warlord trying to curry favour with an ally by gifting away her concubine, you think we can just ...lie about the marriage....? No, no that’s insane. And immoral.” 

 Yanli sighed. “We could try all we want, but A-Xian would never buy into it, even if you and I both know there’s still something there.” 

“Not that he’ll ever admit it.” Wen Qing grumbled.  

“A-Xian can be...difficult. Once upon a time, I had harboured some kind of hope that he and Lan-er-gongzi could...” Another sigh. “And then everything happened. I can no more speak for him than I can speak for myself, and without a family to back him, given his method of cultivation and his record during the war...well.” Jiang Yanli’s eyes took on a far away look. 

Wen Qing cocked her head. She was starting to see why Jiang Yanli wanted her to marry Wei Wuxian. Jiang Yanli understood as his sister just as well as Wen Qing understood as his once-physician, that Wei Wuxian was more fragile than he let on, and she wanted someone there to take care of him. More than that, Jiang Yanli wanted herself to be around to ensure that he was taken cared of. That person wasn’t going to be Lan Wangji. She had given up on Gusu Lan Sect. 

 Perhaps she should’ve waited. Perhaps they both should’ve. 

Wen Qing rounded the table and came behind Yanli, kneading her thumb into the tense muscles of her trapeziums. Jiang Yanli hummed. “He still loves him, you know.” 

“I know.” 

Over the months, Wen Qing had discovered that she and Wei Wuxian were quite compatible. She shared his bed - occasionally - because they were friends and it was fun and he needed the connection, but it wasn’t like that between them, and they were both well aware of it. Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing saw each other only as family, in the best sense of the word.  

Things were good. Really. It was warm and comfortable. Wei Wuxian spent his days with his siblings and Wen Ning and found joy in the duties he took up within her sect. If Wei Wuxian liked to stare at the orchids on his window sill, the white orchids Nie Huaisang brought as a gift when he visited lasted month and which Wei Wuxian tended to himself and didn't let anyone touch, Wen Qing pretended she didn’t see. 

“The envoy next month is clearly a ruse. Our trade agreements are all but finalized. Lan Xichen clearly wants to talk about this marriage in person, but why the smoke and mirrors?” Wen Qing knelt down and wrapped her arms around her wife. 

“His Uncle probably doesn’t agree. Or his Elders.”  Jiang Yanli leaned back into the embrace and closed her eyes. She was tired. They both were. “I don’t imagine Lan Xichen is coming here himself.” 

“Naturally not.” 

“Who is he sending?” 

Wen Qing pulled back just enough to tilt Jiang Yanli's chin towards her for a kiss. "Guess? Who does the kind and magnanimous Zewu-jun have at his disposal that is good with words, has his trust, and knows the ins and outs of Nevernight."

"Ah." Yanli understood.

Sunshot Campaign’s most prolific little spy. 

“Meng Yao.”

[Next]

~

Notes:

da’hun 大婚 - the official marriage of a person to their legal spouse.

sheng 生 = raw, but also “birth”. It’s an homonym for “is it raw?” and “are you going to give birth?” It’s for good luck.

date (zao), peanut (sheng), longan (gui), sunflower seeds (zi) - zao sheng gui zi 早生贵子 another homonym for having babies quickly. Lol yes traditional families are obsessed with babies.  

[maria-scribbles]

cocoa

sick of hearing his parents fight day after day, reggie goes to the one person who knows exactly what he's going through: the pretty violinist who lives next door.

fandom: julie and the phantoms

ship: alive!reggie x reader

word count: 1.5k+

featuring: swearing (as always), fighting, allusion to an abusive relationship, general sadness, mention of a family member’s death

a/n: day 2 of my holiday challenge: hot chocolate! this is kind of depressing and i'm sorry, sad!reggie was stuck in my head and he wouldn't leave until i wrote this but it has kind of a hopeful ending tho so i guess that counts for something? this is also my first time writing for this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. as usual, unbetaed so all mistakes are my b.

come join my holiday challenge!

December 1994

They were fighting again. It was the same old story: his dad being an ass on purpose, his mom taking the bait, wash, rinse, repeat. Their shouts rang harshly throughout the house, gloomy and miserable despite the cheerful decorations strung up in every room and the massive Christmas tree downstairs, dressed in its festive best and looking like it came straight out of a seasonal catalog.

Reggie had gone to them at the beginning of the month, begging them not to fight, please; his everyday life was already ruined by their screaming matches and the only thing he wanted for Christmas was some peace, quiet and civility to celebrate his favorite holiday. His father had pretended not to hear his son's pleas, ignoring him completely like he always did while his mother offered a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"We'll try, honey." She'd said and he knew it was a lie. His mother always lied, his father always threw a plate at her head, Reggie always wished he had the courage to run away for good, like Luke did. But he wasn't Luke, he never would be, and he just didn't have it in him to leave them, even though he was the one who came out worse for wear after each fight.

The distant shatter of ceramic drifting up the stairs was his cue to go until things cooled down again -he never stuck around after the first dish got thrown, not anymore, the scar on his arm the perfect reminder why- and so he jimmied open the window of his room and climbed down the trellis into the salty air, the crashing waves of the Pacific covering his escape like a blanket.

(He could've stormed down the stairs and slammed the door behind him and his parents still wouldn't have noticed he left but something about sneaking out and risking a broken bone made him feel alive, the same rush he felt when he was on stage, bass humming in his hands, performing alongside his bandmates and knowing they felt it, too.)

Even outside, the echoes of his parents' angry voices still rang in his ears, haunting him all the way to the house next door, its sparkling lights shining brightly and guiding him through the darkening night like a beacon. The driveway sat empty, sans for one lone bicycle haphazardly lying on its side in front of the garage and he carefully propped it up on its kickstand before climbing the stairs to the front porch.

The faint sound of a slow, somber violin came to a stop as he knocked on the door, followed by a quiet, familiar voice Reggie knew like the back of his hand.

"It's open."

He found Y/N alone on the couch, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the strings of the violin on her lap and she glanced up at the tap of his boots on the hardwood floor, face brightening the slightest bit at the sight of her friend rounding the corner into the living room. 

The girl didn't speak as she gently placed the instrument aside and stood, meeting him halfway and throwing her arms around his neck to draw him into a crushing hug. His own arms wrapped around her waist and held her just as tightly, his head resting on her shoulder, and the warm vanilla scent of her soft hair tickling his nose helped calm the storm in his heart.

"I'm sorry, Reg." Her voice was low and soothing in his ear and he didn't know how he could possibly hold her any tighter than he already was but he managed as he replied, "I'm sorry, too."

While his parents fought like wildfire, explosive and loud and raging with the wrong type of passion, hers were like a deep freeze, icy and cold and desolate in the worst possible way. Too many times Y/N was left to her own devices, all alone in an empty house with her thoughts and a violin her only company (at least they had given her that, the gift of music and a beautiful, expensive instrument to prove their love was real, albeit superficial).

It was some time later before she pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye and brushed a wayward strand of his dark hair back from his forehead with one calloused finger. "Okay, pity party's over. It's almost Christmas and we're not spending it being sad about shitty parents. Deal?"

She held out her pinky with one eyebrow raised expectantly and grinned when he nodded and hooked his pinky around hers. Reggie loved really liked that about her, the way she could just make all the heartache and pain and disappointment vanish from his mind like magic and replace them with thoughts of her and her sunny smile, her big heart, her touch that made the very blood in his veins spark like lightning. Y/N was his bright spot, his safe haven, and while Luke, Alex, and Bobby knew what he was going through, they just didn't understand like she did (they had their own problems to deal with, anyway, so he couldn't blame them).

"Good, now come on," She wrapped the rest of her fingers around his hand and started tugging him down the hall to the kitchen. "You're helping me make hot chocolate."

"Peppermint?" He asked, smiling when she glanced up at him with an offended look on her face.

"Duh. Only a heathen would make it without peppermint, Reginald."

Another thing he liked about her: she never did anything halfway; half-assing things, taking the easy way out, cutting corners just wasn't her style. It even applied to hot chocolate apparently, as he watched her flutter around the kitchen with practiced ease -heating milk and cream on the stove, measuring sugar and chocolate, slowly adding drops of peppermint oil- and despite her saying he was going to help, the only thing he got to do was crush some candy canes. Not that he minded, though, because while his hands could play bass like no one's business, they were a total disaster when it came to cooking and he knew Y/N was well aware of that fact, considering it took a week for the burnt popcorn smell to fade from her microwave the last time he tried. 

The violinist smiled and proudly handed him the finished drink, whipped cream piled high and candy cane bits almost overflowing from the edge of a red mug. "This is my grandma's recipe," She said, one hand holding a purple mug for herself and the other reaching to grab onto his wrist and pull him out the front door. "She'd always make it when she came to visit for the holidays and we'd sit out on the porch and watch the ocean, each and every year." 

"She was the best," Reggie said as the two sat together on the porch swing, his right side flush against her left. "I still have dreams about her cookies and wake up drooling."

The cool ocean breeze ruffled Y/N's hair and carried her laugh off down the beach. "She loved you, you know that? She was always talking about 'that nice boy next door.' Pretty sure she wanted us to get married."

"I loved her, too." He took a sip of his drink in an attempt to hide the blush that was taking over his entire face. "And we still have time for the whole marriage thing."

"I'm still waiting for my ring." She laughed again before looking down at the mug in her hands, voice becoming quiet as she replied, "I really miss her. She was the only person in my family who actually cared about me 'cause my parents sure as hell don't."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong but he knew it'd be a lie and he never did that, refusing to become a pathological liar like his mother, so instead he just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. "Hey, no more talk about shitty parents, remember?"

"Sorry, I know," She took a long sip of her cocoa, then rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "I just feel alone sometimes when you're not around. I mean, you have your band and I always had my grandma to talk to but now she's gone and I'm kind of...lost."

"You have the band, too, Y/N! Alex and Luke love you and Bobby, well, he's Bobby. No one really knows what goes on in that guy's head but I know he thinks you're cool. We all do, especially me, and you should know you're never alone 'cause you'll always have us."

The girl abruptly sat up and grabbed the mug from Reggie's hand before he could blink and placed it alongside her own on the floor, then threw her arms around his neck in another one of her fierce hugs.

"Has anyone told you how fucking amazing you are?" 

"You just did." He buried his blushing face in her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist once again. "I'm serious, Y/N. You'll always have me."

"And you'll always have me, Reg. No matter what."

And as they sat there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other's arms, Reggie knew as long as he had Y/N in his life, things were gonna be okay.

[amintyworld]

Denial - Dream SMP SMPsona Oneshot

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the lack of content lately, I've been on a bit of writer's block. Anyway, this one-shot is inspired by my OC SMPsona Flower! If you'd like to see more content of her let me know and if you have questions about her character or story my ask box is open! I hope you enjoy it! - Minty

Summary: After losing her first cannon life, Flower visits Phil as she usually would for tea. She ends up finding comfort in the only true friend she has left.

TW: Major Character Death, Mention of Major Character Death, Slight blood/gore (Not too severe, just a few sentences), Betrayal (If you squint), denial, loneliness, self-blame. (LMK if I need to tag anything else!)

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Flower grasped the basket of goodies awkwardly, taking a deep breath she wasn’t aware she needed. The other day was… it wasn’t great, but today’s a new day. A clean slate. That doesn’t mean everything was the same, however - Fundy and Quackity glared at her as she passed, and when Ranboo tried to walk up to her to say hello it was like he realized who it was and just froze in his tracks. Murmurs floating around didn’t exactly help the large pit that grew in her stomach. Traitor, they said. How could she be something she never wanted to be? She never tried to be? L’manberg was her home. These were her friends. She.. she wasn’t like Eret, or… or Wilbur. She was just defending someone who couldn’t defend himself! She was just trying to help.

Despite it all, one thing was for certain - she’d give anything for things to be normal right now. Maybe that was why it took her so long to meet up with Phil for tea.

Gathering courage, she raised her arm and knocked. For a moment she wondered if Phil was mad at her too. He didn’t see everything, maybe he thought she’d lead them there. Shuffling could be heard beyond the door, muffled with voices inside. Voices. Did he have someone over? She didn’t want to impose, he’s been through a lot, maybe she should just-

When Philza finally opened the door, blonde hair framing his face perfectly with that same tired warm smile, she’d tensed up. “Hey, Flower.”

“Hi, Phil.” She swallowed, mustering a small smile. “Sorry I didn’t come by earlier, I was, uhm… busy.” She heard a distinct ‘Baa’ come from inside, which proved to only raise more questions to add to her ever-growing list. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no no please.” Phil moved aside, holding the door open. “It’s been quite a while.”

Flower walked inside, her heart dropping in her chest seeing materials scattered all over the floor, chests busted and broken. The walls and floor were littered with axe and sword marks. They really weren’t kidding. She remembered only a few weeks ago Phil finally was fully moved in - he’d organized the chests to his satisfaction and somehow lugged his bed up to the second floor. It was pristine. Did… did they really-? “Phil… Phil, what…?”

“Sorry for the mess, everytime I think I’ve gathered it all I find more material in a corner somewhere.” He shrugged, moving toward the furnace and grabbing a kettle from the chest. A lump formed in her throat when she noticed the bulky and seemingly heavy ankle bracelet on his right foot. The blinking red light taunted her. “Can I get you some coffee, tea…?”

After what felt like forever, she found her voice again. “Some tea would be great.”

“Of course. Make yourself at home, I’ll be right over.”

“Right. Thanks.” As she moved to go sit, she’d been so distracted she hadn’t noticed a blue-wooled sheep sniffing around her basket. It looked up at her with big brown pleading puppy-dog eyes, and she couldn’t help herself from smiling at the creature, even to relieve her worries for just a moment. “Excuse me, little guy, but what exactly do you think you’re doing in there?”

“Ah, I see you’ve found Friend.”

“Friend?”

“Ghostbur’s pet.” Ghostbur? She hadn’t heard of him since he got shipped out with Tommy after the exile. He was... back in L’manburg? The teenager turned to the winged creature.

“Phil, you’re sheepsitting?” She smirked slightly, hand combing through Friend’s soft fur.

Philza chuckled, turning briefly to face his friend. “It wasn’t exactly as if I had much of a choice. He didn’t trust anyone else.”

“That’s… kinda cute, though.” she admitted, moving to sit and put her basket upon the table. “You know, in a Ghostbur kind of way.” She shrugged.

“He’s been visiting a lot more lately. I gotta admit, it’s nice to have the company.” Phil carefully picked up the two mugs, bringing them over and setting them down on the table to cool.

“Sorry about that, I really should’ve told you-”

“Flower, it’s okay. You don’t have to look after me. I know you’ve got things going on.” Flower couldn’t understand how Phil kept smiling, throughout all this. How he kept his voice even. Why wasn’t he mad, no, furious with her?! She was the one who tried to protect him! She was the one who couldn’t fight back. She was the one who failed.

It’s… it’s okay..? It’s okay?!

“But this… your house, you… you have a fucking ankle monitor, Phil! That’s NOT okay.” Flower raised her voice. “You didn’t do anything!”

Phil winced at her outburst, looking down at the steam rising up from his mug. “I... didn’t tell them where Technoblade was.” He breathed. Flower deflated, looking over toward her friend, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s why. They demanded to know where he was so they could kill him, and I wouldn’t tell them. Not like it mattered, they found the compass he gave me anyway.”

“This isn’t like them, any of them,” Flower added, breaking the brief moment of silence. “I don’t... agree with what Techno did, but… going after him, organizing a witch hunt… Tubbo said he promised we’d get peace. No more fighting, not after the 16th.” Tears welled up at the edges of the teen’s eyes. “This isn’t, this wasn’t like him. They were never this violent, Ranboo would never hurt a fucking fly, I…”

“People change. Sometimes it’s… it’s just not for the better.”

“But I know them, they’re my friends…” She took a deep breath. Friends. Yeah, the same friends who won’t talk to you anymore. “This doesn’t make any sense, they wouldn’t… they wouldn’t…”

They wouldn’t kill me on purpose.

...Right?

“I told you, get out of the fucking way!”

“No! I won’t let you hurt him! If you’re gonna kill him you’ll have to kill me first!”

“We don’t want to hurt you, Flower.”

“Guys, can we just… uh… talk about-?”

“Back off, Ranboo.” Quackity warned.

“Flower, please. Please, just step aside. You don’t know what’s going on here, you don’t know what he’s hiding!”

“Yeah, you’re right, Tubbo. I don’t have a clue about what Phil knows. But I know netherite has never mixed well with a simple conversation, has it?”

“We’re not gonna hurt Gramps-”

“Then drop the weapons.”

“Flower…”

“You don’t wanna hurt me? You wanna talk to him? Drop the weapons now.” Her eyes narrowed. “That means you, Quackity.”

Something darkened in his eyes, anger flared from a place Flower never knew existed. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t take orders from you. MOVE!”

“Make me.”

It was so quick. A second of pure pain. A whimper escaped her lips. She felt the blade slice through her body, the blood well up on her throat as she choked. For that one second, she looked at them. Her friends.

Tubbo merely looked at the ground, eyes shut.

He didn’t care.

Phil looked over at her, squeezing her arm in a bit of comfort. “Are you… are you okay, Flower?”

The scar across her chest throbbed in pain at the memory, her eyes wide and a knot in her throat as tears fell down her cheeks. “I… P-Phil...” She sobbed, tea long forgotten as she curled in on herself.

“Oh, mate…” Phil’s warm gaze turned to sympathy as he moved over toward her, wrapping her in a tight hug pulling her to the floor. The teenager sobbed, heartbroken. Tears pricked at the edges of the winged creature’s eyes. “I know… I’m… I know…”

“He didn’t even look at me Phil… they killed me and he…” She sobbed. “He…” Phil’s hands laced through her hair, his wings moved slightly to wrap around her as well, like a soft, warm blanket. Protection. Protection the Angel of Death couldn’t give her then, but he swore he would now. They sat there for hours, surrounded by destruction and hurt, their only real comfort being each other.

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General Writing Taglist (Let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!):

@bones-sprouts

@foolishcaptains

[bugabash]

Hold me while we Fall - Chapter 3

WOW, I was late with this update, whoops! And the sole reason is that i am Lazy :D

Any hoo, this chapter was written and rewritten many damn times that I was ready to just give up, but I finally got it out! Now the amazing @sweetjupiterr and I are working on this project together, and some art work will be coming out in the future :D Please check out her Tumblr and her Instagram

Enjoy :)

First / Previous / Next

AO3

Chapter 3 - Training

“My name is Commandant Sadies! I am here for the sole purpose to make you feel fear! I am here to make you piss yourself at the sound of my voice! If I do my job right over the next 3 years you will become a shell of yourself and then become a soldier we can call competent! Right now, I am looking at you fucking sack of shits and I see no one who is good enough to be in the military!” The commandant screamed from the front, his arms behind his back, “Do not mistake anything I do for kindness! Because as far as you know I am the last face you see before you become a fucking SNACK for the titans!” He glared at them all, “now! I do not give a FUCK what is between your legs, you will be treated the same and no one has any excuse to fail at anything! You are cadets first and foremost! If I hear anyone complain you will be punished accordingly! Let’s have some fun!”

The commandant was a tall, bald man with deep sunken, black eyes and his face wore a look that spoke a thousand words. He used to be the commander for the scouts, his kill count for Titans was impressive and he was described as the best commandant that the military has had in years. The soldiers he brought into the military after the three years were the best in a long time. He walked with a sense of confidence that only looking death in the face could give you.

And now he was walking in their lines, drilling almost everyone, screaming in their faces and making them sweat. So far he had completed the first line and Marinette heard a few names, one girl’s name was Rose, she was from a small village in wall Rose (funnily enough, the commandant loved using that) and she was tiny, even smaller than Marinette, with short pixie cut blonde hair. She seemed like a little doll if Marinette were honest, her voice was high pitched and she everything about her seemed fragile. When the commandant was done with her she was trembling and her head was hung. Marinette wondered if she was crying.

The next person who caught Marinette’s eye was a tall boy with black spiked hair and broad shoulders. She couldn’t see his face but she could tell he was noticeably confident. The commandant had a grin on his face as he screamed at the boy, calling him a moronic ape. The boy’s name was Kim Le Chiến, the name stood out to her because she knew it was an oriental name just like the Cheng part of her name. She knew there were other clans but they usually stayed hidden out of fear of seclusion. Like her father always used to say, people fear others who don’t look like themselves. Kim was from a hunting village that used to reside in wall Maria, he wanted to join the scouts, screaming it out proudly as he saluted with his right fist over his heart. The commandant seemed content and moved on.

Marinette spotted one girl who was tall, long dark black hair that was in a braid down her back, her fringe covering most of her eye, she seemed to be the commandant’s new favourite toy from the look he gave her. She trembled as he screamed in her face, grabbing her fringe and lifting it up much to her surprise, screaming in her face about how he wanted soldiers who could actually see the titans before they were eaten. But the worst part was when he asked her anything, her voice was so soft and she had no confidence, making the Commandant even more angry. He didn’t get much out of her, calling her a disappointment and told her to start running around the field until he told her to stop. Marinette watched her jog off awkwardly, her eyes wide and fear all over her face.

The first row turned and faced the others at the commandant’s orders and soon Marinette was watching him grab a small dark skinned boy by the head and lifted him up, glaring at him and asking him if he was dropped as a baby, he had said the wrong thing apparently when he said he wanted to join the military police. Marinette looked forward, hearing the boy be dropped. So far the others were just… normal. She watched as the commandant skipped people, eyeing one girl in particular, she had dark auburn hair that she wore down around her shoulders, the ends in a small ponytail. He eyed her with a frown before moving on. Soon the second row was facing them and the commandant was making his way down her row.

Marinette looked to the side at Alya briefly, seeing her anxiously shuffling in her place. Marinette knew she was nervous, they had gone over what they would say the night before, reciting it over and over. Marinette felt sure in herself, she felt pride in her uniform and she felt like she had found her place. She took a deep breath and kept her eyes staring ahead as the commandant stepping in front of her.

He looked her over, his eyes falling on her scar and he examined it before moving on to Alya. She sighed in relief and closed her eyes, her mind going numb as she felt her scar go cold. She hated that scar so much, but at least it got her off the hook. She felt beads of sweat drop down her back slowly, the cold water against her hot skin making her skin prickle up in goosebumps. It was such an odd feeling, but it triggered a memory of that day, those green eyes, the blonde hair, the sweat dripping down his face and on to her in the giant hand. Her eyes shot open and she controlled her breathing as she felt it start to get erratic, glancing to the side with her eyes and saw Alya trembling with wide eyes, staring at the ground.

Shit! Marinette had completely blanked and missed Alya’s turn. She would ask her about it later, now she just needed to keep her head clear and keep focused.

“Third row about face!”

Marinette stood there, staring at the tall, blonde haired, green eyed boy in front of her, her mind going blank. Time froze and she felt her heart drop into her stomach, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She looked him up and down, how was he here? Why was he here? They stared at each other, eyes wide, Marinette’s right eye twitching slightly.

Adrien…

He had grown a few inches, his shoulder’s broader and his jaw more defined. His face had lost his baby fat and he had the beginning of some facial hair barely visible on his chin. She realised she had her breath held as the commandant stepped in front of her, looking at Adrien. She blinked and shook her head, she needed to get her composure back. She was suddenly very aware that she was in the shirt she had thought he had left for her as well. She looked over at Alya who had wide eyes and her jaw was slack. She knew Alya had spoken to Adrien before when he visited her apparently. But Marinette never asked more, the pain of it all too overwhelming at the time. She took a deep breath and looked back, blinking.

She looked at Adrien who was frowning at her. Why was he frowning at her? So, in return, she frowned back in defiance, shaking her head a little and raising her eyebrow as if to say what. His eyes moved away from her eyes as he looked her over. She scrunched her lips up and looked him over too.

How had it been a year and a half already? How were they in the same cadet corps? How had he grown up so much since then? She had barely changed, only grown a little after hitting puberty, the only change to her was probably her hair and that she didn’t smile much anymore. She caught his eyes again but… he wasn’t frowning anymore. He was looking at her like… her frown dropped and she watched him, gulping softly. He was looking at her like he did that day when he thought they were safe. Like she was the only person in the world. What was he…?

“Fourth row, about face!” And like that he turned around, his back to her. She stared at the back of his head for a minute before blocking out her thoughts on him. Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she needed to stay focused. This didn’t change anything. Just a slight bump in the road. Major bump but that didn’t matter!

“What is your name, bean stalk!” She heard the commandant yell, thankful to take her mind off of Adrien, looking over. He was standing in front of a tall boy with dark shaggy hair that fell over his forehead and sparkling blue eyes.

He came to attention, his fist over his heart with his other arm behind his back still, “Luka Couffaine, sir!”

“Couffaine, huh? Is that your undisciplined sister running around the field like a fuck up?” He yelled back.

“Yes sir! She is my younger twin sister, sir!” Luka replied confidently, his cool and calm exterior intriguing her.

“Twins huh? That’s rarity these days!” The commandant said as he pulled on his small goatee as if in thought, “are you going to be as quiet and useless as her, Couffaine?”

“No sir! I am loud and I am ready to fight!” Luka clenched his fist tighter, his brows furrowed slightly.

“Is that so? Where are you and your creature of a sister from, Couffaine?” The commandant leant in closer.

“Shiganshina sir!” He replied, his eyes darkening. Marinette raised her brows and gulped, there were more people from Shiganshina here? It was a stupid question, but she grew up there and had never seen this boy before.

“Shiganshina hey?” The commandant examined him briefly before speaking up, stepping into Luka’s personal space. “And what do you plan on doing if I allow you to graduate, private? Are you going to fuck off to the inner walls like the rest of these pussies want to do or are you going to be a man?”

“I plan on joining the scouts sir!” Luka yelled in determination.

The commandant was quiet for a minute before he scoffed, “Well, we will see if you are worth it now won’t we.” And with that he moved on.

Marinette watched him walk to the next person before her eyes went back to the boy, Luka. He caught her eyes and looked over at her. She blinked and looked back, unable to look away like she was frozen, watching as he smiled small at her briefly before dropping it before the commandant could see. Marinette blinked and smiled slightly, looking away and staring back forward, noticing Adrien’s head was turned slightly. Was he looking at Luka?

Soon the commandant was back in the front, everyone facing him at attention. “The next three years will be the worse you have ever experienced in your pathetic lives! You will be pushed to the breaking point both mentally and physically! If you do not wake up in the future hating these days then you didn’t try hard enough and should be fucking ashamed!” He yelled, “I am not training you to run off to the fucking interior, I am training you to be scouts, or the level of the scouts! Do you understand me?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” They chanted.

“This does not mean that you have to join the scouts before you ask some stupid fucking questions, but you better fucking be as good as them or else you aren’t good enough for the military and you can go work the field with the other cowards!” He started walking down the line. “Any of you worthless shits ready to quit? The wagon leaves at sundown. Now, let the fun begin!”

---

Marinette grumbled under her breath as she finished pulling on her civilian clothes. She sighed and stood in front of her wooden locker, brushing her hair in frustration. She was in a pale pink knee length skirt, light brown lace up boots and a white button up top under her faded black cardigan, with a grey scarf around her neck in an effort to hide her scar. The clothes were slightly baggy on her as they were second hand from Alya’s sister and mom, but she didn’t care at this point. Her body ached from the hours of extreme physical activity and she was starving. She put her brush down and looked over at Alya who was lacing up her brown boots. She had chosen to wear a dark grey skirt and a white shirt with a dark brown vest buttoned up on her stomach. Her hair was in a pony still, her fluffy hair falling around her face with ease.

She stood up and checked everything was in place before smiling at Marinette, “you ready?” She asked, Marinette nodded took a deep breath, the bell for dinner chiming. Great… Just in time. The girls building was the furthest away from everything so the walk took a little more of a walk compared to the boys’. But from the ruckus coming from their courters, she was certain they would be late. She rolled her eyes, boys.

“Do you think Adrien is going to approach you?” Alya asked curiously, eyes on the dirt floor as they made their way to the mess hall.

“I don’t know… It’s been so long since I last saw him, I’ve only met him once and it’s like…it’s like I have known him longer, you know? We met once but what we went through was…” She frowned and sighed, running her hands through her hair in frustration. “Intense to say the least. I just wanted a fresh start, I wasn’t expecting him to be here.”

“And he saw you in his shirt.” Alya chimed in, causing Marinette’s head to snap towards her.

“You said you didn’t know if it was his or not?” Marinette questioned with a frown and a pouted lip.

“I uhm, well you see, you weren’t in the uh, greatest of states.” Alya stammered out nervously, her fingers fiddling with each other, a nervous smile on her face. “I didn’t know how you would react! But yeah… it’s uh, his. He asked me to give it to you, then you uh… headbutted a nurse and I thought it best not to tell you. I’m sorry, girl.”

Marinette glared at her playfully before sighing and looking forward, “at least I know now, ugh, I must have looked like such a loser today, Alya.”

“I don’t think so, I was watching him, he seemed pretty shocked to see you, but I saw how he looked at you.” Alya elbowed her playfully as they started up the steps, “it was quite the look.” Alya giggled, Marinette rolling her eyes at her friend.

“I am not here for that.” She chided back before she looked to the side, blinking and walking to the railing on the balcony outside the mess hall. Alya stood next to her, her smile gone. A few others joined them as they started at the cart going up the hill.

“They couldn’t make it, gave up.” A voice behind her spoke up, “Man, I know today sucked but enough to quit?”

“Some people just can’t handle it. Get over it, Kim.” A high pitch, annoyed voice piped up that made Marinette frown and roll her eyes instinctively. She watched the wagon leave, the people in the back huddled together, their hoods up. She didn’t recognise anyone special, maybe one girl from her room but that was it. Was it really that bad for them that they had to quit? It was the first day!

“Come on, let’s get something to eat.” Alya said, tugging on Marinette’s arm. Marinette let her pull her along, turning and heading inside to the big hall that was lined with wooden picnic tables and a station to be served. Marinette followed her along, passing a girl who was stood at the doorway as if she were waiting for someone, her arms crossed over her chest and such a sour expression that made Marinette curl her lip up, she just knew this girl was going to be a problem. She had that look. She was around Alya’s height, slim with long blonde hair that was in a high ponytail, her bangs framing her face. She had perfect skin, piercing blue eyes and a mouth that seemed to be permanently in a scowl. She glared at Marinette as she passed, Marinette raised a brow at her but didn’t give her much time. “Keep moving, Scarface.” She growled, making Marinette blink and pull her scarf up over her mouth for comfort.

Marinette glanced around as they entered the hall, her already bitter mood even worse. It was mainly the girls in there, a few of the boys were already sitting, boasting away and metaphorically measuring dick sizes. She knew the signs, she had seen so many boys do it in her lessons before. She saw a few people were looking at her, whispering to each other so she turned her eyes forward.

“Do you think she got her scar facing a titan?”

“He didn’t even speak to her.”

“I heard she’s from Shiganshina.”

“Do you think she was there?”

“How big do you think it is?”

“No way she escaped a titan, she barely looks like she can break a toothpick.”

Marinette looked away, fiddling with her scarf more making sure her scar was hidden. “Don’t listen to them.” Alya said, passing her a mug and bowl. “Let’s get some food, girl.”

Soon they were sitting at a table in the corner, as Alya knew Marinette liked to be out of view. The whispers carried on unfortunately, Marinette purposefully sitting so the candlelight hit her right side of her face, chewing on her lip.

“Girl, what have I said? Ignore them. They aren’t talking about your scar, they are talking about how you got it.” Alya said, reaching over and taking Marinette’s hand. Marinette blinked and frowned slightly, “no one knows the real story but I heard a few people making shit up,” she rolled her eyes and broke off a piece of her bread, dipping it into her stew. “I heard one story about how you fought off a titan with a butter knife, hmm, was interesting.”

Marinette snorted and looked down at her food, playing with it a bit before she pushed her scarf down and started eating. It was bland, mushy and didn’t really taste good, but Marinette didn’t care. This was amazing to her from the rationing the past year and a half, and she was starving. “A butterknife huh? That’s pretty dumb.”

“Yeah, I know.” Alya said with a smirk, “I started it.” Marinette raised her eyebrows before she snorted out a giggle, covering her mouth to stop the stew coming out, Alya giggling along with her.

“You did not!” Marinette hissed between her silent giggles.

“Of course, it was me! It’s too funny! They are going to find out soon anyway, may as well let them be dumb enough to believe shit like that. And if they do, then that’s on them.” She giggled in reply, biting into her bread with a wink.

Marinette shook her head and smiled small at her friend, eyes going back over the crowd of teenagers she would soon call her comrades, maybe even her friends. As she looked back down she heard someone clear their throat to her left. Both her and Alya looked up and saw Adrien standing there with a boy Marinette thought was Nino. He was a little taller than Adrien, dressed in dark brown trousers and a black V-neck shirt, he had golden, hazel eyes and dark skin, his hair spiked on top while faded underneath.

Shit! She chocked on her bread and ended up coughing, hiding her face as she did. Alya looked over at her with a raised brow as Adrien patted Marinette on the back worriedly.

“You good girl?” She asked, tilting her head and smirking small. Marinette nodded in reply and flashed a thumbs up before grabbing her mug of water, downing it as Adrien straightened back up. Shit, shit, shit.

Adrien looked at Marinette worriedly, “Are you okay?” He asked gently, his brows furrowed together.

“Y-ye” she cleared her throat, “yeah, I’m all goo-good, I’m fine.” She stammered, wiping her mouth and sitting up straight.

“Is it cool if we sit with you, dudettes?” Nino asked, Marinette blinking as how he spoke. It was very nonchalant and was how the boys who would get in trouble a lot at school would talk. But something about him made Marinette feel at ease, like he was someone she could trust.

“Yeah, of course.” Alya said, eyeing Marinette before she moved to the right so one of the boys could slip in. Nino slid next to her on her left, smiling lazily at her. Marinette gulped and moved over too, letting Adrien slide in. She pulled her scarf up as the candlelight on the table hit her left side, her scar on full show. She looked around anxiously and saw more people looking at her and whispering. Adrien placed his plate down and watched her worriedly.

“They aren’t just looking at you, Marinette.” He spoke up, causing her to look at him with a jump, “the guys in my room found out I was in Shiganshina and saw the titans thanks to someone’s” he frowned at Nino, “big mouth. So, they’ve been talking about me too.” Marinette was put at ease a little more at the thought that it wasn’t just her. Nodding and letting the scarf fall back down, looking down at her food, willing her appetite to come back. “I’m actually surprised they haven’t come over here questioning us on it if I’m honest. They aren’t shy.”

“Well, I mean they’re probably scared of her, Marinette was it?” Marinette nodded at Nino, “I mean, I heard you took down a Titan with a butterknife and that’s how you got your gnarly scar!” Alya snorted her into her mug next to him, Marinette biting her lips in an attempt not to laugh, and Adrien looked at Nino in bewilderment and confusion, his brows raise.

“Wait, what?” Adrien asked in confusion.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Little miss badass here got her scar by fighting off a titan with a butterknife!” Alya joked with a hearty laugh, “that’s how she got her scar.” Marinette laughed softly, rolling her eyes.

“She isn’t serious, right?” Adrien asked Marinette nervously, looking down at her with wide eyes and a pained expression.

“No.” She replied and shook her head, “they have been talking about me all day, so Alya here,” Alya waved, “told them I got my scar fighting a titan with a butterknife, of all things.” Marinette chuckled softly, taking a bite of her bread as her nerves slowly faded, hunger replacing them.

“No way, that was you?” Nino asked Alya with a raised brow, “respect!” Alya laughed and high fived Nino, Marinette smiling small and focusing back on her meal. “So, Marinette, how did you get your scar?” Nino asked cheerfully with his mouth full.

Marinette froze as she broke apart her bread, eyes dashing to Adrien who was looking down at his own bowl, his Adams apple bobbing. She looked back down at her food and cleared her throat, she knew there would be questions. “I’m from Shiganshina. I got hit by some debris when a titan fell behind us. Nothing special, simply wrong place at the wrong time.” Marinette answered as casually as she could manage, pressing her lips together tightly as she smiled awkwardly and shrugging, feeling Adrien’s eyes on her.

“Wait, you have actually seen the titans? For real?” Nino exclaimed a little too loud for Marinette’s liking. She froze, looking up to see the room was almost silent now, and people were looking over at them. “Both of you two have?”

“Nino.” Adrien warned, “Shut up.” He looked around nervously too, Marinette didn’t think it was a day he would enjoy talking about either. Marinette rolled her shoulders nervously as if she were getting out knots in her muscles, pulling her scarf up.

Nino turned and looked around guiltily, “Shit, sorry dude.” He whispered before he turned around and hunched over, shovelling his food into his mouth. Marinette fiddled with her food between her fingers, pulling apart the last bit of bread and watching it fall into what was left of her stew.

Marinette and Adrien looked at each other as the talking picked back up in the room, a frown on Marinette’s mouth and her brows furrowed. Adrien glanced around again, Marinette watching as his hair flowed on his forehead and around his ears as he looked around. She had to admit to herself, he did look incredible with shaggier hair. She blushed and looked away with wide eyes, what kind of thought was that? The thought making her very aware the last time she saw him she was only eleven and a half maybe, she was under 5”, a child still, and hadn’t even hit puberty, she should not be having those kinds of thoughts, especially because he probably still sees her as that little child.

“So, Adrien.” Alya spoke up, bringing Marinette back to Earth, “are you from Shiganshina too?”

Adrien looked back at her and smiled warmly, “no, uh, I’m actually from…” He hesitated, “uh, I’m from Stohess.” They all stared at him in shock, Marinette more than anyone.

Stohess? He was from Stohess? Why the hell was he in Shiganshina that day? That’s a district on the interior walls.

“You’re from the interior?” Nino asked in surprise, “dude…”

“I mean, I guess, it’s not exactly the interior, and plus I haven’t been there in over a year and a half.” Adrien pointed out, rubbing the back of his neck.

Alya was examining him, “you don’t seem like someone from the interior.” She leant over the table slightly. “They are usually so far up their asses that they like the smell of their own shit, you don’t seem like that.”

Adrien looked slightly amused, a small cocky grin appearing, “what? Not everyone is like that, trust me. And that could also be because I have been living with…” He was about to say something but he stopped, Marinette frowned, she was sure he was about to say his brother, but he didn’t. Why didn’t he? “I have relatives in the scouts, they took me in.” He glanced at Marinette briefly, he looked nervous. Relatives? That was one way of putting it. She knew his brother was in the scouts, and Tikki had said he had come back from the attempt to get Wall Maria back so she knew he was alive. Why wasn’t he saying anything about Plagg? She could reason that he didn’t want special treatment, but she doubted it would end up like that if anyone knew. But she wasn’t going to tell his story, it wasn’t her place, but she would question him later.

“The scouts? That’s lucky.” Nino replied, “so, you must be, like starving.” Nino laughed as Adrien raised a brow, “did they feed you as well as people say?”

“I mean, I never went hungry, but it wasn’t as great as everyone likes to say.” Adrien shrugged, “I spent most of the time alone and I always ate alone. I preferred the time I spent with the scouts if I’m honest.”

“Well, you are one of the few from the interior I think, I don’t know any of them yet, well, besides Chloe.” Nino pointed out, “everyone else is from the outers walls.”

“Who’s Chloe?” Marinette asked softly between bites, her hunger back in full force, Adrien snorting a laugh as she shovelled the last bit of her stew into her mouth.

“The bitchy one.” Alya said with a roll of her eyes, “the blonde one who looks like someone bitch slapped her expression onto her face.” Alya leant into her hand as she rested her elbow on the table, “she wanted to go to the cadet bases in the interior but got sent here instead. She’s dead set on military police, boasting about how she is going to live a life of luxury.” Alya rolled her eyes and curled her lip up in disgust. “But she is probably one of the most awful people I have ever met.”

“Wait, the girl from earlier?” Marinette asked with a raised brow, Adrien looking at her.

“Sadly, I told you, awful person!” Alya exclaimed, waving her hand in gesture.

“What happened earlier?” Adrien asked, looking between her and Alya.

Marinette frowned, pushing her bowl to the side, “after we saw the dropouts leave we passed her on the way in, she just gave me a filthy look and called me… Scarface.” She said, running her fingers over her marred cheek, feeling the jagged scar.

“What? That’s not okay, Marinette!” Adrien exclaimed, Nino looking horrified as he dropped his spoon into his bowl.

“Dude…”

“It’s fine, honestly, it doesn’t bug me.” Marinette reassured them, her eyes dancing between the boys, the light reflecting off her blue eyes.

“That’s so shit dude, you don’t say stuff like that.” Nino shook his head, “see, that’s what I would expect from a person from the interior, not… you.” Nino joked, Adrien laughing softly, but his brows were furrowed and he seemed lost in thought.

As they were chatting, a certain blonde had made her way over, slamming her hands onto the table, making all of them jump and look at her. Marinette stared at her with wide eyes, she had moved away from the noise, bumping into Adrien’s chest who placed a hand on her waist to steady her, a frown on his face as he glared at Chloe.

“How funny!” Chloe spoke up, a devilish grin on her face, “the little peasant made a joke!” She eyed Nino who just frowned at her. “Nothing to say now? How cute.” She straightened up and flicked her ponytail back with practiced ease, eyeing them all before her gaze stopped on Adrien, her brow raising. “Adrien Agreste?” She asked in genuine surprise, Adrien blinked, “last I heard you were a missing person.”

The three turned and looked at him, Marinette not moving but just turning her head to look up at him, the feeling of his chest against part of her back was comforting, “what?”

Adrien gulped and shifted slightly, “I uh, I ran away from home to join the military then… Shiganshina happened.”

“And you chose here?” Chloe asked in disgust, Adrien frowning at her in annoyance. “How ridiculous. Well, you seem to have made an…” she looked around in distain, “odd group of friends, especially this broken little doll here.” She said with a sly smirk, leaning towards Marinette who just glared at her, Adrien’s hand gripping onto Marinette’s shirt slightly.

“Can you just go away, Chloe.” Marinette spoke up, frowning at her, anger filling her body. She was no little doll, and she wasn’t broken. “And I am no doll.” She glared at her, her blue eyes darkening and narrowing as she felt her body fill with power.

“Oh no…” Alya whispered, her eyes wide as she gripped the edge of the table.

Chloe looked a little taken aback but brushed it off quickly, throwing her head back and laughing, “Ooh, someone is a brave one!” She leant over, her face inches from Marinette’s who didn’t even flinch, her face dark and her patience wearing thin.

“Marinette… don’t.” Alya warned in a hiss, Adrien looked at her, his brows furrowed in confusion. Marinette’s face changed suddenly, becoming completely emotionless as she stared up at Chloe from under her eyelashes. “Marinette…”

“So, tell me, how did you get your scar, little doll.” Chloe smirked, her eyes narrowing.

“From a titan.” She replied in a calm voice, whispers starting around them, she hadn’t even realised that everyone was watching them, the room uncomfortably quiet. “How did you get yours?” Marinette asked with a tilt of her head as Alya dropped her head into her hand with a groan, shaking her head. Nino and Adrien looking at her in confusion before looking back at the girls.

Chloe frowned and looked confused by the question, “What? I don’t have a-” before she could finish her sentence, at lightning speed Marinette headbutted Chloe who screamed and fell back, hands going to her face. Adrien held his hands up as it happened, moving back slightly to give Marinette room.

Marinette just stared at her, as she screamed and cried on the floor, blood dripping onto the dirty floors, expressionless and completely unphased. The boys stared at her in complete shock, Adrien’s eyes wide and their jaws slack. They stared at her like she had grown another head, they really weren’t expecting that to happen.

Marinette wiped whatever was on her forehead off on her sleeve as if nothing had happened and picked up her plate and mug. Alya lifted her head with a frown and did the same. The room was silent, Chloe’s crying on the floor as she cradled her broken, bleeding nose, whinging out a few words that sounded like “ridiculous” every now and then. Everyone watched Marinette as she stood up, stepped over Chloe and walked to put her plates down in the kitchen to be washed calmly, Alya following close behind with hunched shoulders and a bitter expression.

She exited the kitchen and looked around, everyone was looking at her in complete awe still, it made her feel extremely uncomfortable but she still showed nothing on her face. She waved to Nino and Adrien goodnight before the girls walked out, Adrien and Nino watching them go with heir mouths hanging open still, Adrien’s handheld up in a wave goodbye.

“Did you have to do that?” Alya asked with a small laugh, looking up at the stars above them as they walked back to the girls courters.

“No, but she pissed me off. So, I did.” Marinette said plainly, looking up as well as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe now she won’t call me Scarface.”

“I think you just pissed her off more than anything.” Alya laughed, tucking her hands in her pockets. “Still, I’m impressed. Nora’s lessons seem to have paid off.”

Marinette smiled her crooked smile, looking over at Alya, “seems like it.” Alya smiled back at her before she grinned maliciously, hiking up her skirt.

“Race you!” Alya said before taking off running, Marinette gasped before grinning as well, the familiar tug on her mouth feeling good for once, hiking up her own skirt and taking off after Alya. Their laughter filled the air, Marinette letting her hands go up in the air as she got there first, laughing with all her heart. She stopped herself on the railing on the stairs, panting between laughs.

“Yes! And Dupain-Cheng has taken the win!” She cheered, punching a fist in the air mid jump, grinning fully. Alya was bent over, laughing as she panted, waving her hand at Marinette dismissingly.

Marinette laughed and looked back towards where they had come from and saw Adrien watching her, a smile on his face. She blinked as she tried to catch her breath, tucking her hair behind her ear again as she blushed, watching him for a moment, her smile dropping back to her normal small smile as she realised he had seen her crooked smile.

“He likes you.” Alya interrupted her thoughts, Marinette looking back at her.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Marinette said with a raised brow, turning and starting up the stairs, shaking her head.

“Ridiculous? Marinette, are you blind?” She asked with a snort, skipping up the steps two at a time and pushing the door open to their courters. There was one girl curled up in bed already, but other than that they were alone in their shared room. “That boy looks at you like you can do no wrong.” Alya flung back onto the bed below her hard bed, frowning and punching the mattress.

“You are looking too much into it, Alya.” Marinette sat on the bed below her own bunk next to Alya’s, bending down and undoing her boots. “The last time he saw me I was eleven, I was a kid.”

“And now you’re not a kid anymore, you’re thirteen now.” Alya joked, lifting her head and wiggling her eyebrows at Marinette who blushed and looked away. “Work those new hips, hell, you even grew a bit!” Marinette frowned at her, “I knew you at eleven, you have changed.” Alya smirked and rolled off the bed. “Oh, come on! How do you not see it?”

“Because there is nothing to see!” Marinette exclaimed, standing up and placing her boots in her wooden locker. “He probably just feels a bit protective of me because of what we went through together.” Marinette looked back at her best friend, letting a laugh out at Alya’s flabbergasted face.

“A little?” Alya sat straight up, pushing her boots off with the end toes. “I swear the look that boy had when she-witch started on you, I thought he was gonna headbutt her himself.” She started undoing her vest and snorted, “then you went and did it yourself.”

Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle at that, “it was kind of funny.” She said as she pulled her shirt off, standing in her plain cream bra. She put the shirt away and pulled out her night dress. Alya laughing away behind her as she got out of her own clothes. “She got in my face, it’s not my fault.” She said as she wriggled out of her skirt and bra, pulling the pink dress on.

“Exactly, but, I mean, you don’t exactly look like the kind of person who goes around headbutting people.” Alya pointed out as she pulled on her dark brown dress. Marinette shrugged at that, if people didn’t suspect she could headbutt them because of her size then that is their problem really.

“Well, if they underestimate me then it’s their problem,” She said, climbing up onto the top bunk, slipping into the hard bed, rolling over and watching Alya slip into the top bunk next to her. “Besides, I was only making a first impression.” She said with an evil grin.

Alya laughed and rolled her eyes, “girl, they have no idea what they are messing with when it comes to you.” She joked, looking over with golden eyes. “And they better watch out, I don’t need to protect you, you got that down.”

Marinette giggled and snuggled in, the girls’ chatter filling the air as they entered. “Goodnight Alya,” she said, “I can’t believe we are really here.”

“I know… Let’s hope it’s worth something. Night, girl.”

oOo

“What the fuck do you call that? Are you even fucking trying, cadet?” The commandant screamed at a boy named Ivan who hung upside down from his ODM gear, whining slightly and kicking his legs about.

Marinette watched from her own area as her nerves were getting the best of her. She was up soon. Adrien had passed with flying colours which wasn’t surprising, the past week he had excelled in almost everything, and so he was standing to help the others, smiling kindly to everyone. Alya stood in front of her, silent for once, her hands trembling slightly.

It had been a week already and all of their bodies ached from the harsh physical training the commandant put them through. Marinette was sure he got a kick out of making them throw up from physical exertion. Alya was suffering more than Marinette currently, she was sore and, to top it off, she was missing home. A double whammy for her. She had spent the night in Marinette’s bed, crying and clinging to her best friend. She knew what was coming today, the omni-mobility directional gear test. They were both nervous, they had heard stories from Adrien that if you didn’t pass it over the week then you get sent home, most likely to work in the fields.

They wore straps all over their body, starting from the soles of their feet, going up their legs connecting to their red sash around their waist which was attached to a belt, which then connected to the harness strapped over their lower back, connecting to the padded straps going over their shoulders with a strap across their chest. They were made to keep their bodies in the air with full body motion while using their gear. It was effective but needed extreme training to be used to its full potential. That was why the training was three years. The level of fitness they needed to use it effectively intimated Marinette, she was small and light which would be an advantage to her but the muscle strength she would need to build up would take a while, and she was scared she wasn’t strong enough.

She looked over at Adrien who was smiling happily, cheering on the girl who was currently strapped in, she knew he would be fine, he was incredibly strong and had a huge advantage from living with the scouts all this time. She wished she had done more training with Alya’s sister after she had recovered, it would have helped today.

“Césaire! I’m watching you today!” The commandant yelled as he stalked over, his sunken eyes staring her down with a scowl on his face, Alya jumped and trembled more under his gaze. Soon he was standing there watching, Adrien shuffling slightly, glancing at Marinette who shrugged. “Are you going to mess this up just like you did in the run yesterday?”

“No sir!” Alya stepped forward, gulping as she was being strapped to the stable build. It was a three wooden pole structure with the wires hanging in the middle connected to a crank, they were required to be able to stay stable easily off the ground, hanging there with control. Many had failed already, not being able to stable themselves and in turn got screamed at by the commandant and degraded in front of their peers. Alya was now strapped in, facing the commandant who was glaring. Adrien started on the crank, lifting her up, her feet leaving the ground slowly. She wobbled, squeaks leaving her mouth as she struggled to stay up, her mouth screwed up and her eyes wide.

“Go Alya! You got this!” Nino cheered behind Marinette, throwing a fist in the air.

Alya struggled but soon was hanging, her body eventually relaxing and a wide smile appeared on her face, looking at Marinette for confidence who gave her a thumbs up. They had to hang there for a few minutes before getting off. Nino cheered and slung an arm over Marinette’s shoulders, leaning down from next to her, “you got this too.” He whispered with a smile, he knew how nervous she was so she smiled small and nodded. Over the past week the four of them had become close, Marinette finding a level of trust in Nino like she did in an older sibling, it was calming.

“You think?” She asked softly, looking up at Nino.

“Oh yeah, dudette, you have this down! It’s just about getting used to it.” He smiled confidently, he had already passed, looking almost bored when he hung there, even when the commandant screamed at him to wake up.

Alya was soon unstrapped and skipped over to them, beaming from ear to ear. The Commandant nodded and looked to the side, eyes narrowing as he glared, “Priss! What the fuck is that form?” He said before storming off to the next victim.

Adrien watched the Commandant leave with a raised brow and a slight frown, then turned to Marinette and grinned as she walked towards him. “M’lady.” His confidence with her had grown over the past few days, coming up with a nickname for her and showing a side of him that was very playful and sarcastic. She chuckled softly whenever it showed up, smiling with a tilt of her head as he held out his hand. She eyed it but felt eyes on her so she kept her complexion again and low fived his hand instead. She stepped forward and was strapped to the device. “Good luck.” He whispered before he moved eyes, their eyes meeting before he started the crank.

Marinette took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. She felt her feet lift the floor and she clenched her body. Her muscles started working, muscles she never thought existed as she swayed and almost fell backwards, a squeak falling from her lips as her eyes flew open, her hands going out to the sides as she tried to stabilise.

“Mari!” Adrien called out. She felt more eyes watching her, causing the commandant to turn his death stare on her. Shit! Don’t come over here!

“I’m fine, Agreste!” She called out, determination all over her face, her muscles tightening and she caught herself at the last second. She felt the straps pull on her body, adjusting to the feel. She gasped softly, she felt strong up there, feeling power flow through all the limbs. She looked up, relaxing her limbs as she felt the tug against the soles of her feet at the change of the position. She closed her eyes and let her body hang, enjoying the wind blowing through her hair. She got used to the feel of it and suddenly it was easy. She took a deep breath, opening her eyes to meet the commandant. Her look of confidence falling as her eyes widened.

“Dupain-Cheng, feeling comfy up there?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her.

“Yes sir!” She cried out, gulping and straightening slightly.

“No surprises this time?” He stepped forward, raising a brow.

“No, sir!” She called out, sweat starting on the back of her neck.

“Good, now keep your fucking eyes open and focus!” He screamed, making her flinch and call out another yes sir. She expected him to walk away but he watched her, his dark, empty eyes watching every movement she made, she gulped and glanced at Adrien who was frowning. He gave her an encouraging thumbs up before looking back over at the commandant.

The commandant watched her for a few minutes before finally moving on, Marinette letting out a sigh in relief as she relaxed. She was slowly lowered, feeling the hard surface under her boots. Adrien ran to her side, “damn, what is his deal?” He whispered, frowning as he fiddled with the clips on Marinette’s waist. “I swear he gets angrier by the day.” Adrien looked over at the Commandant who had a recruit almost in tears, holding him upside down by the ankle, screaming in his face.

“Shush, he might hear you.” She warned, smacking his arm, frowning at him, looking anxiously back at the commandant in fear he had heard Adrien. The last person to say something like that ended up running until the sun set with a bag full of rocks, and they had found him passed out on the field the next morning. She didn’t want to be punished, especially with how her body was feeling.

“Ow! Alright!” He frowned and pouted a little at her, “it’s just he never lays off.” Adrien sighed, starting on the second clip.

“He’s our Commandant, he does it for a reason. You of all people know what the titans are like. They are going to be a lot worse when they are trying to eat us.” She whispered, frowning at how casual he was about it. “Watch how loud you say that stuff, we don’t need more punishments.” She hissed as she looked up at him, their eyes locking as his hand brushed her waist. She felt the clip fall away as they stood there in silence, frowning at each other, inches between them as Adrien looked down at her with furrowed brows.

Someone cleared their throat and they both blinked, stepping away from each other, Marinette powerwalking back to Alya who was smirking at her, her arms folded across her chest as she wiggled her eyebrows. “Don’t.” Marinette warned as she stood next to Alya, turning and looking away when Adrien glanced at them, a blush covering her cheeks.

“Wanna talk about what that was?” Alya nudged her. “Lovers quarrel?”

“We aren’t lovers, stop that.” She frowned, blushing brightly, “I don’t get how he can be so casual about stuff, we both went through hell, we know what is out there, yet he can complain about the commandant when he is right over there. Not everyone is as fit as he is.” She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, hearing the commandant screaming at another person in the background. Marinette knew she could be a little serious a lot of the time but she didn’t want to get in trouble or get on the bad side of the commandant because of someone else.

“Girl, you are too serious at times!” Alya nudged her while laughing, “lighten up!”

“Alya’s right, dudette!” Nino piped up, walking over and resting his arm on Alya’s shoulder, smiling lazily down at them. “You are way too grown up for someone so small, you just gotta take it one step at a time!” He gave her a toothy grin, Marinette’s frown falling. “And with Adrien, I think he’s just a confident dude, he did spend the last year and a half with the scouts.” Nino shrugged, “he can do most of this stuff with his eyes closed.”

“Yeah… Lucky for some.” Marinette muttered looking back at Adrien who wasn’t smiling anymore, instead watching the other cadets closely as they hung. “He is very confident, isn’t he?”

“He seems to be more confident around you, to be honest” Nino said before he stretched his arms up, everything about him screamed relaxed and laid back, Marinette was jealous of it. “It’s like you’re his lucky charm.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and huffed, she knew they were right but she wasn’t in the wrong for taking this seriously, she looked away, her expression darkening. A flash of that big smile made her flinch, chewing her lip gently, her fringe falling over her eyes as she closed them. She knew what was out there, she knew the threat so she wouldn’t apologise for how serious she was. Another flash of a boulder crushing someone in front of her, blood everywhere. She opened her eyes and stared at the floor, her arms that were crossed over her chest were now hugging herself gently, her hand lifting and tracing her scar. She didn’t care if he could act so nonchalant, she wouldn’t act like that.

“I won’t apologise for being serious.” She said softly, Alya and Nino watching her, a worried look on Alya’s face. “I watched people die, I was almost eaten by a titan and I almost died running for my life. So, I won’t apologise for taking this seriously so I stay alive.” She looked over at them, “so if he gets us in trouble by opening that sarcastic mouth of his then I won’t be very ‘chill’.”

“It’s okay, girl, you don’t need to explain it to us. If he does, I’ll kick his ass for you.” Alya joked, Marinette smiling small and chuckling softly. “Now, come on, lets focus on the lesson.”

oOo

“Leave the horses! Release ODM gear! Now!” Plagg screamed, jumping onto the horses back, releasing his wire and flinging himself towards the wall, the rest of the soldiers following suit. Adrien growled as he hit the wall, running up it and sending his wires further up. He had to get up there, the bodies at the base of the wall had garrison uniform, a lot of them his former classmates. It was happening again, how was it happening again, it had been five years, how was this happening again!?

He flung himself up and skidded onto the top of the wall, Marinette landing next to him gracefully, her face thunder, her blades drawn. Soon all of the scouts were on top of the wall, looking over the titan infested town. Adrien gasped and widened his eyes. There were dead bodies everywhere, giant boulders littered throughout the town and so many buildings were destroyed. They had taken too long to get here. He looked over and saw soldiers littered on rooftops, they must mostly be the cadets.

“Shit!” He heard Marinette curse, gripping her blades tighter. “They’ve run out of gas!” She called out, “The supply building is overrun!” She pointed to the castle like building, at least 6 titans climbing on it or around it. “That must be why they are not moving from the rooftops! If they had gas the safest place for them would be on the walls!”

“You’re right, shit,” Plagg cursed, “okay, clear the area as best you can! And none of you fucking die! That’s an order! We didn’t mostly survive outside the wall to die in our city!” He called before he dived off the wall.

Marinette looked over and nodded at Adrien, he frowned as he noticed her face was blurry, what was wrong with his eyes? He blinked, watching as the 17 year old girl change between blinks, shrinking down to the small girl he knew 5 years ago. Her strong, developed body now a small skinny, frail body, her short pigtails now her long black curtains. “What…” He gasped, staggering back as she frowned at him, dropping her blades slightly.

“Adrien?” Her voice was higher pitched, softer, and she had no scar. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Adrien tripped and fell back, dropping his blades as they clattered on the stone, “M-Mari?” She blinked and walked over to him, kneeling down and placing a hand on his forehead, her soft, small hand feeling so foreign compared to her calloused hand he knew. She was so small, her long hair framing her face.

He cried out and scrambled back as suddenly her cheek started tearing open, a long wound opening where her scar is, but she wasn’t reacting, she just crouched there, watching him with empty eyes. Blood dripped to the floor, he watched it splatter in slow motion and suddenly he was falling. Marinette above him, he cried out and went to grab his gear but it was gone, he reached out for Marinette, he had to make sure she made it. “Marinette!” he cried out before something grabbed him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

He gasped and watched as Marinette fell straight into a Titans mouth, this titan was crouched on its haunches, blonde hair and an ugly face, bright blue eyes that looked evil and a mouth full of jagged, sharp teeth. The 17 year old Marinette now hanging half out of the jaw, staring at him with wide eyes, her ribbons falling from her hair. Adrien blinked before he screamed out, desperately reaching for her and fighting against the titan that had hold of him, tears streaming down his face.

He was pulled away and came face to face with the titan who had long black hair, no lips just teeth, a determined expression and piercing green eyes. He was glaring at Adrien, a first for him, seeing a titan with emotion besides hunger. The titan was at least 15 metres and had an extremely muscled body.

Why wasn’t he eating Adrien? What was going on?

“Wake up!” He heard a deep, rumbling voice from the titan, “wake up, Adrien! Remember what he did! Wake up!”

Adrien cried out and sat straight up in his sleeping bag, he was covered in sweat, his hair soaked and his shirt sticking to him. He was breathing heavily and shaking. What the hell was that?

“Adrien?” He gasped and looked to the side, meeting Marinette’s tired eyes. She was in her white long sleeve shirt and her white trousers, her messy hair down falling over her shoulders. It had grown over the few months since they had begun training, she constantly complained about it. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” She asked, crawling over to him and sitting on his sleeping bag, avoiding the cold grass.

They were camped out on exercise in the Giant Forest deep within Wall Rose, it had been a long gruelling day training with their ODM gear and everyone was exhausted, their squad consisted of Nino, Alya, Marinette, Kim, Juleka, Luka, Alix and Rose. They were all asleep under the stars, spread out over their area, the embers still burning from their fire from hours before.

He gulped and tried to calm his breathing, nodding at her question. He pushed himself up to a more comfortable position and buried his face in his shaking hands, rubbing his face to wake himself up more. He felt a hand on his back, the feeling calming him.

“Y-yeah… It was… it was weird.” He whispered, moving his hands from his face and staring down at his calloused skin.

“Tell me about it.” She whispered, placing a hand over his, his eyes whipping up and meeting hers. He must have woken her up, “I find it helps when I talk about my nightmares, Alya says it helps take back control of a place that you had no control of.” She spoke softly, softer than her now more serious tone she had developed over the past few months. These moments were only for her close friends he had noticed.

He took a deep breath, examining her face. The dream flooding back with a gasp. “I saw… You.” She blinked, “but you were older, a little taller, you were… in a scouts uniform.” She frowned, “but that’s not the main thing, the titans had breached the wall and were in Trost. I got to the top of the wall and I saw you. And Plagg.” He looked away, “Everyone was dead, titans were everywhere.” He dropped his hands to the floor and clenched them, gripping the rough material of his sleeping bag, “you were staring at me and then… you changed… to 2 years ago.” She tilted her head, “you were so small, and… your scar just appeared but it was like you were being cut open and then…” He froze, his eyes widening as he remembered the titans. “There were titans…”

“You said they had infested Trost? So, I’m not surprised.” She whispered gently, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them.

“They were different.” His voice shook slightly, “I… you were… eaten by one that I had never heard of, it’s nothing they have told us about in lectures. I saw you, the older you, being eaten. The titan was like a wild animal, it seemed to watch me, it seemed like it was… excited to eat you.” He gulped, “And I was grabbed by one…” He remembered looking at the titan, it seemed so familiar. “It told me to wake up and-“ he gasped, looking at her, “he told me to remember something.” He hissed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “It felt so real.”

Marinette watched him worriedly before she laid a hand on his cheek, making him look at her, “hey, it was just a dream. The titans won’t get into Trost, and I have no ambition to get eaten, so don’t worry.” She smiled small, her tired eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that always made his heart jump. “And with those titans, we have been going through a lot of training and learnt a lot about the titans that we never knew over the past six months.” She smiled wider, one of her now rare smiles, making his heart jump even more and his eyes widen, “it’s just a dream, it’s not reality, so don’t worry, okay?”

Adrien looked at her with parted lips, thinking over her words before he gulped, his Adams apple bobbing, “yeah… you’re right.” He said looking back down at his hands, “it just… felt so real. Plagg was there.”

“Your brother?” She asked softly.

“Yeah, no one knows though so don’t say anything.” He said in a panic, looking around.

“I know, I haven’t said anything.” She replied, “Tikki told me in a letter about it.” Adrien blinked at her, “your secret is safe with me.”

He smiled, “thank you.” He said before taking a deep breath, “also thank you… for helping calm me down, I’m okay now.” He said, meeting her eyes.

She smiled and nodded, “no worries,” she said before she started to get back up. Adrien panicked and grabbed her arm gently, causing her to gasp and look back at him.

“Could… I’m sorry, I just… could you lie with me for a bit.” He asked softly, his eyes begging her softly.

Marinette looked at him in surprise before gulping and nodding, “okay, just for a bit though, okay?” She said before she crawled over, he instinctively opened the sleeping bag, surprising her. She took a deep breath and slipped in, lying on her side and facing him as he lay down, their faces inches from each other. “I’m here.” She whispered with a small smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking into her eyes before he looked down at her scar, remembering his dream. He knew not to try touch her scar, someone had tried to a month before and she broke their arm in return, shocking everyone but her three friends, they had seen how tough she was. It honestly impressed Adrien, she was so small but so strong. “Can you promise me something?” He asked softly, meeting her eyes again.

“Depends.” She replied, making him chuckle at her usual seriousness.

“Just, promise me, if things get bad in the future you will make sure you survive.” He whispered, feeling her hand brush against him.

“What?” She frowned, “you know I can’t promise that.”

“You can though, no matter the situation, just… just try to survive, no matter what.”

She stared at him with a frown before she chewed her lip, “I will promise to do my best to survive, okay?”

He sighed in relief, his eyelids heavy, “okay. Thank you.” He replied with a smile.

They spoke for the next half hour before they both fell asleep, Adrien resting his cheek on Marinette’s head as she rested it on his shoulder unknowingly.

oOo

“Agreste!” Marinette heard someone yell, turning her attention to the trees in the distance in front and Nino, what was going on now. They had been out in the forest now for a week and tensions were high, they had slept on the hard floor and had hunted their own food. As of today, their supplies were running low and they all could use a nice shower, all of them now used to the smell of sweat and BO from each other. It had been a long week but this was their training. It was meant to make them bond, and it was working… For some people that was. “What the hell was that?”

Their squad was split up currently throughout the forest in pairs, Marinette was paired with Nino, Alya with Rose, Alix with Kim and Adrien with Luka. So far the pairs were working for the most part. Well, two pairs were anyway. They had been awake for over twenty four hours now as their training mission had gone on longer as no one had completed it, so everyone was on edge, some taking it harder than others. Nino and she had been working brilliantly together, they had found three of the hidden Titan props just that day and were confident in their abilities when slicing the napes. The only thing stopping their progress was the constant bickering echoing through the forest. If it wasn’t Kim winding up Alix over a competition it was Adrien and Luka surprisingly butting heads.

“Oh no, what now?” Nino groaned, turning to Marinette who was so done with all of the fighting currently that she was ready to abandon them in the giant trees and go find Alya with Nino. She was at her wits ends with the boys in the squad, well besides Nino who had stayed his normal calm self. The boys had seemed to have some pissing competition on who can piss her off the most today. Too much testosterone probably. Fucking boys. “Come on, let’s go see what’s going on.” He said before he flew into the air, Marinette sighing and releasing a wire, flying forward between the trees, her hair blowing backwards, and soon landing on a large branch, looking forward and seeing Adrien and Luka in each other’s faces. Again.

She sighed and curled her lip up in distain, she got that the titan props were really hard to find and you were being graded individually despite the pairings, but if you worked together you could even them out and each still earn good grades. So, this behaviour wasn’t accepted in her books. With clenched fists she looked at the pathetic show of masculinity in front of her.

“What? I took a shot, that’s what we are meant to do!” Adrien argued, frowning at the older boy. Luka was taller than Adrien, and bigger, but he was a gentle soul who rarely got angry or seemed threatening. So, seeing him like this, his face thunder, his blue eyes full of rage with black bags under them and his teeth gritting together was a weird sight. Even seeing Adrien so angry was odd, his hair was a mess, and his green eyes were narrowed, a scowl on his face, almost like when a child had a tantrum, but in this case the children had flesh slicing blades. Nino just rolled his eyes and let out a groan.

“You jumped in front of me! I could have hit you!” Luka replied through gritted teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped onto the handle of his blades tighter.

“Well, you should look around before jumping into action then.” Adrien frowned and sheathed his blades into the heavy metal carriers on his waist.

Marinette rolled her eyes and jumped over to the branch, stepping in the middle as Nino pulled Adrien aside. She turned and looked up at Luka with a hand on his chest, frowning at him, “Luka, come on, this is ridiculous now. We need to stay calm. We can’t be fighting over every single prop we find!” She said firmly, Luka’s expression softening as he looked down at her. “We are all tired, okay?” She turned and saw Adrien glaring at them, Nino talking to him in hushed tones while glancing back at Marinette. “Adrien, calm down!” She scolded, “if the commandant saw this you two would be stuck out here just the two of you for another week to hash it out like dogs!”

Adrien huffed and shook off Nino, “sorry.” He muttered, looking away with a frown. Marinette eyed him, he did look very out of it today. She wondered if he had those nightmares again.

“It’s fine, let’s just get today over with, dude.” Nino replied, rubbing his shoulder. “My body needs a bath, even if I have to jump in the river, I don’t care, my body is beaten.” He moaned with a sigh.

“You need to be more careful, Adrien. It isn’t safe jumping out like that, it’s reckless.” Luka reprimanded, his older, wiser voice back to its calm self.

Adrien looked over at him before he shrugged, “sorry, I just want this day to be over.” He said with a sigh, looking over at Marinette with apologetic eyes. She swore if he had comedic animal ears, they would be drooping.

“We all do, dude, but you guys need to be chill, like dudette and me!” Nino said cheerfully, looking over at Marinette who nodded.

“Are you two going to work together or do we need to switch partners?” Marinette asked, looking between the teen boys. “Because I will hit the next person who pisses me off!” She threatened before they all froze, all of their eyes turning to the south as they heard someone coming on ODM gear, she heard it before she felt the boot to her chest, kicking her off the branch at high speed, the impact sending her spinning as she fell. She screamed as she started falling, they were 35 feet up, a fall from that high and she would be dead. Shit! Get control!

She swivelled her body to face up and release a wire but couldn’t make out a target without accidentally hitting someone. She heard the boys screaming her name but it was getting further and further. She looked down and saw a branch approaching, bracing for a hard impact but instead a solid body hit her from the side, knocking the wind from her lungs. She wrapped her arms around their arm as she was suddenly going back up, the forest whizzing around her. Before she knew it she hit solid wood and rolled on the large branch, skidding to a halt when she hit the tree, coughing as she did. She looked up and saw Nino crouched in front of her, blades drawn and his face twisted in anger, his lazy side gone in an instant.

“Not fucking cool, Chloe! You can fuck off too, Lila!” He yelled, slamming his blades together as a threat.

Marinette pushed up, coughing again as two bodies joined them on the new branch, Adrien at her side in seconds, skidding on his knees to her side and allowing her to rest against his shoulder as she hunched over in pain.

“What the fuck was that?” Luka asked as he looked around, his own blades drawn, glancing at Marinette with wide eyes.

“Fucking Chloe and Lila. We bumped into them earlier and took their titans, they were not pleased.” Nino growled, his golden eyes scanning for any possible threats. “Those bitches, Marinette, you okay?” He called back.

She coughed, “yeah… Give me a minute.” She answered, her hands clasped over her right side of her chest, a muddy footprint outlined on her jacket and shirt. “Son of a bitch.” She growled, Adrien rubbing her back gently, not saying a word.

“Next time you make some enemies, can it not be the two crazy chicks in our regiment, Marinette?” Luka called out with a frown, lowering his blades.

“Sorry.” She wheezed out, leaning back against the trunk behind her, shimmying her arm out of her jacket with Adrien’s help.

“Shit, she got you good.” He whispered as he gently pulled it off her arm, frowning as he saw some blood on her shirt. “I’ve gotta clean wherever she’s cut you, she must have gone down to the ground and got mud on her shoes on purpose, who knows what else was on that shoe.” He said, looking at her face. She nodded, wincing at the pain.

“With my luck she managed to find some horse crap or something.” She said before she coughed again, damn, she really did get her good. Adrien frowned as he examined her face with his worried green eyes, rubbing her back again. “Who knew getting kicked in the chest would hurt so much.” She joked, the boys looking over at her and chuckling, all besides Adrien. He reached over and undid the strap across her chest, starting to undo her shirt, Nino looking away as usual, not phased anymore, but it was Luka who blinked and went red.

“What the hell are you doing?” He questioned, turning away as Marinette’s skin was starting to show. All three of them looked at him in surprise. Marinette blinked and looked down, was he… embarrassed? She would have expected it at the beginning of their training but they were halfway through their first year, most of them had showered in their underwear together during a mission or at least gone swimming in a river three months ago when they were out in the field. They had got used to patching people up as well, hell just two months ago while on a training mission a cadet slipped off a branch above Marinette and cut her back in some dumb luck, Adrien was at her side in seconds like usual. He had patched her up, chatting away like his usual cheerful self as she sat in a bra, letting him chat away like an excited kitten. The cut on her back wasn’t serious enough to stop her training, but it was enough to bug her for a month.

“I’m patching her up?” Adrien said in confusion, his finger stopping on the third button, staring at the dark haired boy. “Wait, you have… done first aid on someone before, right?” He questioned with a chiding laugh. “Because if you need the practice…”

“Yes I have!” He snapped, “But not… on…” Luka trailed off with a gulp.

“A girl?” Marinette finished with a raised brow. Luka nodding, “how is that possible?” She asked with a wince as Adrien went back to back on undoing her shirt carefully, glancing over at his green eyes that were focused on the task at hand.

“I didn’t have any girls get injured around me… in that area,” he replied calmly, his back to them all. “It’s not that big a deal, okay?”

Nino shrugged, “don’t worry, after a while you get used to it,” he reassured him, sheathing his blades and sitting on the edge of the branch, swinging his legs. “Besides, the girls don’t care anymore, so chillax.” He said before stretching his arms out above him with a yawn.

Luka huffed before sitting down with his back to them, his knees bent in front of him. “are you okay, Marinette?”

Marinette had her shirt open now, her grey sports bra showing, brown stains forming from the mud. She had a few punctured from maybe some stones stuck in Chloe’s boot, but nothing serious, Adrien was cleaning her off gently, his fingers brushing against her soft skin. “Yeah, I’m okay. I can breathe again thankfully. She’s in the other squad, so why the hell is she all the way out here? Surely they didn’t come looking for us?” She asked before lifting her arm at Adrien’s instruction.

Nino looked around before looking back at Marinette, “they are crazy, remember. Once you’re all patched up I think we just finish the mission so we can get back.” He said, “I don’t like how confident they are in the trees.” He frowned and looked around again.

“It was a very bold move on her part.” Adrien spoke up, pulling Marinette’s bra strap to the side to stick a plaster over the one puncture wound, “it could have ended a lot more badly, if Nino hadn’t caught you…” He trailed off, the other two boys staying silent too.

“Don’t worry, let’s just get this mission done. I want my bed.” She replied, dropping her head back against the tree.

Soon they were on their feet again, Marinette’s shirt buttoned up and she was rolling her shoulder, the pain in her chest now more muscular than anything. She looked around the forest and turned to Nino, “okay, Nino, get the map out.” She said walking over to him, Luka and Adrien were pouting at each other in defiance behind them, not saying a word to each other.

Nino pulled out the map they had been given and they started strategizing their next move, deciding on a route and Marinette looked back at the two boys and sighed.

“Okay, seriously, stop with the dick measuring!” She called over, placing a hand on her hip and frowning at them.

“We aren’t-” Adrien started to protest.

“She’s right, dude.” Nino interrupted, he rubbed his black bagged eyes and frowned, “Mari, I will take Luka, you go with Adrien, let’s just get this done.” He was getting frustrated, she could tell. Probably that they had to split up as partner more than the other boys causing problems.

“What? Why?” Luka protested with a frown, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m fine with that.” Adrien said with a cocky smile, looking over at Marinette who watched them all with annoyed eyes. Luka turned and glared at Adrien, pouting slightly.

“Whatever, come on Adrien.” Marinette said, placing a hand on Nino’s arm and smiling apologetically, who responded with the same look. Dammit! Her best partner to date and she had lost him. Well, she was yet to be partner’s with Adrien so let’s see how it goes.

“Okay, I will see you guys back at camp. Look out for crazy bitches.” Nino said before he called for Luka, flying off to the east together.

Marinette turned to Adrien who was looking sheepish now, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

“I can explain.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I got carried away, and I’m sorry!” He squeaked as Marinette walked towards him, her eyes dark. “M-Mari?” He blinked. She stood in front of him for a few seconds before she smacked his arm, “ow!” He cried out in protest, rubbing his arm and frowning at her.

“What the hell, Adrien!” She exclaimed, “why are you acting like Kim today of all days?” She questioned with a frown. “Best not to threaten the guy bigger than you who has blades, ya know!”

“Hey, I had blades too.” He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That isn’t the point, I know you are tired, but we all are, okay?” She said with a sigh, looking up at him. “I don’t want to have to save you constantly. You have a bad habit of getting in the way of danger.” Her face softened, thinking of him going the extra mile to help and save others the past six months during the ODM training.

He sighed and rubbed the back on his neck, “I’m sorry, M’lady.” He said before he chewed his lip, thinking for a moment before pulling out the map, “now, where to next?”

oOo

“Marinette!” Alya spotted her as her and Adrien landed a little way from the meeting point. They looked exhausted, a footprint standing out on the right side of her chest. Marinette had her usual annoyed expression on her face, dark black eyes as she started towards Alya and Nino, and Adrien was his usual excited puppy, a smile on his face as he waved at them happily, he had a bruise on his jaw and his hair was a shaggy mess.

Marinette lifted her eyes and spotted Alya, smiling an exhausted smile. Alya ran over to her and hugged her tight, Marinette yelping and curling her back slightly. “Ouch.” She winced.

“Oh, sorry, Nino told me what happened.” She said pulling away, walking with them as Nino and Adrien bumped fists.

“Calmed down now, dude?” He asked Adrien who laughed and nodded.

Alya turned and smacked Adrien on the arm, causing him to look at her flabbergasted, “Ow! Can you two stop hitting me today?” He exclaimed, rubbing his arm, looking at them in bewilderment.

“You were meant to protect her!” She growled, hugging her best friend close and glaring at Adrien.

“She was Nino’s partner!” He exclaimed, motioning to a laughing Nino. “Sorry I wasn’t on the watch for flying crazy girls!”

“I’m fine, Alya.” Marinette spoke up, poking the arm around her face. “Can you let go now?” She asked, Alya blinking and letting her go. “Doesn’t matter now, Nino had me. Now let’s go.” She said, rolling her shoulder again and walking to the others.

The commandant arrived minutes later, everyone jumping to their feet and coming to attention, their fists over their hearts.

“Well, look at you.” He started, “you all smell like shit.” He curled his lip in disgust, walking between them. “I have been watching you the past week, and I was not surprised by how disappointing you all are.” He glared at them all, eyes falling on Marinette, “some excelled, some were god damn awful, and some, well, some missed the point of the exercise all together! I will give you your grades tomorrow in lesson, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” They called out.

“Now, you all stink, you aren’t coming back to my base smelling like this. There is a lake east of here, wash up and then head back. I expect you all home by 2100hrs.” He said before he walked over to his horse, climbing on and looking back at them. “And, no more of your childish bickering! I saw enough to last me a lifetime this week!” He said before he galloped off.

They all relaxed and made their way to the horses grazing, this was only Marinette’s class which consisted of 2 squadrons. Marinette preferred it this way as she wasn’t used to the other class just yet. She made her way to her horse and climbed on, stroking his mane. Soon they were all heading to the lake, all excited to get clean. Marinette looked over the big green world around her, the orange sky making it all look so peaceful.

“Hey, Marinette!” Alya called, bringing her out of her daze, looking over at her friend. “Race you.” She grinned, Marinette grinning back before kicking the side of her horse, feeling the wind blow through her hair as they both charged forward, giggling in joy.

Not fifteen minutes later they arrived, hopping off their horses and tying them up. They both stood there with wide eyes, looking over the blue, sparkling lake.

“Wow…” Alya breathed before their serenity was interrupted by Adrien and Nino barrelling past them in their underwear, shoving each other and laughing before jumping into the lake, water splashing everywhere as the girls tried to avoid getting wet.

They both chuckled as others started jumping in, it was rare they had this kind of freedom to act like teenagers, so when it came, they took advantage. Marinette quickly discarded her ODM gear and started undoing her shirt, her body buzzing with excitement to relax in the water. She pulled it off and shoved it into the bag on her saddle, wriggling out of her white trouser until she was in just her grey sports bra and her black boy short underwear, unravelling the bandaged on her chest, leaving just the ones stuck to her on. Alya was next to her in the same but hers were black completely. Both of them took their hair down before they ran and jumped in, the boys splashing them as they came up.

Marinette laughed and went under again, enjoying the cold water on her aching body, her eyes closed as she felt her hair brushing against her skin as it floated about. This was bliss to her. She came back up and pushed her hair back, looking at her friends with a laugh. It was funny, just 6 months ago she was scared to show off her scar, now here she was, skin showing, and she didn’t care. It was amazing what confidence and trust in your comrades could do. She looked over and spotted Luka with his friends, Kim, Ivan and Alix. He seemed to be more relaxed which was good, he looked over and spotted her, smiling and waving at her. She waved back before she was splashed with water, her hair falling over her face.

She spun around and saw Alya grinning at her as she pushed her hair back again, laughing softly. It was like that for a while, but soon Marinette was floating on her back, staring up at the sky. The orange had started to turn pink, some stars shining through in defiance. It was beautiful. It was a place of peace.

“Hey.” She heard a voice say next to her, turning her head and spotting Adrien. He was standing next to her, his shoulders above the water. “How’s your chest?” He asked softly as she floated back to up right, she couldn’t stand so she had to tread water.

“A little sore but it feels a lot better now.” She replied, rubbing a hand over the now dark bruise over the right side of her chest, “I’ll live.” She joked, bobbing up and down.

“Good, just keep an eye on it, and be careful of Chloe and Lila, they really have it out for you.” He said worriedly before noticing she couldn’t stand, “here.” He said before holding his arm out for her to hold on to. She blinked before placing both her hands on his warm skin, using his arm to stay afloat better. “Better?”

“Yeah, thank you… And I’m not too worried about them, they will get theirs.” She said looking over at the girls who were whispering to each other, scowls on their faces. She knew they hated how close she was to Adrien, Lila countless times mentioning how she was a better friend for Adrien, Marinette knew they both had crushes on him too. Hell, most of the girls in the regiment did.

“Still, I don’t like having to keep patching you up,” he smiled sweetly at her, his brows creased slightly, “you have a habit of getting hurt, for someone who graceful in the air you sure are clumsy.”

She laughed softly at that, his cheeks going red when she did, “what can I say, I just have a clumsy side when I’m not in fight mode. Maybe I have two sides to me, like alter egos.” She joked, “I mean you have it, outside of training or when you aren’t with me you’re this sweet, can do no wrong guy, but put your uniform on and give you your weapons and this confident cocky side comes out.” She teased, poking his nose.

He blinked before he smirked and leant forward, “Is that so, M’lady? I haven’t heard you complain about it.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, “see, there it is. You’re like… hmmm,” she thought, “you’re like a cat, one minute you’re nice, and the next you are ready to fight dirty.” She smirked as he raised a brow.

“Are you calling me a cat?” He asked in confusion.

“Hmm, yes, yes I am.” She said confidently, the water lapping at her neck. “I think I might just call you kitty from now on. Seeing as you have your nickname for me.” She smirked even more at her frown.

He frowned as he thought for a minute before he smiled brightly, “I love it! M’lady has a nickname and now so do I.” He leant in closer with a smirk, “quite the pair, aren’t we?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her while she frowned at him before she shoved his head under water playfully watching him come back up with his shaggy hair covering his eyes as he pouted, her laugh filling the air. “No fair!” She carried on laughing as he pushed his hair back into a mess, pouting at her before he tackled her, arms wrapping around her body as he pushed her under, pushing up on the ground and emerging with her over his shoulder on shallower ground, walking to Alya and Nino who were laughing at the scene in front of them.

Adrien grinning victoriously as Marinette smacked Adrien’s toned back to put her down, water from her hair over her eyes. He soon lifted her up again and placed her on his knee as he sat next to Nino, a smug look on his face. “I won.” He said, Marinette pouting at him with her arms across her chest, perching on his bent knee, blushing slightly at their bodies being so close. She looked over at her friends and felt peace, it had been a long six months, but… this made it all worth it. She was happy, and she belonged. She looked at Adrien who was watching her, she blinked and poked his nose again, smiling at him finally.

“Ease there, kitty.” She said softly, “don’t get too excited.” He blinked before smiling a sweet smile at her, making her heart skip a beat.