#and she believes that it was her coldness. her remoteness. the way that she discarded him that made him turn that corner into someone

[halechief]

fellas the nonconsensual aspect of tom and claire’s relationship at times has got me seriously fucked up in the club.

[probablyintensemuses]

The Happenings In the Art of Starting Over

Summary:

James Buchanan Barnes is a broken man who is whisked away to the remote and serene land of Wakanda. His colleagues begin to believe if there is anyone who could try and help him it will be Irene. And try she will. But healing Bucky won't come easy, he is stubborn and scared and wants nothing to do with Irene and her powers. Helping Bucky will be a journey of trials and tribulations, Irene knows that. And yet, she still saunters over to him with a smile.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Black!Mutant! OC

Word Count:

I do NOT give permission for my work to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. My work is my own.

CHAPTER TWO

Irene preferred the cold. Perhaps that's why she enjoyed sleeping in a tank top, and training in a tank top. She at one point believed in her past lives she was some species of cold-blooded reptilian. Perhaps a gecko, as they too could change shades.

The last week had been horrific. Although she was locked in the compound, Irene hadn't spoken to Wanda. She knew her friend was furious she had signed the accords. Vision claimed Wanda felt discarded by Irene's decision.

But Irene just wanted her to see it from a different perspective. The consequences that came with their continuous freelanced heroism. Ross was right, they were practically vigilantes. And Irene just wanted to do what was best for them all.

But Alas, Wanda hadn't seen it that way, and she wasn't the only one. Of course Tony gloated about the compound knowing his precious Irene has taken his side—Natasha too.

But Irene couldn't ignore that Steve skipped out on their usual morning coffees as she taught him more sign language. Or how Sam slightly chuckled at her jokes now and didn't bellow out like he'd use too. She was observant, her family felt betrayed. But secretly, so did she.

Irene walked into the kitchen. With her presence, Steve and Sam's conversation ceased. She rolled her eyes, this act was getting old. If they had something to say, the could just say it.

"Don't stop on my account.' She spoke up, pulling the eggs from the refrigerator. "Not like I can hear you anyways." She pointed to hear ear lobes that were missing her hearing aids.

"Why don't you have them in.' Steve sat his coffee down, steam still rolling from the lip of the mug.

Irene shrugged, moving from the refrigerator to the seasoning cabinet. "Felt like painting them today." She closed the appliances.

"Isn't that dangerous." Sam said, as she continued to read their lips.

She shrugged once more. "Why do you care, you've barely spoken to me in a week."

Sam scoffed.

"That doesn't mean we don't care." Steve signed.

"I did what i thought was best, for us." Irene signed back, the room suddenly silent.

"So did I." Steve signed again, watching as Sam's eyes drew back and fourth between them.

"You're going to get arrested,' she said this time, letting loose a shaky breath free from her chest. "or worse."

"We will be fine.' Steve said. "It's you I worry about."

"Why?' She frowned. "I'm not the one turning myself into a vigilante and posing as a hero."

"That's how you see us?" Sam interjected.

"Right now, yes! You're being unreasonable and pretending it's an act of selflessness." She glared between them both.

"Irene, cut it out!' Steve shouted. "You wouldn't know selflessness if it fell right in front of you."

Irene stepped back from Steve as her eyes widened then narrowed. She slammed the egg carton down, forgoing her breakfast. Some days she despised being partially deaf. Today, was not one of those days. Because the last thing she wanted to do was hear what Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers had to say as she flounced away.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Irene knew Steve could be stubborn, he was an old man after all. But she never knew he could be so mean. What had she done to deserve being called selfish? Her actions weren't selfish, and even if they were, they were her choices. And she refused to let anyone take that away from her, again.

Irene wiped the teal paint off onto her pants, carefully dipping the paint brush into the acrylic paint. She hadn't had much to do these days, so she decided on a fun project for herself—a distraction she hoped.

She dipped one paint brush into a brownish red shade and painted small flowers over the teal she had coated her hearing aids in. She still remembers the day Tony gave these to her. The moment she had put them in, it had given her life a whole new meaning.

Tony couldn't cure her partial deafness. But with the hearing aids sounds became somewhat coherent, they were just muffled. Nevertheless she could hear what was important, and that's all that mattered.

Without them, an ill ringing noise pieced through the cabinet of her ears. But so many years with that sound, she'd just gotten use to it.

Irene smiled at her hearing aids, blowing on them to give them the extra push they needed to dry. She sat up and readjusted her posture, cringing as she heard her back bones crack. But as her back arched over the top of her desk chair, she saw Friday in the corner of her room flashing red.

She immediately stood up, looking at her door then looking back at Friday's flashing lights. Tony had told Irene why he'd installed the lights for her around this compound and others. And it only meant one thing—danger.

Quickly, Irene slipped on a pair on gym shoes and a sweater. Walking through her bedroom door her eyes widened in fear. Bands of people whisked past her face running away from the foreseen danger down the hall.

Irene watched the hysteria on the faces of those who ran by. She rolled up her sleeves in preparation of what she might face. But before she could round the corner a man was thrown into the glass behind her, shattering it. Splinters of the glass slicing into her calf.

She winced, bending down to assess the wounds. On the floor she was at eye level with a pair of black boots that slowly stalked over to where she was knelt down.

Her eyes slowly peeled up and was met face to face with a man. She'd seen this man before. Not only in Steve's head, but on the news. This man was the winter solider.

Irene was typically the avengers defense. Using her shapeshifting and psionic abilities to distract their enemies. She was not an offensive fighter, and from what she'd heard about the winter solider, she was screwed.

Irene quickly stood up, turning to make a run for it. But it seemed before she could even move, his hands were grappled around her waist. And in a split second she was thrusted above his head and tossed behind him, landing in a pile of glass. She cried out in pain, rolling in the glass as she cradled her side only making it worse.

She used her palm to push herself up from the ground. With slick thinking the outline of her body flashed purple, suddenly changing shades into Steve Rogers. She walked over to Bucky slowly.

"You know me, Buck." She held out her bloody hand, feeling confident in Steve's shape. "It's okay." Her voice was soft.

But that only seemed to anger him as his nostrils flared. He raised his metal arm slapping Irene in the face. She flew backwards, her body doing somersaults in the air until she made a painful landing onto a wooden table. It collapsing when she collided with it.

Steve's facade dissipated, her nose burned and bled. She had no time to react before Bucky's hand was around her neck, squeezing tightly. She clawed at his face, her eyes pouring with tears. Her legs dangled and flapped around like a fish out of water as he lifted her higher into the air.

She didn't know what came over her, rather it was the grace of her maker or just the fear she held inside at this moment. Irene let go, the veins that painted her body suddenly glowed purple along with her eyes.

A new energy emerging within her, she lifted her shaking hands and grasped them onto Bucky's temples almost ritualistically. His blue eyes widened at her warm touch, before his iris's matched the purple which coursed through Irene's body.

And as if she was heavier than a ton of bricks, Bucky dropped to floor along with Irene's body. The world around them settling into black.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Irene gasped, like a baby being born, like it was her first breath. She frantically touched her body. She was wet, and oh so cold. The kind of cold she didn't like. This chill frightened her—like winter.

Irene stood up, her bare feet sloshing around in a freezing pool of water that waded up to her knees. She could have swore she dawned shoes before this.

She shivered pulling her soaking sweater closer to herself as she marched through the water. Suddenly taking in an even stranger part of this harrowing territory. It was black, pitch black. The only source of light seemed to be the one that illuminated her frame and casted onto her like a shadow.

"Hello?" She yelled, the only response was her own.

"Hello!" She tried again, her voice rasping in horror as she trailed along.

"Somebody!" She ran, her legs burning as she pushed through the water. Her eyebrows bunched as the water picked up pace going from still water to a rapid current.

Irene yelped out, tripping and falling face front into the water. Then being pushed through the current. She paddled trying to keep up with the waves.

"Help me, Tony!" She choked on the water that only seemed to get deeper.

She struggled more against the waves, then suddenly her back slapped against a slab of ice. Tears poured down her face as the water drained away, almost as if someone had flushed it out. And now the chill had returned, making Irene tremble, but not from the cold.

She used the ice she had been pinned against to help pull herself up. Her legs wobbled as she was exhausted. She wanted this nightmare—this hell to end. But she would soon find out, it had only begun.

Irene screamed in fright. The cold object was a block of ice and within that a man stuck out, the man who had previously tried to kill her. And suddenly it dawned on her. She was physically inside the mind of the winter solider.

"No." She whispered to herself, falling to her knees.

"No.' Irene clenched her eyes closed, slapping her temple violently. "Snap out of it, Irene! Snap out of it!" She shouted.

But as she opened her eyes, to her gloom dismay she was still there. Still alone with Bucky's frozen body. She didn't know what to do, was this how she died? Or was she already dead and trapped here within his mind.

Irene fell to her knees, cradling herself in defeat. She had never physically brung herself into a mind before. She had only transferred thoughts, dreams and illusions—even nightmares. But this was a first, she felt completely powerless and out of control once more.

She allowed more tears to stream down her face as her throat closed up. And within a brisk moment, something cold, colder than anything she had already been surrounded by rolled onto her feet. It was a chunk of ice, she looked up as her eyes were blurred by the tears that welled in her eyes.

And before her was Bucky, coughing up water. Only he looked different, his body was frail and his hair was short. Irene got up onto her hands and knees, slowly crawling towards him. She didn't speak, she wouldn't be able to hear him without her hearing aids.

The closer she crawled towards him the further he crawled away. It was a game of cat and mouse until she finally opened her mouth.

"I won't hurt you." She said gently.

"Get away from me." His voice was hoarse and agitated.

Irene's eyes focused on his lips. "Please, I'm scared too. I only want to help you."

"There's nothing you can do!" He hollered, punching the remaining ice besides him.

She crawled closer to him. Kneeling before him, as he hide his face within his legs. Slowly, she steadied her hand and placed it onto him.

"I want to try something, if you'll let me." She asked, making sure her eyes were already on his lips as he looked up at her.

"What?" His eyes rimmed with tears, he was just as frightened as her.

"I'll show you." Irene grabbed his hand, her heart pained slightly as she felt Bucky flinch underneath her touch.

Irene closed her eyes, her finger tips pressing into Bucky's temple. They both groaned and trembled in pain. Irene screamed out, her body feeling as if it was being ripped in two. And just as before, she and Bucky laid weightless, their bodies colliding with the cold water. Again the world fading black around them both.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Irene's scream broke through the ceiling of the abandoned warehouse. A set of strong arms wrapping around her as she hyperventilated, unable to stop herself from crying.

"Sam." She gasped for air, her heart rate slowing down.

"It's okay." Sam put Irene's hearing aids in, the world stoped piercing around her. "You're safe."

"Irene." Steve kneeled down in front of her, his body dirty and bruised. "What happened?" He spoke softly as Sam caressed her curly hair.

"I—I don't know how." She took deep breaths, holding her hand against her thumping heart.

She turned around, jumping in fright as Bucky sat discombobulated behind her. His head weaving back and forth, he was just as exhausted as them.

"I got in his head, Steve." She sniffled, pointing at Bucky. "I don't know how, but I was there; It was so cold, and dark."

"What do you mean, you always get in peoples heads?' Sam questioned. "And why are you so wet?" He pulled back from her, observing his now damp clothes.

"That's just it!' She popped up. "My mind wasn't in his head—that I'm use to. It was both my mind and body somehow."

"That's why I'm wet." She peeled off her sweater.

"You try that shit again,' Bucky's voice was as hoarse and agitated as Irene remembered. "It won't take the  words of hyrda for me to hurt you."

"It was an accident." Irene whispered.

"Accident or not, I don't need you in my head. I got enough of that going on." His fist pulled tightly together.

"Buck." Steve sighed, placing his hands on his hips, condemning his best friend.

"No it's fine.' Irene held her hand up. "It was a fluke reaction to you squeezing the life out of me." She pointed to the browning bruises on her neck.

Bucky's head hung low as he shook it back and forth. "Yeah, what else did I do?" He grumbled.

"That doesn't matter," Steve said as Sam wrapped his jacket around Irene. "What matters is Irene pulled you back."

Irene gave Steve a dazed look of bewilderment. "What?" She folded her arms over her small chest.

"Whatever happened between you two, it stopped him on his psychotic rampage." Sam said.

"Oh my gosh.' Irene slapped a hand to her forehead, pacing. "How could I be so stupid." She scoffed.

"What?" Steve questioned her.

"I think I spoke to his subconscious." She revealed breathlessly.

"What does that even mean?" Sam retorted.

Irene took a seat on one of the dusty crates that were scattered about the place. "When I was inside Bucky's mind, there was a version of him.' She began. "And I'm assuming since this Bucky doesn't remember our conversation too vividly, I wasn't necessarily speaking directly to him."

"So you spoke to the parts of his mind not tainted by hydra.' Steve said.

Irene nodded, sighing now. "The parts I believe even they can't get to. Parts only someone like me can."

Bucky's eyes frantically flickered back and forth between both Steve and Irene as they communicated.

"What is she saying." Bucky stood up abruptly, making Irene jump.

"She's just saying she can help you, Buck. Calm down." Steve said as he watched Bucky's chest heave and fall with anger and confusion.

"I should leave," Irene announced as she stared at Bucky who could hardly face her. "Tony's probably running frantic looking for me."

"I'll get her halfway," Sam announced, wrapping his arms around Irene.

"Why only half?" Irene paused their walk.

Steve turned to look at her, his hand still holding Bucky's shoulder. "Because like you said early, we're vigilantes now."

Irene shook her head. She knew this would happen eventually. That in the end, they would all be the architects of their own demise. It was simply fruition now.

[firefly-in-darkness]

Dream A Little Dream

Characters → Y/N & Dean Winchester.

Summary → Y/N has always daydreamed of Dean being more than a friend regardless of knowing she wasn’t his type. Is she going to be able to keep her feelings in check when they pretend to be a couple in their hunt for a witch?

Word Count → 2.9k

Warnings → 18+, a little bit of angst, low self-esteem, fluff. Sexy things. Happy ending.

Beta → @princessmisery666 & @daydream3r-xo // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → This is my Secret Santa fic for @spnsecretsantaficexchange & this story is being gifted to @waywardnerd67 who asked for a friends to lovers, only one bed & plus size reader fic - I hope you enjoy this lovely!

Masterlist

Dean Winchester: a man full of love for the world that didn’t appreciate him. He was a hunter, hero, and saviour. Not that he’d ever call himself anything like that, he was too modest. It was just the family business, saving people, hunting things. And Y/N was lucky, or not so lucky, to experience all of this with him. As his friend. 

Even if it pained Y/N to be near Dean; his charm, his sense of humour, his body, his warmth, all she wanted was to have him closer. Have them be skin to skin, holding onto another tightly in a lover’s embrace. All Y/N wanted was for him to hold her tight, to whisper that he loved her. But she realised, a long time ago, that Dean Winchester would never see her as anything other than a friend.

The sight of Dean flirting his way across the towns they visited, and the types of women he had fallen into bed with, made it clear that all they’d ever be was friends. He acted so candidly with these beautiful creatures and Y/N would never compare to them. Y/N didn’t look anything like the women he was interested in, she wasn’t his type in the slightest. Dean never looked at her with lust or directed that cheeky smirk her way.

Y/N had long ago settled for the relationship that they had, it had to be enough. She had to stop daydreaming about Dean and if there were more meaning to the way he pulled her into a shoulder hug after a successful hunt. The way he tended to the wounds across her body as if she was a delicate flower about to wilt at the feel of a heavy hand. Or how he’d kiss the top of her head as she drifted to sleep against his shoulder as he drove the Impala. 

Those were the most intimate moments, and it had her clutching to the idea of him being more than a fellow hunter and companion. Those sweet daydreams were enough to let all worries disappear and bring her hope. If only he dreamed a little dream of me.

In reality, Y/N would only be Dean’s friend, and that was final. She tucked away her feelings into the smallest part of her being, locked and hidden from everyone. Because, to have a small amount of love from Dean, even if platonic, was enough. 

Y/N had learnt to distract herself, to steer away from the daydreaming and getting lost in his beautiful eyes. She’d preoccupy herself with a game on her phone whenever Dean appeared looking dashing or when he’d stepped out of a steaming shower; his glistening torso and the loosely wrapped towel had been a long tormented situation until she learnt to avoid looking his way.

Coffee would be buzzing through her system so that she didn’t fall asleep unexpectedly against him and when injuries occurred, she began dealing with them on her own just to avoid his touch. It wasn’t so bad to do it by herself, she’d done it before. But, as much as Y/N tried to avoid Dean, it was inevitable that something would come to test her.

It came in the form of Dean’s idea of pretending to be a couple in a restaurant in the hope of catching the witch causing havoc in the small town in the middle of nowhere. Y/N told yourself over and over - ‘this isn’t real, we are just friends.’ But nothing prepared her for the moment she walked into the motel room. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind as they left Sam at the bunker and travelled across state lines for the next hunt. 

Y/N’s eyes blew wide at the sight before her. One bed. One fucking bed.

Dean was completely oblivious to the conflict that raged in Y/N’s head and went straight into the bathroom. At least it gave Y/N some privacy and a moment to breathe. But how could she when her mind swam with hundreds of thoughts all at once? It was like the gods were playing a cruel trick. How were they going to sleep in the same bed, together? And how could she possibly even sleep with him lying next to her? The running water of the shower did little to discourage the more intimate thoughts.

To quiet the voices in her head, she took a seat and looked through the little research that Dean had gathered. The distraction worked for a while, at least until he returned to the room in his loungewear and inspected the suit that Y/N had hung up neatly. She watched him with incredulous disbelief as he grabbed the remote for the television before he climbed onto the bed. 

Dean settled back on the mattress, flicked through the channels until he found something decent to watch and placed his arms at the back of his head. 

He turned his gaze to her, “are you going to just sit there or join me?”

Y/N frowned, “shouldn’t we ask for a different room and do some more research?”

Dean’s focus had already returned to the television, “this is the only room available. We haven’t got to do anything until this evening so just relax.”

Reasoning with herself that if Dean thought it was a problem then he’d say something, she took the spot beside him and lost herself in the drama unfolding on the small screen at the foot of the bed. It was the first time in a long time that she felt relaxed around the older Winchester, even if she was worried about sinking back into old habits.

The opaque garment bag was hooked to the back of the bathroom door, Y/N could see it in the corner of her eye as she readjusted the towel around her body and continued to finish her makeup in the small mirror. It felt like the dress was taunting her, it wasn’t something she’d usually wear, and it had made her feel self-conscious from the moment she pulled it out of the depths of the wardrobe back at the bunker.

The zip on the bag got stuck and almost caught the fabric of the navy dress inside but once it was out of the plastic cover, Y/N inspected it for any tears, but it all seemed to be okay. With the dress now on full display, she backed away and perched on the closed toilet seat. She was stepping into new territory and needed a moment to process it.

Y/N had worn the dress once before, about two years ago. She’d become stuck in her ways and used to the comfort of jeans or leggings paired with baggy tops. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the dress, it’s just that she knew that it would look and feel different compared to before.

What if it shows all my lumps and bumps? I’m going to look pathetic compared to Dean, will anyone believe that we are on a date? Doubt it.

A light knock on the door brought Y/N’s attention back to the reality of getting ready for their hunt and date. The towel was discarded to the floor and she pulled the dress over her head, hoping not to smudge her makeup.

Dean spoke, his voice muffled through the door panel, “we’ve got to go in ten minutes.”

“Just a minute,” Y/N replied and finished adjusting the thin straps and smoothed out the skirt of the mid-length dress.

With one final look in the mirror and a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door.

Y/N had never imagined this would be how the evening would go; sitting in a fine restaurant with Dean Winchester - he was the perfect date, even if it wasn’t a real one. She couldn’t help but wonder if this is what Dean was really like on a date. That Y/N might have caught a glimpse of what it would be like to get his attention.

After three glasses of wine and their delicious meal, the pair of them remained out of luck; there was no sign of the witch or potential victims. Dean paid for their dinner, even after Y/N’s protests to split the check.

The stroll back to the Impala was enough time for Y/N’s thoughts to turn negative. It was as if the second they walked out of the restaurant that reality came crashing down around her. It wasn’t a real date and it never would be because she was not Dean’s type. Y/N didn’t look like those women and she never would, no matter how she looked tonight. It’s not what Dean wanted.

Y/N sunk into the cold leather, it stung against her exposed skin; goosebumps rose across her flesh until the heavy material of Dean’s jack was draped over her. The action made Y/N flinch as she hadn’t realised how close Dean was until he was gone.

“Thank you,” was all she could muster, “and for tonight.”

He smiled softly, “you’re welcome.”

Dean pulled up outside the motel room but neither of them rushed to leave. Hope blossomed in Y/N’s heart, that just maybe Dean didn’t want this to end either. That thought bashed away all the negatives as he turned in his seat. His eyes roamed her face for a moment and a lopsided grin formed. His eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that Y/N adored.

His smile reminded her of the ones he’d given to many women over the years, but this one seemed different; there was a glint in his eyes that made Y/N question if those other smiles weren’t genuine. That this one was real.

“D’ya know it’s been over four years since we met.” He looked back out into the almost empty parking lot before Y/N could nod in response, “and guess what today is?”

Y/N looked at him in confusion, today was no different to any other day. Except, it would be forever etched in her heart as the day she almost went on a date with Dean Winchester and lived to tell the tale.

Dean continued to look out into the dark sky, the stars shining brightly above them, mixed in with the glow of the motel lights.

“It’s been a year since we took down that vampire nest in New Orleans,” Dean mentioned.

Vampires and New Orleans was a whirlwind hunt; one which left Y/N with severe injuries. Nothing was broken but the blow to her ribs had been enough for her to be winded and have heavy bruising for weeks. Y/N ended up on bed rest at the Bunker for at least a month before Sam and Dean allowed her to go on another hunt.

Dean sighed, his head rolling over to look at Y/N once more, “a year since I realised something.”

A shiver ran over her body from the way his voice dropped lower and could barely say more than a whisper as she got lost in his emerald gaze, “what was that?”

“That you mean a lot to me,” Dean responded, not a fleck of a waiver in his tone. 

In the dim light of the lamps, his hand nudged along the seat of Baby towards Y/N’s. At the sight of the intimate gesture, she slid her hand closer. Y/N’s body hummed with butterflies as his fingers laced over her own. This wasn’t a dream or a fantasy, this was real. 

Y/N glanced up to see Dean was already looking at her intently and that’s when she realised, she hadn’t said anything, “you mean a lot to me too Dean.”

A sigh fell from Dean’s plump lips before he leant forward and cupped her cheek with his other hand. Within a heartbeat, Dean’s face neared Y/N’s, eyes closing on instinct as she awaited his kiss.

Dean’s lips softly brushed against her own, a ghost of a kiss, then he pecked a little harder while his thumb caressed the apple of her cheek. Even though Y/N couldn’t believe this was happening, she wasn’t going to hold back any longer and as he pulled away, she gripped the back of his neck and pressed her mouth harder against him. 

Y/N poured every ounce of her feelings into it, shifting closer to him and running her hands through his short hair as his arm wrapped around her waist. A flicker of his tongue across her bottom lip and his hand stroking down her back sent a wave of pleasure to her aching core. 

A soft moan escaped Y/N’s mouth as he massaged the flesh of her ass, giving his tongue a chance to explore her further. The urgency of the kiss heightened as she shifted to straddle his lap but before she had a chance to move Dean pulled away, his hands settling on her biceps.

“I think we should slow down. Can we at least go inside?” Dean asked.

Her head fell back in laughter, and with a nod, Dean pulled Y/N out of the car and towards the motel room. As he fiddled with the lock, something dawned on her; why did he wait a year to tell her? The creaking of the door and the tug on his hand had her following behind.

“Now, where were we?” Dean pulled Y/N close to him, her hands resting against his broad chest.

“I think you were going to tell me why you waited so long to do anything?” She raised her brow at him and tapped his chest with her index finger.

Dean smirked and took a seat at the edge of the bed, patting his thigh for Y/N to join him. Y/N bit her lip and perched on Dean’s knee, arms wrapping around his neck while Dean held her close around the waist, one of his hands stroking her hip. The sensation was driving her wild, but she wanted to know why he hadn’t made a move before now.

“I did sweetheart,” Dean kept his focus on her eyes, “you responded to everything, I was going to do something about it once I knew for sure but then I noticed you had started hanging out with Sam or throwing yourself into research. I thought I’d read everything wrong and that’s when I thought that maybe you were pulling away.”

Y/N listened to every word, nodding for him to continue as her heart raced at his confession; all those moments were real. Not only had Dean been feeling the same way, but he’d also been daydreaming about her too.

“I honestly thought you felt the same way when you fell asleep next to me when we watched that show you like, erm-” Dean paused, his brow scrunching together.

Y/N could see the cogs ticking and chuckled because she knew exactly what he was talking about and wanted to see if he knew, give him the chance to win this moment.

“-Gossip Girl!” He grinned at his triumph, “yeah, you turned over and your hand grabbed mine. Well, it meant a lot.”

“And then you set this up?” Y/N asked with a slight smirk on her lips and a raised eyebrow.

Dean pulled back, his face blank at first, only for a blush to form across his freckled cheeks, “how did you know?”

Y/N’s hands tugged at his collar, loosening the tie, “well, for starters, you did the research.”

He rolled his eyes and then focused on Y/N once more as her fingers made light work of the buttons. Following her lead, he found the zipper at the back of the dress, tugging it down slowly. Excitement pooled in Y/N’s belly and her skin simmered with pleasure at his actions.

“Then, you didn’t want to snoop around the restaurant.” Y/N stood up, letting the dress drop to the ground. 

The confidence in her appearance grew tenfold as Dean’s eyes darkened at her matching lacy underwear and the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips. She stepped out of the dress and heels, dropping to her knees in front of Dean and unbuckled his belt.

“Not only that, but there are no other cars in the parking lot and a bright ‘vacancies’ sign outside.”

With her bottom lip brought between her teeth, she glanced up at Dean, “which means that you planned all of this.”

Y/N gripped the slacks at his hips and tugged them down, exposing the hard length that tented his boxers. She couldn’t help the way her mouth watered at the sight of him above her but before she could reach to pull down his boxers, Dean had gripped her arms and pulled her up to his level.

“Well done smarty-pants, now come here.”

Dean’s lips crashed to hers, a fever of pleasure and affection dripping from the kiss as they collapsed back onto the mattress. Their bodies tangled together, heat radiated from them both as they grasped at limbs and kissed without abandon.

That night, they started making up for the year that they had missed out on. The year that they’d both been too hesitant, lost in their daydreams instead of basking in the reality of their love.

Everything Tag List: @reann-loves-sebstan​ / @thefridgeismybestie​ / @kitkatd7​ / @harold321​

Supernatural Tag List:  @deanwanddamons​ / @akshi8278​

SPN Pond Tag List: @manawhaat @aprofoundbondwithdean @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @nichelle-my-belle-spn-con-blog @notnaturalanahi @deanscarlett @whispersandwhiskerburn @roxy-davenport @deathtonormalcy56 @samsgoddess @frenchybell @spn-fan-girl-173 @deandoesthingstome @deansleather @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @mrswhozeewhatsis @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @kayteonline @supernatural-jackles @wevegotworktodo @deantbh @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog @memariana91 @plaidstiel-wormstache @chelsea-winchester @becs-bunker @castieltrash1 @supernaturalyobsessed @ruined-by-destiel @winchester-writes @zombitch-inthemegacoven @maraisabellegrey-blog @faith-in-dean @winchestscanersmolder @clueless-gold @deanwinchesterxreader @winchester-family-buisness @there-must-be-a-lock @just-another-winchester @emoryhemsworth @cas-backwards-tie @sierra-grace1227 @flamewncaaaaaaaasodiva @kalesrebellion​ @emilyshurley​ @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @idreamofplaid @emptycanvasposts @kickingitwithkirk

[manikas-whims]

A Place Good Enough

[Read on AO3]

Ship: Kaz Brekker X Inej Ghafa

Summary:

Kaz pays Inej's indenture at the Menagerie and she joins the dregs.

_

A short fic that adds a little more of what happens that night after Kaz takes her with him.

Note:

I'm a new fan and read the SoC Duology this Feb.

This is my first time writing these characters so please excuse anything weird, I tried my best.

Inej may seem a bit scared in this because she isn't the Inej we know in SoC. This will be the first fic of many where I'll try to show our Crows before the events of SoC. A look at their daily lives in the Dregs. And the slow development of feelings between Kanej.

Hope you enjoy this short piece ♥

Kaz

“Let’s start by getting out of here and finding you some proper clothes. Oh, and Inej,” he says, “don't ever sneak up on me again.”

And yet as he ushers the Suli girl out of the salon, the bustling streets remind him how foolish it will be to roam around the barrel at night. Ofcourse a mere glance at his cane and gloved hands is enough to ward people off. No one in Ketterdam dares crossing the young man that goes by the title of Dirtyhands. Even so, it won’t be good for his carefully crafted reputation to be seen limping around at indecent hours with an exotic girl in tow. Dirtyhands doesn’t waste time on frivolous things. He has vengeance to condemn and for that he requires proper focus and meticulous steps. Brick by brick. He reminds himself.

With a quick scan of his surroundings to make sure no one is looking, he removes the deep grey coat he’s adorning and hands it to the girl. He doesn’t miss the way she flinches at the action, probably just as scared of him as the rest of this city.

“Cover yourself.” He commands and continues walking. Thankfully, the girl doesn’t waste time being confused or shocked and quietly does as told. He also notes how she maintains a distance whilst following him but makes sure to stick close enough, her feet soundless despite the bells tied around her dainty ankles.

Inej

Kaz Brekker finally slows his walk as they approach a shabby building in the remote parts of the Barrel. Its lit and noisy but Inej can tell its definitely not a clothing store. And it is only moments later that cold realization dawns on her. There was no release from enslavement to begin with, just a deal struck between a bawd from the west stave and the lieutenant of a notorious gang in the east stave. It was a sham all along. Why wouldn’t it be? Why would one of the most sinister criminals in Kerch buy her out of slavery only to be shifted to an indenture? She should’ve been skeptical. Instead, she had been hopeful because the boy named Dirtyhands is after all, a young one like herself. She thought he may have empathized with her. He had even offered his coat to her. But oh what an utter fool she had been! Everything in Ketterdam comes with a price. Even something as natural as freedom.

Should she sprint away? She can take-off right now. He hasn’t looked back even once to check if she’s there. And he’s a cripple! She can easily outrun him. Yet all these plans formulating in her head are laced around a grim sense of fear. Kaz Brekker doesn’t need a reason. Or so she has heard. He has already earned an ill reputation for being whimsical. She mustn’t start giving him reasons to chase and drag her back down these dark alleys. So she quietly trails behind him as the door opens with a creak.

Men of varying ages who had been busy chatting and drinking, stare at them. His entry seems to raise everyone’s attention as they watch him walk by and approach the staircase. Although that’s all she sees as she continues after the uncaring boy, she does hear numerous brazen remarks.

“Am I too drunk or has Brekker actually brought in a girl?”

“Ghezen! We all must be sloshed.”

“I almost believed something was going on between him and that Zemeni boy.”

“So…Suli huh?”

Some snickers follow this particular remark but the boy doesn’t seem to mind. Does this mean their assumptions aren’t wrong? A wave of panic courses through her but Inej tries to calm herself with deep breaths, tries to focus her mind on the stairs instead. She has faced all sorts of repulsive men in the sheets. Dirtyhands can’t be much different. And even if the rumors aren’t false and he’s part-demon beneath the façade of his sharp suits,  she can still push herself to handle anything. If serving as his mistress will warrant her safety from the likes of Tante Heleen, she can do this. 

A soft clicking sound pulls her out of her trail of anxious thoughts. She notices they’ve walked past several floors and are currently going up into an attic. The inside isn’t much special but appropriately furnished— an old door placed atop several crates acting as a desk, a big window overseeing the surroundings and a door separating what she assumes must be a storage of sorts or a bedroom.

When Brekker finally turns around, his expression as unreadable as ever, Inej shivers. She takes one last gulp of air in hopes of easing herself. She can do this. She just needs to leave her body like she always does. Let the little lynx take care of such matters.

She begins by discarding his coat. Her eyes are lowered to the floor but she can sense his unwavering gaze. Maybe he’s one of those who take pleasure in watching a woman undo herself for him. Or maybe its something else entirely. His stoic demeanor doesn’t provide much to guess. Her shaky hands reach for the hooks in the back of her purple blouse. I can endure this! She mentally assures herself.

“What exactly are you doing?” comes his low voice, like a rasp of stone on stone.

Her hands fumble and come to a halt. She raises her eyelids to find a barely visible, amused smirk marring his pale countenance. “I..thought..I just–”

“Inej, was it?” he interrupts, leaning his weight on his frightening cane shaped like the head of a crow. Did she do something wrong? Will he use it on her? Her shoulders hunch slightly in preparation of whatever is to come. She hears an audible sigh instead. “I don’t remember us agreeing to such terms back at the Menagerie.”

Now she does look up, eyes wide in disbelief. “Oh..”

He passes a hand through his hair. “But since you seem eager to–”

“I’m not!” she yells, her cheeks tinted a lovely shade of pink. Frankly she doesn’t know how to react. It’s her first time speaking to a man who isn’t demanding any sexual favors from her but isn’t being very nice either.

He hobbles over to the makeshift desk and settles on a chair behind it. “Let me guess,” he starts, resting his bad leg on the tabletop and the cane in his lap. “You didn’t trust me.”

“I did!” she protests like a child  falsely accused of stealing candies. However, the embarrassment of her response follows immediately and she tilts her head down again. “Not truly but–”

“Wrong answer.” His tone is even more gritty now. “Its good that you expected the worst. Never trust anyone in the barrel.”

Inej looks at him again. It’s far too late for that lesson now. She’s learnt it the harshest of ways.

“I may be many things but I keep my word, Inej.” He adds solemnly, then fishes out a lone key from his pants' pocket. “Here” he gestures for her to come forward and receive it.

She scurries to the desk and takes it, her fingers lightly grazing along his gloved ones. Is he sending her on an errand already? Is procuring something important going to be her first task for the Dregs?

“Head downstairs and unlock the room directly below this attic with the key.” He tells simply and starts working on the tall stacks of papers lying on the desk.

She waits for further details but when he says nothing more she inquires herself, “For what?”

He glances at her, a brow quirked as if mocking her obliviousness. “Its your room from now on. Go get some sleep.”

“What about my..services?” she asks.

“We’ll discuss all that tomorrow morning.” He answers and waves her off, willing her to leave already.

Downstairs, upon unlocking an old cream-colored door and switching on the light, Inej is greeted by a tiny room. There’s a window overlooking the barrel, a cot arranged directly below it and an empty trunk lying open. Fortunately, everything is clean and dry and without any trace of smells.

As she steps inside, memories of her old life flash before her bleary eyes. This place is not even close to the large tents she used to perform in with her parents yet for some reason, she feels warm. Its not home but it’s good enough.

Shutting the door, she turns off the light and drops unceremoniously onto the cot. Moonlight illuminates the room- her room- in a dim glow. And slowly it happens. Her tense body relaxes into the mattress and her unshed emotions are set free in the form of tears slipping down her cheeks. Loud sobs rack her small frame as her hands hug the grey coat close to her chest. Amidst her shock and disbelief at actually being saved from sexual exploitation, she must have forgotten to return it. Kaz Brekker’s statement was like a dream she’s had every night since being stolen and shackled. A dream of being saved from the hell that is prostitution. I keep my word, Inej. She giggles at the sound of her real name being called by this stranger, tears staining her lips. She hasn’t heard it in so long that she almost forgot who she was. In letting her body go so as to persevere everyday at the Menagerie, she hadn’t noticed that the lively girl called Inej Ghafa was also withering away. She clutches the coat tighter as if fiercely trying to hold onto her remaining self. And for the first time since an year, she sleeps without the fear of being hurt.

Hope it was enjoyable!

I'm thinking of writing a short sequel drabble where Inej just goes to return Kaz's coat in front of everyone at the Dregs xD

.

SoC Masterlist

( divider by @firefly-graphics )

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Prologue)

(Gif credit to @honestsycrets​)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Greek/Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: Like 7k, I’m sorry

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: So, in this universe, bc fuck Michael Hirst, Sigurd is alive (tho Ivar did throw the axe) but married and away, Bjorn is still somewhere sunny, and Dublin was founded in Saxon land by Hvitty, Ivar and Ubbe, but it is the latter the one in control, prompting Ivar to eventually return to Kattegat and take the throne form Lagertha (she is alive just like in the show, only Bjorn is not here -I like to think he would understand his brothers wanting to avenge Aslaug?- and Floki departed bc he didn’t want to have to choose between supporting the kid he raised and an old friend), leaving him as King, Ubbe as ruler of Dublin, Hvitserk in Kattegat for now like in the show, Bjorn getting a tan in the Mediterranean, and Sigurd alive and happy cause goddammit killing him was a stupid choice. Sorry and btw this isn’t my creation, this is based on some exchanges I saw on reddit and a lil bit of me lol)

The warrior hesitates before letting you enter the tent, but you do so quietly and without a word, like it is expected out of you, and the men discussing war take no notice of you as you slip into a seat and watch them discuss.

Narses, still in the armor of a Byzantine Strategus despite his back having been turned to the Empire for a long time, turns to look at you as you enter. He doesn’t say a word, but in his green eyes there’s a plea for you not to speak, one that you must obey with gritted teeth and bitten tongue.

He understands, and there’s relief in Narses’ eyes.

Your friend. Your confidante.

Your fool.

His lips are pressed into a thin line, his hands supporting most of his weight as he leans on the war table.

“Our numbers are strong enough to hold until support from Strepshire arrives.” The Christian you recognize as Leofric -a bishop? Cleric? You have no idea anymore- speaks, his voice not much unlike the sound of the Byzantine soldiers’ armor plates rustling together as they march down the streets, burning idols and slaying the poor fools that believed the Gods would save them.

“If we retreat, we can-…” Narses argues, but is quickly interrupted.

“You belong to us!” Leofric barks, and you startle at the sudden aggression, “You have made a deal, Greeks. You must honor it.”

“I am aware. I am also aware you Saxons would sacrifice everything for your revenge.” Narses scoffs back, interrupting the Saxon and your train of thought at the same time.

“You want the same, boy. Is it not why you insist on gaining our support?” Stithulf, the leader, states, leaning back on his chair and resting his hands on the back of his head.

His posture screams of arrogance, his young age of a boy with too much power, his scars of a monster eager to fight.

You could use someone like him leading your army. You have seen too many of the so-called soldiers in your home bend the knee to a false Emperor. Maybe you need a monster on your side, someone with the same thirst for blood Greece left you with, someone willing and able to bring the Gods down from the very Olympus for retribution.

And as he leans back he catches sight of you, his expression tightens into a scowl, and you discard the remote possibility.

Not only is he a Christian, the same brand of men that burned your home, your mother, and years later you as well; but he looks upon you like all you are to do is be one of more of virginal maidens for his strange pantheon.

“What is the witch doing here?” He asks out loud, and you swallow down the words you want to say, but still holding his gaze.

“She is to be my wife, I trust her advice.” Narses sentences, sending you a glance that you return with a grateful one of your own.

“I didn’t know you Greeks were ruled over by your women.”

“Greek women are the only ones to birth real men.” You quip before you can stop yourself, reminded with the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia of when your father told you those exact words.

“Is that what your Goddess tells you, Heathen?”

Even the cadence of Leofric’s voice is enough to get you to twist your lip as you turn your gaze to him, but he remains stoic, a quiet sort of anger bubbling behind his eyes. You could swear a small smile tugs at his lips, as if he truly believes a simple word is enough to silence you.

The loud interruption of Narses’ fists colliding with the table stops his mocking, and the man’s eyes shift to his Byzantine ally within a moment.

“Do not call her that.”

“It is not an insu-…” You start, but your friend turns to you once again, begging you in silence to keep quiet. Biting down a sigh, you lean back in your chair and return your eyes to the map.

A long way from home, setting tents alongside Christians, and shutting your mouth because a man told you to. For all the visions and counsel the Gods have sent you through the years, a word of what was to become of your integrity would have been appreciated.

The sound of the curtains of the tent flapping open and closed makes you lift your gaze from the map, and you see Stithulf’s retrieving back.

Narses sighs, not looking at you when he concedes, both to inform you and the rest of the Saxons and Arab mercenaries in the room,

“We will hold.”

A cold hand grips your heart and the names of the Goddesses you seek for guidance and comfort are at the tip of your tongue, shaped by your lips but never spoken.

The Christians leave you two alone, and you walk to the soldier hunched over the war table. Your native Greek feels like a soft song evoking nostalgia as it dances past your lips:

“You cannot…”

“Please, my love.”

Anger bubbles within you, and you stand up straighter as you meet his eyes, “Narses, the Varangians will overpower us, you know we lost too many already, the support from Ivar the Boneless’ incoming army will crush us, you know h-…”

“This is a matter of war, love, let me handle it.” Narses interrupts, to which you frown.

“I know of war Narses! And I know this is a foolish move!”

“Do you know how to lift a sword?” He retorts, a challenge in his voice that does not go unnoticed.

“I…” You clench your teeth, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “I do not need to fight to…”

He laughs bitterly, interrupting you, “Are you hearing your own words?”

“Are you hearing yours? The Varangian King has a crown made of bones and blood, Narses, don’t be foolish. Athena rejoices when he wages war, his army carries her favor.” You spit out your words, trying to make him understand. Narses remains impassive, though, eyes on the map and jaw clenched tight.

“You cannot argue of battle if you have never-…”

You interrupt him with a scoff, pointing an accusing finger at him even when he doesn’t meet your eyes, “I do not need to know how to kill to know the Varangians will swallow you whole. And you’ll drag our people with you.”

At your last words, his head snaps up, eyes facing yours with ferocity and more than old anger, “What choice do I have, huh? We will freeze or starve come winter, we need to move for Eleusis soon!”

“Our people…” You start, but he interrupts you again.

“Our people chose to follow me, and they will.”

“They followed me, they believe in me,” You correct without hesitation, teeth bared, “You followed me, Narses, and I let you, because you promised me an army.”

For a second he hesitates, takes you in with what seem to be new eyes. He seems to have forgotten there’s more than a meek priestess to the woman he followed from Attica. He seems to forget the bloodied hands and hungry smile that greeted him when you gave him the choice to be at your side.

“And I followed you because I love you, because I believe in you!” He exclaims, making shame and regret churn at your insides. You deviate your eyes from his, gritting your teeth.

“I begged you not to force our people to fight against these Norsemen, and you didn’t listen,” You grit out after a few breaths, anger returning to your voice, “Where was your love, your trust, when you chose to ally with these…Christians?”

He takes one of your hands in his, and the touch feels cold.

“You must trust me with this,” He intreats, warm eyes looking for something in your own you don’t think he can find. “Can you trust me?” A small pause, and you taste your own regrets in your mouth, “Love me?”

You press your lips into a line, and because you cannot say anything else, because the lie has gone on for too long and you might as well offer a truth before you entreat your soul to Hades, you whisper,

“Once, I could have.”

But he shakes his head, fervent and certain as he finds your eyes again,

“I promised you Attica, and it will be yours.”

But his words are empty. You do not care for that kingdom if the people that you love are not alive and prospering in it.

“Pray to the Gods you are killed by the Varangians, old friend. I will sacrifice you to Hades myself if you dare return alive from the place you are condemning my people to die on.” You sentence, unable to keep from showing the curl of disgust in your lip, the ancient pain in your eyes.

Narses walks closer to you, eyes searching yours and hands on your shoulders. You clench your jaw. He is gentle, he always is. Gentle, but so were the men that held you as their brothers in arms dragged your mother out of that temple.

You take a step back, but Narses speaks still, ignoring your discomfort,

“These Christians care not for their God, they just want Ivar the Boneless and his brothers. We give them to Stithulf, and they will march for Eleusis with us.”

You shake your head as you watch him believe his own lies.

“Even if we succeed, you are exchanging one master for another, Narses.” The words are your farewell as you turn your back to him and walk towards the entrance of the tent.

____

You walk into your tent and are greeted with a language these Saxons want to have you killed for speaking. The tongue of savages, of barbarians, of Vikings.

“Did they threaten to burn you yet?” Sieghild asks, and you can hear the smile in her voice even if her back is turned to you as she tends to the fire.

“Narses and Stithulf command us to remain,” You confess instead, voice breaking, “Kattegat’s army will be here in a day’s time to aid Dublin’s, but we will not retreat.”

The gasp she lets out forces you to shut your eyes tight in hope of keeping the tears at bay.

You both remain silent for a few instants, and you let yourself fall to the log she brought as a seat. Taking a seat next to you, she places a motherly hand on your knee, squeezing lightly until you look back up at her.

Blueish ink traces ancient marks on the skin of her face, and she moves a lock of your hair away from your face, the rattling sounds of her bracelets and trinkets reaching your ears and filling you with a sense of nostalgia you have difficulty explaining.

“If we must, we will die. Resisting, like your mother and I taught you.”

“This is not the war I will die fighting on!” You yell back, closing your hands into fists as they start shaking. “I will not see my people die fighting a cause not their own, Sieghild. I can’t.”

She takes your head in her hands gently, and, pressing cold lips to your forehead, she gives you the comfort only a mother can.

“Even if we die tomorrow, the Gods are with us. They have been close to you since your birth. You will understand soon.”

“I will certainly see Hades soon.” You smile bitterly, but Sieghild doesn’t falter.

“Then challenge his throne.” She states, and the feral, hungry, look in her eyes makes you think she is not speaking of your God.

You do not even believe in the same Gods, and yet Sieghild remains at your side, you at hers, since she found a crying child clutching a wooden carving of Persephone.

“They want me to give them up, but I won’t.” You argue stubbornly, as the red-haired woman cleans your face with a warm wet cloth. She smiles.

“Arguing about Gods is a matter for adults, little one,” She silences your next argument with a single finger, inked and painted like her face and arms. “They cannot make you believe in their God.”

“But…Mother’s altar, th-they…”

“Those are merely worldly things. The Christians fight with fire what Logi and Glöð themselves have created.”

“Who?”

She chuckles, fingers going through your hair and places a finger on your chest.

“Your faith, your legacy, remain here.”

And at dawn, when the men sound the horns and ready for a battle they must know will be lost, you whisper a prayer to Athena and Enyo, your heart griped tight by the cruel mistresses of Fate.

Even all the tales travelers and mercenaries told you about the army of Kattegat, the sheer strength, the flawless tactics, the barbarian-like warriors; none of that prepared you for the display of forces, however small considering his actual army, Ivar the Boneless has displayed before you.

You catch a glimpse of Narses and Stithulf approaching the King, you hear faintly of the Viking’s taunts.

“Narses is a fool.” You bite out, anger poisoning your voice even as tears clogging your throat make the words wobble.

“A Byzantine Strategus doesn’t fall without a fight, girl. Do not grant my countrymen their victory just yet.”

Even if you hide it as you lower your face, a surge of pride for the foolish warrior that followed you to the ends of the world makes a small smile blossom in your face.

“Do I hear you admitting us soft citizens stand a chance against your brutes, mother?” You mock with a smile, even as you discuss the imminent danger that the Norse men represent to you and your people. Maybe it’s because of the way Sieghild, with all her harshness and tough lessons, comforts you even facing death itself. Maybe it’s the Gods that have guided you your whole life embracing you as you near your descent to Hades.

She laughs, raspy and warm, as always. “I’m saying your boy may give the sons of Ragnar an entertainment.”

A crow flies overhead, cawing loudly and taking your gaze away from the soldiers ahead and into the sky. Something within you, something primal and asleep seems to follow its path in the skies with more than just your eyes.

“Odin is watching. History will be made today.” Sieghild whispers behind you, but you cannot take your gaze away from the black feathers as you answer.

“Apollo sends us an omen. The Gods do not favor us.”

She laughs quietly, shaking her head as she rests a heavy hand on your shoulder

“Your Goddess surely revels in this, dear. The spilled blood of those who will be to arrive at her kingdom waters her flowers, after all."

Flashes of a life before chaos blossom behind your closed eyes, images of a life under the spring sun, of fertility festivals and your mother’s warm laughter as she honors the Daughter of Nature.

And for a second, with the warmth of nostalgia encompassing you, you want to argue that Persephone looks after life; but when your eyes open and all you see is war and cold, you realize maybe she wasn’t the one captured.

Maybe she was not a stolen maiden, but a bloodthirsty usurper.

“May she rejoice, then, and be merciful when we reach her Kingdom.” You whisper.

The war cries reach your ears before you can even see the warriors attack, but soon chaos follows the chariot, that marches not with the set pace of Apollo’s, but free and leaving chaos and death at its wake.

With a heavy weight on your stomach, you hold your place as the battle begins, the injured and dying falling back to the area you look after with Greek soldiers at your back, granting a safe haven for the fallen, either to give them another chance to fight or a merciful end.

_____

It’s been days and the Saxons still push for victory, despite the losses. And, despite their losses and bloodshed, the Vikings push ruthlessly for death.

The camp of healers you have set by the entrance of the woods is so filled with the stench of blood and death that you fear you will never be able to smell a flower again. The warriors come and go, the drachmas in their eyes or in their hands. Your heart dies a little with every familiar face you send off to Hades.

You are working on pressing down with the poultice of herbs to stop a soldier from bleeding from the wound on his back when you hear, past the yells and death and fighting, your name.

You would know that voice anywhere, and you leave the safety of the healing camp to follow the hoarse call.

Narses’ figure stumbles and crawls as he tries reaching you, and, not caring for battle, you run the space separating you. Your knees dig painfully into the earth as you kneel at his side, but the pain in your heart drowns it all.

“No, no, no,” You sob, shaking fingers tracing his bloodied cheeks as he gasps in pain in your arms. His eyes are focused on you, and you cannot deny him the answer of yours, even if battle still goes on around you. With another broken gasp, you whisper, “You fool, you fool.”

Galla calls your name from somewhere at your side, and you turn blind attention to her, murmuring to have people take him to the healers’ tent. She agrees, and you start to pull away from your childhood friend.

Narses opens his mouth to speak, but only blood pours out. You silence him with trembling fingers against his lips, granting the kiss you cannot. Your heart begs you to do something, anything, to keep him alive, to take away his pain, to…to…

But all you do is remain kneeling on the ground, and you cannot take your eyes off his shield. Splattered with blood and mud, left behind a few feet away from you, on the cold and unrelenting earth.

Your mother’s last words to your father, you remember them as if it were yesterday, as if you could still see the warmth in her gaze, the hardened adoration in his. Her delicate hands offering him the shield with Sparta’s symbol on it as he prepared to storm Macedonia, her words a murmur that meant come back to us, my love even when her sentence was other.

Return home with it, or on it.

With it, or on it. With it, or on it. With it, or on it.

But Narses never returned home, none of you ever did. He never returned home, he didn’t die for your home, he died for…for…

You hear hurried footsteps coming towards you, the feeling of having Varangian eyes on you makes you turn just in time to see the warrior approaching. You grab Narses’ shield from the ground, moving as fast as you can to guard your back and block the Viking’s strike with the metal shield.

It is sheer anger and grief, nothing more than the desire to hurt back, that pushes you to take an arrow from the quiver at your back and drive it through the warrior’s knee with your bloodied hand.

He falters, stumbling away from you, but you don’t let go, holding on tightly to the shaft of the arrow and inflicting as much pain as you can. When he finally hits the ground with his back, you crawl over him, sitting on his stomach and bashing his face with the shield.

With your weight upon him, his axe cannot find a home in your skin and instead meets the shield. Over and over, metal meets metal. With a growl, the Viking lets go of it and grabs your hair, pulling roughly and forcing your blows in his face to stop.

You let go of the shield, and your eyes focus on the skies above for a moment before you find the strength to fight.

A yell leaves your lips, and your hungry teeth find the tender skin at the inside of his arm, forcing him to let go of your hair. Blood fills your mouth and almost makes you gag. You spit the flesh from your mouth and with a snarl you drive another arrow through his eye.

He screams as your whole weight leans on the arrow, making sure the projectile you use as a spear kills fast. Your hands keep slipping from the shaft as the blood you have tried to keep from spilling and the blood you have spilled wets your hands.

When he finally stops moving, you know you should feel nothing but emptiness and dread.

Looking with frantic eyes for Narses and Galla, you find him being carried by two of his soldiers back to the tent. You should follow, but you cannot bring yourself to do so.

You look down at your dress. Red, the color of a bride’s veil, stained with the blood of the man you just killed. Your ears ring, your eyes cloud with tears as you realize what you have done, and you scurry away from the corpse as if your breath cannot get into your chest because of your proximity to him…to it.

You know what you should feel, you know what a Priestess, a woman, ought to feel at the sight of death, you know. But dread and horror are not the only things you feel. A part of you is satiated, like a snake curling satisfied and vindicated after injecting its poison; you taste the blood and feel alive.

When you lift your gaze to the battle again, you catch the eyes of the Varangian King. You know who he is, you have heard the tales and even without the chariot he sits on you would still recognize the eyes of the man that rules over Kattegat.

Ivar the Boneless.

He looks at you for a few moments, and you fear he is to call for his men or kill you himself, but he doesn’t. A slow, cruel, ruthless smile starts curving at his bloodthirsty lips, and when he regards you, you feel he can see through your eyes and into whatever it is that made you kill that man.

He lifts his arm not on the reins, bloodied axe held in his hand and slowly, with the same terrifying grin still on his lips, the King points towards you and grants you a curt bow of his head. If it’s a recognition of your kill, a promise to kill you himself, or something else, you cannot know.

You scurry back to the woods, fearing an axe to your back that never comes.

____

Whatever advantage the Christians were so sure to have quickly dissolves like mist, and within days the Vikings push forward with no regard for the lines your people or your unwanted masters wanted to protect.

There’s three injured men under your care when you hear the warning that a group of enemies is coming your way. A quick glance towards Galla, the childhood friend that followed you from Eleusis into this cold hell lets her know what to do.

Her dark eyes fill with understanding before you can even utter a word.

“Lift them up, we are retreating.” She barks at the other soldiers, bow held tightly in her hand betraying her fear, her pain. The men accompanying her hesitate, looking at you for a second before turning to her.

“I may not be able to fight like a Strategus, but I can distract them enough for you to run.”

“Our people…” One of them starts, but you interrupt with a shake of your head, reaching forward with a courage you do not believe to truly possess and take his sword from its holster.

“Our people live on in you,” You promise, and even as your voice wavers you still try not to show how fear grips at your throat or how unbalanced you are with the new weight in your hands. Galla’s eyes lock with yours, and you give her a nod, “Go.”

I pray you find Sieghild on your way out of this slaughter.

“You better make it out alive.” She threatens in good will, and you find yourself smiling. Just before she is to take off with the others, you call out.

“Galla,” You hesitate, feeling like asking to deploy this would be an acceptance of your death. Still, you take a deep breath and say, “Once the dust settles, send some of your people to Thebes, Constantinople and Sparta.”

“What for?” She asks, but in her tone you can hear she understands your words: she is to protect your people, she is to lead them. Because you will not be alive to do so.

“You’ll need spies. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do with them.” You sentence, and after a moment of hesitation you hear the girl’s footsteps fading behind you.

Galla’s hoarse yells in Greek to call your people to retreat become the rhythm at which you let loose arrows to find the Viking warriors. You tell yourself it’s just like hunting deer, you tell yourself it is not men and women you kill. Brothers, sisters, friends, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters.

You tell yourself it is just like hunting, but the tears clogging at your throat and making pain and rage accompany your moves as you let the arrows loose show you that you don’t believe your own lies.

It doesn’t matter how fast you move, how efficient your shots are, there will always be more of them. And you know this, and fear has a cold grip on your heart, even as you continue trying to take out any straggler that chases after the retreating Greeks.

So, the bodies dropping and the injured yells bring the attention to you, and you buy Galla and the others as much time as you have arrows and legs to run on.

Running helps when the Vikings can be distracted by something else, but after you took down some of his countrymen, this warrior seems to only have eyes for you. You scramble to lift the sword you took from your warrior before they took off, and, cornered as you are, you are forced to face the offending Viking.

The Viking strikes first, but you block his attack with the sword. The blunt force of his swing makes it so that the axe stops just shy of the intended blow to your head, opening a deep cut on your forehead as it is slowed by the sword.

Wincing past the pain you hold your ground, facing the hungry gaze of the warrior with your own, although you are forced to close one of your eyes as the blood from the cut in your forehead starts dripping down your face.

The man’s attack has failed, but he smirks, though, before wrenching the weapon from your hands with a twist of his axe.

You can do nothing but stumble back, you Goddess’ name on your lips as you face him with wide eyes.

He mutters something in his own language before discarding your sword and moving to strike again. This time you are defenseless, and can only step back and try and dodge his continuous blows with increasing panic.

Blood, probably his own and his enemy’s, stains his mouth, his face, his hands. He still smiles, and you wonder if bloodthirst becomes more literal than what Sieghild explained in her tales of her people.

His movements stop suddenly, though, and he falls limply to the ground, a small axe protruding from the back of his head.

“I told you you’d need to know how to fight, little one,” Sieghild boasts as she approaches you. The axe leaving the dead man’s skull makes a horrible sound, but she’s not bothered by it, choosing instead to say, “Even you Greeks must see the advantage of fighting like a Viking.”

An arrow in his knee, you feel the iron piercing the muscle, the bone, the tendons. The edge of the shield breaking the bones in his face, the sound it makes. Screams of pain, that you silence with another arrow in the eye.

The King’s hungry smile when he spared you.

You shake your head, returning your thoughts back to the moment, and regard the woman in front of you with a smile.

“Galla told me you chose to stay behind.” She states, and years knowing her let you know of the reprimand shining past the gruff tone. Her hand, bloodied as it is, reaches for the cut in your forehead, inspecting it with the eyes of someone that saw countless wounds and fought in countless wars.

“I wanted to distract the warriors from the path they took.” You offer in explanation.

“For someone so…small you sure take a lot of risks, my child.” She sighs. You’re about to answer when the thrumming of the ground underneath your feet stops you. Sieghild’s movements stop, your breath dies in your lungs.

Bees swarming. You remember an Arab merchant telling you about Varangian armies, and he spoke of chaos and deadliness and bloodthirst. And as you watch the Varangians flank the battlefield, archers at the ready, warriors beating their shields, while the King that crossed the sea to assist his brother commands them to hold with a single gesture; you cannot help but think why didn’t the merchant talk about the grace of it all, the beauty in the blood.

“That boy carries his father’s cleverness with him. And his mother’s favor.” Sieghild mutters in the strange calm that settles as Ivar the Boneless and his brothers taunt Stithulf, dare him to continue the fight and face certain death or retreat.

“You knew that before.”

“So did you. You tried to warn Narses against facing him, little one.” She says, and the name makes a pit of guilt and grief form in your heart.

“Maybe my warnings are the reason he is dead now.” You bite out, voice quivering and eyes burning.

The shieldmaiden turns to you, lips parted and eyes wide. You offer her a nod and a tight-lipped smile, a small sign that it is okay, that…that it is Fate.

You promised Narses you’d kill him yourself for sending your people to die, and grief and pain do not stray you from that resolve. He sentenced your people to die at the hands of these Varangians, it is only right he leads them to the Underworld.

It doesn’t help the pit of pain and absence and fear and cold that forms at your chest, but…but it makes it easier to burden.

Murmured words in Norse startle you out of your thoughts, and you find Sieghild’s eyes still on you, expression still stunned and in a mix of awe and terror.

“When the last of the chains of nostalgia fades away even as she clutches it in her arms.”

“What did you say, mother?” You ask, taking a small step closer and looking into her eyes searching for any answer.

But the shieldmaiden is quick to put on a smile on her face,

“You told me before you had no interest in what Lady Freyja has to tell me, little one.” She mocks, but there’s a shadow in her expression, a strange darkness looming behind her eyes.

A familiar one.

“You are the one that taught me-…”

“I taught you to be your own woman!” The Varangian roars, and for the first time you realize exactly the kind of fire the women from her homeland have, that made them capable and free. “I taught my daughter better than this!”

“What choice do I have? We need the support from Narses’ army, we need someone to lead the men into battle the way I know will grant us victory!”

Two long strides, and the tall and imposing shieldmaiden is standing before you, a mix of reluctant softness and angry stoicism in her inked face.

“You fight. You fight against the notions these men have about you, you fight against that boy that only listens to what you have to say when you promise him love in exchange,” Her green eyes burn into yours, “You fight, little one. That’s what I taught you to do, what you were born to do.”

“Narses is a good man, mother. I will not fight him.” You reply, as calmly as you can even as your chest caves under a strange pressure, as evenly as you can even if the words leaving your lips taste like lies.

“You wouldn’t give your love without a fight though, minn dóttir.” Her hand grasps at your chin, and there’s a strange storm in her gaze, “I won’t lose my daughter to that boy’s whims.”

“I am not lost to any man.”

Her lips curve into a smile, a little savage, a little Viking.

“I know. You are my daughter, after all.”

“He was a good man, mother.” You offer quietly, and even if the binds to Narses, the binds you set on yourself and your mother hated the most, are gone, there’s still the same dark desperation, that same stubbornness you saw in her eyes that day you told her about your choice to marry him.

“Not good enough,” Is all she replies, and her eyes focus somewhere past the two of you, on the center of the battlefield where everything seems to have stopped. Sieghild sighs, “And your Gods and mine know that, little one. Your Mistress may have touched your soul, but Freyja lays claim to your heart.”

With your eyes on the thick of battle, you watch Stithulf and his trusted men lay down their weapons, and slowly retreat. You have been defeated.

____

“I told you only death would follow,” You say, your back against the foot of a table as you sit on the cold ground, your bloodied hands in your lap, motionless. You allow yourself a small laugh, manic and broken as it is, “You fought for so long, sacrificed so much, and you couldn’t even make the Varangian King bleed.”

You followed the Saxons back to their decadent city, and now sit past their walls awaiting the death that will follow. The city may have held for long enough that the Saxons could secure an escape, back when your people were with them and they didn’t have more corpses than soldiers.

But now, now it is just a matter of time before the Varangians return to finish it all.

Stithulf turns to you, cold fury shining past his gaze, but you hold his stare. The man walks over to you, armor rustling and making a sound that rings in the ears that have heard nothing but war for so long now.

He bends down to be at your level, face close to yours and lips set on a snarl.

“You ordered your people to pull back.” He accuses, but you shrug in response.

The pretense of what a good little fucking woman you ought to be to make these fools content with their idea of supremacy is long gone from your mind. You will die without masks, and if it means earning a few deserved hits from these Saxons for not shutting your mouth, then so be it.

“It was never our war, Christian.”

“Where have they gone to!?” He asks, ignoring your words. His fascination with how the Greek forces work shines through his bloodthirst and anger as he regards you. You know the reason why he went to Narses for an allegiance in the first place is because of the tactics, the fighting style, of your people; and you know he longed to make them a part of his own army.

But you will leave your own under the boot of a Christian the day Persephone calls for your soul to become one of her Furies.

“You will never find them.” You promise through a tired and battle-worn smile, morbidly delighting yourself in the way he seems to grow more enraged.

“How are you so certain?”

“The Varangians, Vikings, will find us first. They will kill us all, and you know this.” You sentence, standing up. You cannot help it when your eyes fixate themselves on the drying blood staining your hands.

You wish you could say most of it was Christian, or even Varangian.

But no, the blood of Greeks stains your hands. The blood of thousands, even if only less than eight hundred died today.

“And why are you so certain?”

“If you had retreated before that King came from across the sea-…”

“Narses told us your mother is Viking, how are we certain you did not plan this, plan to betray us?” One of his trusted men speaks out, limping from his place by the war table. You watch the deep and bloodied gash in his thigh, wondering why that old man survives being incapacitated while in battle but Narses is to fall.

You shake your head mutely before offering him a hollow chuckle.

“Me betraying you would imply I ever faked loyalty for you, or pretended to care for your survival.”

“You live, witch. Any sane man would question why.”

“You think…what? That I have helped any of the sons of Ragnar defeat you?” You let out a small laugh. “No, I did not. I will not let you blame me for your own weakness.”

You move to leave the tent, but Stithulf’s hand wraps around your arm. His voice is low when he speaks.

“If you tell your soldiers to fight with us, I can-…”

“I am not Narses, you cannot fool me with empty promises,” You interrupt, wrenching your arm from his grasp. Less than two hundred Greek warriors still remain in this city, and the Saxon wants still for every last drop of their blood. “The Greeks that remain here will not die quietly, but do not fool yourself into thinking you can ever command them.”

He stalks even closer, looming over you with enraged factions, and you cannot help the pang of fear that the murderous intent in his eyes sends through you.

His sword leaving its holster startles the room of men into silence, and you feel their attention set on the two of you. The blade finds a home right under your chin, piercing mildly at the soft skin.

Your breath quickens in fear, and when you swallow past your dry throat you feel the tip of the sword inflicting sharp pain in your neck.

Stithulf smiles darkly, “I could kill you now and leave them leaderless, heathen.”

But you refuse to let him see the fear in your eyes, instead promising, “Make me a martyr and you will not survive the night, Christian. The Greeks will kill and die for me.”

Even as you leave the tent behind, you hear the heavy footsteps of the Saxon behind you. A call of your name, and you stop. Not your title -Anassa, Hiereiai-, not an insult -heathen, pagan-, not your lineage -Daughter of Athens, Daughter of Sparta-. Your name.

“If you wanted to kill me you would have done so in front of your men.” You state without turning around, and the Christian reaches your side with his sword holstered.

“I don’t want to kill you,” He insists, shaking his head, “But I should do it regardless. You are a smart woman, which makes you dangerous.”

Not even a muzzle would keep your next words from leaving your lips, “Dangerous? Is a man dangerous for being knowledgeable?”

“If he has nothing to lose, like you, yes.”

“What are you saying, Stithulf?”

The Saxon sighs, an act of regret and humanity you don’t believe for a moment.

“I’m saying you should know that you have forced my hand, Greek, that I had every intention to have you wage war alongside us, had you chosen to do so.

_____

Hi, I’m kinda amazed you got this far down lol, but thank you so much for reading! This is one of the first projects in a while that I am really loving to write, and I hope you like it!

Please let me know what you think, I am one needy fuck when it comes to feedback :)

[hot-wiings]

The One Where Dabi Gets Involved With Overhaul’s Girl, Part Sixteen.

Edited: 2-26-2021

"You're with child. You've got a baby growing in there. Our baby."

When Kai says the words to you, you're still in complete shock. A baby. A literal baby was growing inside you. You couldn't imagine going through the horrors of childbirth, you couldn't imagine pushing a baby through your vaginal canal. With Kai and all his health rules, no doubt that baby would come out a whole ten pounds.

Would you even be a good mother? Your own mother abandoned you and your sister with your grandfather. She callously tossed you both to the side without care all because your father died. Your mind flashes to Eri, your mind flashes to the deep maternal feelings and protectiveness you feel over Eri. No, you would be a good mother. You would be a great mother, one who protected her child no matter the circumstance.

You put your hand to your stomach, on top of the one Kai held there. You would be a great mother, and you would protect this child, your child, no matter the circumstance. That brought you back to reality. This wasn't Kai's child, this was your child. You weren't sure if this baby was even Kai's or Dabi's, but it didn't matter. You would raise this baby as your own, and you weren't going to let Kai influence or touch them. No, you were going to be long gone before this baby even came out. You, Eri, and this baby, even if it killed you to do it.

"It's going to be different now. I meant what I said, I want you to genuinely love me. I'm gonna be nicer."

Kai moves his hand up from your stomach and touches your cheek lightly, he brings his other hand up and cups your cheeks as tenderly and carefully as he can. He holds your face in his hands as if your glass, and it just makes you sick to your bones. He wasn't like this weeks ago, why would he change now? He was merciless, he beat you, he hurt you, why would he suddenly change now?

"I'm gonna be nicer, gentler."

I can't believe you. I can't believe you'd change like that. Not so suddenly, not so quickly.

"It'll be so different. I won't let you be hurt, I won't hurt you. I'm gonna make it so you're nice and safe from everything."

I can't believe you. I can't believe you'd change like that, now when I've got this baby inside me.

"We're having a baby."

You have to force the words out of your mouth. It takes everything in you to smile at him. Putting your hands on Kai's hands that cup your cheeks takes every bit and every ounce of strength in your body. You have to make him believe you. You have to convince him.

"We're gonna be parents."

"You're gonna be such a great mother."

"You're gonna be a great dad."

You feel nauseated saying it, but you say it so convincingly, so utterly slick and lovingly he must have bought it. Kai withdrawals his hands from your cheeks and turns around with a small smile on his face as he rummages through the medical equipment.

"We should do an ultrasound to determine the due date. I already know when the due date will be, but I just want to make sure the baby growth will be on track."

Your stomach churned at his words. You knew there was no possible way he would know whether or not Dabi was the real father, let alone that there was another father in question. You had slept with Dabi within a week of sleeping with Kai, the time frame between them both was too short, and the due date wouldn't look suspicious. While the thought of that floating in your head made you anxious, that wasn't why your stomach was churning. Just the idea of having an ultrasound, the idea of letting Kai think he could be in this baby's life, letting him think you were creating a happy family with him, filled you with guilt.

He hurt you, you shouldn't feel such guilt. He hurt you physically, seeking the comfort in another and cheating wasn't nearly as bad as what he did. Yet, seeing him with such a smile, excited at the prospect of having a child with you, filled you with sorrow. Seeing him tell you how things were going to be different, promises you weren't sure he'd keep, promises he'd change, filled you with such sorrow and guilt.

Kai took a machine and wheeled it over to you. It was tall with an old boxy-looking computer screen on top of it. It had a thick cord running out of it, and that cord was attached to a circle remote-like nozzle, a remote control wand.

"This is a sonogram machine. I'll put this gel on your stomach, then I'll roll the transducer over it. It'll pop your ultrasound up on the monitor."

"Okay."

Despite your nervousness and churning stomach, you didn't show what you were feeling. The stakes were too high now. You had to convince Kai how submissive you were, you had to show him that you loved him devotedly. Showing no hesitance, you pulled your shirt up to your bra line, giving Kai complete access to your stomach with a smile on your face.

Your lack of hesitance only seemed to put more glee in Kai's body. With his lips tipped in an upward position, Kai pulled a new clean pair of medical gloves on and grabbed an alcohol wipe. He ripped it open and carefully swiped it across your stomach, with such precision and careful immaculation. He treated your stomach with such fragility, as if had he touched too hard you might break open into two. After he trashed the wipe he grabbed the gel bottle off of the sonogram machine.

"This is gonna be cold, don't get scared or startled, alright? Having an accelerated heart rate is bad for our baby."

"Okay."

He took the cap of the gel bottle and squirted the gel over your stomach in a back and forth motion. He put the cap back on the bottle and placed it on the edge of the sonogram machine before he grabbed the circle wand-like remote. He moved the tip of it across your stomach in a circle, spiral motion.

You both looked over at the machine as Kai moved the wand around. It looked like a regular ultrasound, you had seen one when your mother was pregnant with Eri. Rather than a white baby being inside the black circle which was your womb, it was a tiny white dot the size of a bean. You knew that you wouldn't see a whole baby until later, around the twenty-second-week mark of your pregnancy, but even seeing the tiny bean was surreal.

"She, he- They're so small."

"Mm, our precious little peanut. We won't be able to do another ultrasound until around your second trimester. Doing too many ultrasounds can mess with the baby, our baby."

"Can we print some pictures, I wanna keep some. You know, so we can give some to my grandfather once you restore him back to good health, and our child will be able to look at it them once they're older."

Your words come out so convincing, cunningly convincing. You weren't even sure if Kai was ever going to restore your grandfather to good health, not when it allowed him to run around leading the Yakuza. The lie is a perfect coverup for the real reason you wanted pictures, so Dabi could have one. He deserved to have the sonogram of his possible future child.

"Of course, we'll have a bunch printed out. I'll have to get some pregnancy books for you. Now that you're carrying you'll have to change your diet and we'll need to put restrictions on when you're awake and what you do. It's important you get a moderate amount of sleep and exercise."

Kai took his gloves off and discarded them before he placed them upon your face. He cupped your cheeks just as delicately as he had handled your stomach, with such careful touches. He lightly pressed his lips onto yours and slid one hand down to your right hand as he pulled away. He pressed a quick kiss against your knuckles before dropping your hand. Kai grabbed a towel to his left and used it to clean the gel off your stomach, then he discarded the towel and grabbed your hand again with the fondest of smiles rested on his face.

"You'll marry me, won't you? I want our baby raised right, both parents in a loving marriage."

You had a feeling that regardless of your opinion and answer, you'd end up with his ring on your hand. Willingly or not. You muster up the best smile you can and give his hand a tight squeeze.

"Yes. We're gonna be such good parents."

[densi-mber]

Frozen, Part 3

A/N: Here is the third and final part of Frozen.

When we were last with Densi, they were facing impending hypothermia and Deeks had just suggested naked cuddling.

***

“Deeks, this is not a time for jokes,” Kensi sighed, or she tried to. It came out as more of a croak, her throat dry and hoarse from the cold. Each word made her throat ache, like it was being tore from her.

“Who’s joking? I am completely serious,” he insisted. “Skin-to-skin is proven to be one of the best defenses against the cold.”

Kensi rolled her eyes, not really sure why she was protesting, but not feeling like giving in. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to admit the situation was as dire as it seemed.

“We have the fire.”

“And it’s barely providing any heat.” He stepped closer and tipped her chin up. His fingers were red, but still made Kensi’s skin burn with the difference in heat. “Face it, Kens. Our clothes are soaked, we’re quickly heading towards stage three frostbite and impending hypothermia and if we don’t do something soon, we’re going to start loosing appendages. And I happen to like my fingers and toes. As well as a couple of other essential parts.”

Pulling in a small breath that burned her throat, Kensi glanced at the fire. Damn it but Deeks was right. She could barely feel it even from half a foot away and she was freezing.

“Fine,” she said, finally relented. “But we need to stoke up the fire and have things set up so we don’t have to get up a bunch.”

“Sweet. I’ve always wanted to spoon for survival.” Deeks ignored her glare in favor of moving the cot closer to the fire. She watched him for a moment, worried that he was straining himself too much. Even with the liquid stitches, he could reopen the cut which would put him at risk of more bleeding and possible infection.

Worry wasn’t going to save them though so she pushed those thoughts away, and added several more pieces of wood to the fire, moving the rest in easy reaching distance of the cot.

Kensi had a roll of string in backpack and together they ran it across the room to hand their wet clothes on and then tucked the three, depressingly thin, blankets around the thin mattress on the cot. By the time they were finished, her fingers were barely moving, and she felt increasingly lethargic.

She fumbled with the zipper on her coat, grabbing at the pull several times without any success. Deeks already had his boots and coat off.

“Oh baby, come here,” he said, noticing her struggle. Kensi was cold enough to let him lead her to the cot and not resist when he began tugging off her boots. She gasped when the cold air hit her now less protected feet. “Sorry.”

Deeks grimaced as he removed her coat, jeans and t-shirt, revealing more reddened skin. He stripped off his own thermal shirt, which was partially dry near the shoulders and used it to dry some of the moisture from her damp hair, which was frozen in icy tangles around her face.

At any other time, she would be distracted by the sight of him half naked and kneeling in front of her while he slowly undressed her. Now she just wanted to get them both under the covers as quickly as possible.

Wordlessly, Deeks left her to finish undressing and to hang up their clothes then dried his hair with one sleeve of his shirt. Kensi slid under the covers as he ran over in just his underwear and crawled in beside her. He tossed his boxer briefs over the side of the cot a second later, making a face.

“Never liked those anyway,” he commented, drawing the layers of blankets over their heads.

“Get over here,” Kensi croaked out, drawing him closer. She hissed at the initial contact, feeling like her skin was burning, but knew it was a good sign that she wasn’t completely numb. Deeks wrapped his arm tightly around her, his hands resting on her lower back, and intertwined their legs, creating a barrier all around her.

Cradled in his arms, she felt marginally warmer, but there was a fine tremor running through her now. Deeks held her even tighter, like he could somehow will away her hypothermia induced tremors.

“God, this would be so much more fun in Malibu,” he sighed a few minutes later. “You could wear that blue bikini of yours, the one that almost got us kicked out of Mammoth last year. I’d even break out my short shorts. Just laying out in the sun, surfing, and eating fish tacos.”

“I think you’d turn into a fish taco if I let you.” Her skin still ached a little but the combination of their bodies pressed together and a tiny of heat coming from the fire was starting to thaw her bit by bit.

Deeks contorted his head to look down at her, his expression skeptical.

“Uh, I seem to remember you were the one who ate six tacos all on your own last time.”

“I didn’t have any lunch that day,” she explained reasonably. Drips of cool water were beginning to trickle down her back from her thawing hair. She shivered again and burrowed a little further into Deeks’ arms, tucking her head between his shoulder and head.

“Mm, we probably should have eaten something before we got naked,” he said, his voice sounding slow and deeper than normal. It made her think of the sun, laying on the beach like he’d described.

“I’m not hungry.” She let out a giant yawn, wanting nothing more than to close her eyes.

“We can’t fall asleep,” Deeks muttered right before her eyes slipped shut.

***

“We should come here more often,” Kensi said, her voice light and dreamy as she trailed her fingers up Deeks’ chest. The sun beat down on his head while waves gently crashed against the shore. He swung both legs up onto their lawn chair so Kensi straddled his thighs. He fiddled with the blue string of her bikini and she smiled mischievously, leaning to whisper in his ear.

“Go ahead, no one’s around.”

Just as he was loosening the knot, a figure bent over them, blocking out the sun.

“You got a pulse?”

“I think they’re just asleep.” A hand shook Deeks’ shoulder and he turned away from it, wincing as a blast of cold hair hit his face. “Deeks, wake up.” He popped one eye open, trying to figure out what Callen was doing at the beach with him and Kensi. And why it was suddenly freezing.

“Callen?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He tried to sit up, inadvertently flipping the covers off Kensi. She yelped and sat up suddenly, looking around with a wild expression.

“Callen, Sam, what are you doing here?” she said, her words a little slurred as she tried to pull the blanket up around her shoulders.

“We tracked you using the GPS in your phones,” Callen answered. “Nell got worried when you didn’t check in yesterday.”

“Thank god for Nell.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam said, coming to stand beside Callen. “In the middle of a blizzard and you still can’t keep your clothes on.”

“We were huddling for warmth,” Deeks said, trying to sound dignified while he started shivering again. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s like 10 degrees out there.”

“And you just had to get completely naked.”

“Our clothes were wet,” Kensi said, brushing a handful of hair back. It was completely disheveled, sticking out in several places, and he had to resist the urge to lean over and kiss her.

“Speaking of clothes, you wouldn’t happen to have a some, by chance.” He leaned over and plucked at his shirt which was torn and still damp. “And maybe a parka or two?”

“We got you covered,” Callen said with an amused smirk. “Sam, you want to call Nell and let her know we found them?”

“I’ll get her to send a medivac too since we’re never getting an ambulance all the way out here anytime soon,” Sam added, eyeing the wads of discarded gauze and bandages. “Which one of you knuckleheads got hurt?”

Kensi immediately pointed to Deeks, having no problem selling him out.

“He’s got a 2 1/2 inch cut, not too deep, but it was pretty bloody,” she reported. “I did my best with the medical glue. He still might need some stitches though.”

“Traitor,” Deeks said and Kensi shrugged, patting his shoulder with mock sympathy. Sam walked off to call Nell while Callen pulled sweatshirts and pants from his backpack and tossed them on the cot.

“I’ll give you guys a couple minutes.” He turned go, but then turned back, gesturing between them. “If I hear anything even remotely suspicious going on in here, I’m tasing both of you.”

Kensi made a scandalized sound as Deeks shivered beside her, his hands tucked in his armpits.

“Believe me, this is one of the few times where sex sounds absolutely unappealing,” he assured Callen.

They dressed quickly, moving out of the relative warmth of the blankets as little as possible. Once they were clothed again, Deeks tugged Kensi against him, kissing her firmly.

“I’m really glad we didn’t freeze to death,” Kensi said as he held her tightly. “Or lose any...appendages,” she added with a smirk. He picked Kensi up, intending to carry her from the cabin, and then abruptly sank back down with a grimace.

“Ok, maybe we should go to the hospital,” he decided, clutching at his stomach as something twinged and possibly tore. Kensi helped him back down to the bed with a sigh.

“Well, I guess we’re not going to Malibu this weekend.” Deeks groaned again, his dreams of sun and bikinis quickly evaporating.

“I hate snow,” he said vehemently.

[shattered-mirror-fanfic]

HAHAHA! I’M EARLY THIS TIME! Anyways, before you read: This is your warning about how in this chapter there’s mentions of child abuse, blood, death and scientific experiments on a child. You have been warned.

Ao3 Link: Chapter below cut for those who read it here on tumblr: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32206135/chapters/84899077

The walk home from school was dull as always, walking along the grey path, connected to a grey street, little color in the world. Despite being only six years old, Desdemona had many responsibilities, especially after their soul fully developed. 

The routine was simple: walk home, get homework done, change clothing, get a snack, curl up on the couch with the snack, a blanket, and their favorite doll until their dad got home. Usually on Thursdays like this, Desdemona feared when their dad would get home because he would yell at them and have them turn off the tv and get in the car. This new addition only started when their mom disappeared. One day, at 3:20 when she was meant to get home, she didn’t show up. It wasn’t Des’s fault, they were only a child and their soul wasn’t even fully developed, they were only wondering what if’s, it shouldn’t be their fault that it became real. 

No matter, they had other worries. They didn’t have any homework so they went straight up to their room, changing out of the light blue and white uniform shirt and white shorts into a comfortable black and white striped t-shirt and brown overalls instead. They grabbed a blanket and pink axolotl doll from their bed and went downstairs again. Before going into the living room, they popped into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of cheese puffs from the pantry that were hidden away at their height so their father couldn’t confiscate it. There weren't many of the puffs left so they took the bag with them. They went to the living room and climbed onto the grey couch, covering themself and their plushie with the blanket. They grabbed the discarded remote and turned on the tv, pressing random numbers until they got to the cartoon channel. 

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to an hour, and the front door slammed open as the episode faded to black. 

“Turn that tv off right now! Get up and get in the car, traffic was held up enough already!” The tall man who entered had yelled. Desdemona hated their father on Thursdays, he was always so mean and would only let Desdemona eat stale animal crackers that tasted both bland and too sweet. Regardless, the child slid off the couch and went to the door, putting on some boots and grabbing their father’s hand to be led to the car.

They were set in a booster seat and buckled in with the stupid animal crackers and doll. Their father slammed the door shut and got in the drivers spot, driving off down the road to their destination. 

Roughly twenty minutes had gone by when the car stopped outside of a large grey building located along a dirt path. Desdemona dreaded this place, there were no good people there, only mean men in big white coats. The place was bland and basically greyscale, no pictures or paintings anywhere, it was like a prison. Desdemona’s father led them to a room with only a bed, a few chairs, some counters and cabinets. Without instructions, Des hopped on the bed and waited, swinging their legs while their father sat in one of the folding chairs in the corner of the room. The child held their plushie tightly, letting their dirty blonde hair fall in front of their face, hearing only their father wishing for a normal child before three of the mean men in white coats came in and began their tests.

~~~

Souls develop in a human by the age of five, beforehand their souls are usually white, empty and still developing their traits. For Desdemona, their soul didn’t develop correctly, and by the time the trait showed itself, it was too late to guide their soul differently. It was malformed and full of hate and malice, the only things they were shown before, not an ounce of KINDNESS was present in soul tests, the only trait that had developed into a positive range was DETERMINATION, and even then, it was very weak, and couldn’t manage being the dominant trait on it’s own. 

It was very rare for souls to be malformed, and even rarer to have all but one trait be malformed. Oddities like these seem to be caused from one parent having a malformed trait, which in Desdemona’s case, could be their father having malformed kindness, after all, he was a “businessman”. It could be possible for a soul to be malformed in another way, where all the traits exceed limits, the soul exhibits all traits to an extreme and displays all the traits equally among the heart. But this has only remained speculation. 

~~~ “Des, wake up.” They heard their father say. There wasn’t a clock in the room, but even then, they knew it had been at least five hours since the doctors gave them the medication that put them to sleep. Desdemona sat up and saw their soul was exposed, it was black and inky, with a little dot of red on the side where a doctor most likely had injected raw determination into their soul to make it normal. 

“Sorry dad, I’ll be better…” The child weakly said.

“Listen Des, I know you hate me, I’m just still upset about what you did to your mother.”

“I didn’t do anything! It’s not my fault!” Desdemona cried. Their dad sighed and picked them up and carried them to the car, putting them into their seat before settling into his own and beginning the drive home. 

“We’re having mac and cheese again, and I want you to behave tomorrow and remember…”

“No showing my soul to anyone.”

“And if someone asks?”

“Say it’s determination and dodge other questions...”

“Good, sorry the tests ran a bit late, your soul is just needlessly complicated.” 

The drive was boring as always, the sky was illuminated with the end of a sunset, but it wasn’t anything. Des fell asleep in their seat, only waking up when the car drove over a bump that jolted the end of it. 

Tomorrow is another day.

~~~

Stepping onto the schoolyard was a chore, it was tedious, unnecessary, the educational systems flawed anyway, and yet it is still done because in our minds we believe that we would not make it anywhere without wasting time here. Desdemona wished they could just stay at home and learn from the internet where they only learn what’s necessary for a future career.

But, no, the elder gods demanded that all children (which is all people under 18) are required to attend hell to understand what awaits them if they step out of line. Unfortunately Desdemona was not one of the “gifted” ones that were made to believe that they were smart when in reality it’s just a facade to let the parents know which kid needs therapy before 16. 

In reality, Desdemona was just standing paralyzed at the school gates, knowing nothing excited them. They were tired, full of hatred, and bored. They looked around, seeing all the happy friends playing chase and other games, no one was alone, this saddened the blonde child at the gate. Until a new face appeared next to them.

“Hi! Who are you?! Names [REDACTED]! What’s yours?!” A boy excitedly spoke. Desdemona stared at the white-haired boy, stunned. Someone wanted to talk to me?

"My name is Des...Desdemona."

"That's a cool name! Say friend, what's your soul trait? Mine's determination!" The boy continued to speak. Desdemona stared at [REDACTED] before answering.

"Determination...at least I think…"

"Well can I see?" Before Des could say no, the teacher came out and called the kids inside for class time. "Hey, we'll talk after class ok? Bye friend!" And the boy left. He was always interesting.

~~~

The school day was done in an instant, and Desdemona found themself walking back home. The clouds greying above, making the air cold and damp.

"Desdemona! You should wait here until your father can get you! It's going to be a downpour!" They heard the teacher cry. They were only a little out of the gate, so it probably was best to listen. They walked back to the roofed area that the teacher was under, along with their new friend [REDACTED]. "I'll call your dads, do you mind waiting here?"

Two shakes of the kids heads and she left.

"Hi Dessie! Can I see your soul now?" Desdemona's new friend asked. They were conflicted, but ultimately, they trusted [REDACTED]. They pressed and hand against their own chest and out popped the pitch black soul. "Wow! I haven't seen a soul like that before!"

"My dad doesn't like me showing my soul…" 

"It's cool though! Don't feel bad!" The comment made Des smile, it was great to have a friend that accepts their oddities. The two talked about all sorts of child nonsense afterwards. About ten minutes had passed when the teacher came back out, her face was one of distress.

"Desdemona, your father will be here shortly, [REDACTED], I'll walk you to where your mother is, ok?" The kids nodded. They waited a few minutes until a car pulled up and out stepped Desdemona’s father carrying an open umbrella.

“C’mon Des, I have to take care of paperwork before eight.”

“Dad! Can my friend come over? Please?” The blonde child asked, running up to their father.

“What?! N-...fine, whatever keeps you happy, but you know the rules. Ma’am, is that ok?” The grown man asked, directing his attention to the teacher.

“Well, I would have to inform [REDACTED]’s mother, but if she agrees, then it’s fine.” The teacher responded. Desdemona smiled and ran back to give [REDACTED] a hug while the teacher pulled out her phone again. 

~~~

The ride home wasn’t dull for once, this time, it was fun! Desdemona and their friend sat and chatted the whole time, talking about the most random of things. When they finally got home, Des bolted upstairs to change into their usual after school clothes as fast as they could so they could get back to their friend. They could talk and play for the rest of their short lives the whole night! It was so much fun, and it was only sunset when Des’s father said that [REDACTED] had to get ready to go home. 

“Des, can I ask you something?” Their father asked, leading them to the kitchen while their friend was packing their bag still. 

“Sure!” They had left the kitchen and went to the empty backyard with only a tree and some bushes. 

“When did you think you could keep it a secret that you showed your friend your soul?” Des choked at the sentence. 

“Father, I’m sorry, he didn’t tell anyone and no one else saw!” The child spoke, tears forming in their dark eyes.

“Well that’s where you’re wrong, as your teacher saw and informed me when she called to ask if I could come to pick you up.”

“Dad! I’m sorry! I’ll be better! I can make it up to you!”

“Too late, Desdemona.”

~~~

When [REDACTED] finished packing his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and looked around, not seeing their friend at all. 

“Hey Dessie?! Where are you?!” He asked to the open room. I should investigate! And off he went, looking around in every room for their friend, he never saw them leave so who knows where they went! Only after going downstairs again and seeing his friend’s father walk into the kitchen from the backdoor with red hands, did [REDACTED] figure out where their friend was. 

Into the back yard he went! Only after sneaking by Des’s father and opening the slightly ajar door, did his smile and his heart sank. There, laying on the ground in front of the willow tree, was Desdemona, unmoving, and in a puddle of a dark red liquid. [REDACTED] rushed over to kneel in front of their now deceased friend. 

“Dessie...please wake up, why won’t you wake up?!” He shouted while tears formed in his eyes. “Dessie! Please! You’re my only friend! Why can’t you wake up?!” He shook his friend’s body and noticed the black soul, shattered in half. The boy grabbed it and held it close. “Please wake up! Please wake up! Please wake up!” 

Then, the feeling of [REDACTED]’s skin being torn off in pieces hit, and he let out a sharp cry of pain. The shards of the black soul soared up and [REDACTED]’s red soul was drawn out. “I need you to wake up!”

Silence…

The screaming had stopped, the black soul was absorbing new determination provided by the red one. [REDACTED] fell onto his side and let his eyelids grow heavy. 

The only other thing he could remember from that day were police sirens, an ambulance, and being paralyzed, forced to stare as his friend was covered in a white blanket, and carted off. 

~~~

That was the last of Desdemona, a child born with a destiny to die at the hands of a cruel father just because they had an imperfect soul.

Not even time remembers the life it took, the only one who could remember the blonde child was the one with their soul. The boy grew up on a quest to bring back their once friend, no matter how much their hate and death corrupted them. 

[belpheroo]

Title: A “maybe” Pairing: Belphegor x MC Summary: Belphie is guilt-ridden, but also horny. Funny how often those two things coincide when you catch feels for the girl you killed. Rating: this one is G despite that summary LOL Notes: This story kinda functions under the assumption that while Belphie was imprisoned the MC developed feels and those feels have continued on while Belphie’s are shiny and new. I may do a part 2!

There were things that Belphegor, given his passed actions, was willing to accept. The silence that overcame a room the moment he entered and even the suspicious, hostile stares of his brothers was something he knew he deserved to endure and he did so without complaint.

Anger, resentment, judgment… he had felt the burn of those emotions himself, burrowing within his body as surely as the arrows that had burrowed into Lilith’s. Each ache, each flare of pain had been as dear to him as every one of her embraces. He had nurtured his hatred like a precious flower until it unfurled in his chest with petals as black as old blood. He empathized with that. He understood that.

What he did not understand, was how she immediately cheerfully welcomed him to the breakfast table, set him a plate and asked him how he had slept.

At first, Belphie figured it was a game, a show of indifference or forgiveness of his crime in order to quell the awkward tension in the room. And yet… there was nothing indifferent in her acceptance of his request to spend time with her, or how she did not even flinch in his presence.

What time he did spend with her was usually between walls of plaster and paint, connected by the screen of their D.D.D.’s alone. Anything else was chaperoned by another brother, sometimes two or three. Belphie found quickly that all his attempts to be alone with her in person were thwarted spectacularly by Mammon or Beel often enough that he knew it was by design.

Still, Belphegor did not complain. Of all the dangers she had faced in Devildom, of all the threats… he had proved himself the worst.

Thinking of such things made his hands throb, the memory of her soft yielding skin beneath them and the rapid pulse of her throat until it had slowly… softly…. stopped.

He’d tear the skin from his palms if he knew it would make the phantom sensation of her life being squeezed out by his hands go away. Instead he’d clench his fists, holding until the joints of his fingers screamed for release and his nails bit into his palms, leaving red half-moons indented in his skin.

It would have been easier if she hated him. Feared him. He could quantify those things, he could accept them.

But this? This was torture beyond his comprehension.

She’d invited him to watch some DVD of Mammon’s with her and Beel in their shared room. She was already sitting on one end of the sofa, chattering to Beel over some nonsense that had transpired with Mammon and Asmo that afternoon.

He would have been content to sit on the other end of the couch, leaving Beel free to sit between them like a protective detail… but instead, the moment he had sat, she quickly moved across the length of the sofa and curled up next to him.

Pressed flush to his side, Belphegor felt his breath catch as she lifted up his unresisting arm and tucked her head beneath, content to let his arm rest around her shoulders. Belphie quickly moved it to rest over the back of the sofa, noting with a quick glance that at least for now, Beel had not reacted.

He was too busy putting in the DVD and adjusting the TV. After that, his twin was too busy gathering up a large bowl of popcorn and making himself comfortable next to her and she happily adjusted to accommodate being squished between the both of them.

Belphegor didn’t know why, but it made him curl his arm just a little bit closer towards her as Beel munched happily from a big bowl of popcorn. There were pretzels and chocolate candies mixed into the batch, which Beel graciously offered a smaller bowl of to her.

She rested the bowl on Belphie’s lap, happy to force him to play side table as the lights dimmed and the DVD started.

Belphie convinced himself, willed himself to believe it wasn’t that bad. This was nice, wasn’t it? Compared to hatred and brimstone and fury? Right?

And then her hand reached down into the bowl, moving it around as she scooped out the treats, every tiny movement of her fingers against the plastic barrier sending a direct line of sensation against his thighs. With an exasperated sigh, Belphie quickly lifted the bowl up and shoved it back into her hands.

“I can’t sleep if you do that.” He said in a harsh hush.

“You aren’t supposed to sleep during the movie, stupid.” She whispered back in reply.

“You aren’t supposed to talk during one either, stupid.” Belphie replied, but to his surprise he could see her grinning in the faint light, eyes dancing with unspoken humor. She put the bowl back in his lap.

He wished he was trapped back in the attic; he wished he was imprisoned in heaven; he wished he was on the fucking moon as long as it wasn’t here with her body warming his and her scent in his nose and the feeling of her throat cracking beneath his palms.

Belphie took in a deep breath and let it go slowly, quietly clenching his hand into the fabric of the back of the couch until he was certain he’d have lines imprinted on his skin. He let the memory wash over him and then recede, refocusing his attention to the film and finding it was some weird detective-comedy-romance blend. It was insipid and perfectly Mammonish, but even she sometimes laughed at the terrible jokes.

At one point, he felt her weight shift, leaning to the side as she whispered something quietly to Beel. Something prickled in his chest. She leaned further, cool air touching where she had once been at his side and without thinking, he released the couch and took hold of her shoulder, pulling her back firmly.

“… I’m cold.” Belphie offered in his defense, trying to cut the sudden surge of tension that had Beel frozen, not even chewing as he stared at his twin.

“Oh, sorry!” She said, settling back against him, “I could get a blanket and tuck you in if you want?”

“N-no!”

Heaven’s sake, now he sounded like Mammon.

“Just quit wiggling so much.”

In direct opposition of his request, she wiggled all over, giggling like a fool. Belphie instinctively held tighter until whatever seizure of defiance passed her and she settled again, breathing a bit heavier, against his chest.

There wasn’t going to be room for her damn bowl if she kept trying to half crawl into his lap. It never, thankfully, went that far. The film flickered on and Belphie felt the slow creep of sleep inch its way into his eyes and into his breathing, the demands of being the Avatar of Sloth rising up, unchecked and uncontrollable as Beel’s hunger.

He tilted his head back and let oblivion have him.

—

“You missed it.”

A voice sliced through the dark, close and warm on his cheek like the soft exhale of breath… because that is what it was. He opened one eye to spot her, whispering close to his ear. Judging by the great collapsed mass next to them, Beel hadn’t made it any further than he had, the empty popcorn bowl discarded on the floor along with several wrappers, bags and empty cans he didn’t remember having been there before.

“Tragic.”

“Beel’s in a food coma. I went and got him more snacks half-way through.”

“You got up?”

She hummed her confirmation quietly, “You got mad at me when I came back.”

“I don’t remember.” Belphie grumbled.

“You told me to ‘take responsibility’ and grabbed me by the scruff like a cat.”

At the very idea, Belphie felt his muscles tense… which drew his attention to the fact his hand was still rested on the back of her neck, fingers buried into her hair.

“… is that why you’re this close?”

“You wouldn’t let go!”

He started to, slowly letting his grip loosen all the while keenly aware of the strands of her hair tickling across his skin.

“Kinda late now.” She said in reply, quick and defensive. Did she… not want him to stop?

“I wondered if you were dreaming about throttling me again.” She said, far too cheerful. The words were like ice thrown over him, seeping immediately through his skin and chilling his blood. And yet at the same time, he let go of her as if he had been burned. He tried to repress a shudder.

“No,” Belphie managed to croak, “I wasn’t dreaming. I… I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You repeated yourself.”

“Get off me, I’m going to bed.”

“No.”

Childish, defiant, foolish. A thousand insults formed and died on his tongue before they reached her ears as he glared back at her face, still too close and too warm and too beautiful.

“… I’m scared.”

How many times was she going to strike him directly to his very soul? But this was is it, this was the punishment he craved, the anger and the fear he knew should exist between them. He was ready, braced and prepared to hear it, but what came next was… not what he expected.

“I’m scared if I let go now, you’ll never let me this close again.”

“You should be grateful.” Belphie said, more sigh than words, “And you should be scared, but not because of that stupid reason.”

“You won’t hurt me again.”

“The fact you even sound remotely sure of that makes you a complete idiot. I’m a demon, of course I’ll hurt you again.”

“Because you want to?”

“No!”

The word came too fast, too loud. Beel shifted on the couch next to them, but fell back into sleep and did not stir again.

“… you didn’t know I was Lilith’s descendant. If you’d known—”

“You don’t understand anything,” he whispered, harsh and low, “Get off of me.”

And this time, he made to make her, but her arms snaked around his chest and held even tighter. Belphie could have easily pried her off with his superior devil strength, but explaining that to Beel would have been… less than ideal.

Instead he set a tight grip on her upper arms, giving her a warning squeeze.

“What don’t I understand?”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“You wouldn’t have hurt me if you knew who I was, that is the truth, isn’t it?”

“I do not want to talk about this shit—“

“Isn’t it?”

Belphie felt heat ball up at the base of his throat, so thick and so scorching his one relief was to let it escape.

“I don’t know!”

There was no keeping Beel asleep now, his brother jolting awake. She let go of Belphie then, untangling herself swiftly and instead turning a bright smile that barely reached her eyes towards Beel.

“Good morning! You missed the end of the movie!”

Beel was still mostly groggy, but alerted at the same time, looking between the two of them with wide questioning eyes.

“… why was there shouting?”

“I woke him up!” She said with a cackle, “I deserved it, probably. Anyway, it’s super late and you both got to have a nap and I didn’t!”

Standing up she gave an over exagerated stretch and a yawn which turned genuine half way through. Belphie clutched his jaw together to keep himself from doing the same.

“Come walk me back to my room.” She said, clearly meaning Belphie, not Beel. He thought to refuse, but the look in her eye said that such a refusal would most likely lead to an inexhaustible battle and he was way too fucking tired and too fucking stressed out to go back and forth with her in front of Beel.

“I can come too.” Beel said.

“Nah. It’s just a short walk. Go get in bed, it’s late and Belphie has had more rest than you. He can do it!”

Beel looked uncertain, eyes turning toward Belphie with ill-ease. Of all the brothers though, he was most likely to believe his twin was safe alone with her, that Belphie was certain of. Sighing, Belphie stood up.

“I’ll be right back.”

Beel said nothing, that familiar tension settling over again until, quietly, Beel nodded to himself and smiled.

“Okay…”

“Make sure to brush your teeth, Beel!”

“O-oh. Right… mint does sound good right now.”

—

They had barely made it out into the hall, the door shut behind them, before she picked up their conversation as if the interruption had never happened.

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’, huh?”

“I mighta done what I did even if I knew who you were. Maybe I wouldn’t have believed it, maybe I would have been pissed Lilith was contaminated by human blood.” He said, cold and factual.

“Is that why you’re holding back?”

“…You’re imagining things.”

She didn’t look at all satisfied, but she fell silent, heading off down the hall towards her room and pausing expectantly a few steps away. Belphie sighed and followed behind.

“I don’t think you would have.”

“Does it matter? I did. There is no taking that back.”

She tilted her head, slowing enough to fall in step with him, “I’m still here.”

“By the very grace of Lilith. And that doesn’t make it better.”

She slowed, falling to a dead stop. Belphie made it a few steps ahead before he stopped, turning towards her with a look that he hoped convinced her to give it up.

“If I told you I hated you, would you stop being like this?”

He felt his heart seize a little, jumping in something akin to anticipation.

“Could we just move on then?”

“I would understand if you did hate me.”

“But you can’t understand that maybe, maybe, I’ve weighed all the weirdness and the madness of this situation and came to the conclusion that there was a lotta bullshit flowing around and it was fate I got caught in the crosshairs? And yeah, that sucks. Being dead for real would have been really shitty and I am mad… at you and at Lucifer and at this entire stupid situation pulling me into a garbage family drama I never asked for.”

She paused, “But it was supposed to happen. Lilith knew and I know now. Nothing anyone coulda done would have changed what happened, it had to happen. It’s why I was brought here to begin with, whether Diavlo knew that or not.”

They were both silent for a stretch, until Belphie couldn’t help but laugh, cold and bitter.

“What? So it’s okay that I murdered you because it was destiny?”

“Attempted murder. And yeah, I think that if I’m gonna be mad, I’m gonna be mad at fate. You? I forgive.”

Belphie hated that word. Hated how easily it came from her lips and hushed the flame of rage in his heart to a quiet simmer. It was never that easy for him to forgive, it shouldn’t be that easy.

“You can’t.” He said, flat and simple.

“Pretty sure that is my call.”

“It’s a stupid call.”

“And it’s mine.”

“And you think that makes it all okay? You think you can just say ‘I forgive you’ and it makes everything better and we can just pretend to be friends?”

“You pretended to be my friend once.” She said, her words a whisper.

“Don’t.”

How that positively gutted sounding voice could be his was beyond Belphie’s comprehension.

“You wanna be hated? You wanna be punished? Too bad. That’s your punishment. You don’t get to be hated.”

His mind whirled, a petal black as night coming free and falling from the flower inside his chest. Wilting, dying. How many had he lost so far? How often had she shaken his resolve and in doing so, began to kill the seed of hatred and anger he had rooted so firmly in his soul?

Belphie didn’t have the strength to fight her anymore, shoulders sagging as a new wave of exhaustion hit over him, taking with it any resistance he had left in its tide.

“Fine.” He said, trying to force what was left of his resolve into that word if only to give the illusion she hadn’t really won.

“Fine.” She repeated, crossing her arms and glaring back at him.

“Can you make it to your own room now? Can I go?”

“No.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“W-what?! How did that become an—! Oh… you meant…”

Belphie resisted the urge to roll his eyes… well, at least for a few seconds.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Asmo.”

“And whose dumb-obstinate fault is that?” She retorted, smiling despite the redness in her cheeks.

“Yours, stupid human.”

“Yours, lazy cow.”

A smile crooked at the corner of his mouth and he quickly tried to hide it.

“I want a hug.”

God, how did an adult woman manage to sound so pouty? Belphie could barely contain a scoff as he saw the way her brow furrowed and her bottom lip stuck out a bit more. He tried to ignore the voice inside him that wanted to set his teeth into it… that wanted to find out if she still tasted like popcorn and chocolate.

“Too much.”

“What about a pat?”

Belphie groaned, but after a moment, gestured a little with his hand to indicate she should come closer. She did so eagerly.

“Your tail is wagging.” Belphie said with a sigh, gently resting his hand on top of her head and soothing his fingers down the strands, brushing them passed her temple and tucking them behind her ear.

“I don’t have one.” She said, a look of disappointment coming over her features when he stopped touching her hair.

“Still wagging.”

He caught her under the chin with the back of his index finger, tilting her head to the side before he leaned in and pressed his lips to her temple. The touch was featherlight and fleeting, like the soft opening and closing of a butterfly wings on her skin.

“Go to bed.” He said quietly.

“I want a kiss.” She replied, just as softly and Belphie felt a whole new sensation burst somewhere deep inside his chest.

“You’ve had one.”

“I want another.”

“…Not tonight.”

“But sometime?”

Belphie didn’t answer, leaving the question an open note hanging in the air.

A someday, an almost... a maybe.

[lightsinthedistancee]

How To Disappear, Part 2: Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: “He likes to believe that you’d slipped from his grasp, lost in the flurry and obstacles of a Galactic-wide war, as quick and as natural as leaves scattered to the wind.”

“But he knows that’s not true.”

Poe deals with the aftermath of his and Reader’s relationship, as well as who he is.

Warnings: Profanity

A/N: This is the second part to my work ‘How To Disappear’ from Poe’s POV. It’s a second part, not a chapter, so there isn’t necessarily a complex narrative connection, so you don’t really need to read the first part to understand this. However, there are some connections, so you can read that first part here, if you want.

34 ABY, Four Years Earlier Than Present, Resistance Base, D’Qar

“Poe. Calm down.”

He can sense you standing a few feet away from him, your figure tense and tentative, a silhouette against the softly lit night outside.

There is too much surrounding him. Too many blaster shots, too many roaring ships, too many bangs. All encapsulated within his mind in the middle of a silent room.

The overstimulation of his senses nearly makes him want to whimper, makes him want to scream. But he suppresses it. He buries his head in his hands, and grips and squeezes and tugs in an effort to ward off the feeling.

“Poe.” Your voice sounds as if you’re at the end of a tunnel. “Poe, can I touch you?”

He’s not sure if he nods or not, but he feels your fingertips all of a sudden, making him flinch back.

“It’s just me,” you murmur. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes remain clamped shut as memories of blood and death and pain run through his mind.

“Poe, I want you to nod if you can hear me. Can you do that?”

Your voice is soft, gentle, like you’re talking to someone wounded. He fights something mechanical in his head in order to make his body respond to his brain, to make his chin bob up and down once.

“Good. Can you open your eyes for me?”

He doesn’t want to. Maybe it’s the darkness that’s allowing his flashback to be expressed with an acute vividness. Maybe it is the opposite: that when he opens his eyes, everything he is imagining will be there in front of him.

But he fights that too. And with a seemingly tremendous effort, his eyes snap open, exposing the warm brown to the room.

It is just a room. No carnage. No ruins. But he can still hear sounds. Perhaps if he sinks down into himself far enough, he can see a corpse in the corner, a discarded blaster on the ground.

“Tell me some things you see, love,” you murmur. “A few.”

His breath shakes as his eyes scan the room. You lean against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “A brown chest of drawers.” He takes in a deep breath, slowly letting it out. “The door. My boots. My traveling bag.”

“Now something you can hear.”

“Wind.” An eerie howling. A roar of a ship that he tries to shake from his head. “Cicadas.” A constant chirp that reminds him of the outdoors, of lushness and life. “Water running through pipes.”

As he takes more deep breaths, reality seems to cement itself once more. Excess noise ceases, returning to its most basic form. Nature, structure, and life.

He finally tilts his head up, catching sight of himself in the full-length mirror across the room. He is hunched over, sweating, trembling. Pathetic. You beside him, looking down at him in concern.

And all of a sudden, without warning, one thing floods his mind, invades his thoughts: humiliation.

The thought of himself—a Commander who’d led forces into war—shrunken down makes shame wash over him.

Your hands feel too much like a pity as he imagines nonexistent condemning thoughts going through your head.

“Get off,” he hisses, jerking away in an instinctive response, and you’re forced to rest a hand on the bed in order to steady yourself.

Your eyes widen as he walks towards the door. “Poe, where are you—“

“I don’t know.” And he’s gone.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present, 37 ABY, Galactic City, Coruscant

Soft skin, soft hair, and a presence too soft to even remotely entice him.

That is all Poe knows of the unfamiliar girl who lies asleep next to him in the unfamiliar hotel room, her bare back exposed to the cool air.

His head throbs, an inevitable repercussion to his drunkenness the night before. Too many drinks and too many flirtations, he thinks, turning over to get a thorough look at his bedmate, a look not constantly interrupted by desperate kisses and touches, not hindered by darkness.

His first thought is that she vaguely looks like you. Same color of irises, same figure, same color of locks. But perhaps her skin is a little smoother, her hair a little softer, her lips a little fuller—differences so numerous that perhaps, to the objective viewer, she is almost an “upgrade.”

But she is not you.

Personality aside, you would not be lying next to him. You would not be on the other side of the bed instead of nestled in his arms. You would not still be there, letting him feel you in the most intimate way possible.

As he stares at the ceiling and ponders why exactly his mind has chosen to relive that memory of you in particular, he mulls over a single idea stained with guilt: he was the one who had broken you to pieces.

But does that really matter anymore?, he wonders.

He tilts his head to the side, Galactic City greeting him cheerfully through the window. Sunny and busy and alive. He knows you’re out there somewhere, somewhere among all the buildings.

The end of the war had brought a re-established New Republic to the Galaxy. The Senate and court had gone to Coruscant. The military had gone to Chandrila.

But Poe is far from Chandrila’s Hanna City—perhaps still close, for he is still in the Core, but nonetheless, he is millions of miles apart from his duty and home. This is not his element. This place is a land of lying politicians, a land of organization that pales in comparison to the militaristic uniformity he is accustomed to. All he wants to do is get out.

But today is supposed to be a happy day. Today is when the spoils of war are supposed to truly be reaped. Today is the trial of one General Armitage Hux.

Despite having traveled the distance already, a small part of Poe does not want to go. He knows that you’ll be there. His reluctance isn’t even due to the awkwardness that will arise—it’s from the impending pain that he knows will come.

Seeing your face. Hearing your voice. Being forced to have an actual conversation with you.

He knows that looking into your eyes will only be an agonizing reminder of the night that had made everything between the two of you go up in flames and fall back to the ground in ashes.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

35 ABY, Two Years Earlier Than Present, Resistance Base, Ajan Kloss

“What is your problem?” Your voice is raised, your form tense.

He watches from the window, where his eyes trace the horizon. For a second, he cannot even remember what he’d said. When he does, even then, he is unsure if his memory is correct. It was certainly something incendiary…something mean.

He is even unsure of how the two of you got here. Maybe you’d said something about him needing to see a therapist or something about how self-destructive he was. Everything—the minutes, the days, the words, the touches, the fights—it all blends into one now.

You’re talking on, but he isn’t listening. He can feel your presence emitting fury, but something within him stops himself from paying you any attention. Deep down, or perhaps maybe somewhere just below the surface, he knows that you deserve his attention, his love, his patience, for even when the explosive fights occur, and he drives you away in tears, you still return to him.

“Poe!”

The yell snaps him out of his haze, and you’re standing closer to him, arms cross. Eyes hard, but bottom lip trembling. He sees recognition cross your face as it hits you that he hadn’t heard a word of your speech.

You shake your head, a bitter laugh leaving your lips.

“Do you even give a shit anymore?” you ask. “About any of this?” You gesture to the two of you. “Or are you just going to wallow the rest of your goddamn life away in self-pity, hurting yourself because you won’t get help?”

“I don’t want help.” His voice comes out flat, emotionally over any feelings your fights with him elicit.

“Yeah? You don’t?” Your tone takes on one a of a venomous mockery. “You’re just going to keep hurting everyone around you like a spoiled child?”

At that, his head snaps up, feeling the urge to throw something, to hit something, something close to him, something—

He stops the thought, wisely opting for the verbal approach instead and suddenly turning around. The top of your head barely comes to his eyes. “Do. Not. Accuse me of hurting people around me.”

You stand your ground, daringly pulling the figurative strings between the two of you tighter and tighter. “You don’t see that you’re hurting me?”

“I think it’s you who starts the predicaments that hurt yourself.”

At his words, he watches as your eyes widen at the coldness, as your fist clenches so hard that your arms shake. If you’d been angry before, it is nothing compared to now. “I’ve been nothing but patient with you, Dameron.” Your voice is shrill and uncontrolled, several pitches higher than usual. “Nothing but there for you. And I think it’s borderline maniacal that you don’t realize that you treat me like shit!”

His jaw clenches, his knuckles turning white as he grips the windowsill. When he speaks, it’s a yell, his deep voice booming in the small rom. “Well if you don’t like, then fucking leave!”

You stare at him a moment, your form relaxing into something more reminiscent of defeat. “Alright.”

And then you’re gone, never to return to him.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present, 37 ABY, Galactic City, Coruscant

He groans as he carefully rolls out of the bed, getting dressed. The unfamiliar woman shifts at his action, groaning softly as she wakes.

“Hey,” she mumbles, watching him from the covers. His eyes catch on her, and Poe doesn’t even notice he has frozen until she gives him a weird look.

She looks too much like you. He’d noticed the similarities earlier, but now, he can’t stop seeing them. Maybe the similarities were the reason his drunken mind had chosen her in particular the night before, but now, he just wants her out of his sight.

“Hey,” he finally replies, a small, forced smile on his face. He very obviously glances down at his watch, muttering something about how he has to be somewhere—he doesn’t—but he needs out.

So he says a quick farewell, walking out the door before she can say another word.

As he rushes down through the lobby, a quick glance at his watch serves as a reminder for why he’d gotten so drunk the night before in the first place. It is an anniversary.

It was three years ago that the Resistance’s D’Qar base had been annihilated, that he’d single-handedly taken on a dreadnought, a small part of him hoping that he’d fail and go up in a ball of flames, that he’d put a blaster in his mouth, contemplating whether or not to pull the trigger.

He stops at a café on a whim, ordering some caf and sitting on the rooftop deck, looking out over the city. It’s a place that had filled him with so much wonder as kid. The sheer size of it compared to his Yavin IV colony had been almost too much for his young brain to comprehend. The million of ships had dazzled and overwhelmed even his wildest dreams. So as he sits there, he knows that he should be appreciating it more than he is.

But all the city does is remind him of you, and part of him wants to curse you out for ruining it for him. But he knows it’s not your fault. It is his. Most of it is.

It was also six years ago that he’d had his first major falling out with you. Although your relationship had hobbled on another year, that falling out was when it truly died. When he’d thrown that glass against the wall with a loud shattering noise, releasing his anger and fear in violence. You’d been scared. Terrified. Of him.

And the look on your face had broken him.

You could snap me like a fucking twig if you wanted to.

Those had been your words when you’d sobbed in his arms a day later over a discussion of that event. Perhaps the statement could’ve been an exaggeration, but in a situation with no weapons nor surprise to your advantage, maybe it could’ve been a truth.

He sighs, doing the one thing he does best: diverting his attention. He pulls a notebook out of his bag, opening it up to a complicated, increasingly messy diagram of the last remaining First Order stronghold in the Outer Room, littered with X’s, corrections, and annotations.

This stronghold had been the subject of the main strategy room back on Chandrila for months now. Seemingly impenetrable, complex beyond belief based on their sparse reconnaissance reports, both in structure and the terrain surrounding it. Dense foliage ruling out an air attack, ships posing too much of a risk risk of hitting the surrounding labor encampments. In short, it’s a headache.

He goes through two cups of caf as he thinks and strategizes, using up the time before the trial. And when that time comes, Poe takes a deep breath, his hand clenching into a fist as he stands.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present (Cont.), Galactic Court, Galactic City, Coruscant

Poe had decidedly arrived at the trial twenty minutes late, missing the reading of Hux’s extensive list of crimes that he simultaneously does and does not want to hear in full. His reason for being late had succeeded. He didn’t even have to make eye contact with you.

The trial had been a success. Life in prison for the General. Poe is on a mental high as he walks through the halls of the ornate court building, it’s structure unmarred by war, unlike many of the buildings surrounding it. The war had been won two years ago. Countless lesser generals and colonels had already been convicted before the overwhelmed judiciary had gotten to Hux. But Poe did not fully believe that victory had truly been won—until today, when Hux had officially been brought to his knees.

Poe finally arrives in an empty hallway, leaning against the wall, letting out a deep breath as a bright smile plays out across his face. All of the pain, all of the suffering, all of the danger—it had all led to this, where the last remaining First Order higher-up had been put behind bars for life.

But as Poe thinks, a small component of the soft bustle in the distance begins to approach him in the form of voices, ones he can’t help but listen to.

“This blouse fucking itches.”

“Hmm…all the more excuse for me to get it off you when we get back to the hotel.”

A cross between a gasp and a laugh. “Don’t speak so loud! There are people—“

When Poe hears the familiar voice engaged in a rather suggestive conversation, it is too late to move and make a run for it, for he recognizes the voice. His mind doesn’t have long to linger on your counterpart’s words when he comes face-to-face with you.

It is certainly a situation where one could mutter a quick apology and keep walking, but the past dredges up an instinct to halt, to fully take into account the person standing opposite from him.

The sight of you takes his mind off the whole conversation. You look identical to the woman that had left him long ago.

The both of you had frozen, staring at the other. “Hey,” Poe finally chokes out.

Your companion is the lawyer from the courtroom who’d represented the state, looking very confused at the hesitant, frozen reaction you and Poe had had upon the sight of one another.

“Hey,” you whisper, barely audible.

The lawyer blinks, glancing at you when you throw him a look. “I…umm…left something in the courtroom. I’ll be right back.”

And then it is only the two of you once again.

“How are you?” You offer him a small smile, pulling the coat tighter around you.

“I’m…I’m well,” Poe says, scrambling for words. “You…you look well…and happy.”

It is the first conversation the two of you have had since the screaming match that had ended it all nearly two years ago.

“I am,” you simply say. “Much more so than before.”

Although the ‘before’ is never specified, he knows what you’re talking about.

“Haven’t seen you around Coruscant lately,” you continue, shifting uncomfortably in place. Even though there were a trillion beings on the planet, the circle of those in government was small, especially those tasked with rebuilding the galaxy.

“I stuck with the military. Been out on Chandrila.” A small pause. “I see you made your way into politics.”

You nod. “I have.” Your gaze flicks to the ground for a moment before resettling on his face with a seemingly newfound focus. “It’s a shame you’re not in Galactic City for good, Dameron. You’ve always been a good leader. The real fight is here now.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this place isn’t for me.”

The lawyer makes a reappearance at that very moment, almost as if on cue, placing a gentle hand on your arm, mumbling something inaudible to you.

“I should…I should go,” you say quietly, shifting slightly to the side.

“Right,” replies Poe. “Good to see you.”

You give him one last smile before you round the corner.

He lets out a seemingly held breath, slumping against the wall, his grip weak on the files in hand.

“Was that that asshole you used to date?” He hears the lawyer’s voice faintly in the distance, no doubt thinking that Poe is already long gone, not lingering where he’d been.

“Yeah,” you reply, a pause sounding where there may have been a quiet sigh. “He’s not an asshole. Probably shouldn’t have pinned it on him as much as I did when I told you. Life just dealt him a bad hand of cards.”

Poe’s eyes shut at your words.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Dealt him a bad hand of cards.

He scrawls those words in the corner of his notebook in a disinterest of the previous task at hand. Letter to words to concept to supposedly the very essence of him.

He strings those ideas together in his head and simply stares.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present (Cont. 2 Weeks Later), New Republic Base, Hanna City, Chandrila

“Get her in here.”

“W-what?” Poe chokes on his water.

His immediate boss, a general and a former Resistance colonel, stares at him blankly, his head momentarily lifted from the diagram of the First Order stronghold they were still trying to crack. “I said get her in here.”

Poe is not sure how he’d gotten here. It’d started with a mention of your name, then a confirmation of who you were, then a casual remark from his boss on how good a strategist you’d been back when the three of you had worked together in the Resistance.

“But she doesn’t…she doesn’t work for the military anymore,” says Poe dumbly, blinking. He hadn’t even wanted to see you back at the courtroom, but being forced to spend hours with you, in a room, bent over a map and strategizing…

“She still works for the government, right?”

Poe nods.

“Well then we can still get her here if she agrees. I want her take on this stronghold bullshit,” the general says. “Get to it, Dameron. Send her a formal letter of request.”

“I’m not an errand boy,” Poe protests. He swears that he can see the general roll his eyes at the words.

“It’s not an errand,” the general responds. “It’s a militaristic necessity. I want her in here by the end of the week. Go.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present (Cont.), Hanna City Gardens, Chandrila

Cherry blossoms. Red hibiscus. Calico flowers spilling over walls and trees, lush and verdant.

Those are among the things that capture his eyes as he strolls beside you through Hanna City’s gardens. In short, you’d accepted the request for you to come, and determined to ease the agonizing awkwardness, he’d asked you for a walk.

“We were one hell of a pair,” you say, coming off a laugh he’s pulled from you with some remark that he’d already forgotten.

He smiles. “We certainly were. Me in the pilot’s seat, you in the gunner’s…”

An air of comfort has settled in around the two of you, warm and inviting, lacking any of the coldness that had been present before.

“You place a lot of flattery on your piloting abilities.” The corners of your lips twitch.

“Is it flattery, though, if it’s true?”

You laugh, sighing, a bright smile on your face. “Classic Poe.”

He shrugs. “What can I say?”

You go still all of a sudden, your gaze turning to a small, bright yellow flower on the side of the path, speckled in orange and red. Your fingers caress it, tenderly tracing the petals.

“We did make one hell of a team,” you repeat, your voice quiet and nostalgic.

A silence passes where something else originates in the air, not quite awkwardness, but something far from the comfort that had previously been.

“Can I ask you something?” You don’t look up. He can only assume your eyes are still locked on the flower.

He shifts slightly on his feet. “Of course.”

“Did you ever love me?”

It is his turn to freeze, for his eyes nearly widen. He stares at your back in shock for a few seconds before his hands reach out, gently clasping your arm and turning you to him. Your eyes travel on for miles, the space within them boring into his consciousness.

“You know…,” he begins. “You were always so level-headed…so logical and sensical. But I think that question is the craziest thing you’ve ever asked me…”

He’s closer to you now, and you look up at him, your mouth in a small frown. “So you did?”

“More than anything,” he whispers, barely resisting the urge to wrap his arms around your waist and press his lips to yours. As you look back at him, he wants you to feel the same—he needs you to.

“Do you still?” you say quietly, a certain pain reflecting in your eyes.

Something in his heart constricts at your query. He takes a deep breath, pushing out a lie with an immense difficulty. “No.”

A small part of him—no, all of him—wants to find some protest leaving your lips, some semblance of tears in your eyes, some sign of reciprocation. But you do none of that. One simple word leaves your lips. “Good.”

Your words are like a slap to his face, stinging and angry.

You glance down at your watch, stepping back from the intimate position, preparing to depart for an event that you’d told him of earlier. But before you leave, you emit one more sentence, turning back to him, expression cold and suspiciously closed-off. “You’re a liar.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Poe sits in his quarters the following evening by lamplight, evaluating some of your ideas on the plans. But he is distracted. Rejection is the only thing on his mind. He wants to be mad at you, at how callous you’d been, but were you really?

His eyes flip the page and flick to the words scrawled in the corner, ones he’d written two weeks ago.

Dealt him a bad hand of cards.

He grimaces. It feels like that idea is all he’s been trying to shake since he can remember. It’d followed him around, whispering behind his back, around walls, from the mouths of family, friends, neighbors.

The death of his mother. What a poor little boy.

Death of his grandmother. Seems like life’s got it in for the him.

One of his dearest friends: dead at sixteen with a bottle of pills next to them. Probably going fuck up the rest of that Dameron boy’s life.

You staring back at his blatantly hurt expression in the Hanna City gardens, a thought he knows that is going through your head: something along the lines of pitying him.

When Poe had run away to Kijimi or the New Republic or the Resistance, or when he’d yelled at you, when he’d lashed out at you—a small part of him believes that he did it just to prove that life hadn’t gotten him. That he was still strong. That he persevered.

But as he sits there, in his desolate, dark, and lonely quarters, for the first time in his life, Poe admits that life had gotten him. A reel of recollections plays in his head.

Reckless stunts pulled in the hopes of dying like a martyr.

Impassioned speeches fueled not by pride and courage, but by anger and hate.

Cruel words that led to dark scenes of you curled up in bed, sobbing.

The image of you walking away from him, two weeks ago, someone else on your arm.

He likes to believe that you’d slipped from his grasp, lost in the flurry and obstacles of a Galactic-wide war, as quick and as natural as leaves scattered to the wind. That no matter what either of you could’ve done, the two of you were destined to separate.

But he knows that’s not true.

You had not slipped from his grasp. He’d pushed you away—and had kept pushing you away every time you’d tried to regain your footing with him.

He sighs, walking to the window and staring at the city along the horizon, sparkling in the night.

He thinks of how it could’ve been had you still been with him—had you not disappeared from his life. Perhaps an apartment on the highest floor of Galactic City the two of you could afford. No more screaming. No more ruthless fighting. None of it.

As his eyes survey the distance, he knows one thing at the moment. He knows that if he could somehow have you again, he would never let go.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

A/N (another one, I guess): I’m sorry this was so long; I tried to cut out a lot but I just couldn’t. I know I don’t have the patience for 4.3k words half the time, so I appreciate it so much if you read the whole thing. I really did want to include more about how Poe personally did deal with his PTSD after reader left and his reflections on why he is the way he is, but i didn’t want to add so many words of explicitly spelling it out; although, it is implied some throughout. And apparently this A/N is long too. Being succinct really isn’t my strong suit, obviously. Thanks for reading!

Tagging (including some people who commented on part 1): @paper-n-ashes​​ @mylifeisactuallyamess​ @writefightandflightclub​ @synical-paradox​ @dark-academics-and-florals​ @spider-starry​ (let me know if you don’t want to be tagged anymore on stuff)

Masterlist

If you wished to be tagged on future works, just leave a comment/reply below or see the form on my Masterlist for specific preferences. I’m probably going to try writing my first Javier Peña fic next, so let me know if you want to be tagged for that!

[cheuwing]

First of all: Thank you very much for your metas! I have a question about the role of Greg in tjlc. What exactly is he doing? Is he a good one or a baddy? Any space for Mystrade in tjlc?

Hello dear,

Thank you so much for your message! I was surprised to receive a question after such a long absence (a very nice surprise!). I don’t know if you’ll read my answer; hopefully it will find you well. :)

It is a very interesting question... I haven’t rewatched every single episode with a focus on Greg (I might do it later!), so feel free to take my view with a pinch of salt.

First of all: I adore Gavin Greg Lestrade! He is such an amazing, complex character in the series. I believe it is clear that Greg is on the good side. Actually, I think each character mentioned on the rooftop scene as targeted by Moriarty is explicitly good: John Watson, Mrs Hudson, Greg Lestrade. (Every other speculation is fair game, but these three are unquestionably good) The show never questions their loyalty either. Greg might be disgrunted sometimes, but he’s always there to help and support Sherlock (the “maximum back up” scene at the beginning of TSOT comes to mind). Furthermore, he is the very first one who talks about Sherlock’s side: “Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.” To me, these elements prove without the shadow of a doubt that Greg is, in fact, good.

Also, according to Sherlock:

That’s all the proof I need! x)

Now, regarding Greg’s role in TJLC... My personal opinion is that he serves as a mirror. Typically, a mirror for Sherlock:

detective, keen on solving cases,

clever,

good coat, and similar clothes in general,

quits cigarettes at the same time as Sherlock (showing their matching patches in ASIP), both are seen with - unlit - cigarettes in their mouth in s3,

willing to bend the rules a little bit to solve his cases - namely by calling a “consulting detective”,

blunt and a bit ruthless (his introduction scene in which he is uncomfortable, possibly annoyed, in front of the media and deadpans “Don’t commit suicide” while Sally plays Watson’s role as social facilitator)

solving a case or saving a friend is more important than taking credit,

a bit of a drama queen (... that “maximum back up” scene comes to mind again xD),

lovely interactions with John in which they tend to be very honest and a bit arseholy (”NOT REALLY”)... (also: taking care of him and bringing Sherlock memorabilia in Many Happy Returns), a few moments of them working perfectly in sync (that action walk shot in HLV)

... among other things!

Interestingly, I think it’s fair to say that Greg is associated to John in some aspects (public servants, caring arseholes, both of them striving to guide Sherlock on the side of the angels, mindful of Sherlock’s emotions & thoughts process... Betrayed by their wives. Even on a visual level: action walk in HLV, shooting scene in THOB, in which, hilariously, even though John shoots second, he manages to catch his target => metaphors!!!)

I personally believe that Greg serves to show how a real, uncomplicated friendship with Sherlock (or John, for that matter) would work. He has no problem hugging him when he comes back (something John is unable to do, because he is overwhelmed with too many conflicting emotions... also, they’re not alone). Talking about emotions and such is easier between them too (Greg doesn’t hesitate to ask about John when Sherlock brings Molly for the case). They still bicker, argue and even play jokes on one another like John & Sherlock do (Lestrade never hesitates to film Sherlock on his phone, or to force him to wear a security blanket). Same goes between John & Lestrade: the friendship is much smoother/more wholesome than with Sherlock, because no one has to rein desire/unspoken emotions in. I mean, as @just-sort-of-happened highlighted it in this post: Greg provides a contrast to John's attraction to Sherlock.

So there you go: to me, Greg is a mirror for Sherlock and his interactions with both John & Sherlock serve as a contrast between the wholesome friendship that could be and the complicated relationship with lots of hidden desires, unspoken things and general sense of constrinct that these two have.

I also believe that Greg is a sort of mentor to them? He is the one who guides onto the right path, the one who is concerned, who is proud (his proud daddy expressions give me life), and I guess, who experiences things first (he has already worked on the cases before he presents them to Sherlock - and usually has failed -, he shoots the hound first - and fails -, he was married before John - and... you get the jist). I feel like Greg will start his grand relationship before Johnlock and in a sense, will show them the way.

As for the grand relationship in question... I love Mystrade. I really do. If it becomes canon, I’d be very happy. (Also, I could totally see Mark Gatiss thrilled to pose with Rupert Graves, his crush from Maurice, as his fictional lover ^^). Greg has been associated with John enough that I could see their relationship as a mirror for Johnlock. (and I certainly love this trope in fanfics!) I would be more than satisfied with Mystrade (also... if it happened after years of queerbaiting issues? two gay couples? with Gatiss, creator of the show, playing a character in a homosexual relationship? That could be pretty cool).

However, I have to say that I’m not really convinced it will happen in the show? It seems to me Mycroft is very much presented as an asexual character, or, at the very least, someone who doesn’t understand sex at all (the allusions with Lady Smallwood show how uncomprehending he is on the subject, and not just in a ‘gay man approached by a woman’ kind of way. Contrast with Sherlock in ASIP, being able to say ‘women are not my area’, ‘I know it’s fine’ and ‘while I’m flattered by your interest....’). In Sherlock’s mind palace, Mycroft serves as “the mind”, cold, logical, rational, in contrast to John “the heart”, emotion-focused, soft. In the Mayfly Man deduction, Mycroft insists on intricate planning, intent... whereas John focuses on sex right away. Thus, I personally see Mycroft as very remote from the concept of sexuality.

I personally see another likelier (in the context of the show) love interest for Greg: Molly Hooper. If Greg is an obvious mirror for Sherlock, Molly is an obvious mirror for John (I mean, very explicitly... And also at the wedding). There is already a history of interest between the two, at least from Greg’s part. Remember the gaping mouth at Molly’s dress at Christmas? How the camera framed them as a couple at the wedding, while Tom was obviously discarded as a serious lasting boyfriend for her? To be fully honest, I would probably be slightly annoyed at Molly’s character development if she goes out with another Sherlock mirror, but... It would make sense. She said it herself: she has a type. And I’d argue that Greg is a much more wholesome mirror for Sherlock, and he’s obviously interested in her. I think the writers already paved the road for this romance, so it seems likelier to me. I guess we will wait and see :)

To sum up => I ADORE Greg Lestrade. I hadn’t explored my thoughts on him for a long time before I received your message and had the perfect opportunity to do so. It is a joy to study his character and role in the story. To me, he is unquestionably good (like Mrs H & John). He is a fascinating mirror for Sherlock, and a great friend who shows what an uncomplicated friendship with John & Sherlock would look like. I’d definitely be happy to see Mystrade on screen (and these versions of Mycroft and Greg would certainly work well together! I think Greg would love to tease Mycroft like John does sometimes -> cue to hilarious expressions). I personally don’t think the writers would go there, but who knows? That could be very satisfying. I think a likelier mirror for Johnlock will be provided with Molly/Lestrade. Either way, Lestrade might very well be the one to show John & Sherlock the way to love. I’m curious to see how they will show it :)

Hopefully this will be a satisfying answer. Take care, dear! (And feel free to share your thoughts with me on the matter :) )

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

Both Madeleine and Lucretia get closer to the truth, and Liam and Olivia fear for their future.

Word Count 3522

A/N Warnings - implied smut, and discussion of attempted murder.

18 Revelations

‘So it’s positive’ Sophia said, referring to Olivia’s pregnancy test. Bastien frowned and put his fingers to his lips before speaking loudly.

‘Yes, the reception for the fashion show was very good’ he replied. He beckoned her over to the desk in their suite, where he had his laptop set up while he organised security rotas remotely with Lewis, who had gone on to Krona. He and Sophia would be following the day after, along with the King’s security detail. He tapped away on the screen and turned it toward her.

Must be careful of eavesdroppers. he had typed Maid cleaning in bedroom. Sophia nodded, but she sat on the edge of the desk.

‘You know, you really did an excellent job modelling’ she said huskily ‘I’d like to see your technique again. It really impressed me how fast you could change. Perhaps if you did it again, more slowly, I could do a little critique’ She made a gesture toward the bedroom with her head, and Bastien frowned for a moment before catching on.

‘I’m not planning on making it a career’ he said loudly ‘But I’m always looking to improve my performance – in all areas’

‘Well, let’s take this to the bedroom then’ she purred, pitching her voice toward the adjoining door. At that, the maid appeared suddenly, her face flushed. Sophia jumped away from Bastien, feigning surprise.

‘I forgot the sheets’ the maid said, flustered ‘I’ll come back later’ and scurried out, head down.

‘Well done’ Bastien said ‘That got rid of her – now I’d better do a sweep to see if she’s planted anything.’ He strode into the room and scanned it, first visually, then skimming his fingertips along walls and under ledges. He reached into his pocket for a small gadget with a button and a dial, and stood looking at it for a while. Finally he turned to Sophia.

‘It’s okay, no listening devices that I can detect. I think she was just eavesdropping.’ He paused by a drawer at the dressing table and opened it. ‘Maybe she was going through these as well’ he speculated.

‘She was acting rather suspiciously’ Sophia affirmed ‘She couldn’t leave fast enough when we said we’d move into the bedroom.’ Bastien looked thoughtful

‘What did you do with the receipt from the chemist?’ he asked. Although every noble house kept stock of various supplies from chemists and pharmacists for general use, he thought it better that she get something for Olivia off premises so it couldn’t be traced. She looked around for her purse, which rested on the dressing table.

‘Stop’ Bastien said ‘Think when you last had it – is it in the same place? Do you think it’s been tampered with?’ Sophia hummed in thought

‘Hmm, I thought I’d left it on the back of the chair’ she said. Bastien cursed under his breath

‘I’m sorry Sophia, I should have told you to dispose of it discretely – preferably not here at the Manor’ She huffed.

‘I wasn’t expecting anyone to go through my handbag’ she retorted. Bastien sighed

‘I forget you don’t have the training’ he said ‘She had time to look through it – let me see’ She took the receipt out of the bag and gave it to him. He groaned

‘That’s pretty specific’ He said heavily ‘She’ll know exactly what you bought if she saw it. I wonder if anyone’s asking her to do this, or if she’s just naturally nosy’

‘She’d think the test was for me, surely’ Sophia said. Bastien shook his head

‘Staff at these places are used to their clients being crafty’ he said ‘Gossip spreads like wildfire, and it’s known I’ve – well’ he paused and reached out to her apologetically. ‘I’ve been as discrete as I can over the years with my romantic involvements, but it may be known that I’ve had a vasectomy – many of the unmarried Guards do’ Sophia sucked in her breath. He rubbed her arm consolingly as she dropped her head. ‘You know I’m just with you now, don’t you?’ he said gently ‘I never encourage anyone else – ever’ She drew a shaky breath and nodded.

‘I know’ she said ‘I just don’t like being reminded’ He stood back and started to unfasten his tie, gazing at her as he did so.

‘Now then, Missy’ he said ‘I believe you wanted to see me undress?’ Sophia perked up and sat on the edge of the bed, biting her lip.

‘Any time, agápe mou’ she purred.

------

Madeleine sat back in the plush seat of the limo. Her mother snored softly, head lolling on the headrest as they made their way back to Krona. Penelope’s maid had told Madeleine about the purchasing of a pregnancy test, and revealed that Olivia had not been eating at breakfast, but she wanted to be methodical and eliminate the other ladies at Applewood. It couldn’t be Sophia – everyone knew her lover had never gotten anyone pregnant. Either he was firing blanks naturally or was sterilised – though the thought occurred to her that he was just the person who could probably hide something like an unwanted pregnancy. Lady Hana wasn’t seeing anyone, and Madeleine had always had the idea that she preferred women – or would, once she’d admitted it to herself. Drake was too savvy to get anyone pregnant – he’d bedded many of the ladies of the court and a lot of staff too and couldn’t afford any ‘accidents’ so it wasn’t likely to be Riley. Kiara struck her as a very conscientious young woman, sexually active, and most likely on birth control as pregnancy would certainly put a stop to her career ambitions.

The most likely candidate was Olivia then – and she must be sleeping with Liam. He certainly wasn’t stupid or reckless enough to get anyone accidentally pregnant. Had they got some sort of arrangement? When she had them staying at Karlingford she’d soon find out, she told herself.

------

‘Excuse me’ Olivia’s aide, Ruby, addressed the major domo at Karlingford, who looked up from his clipboard with an air of irritation.

‘I’m very busy, is it important?’ he snapped.

‘It most certainly is’ Ruby gave as good as she got. This snooty soft lowlander wasn’t going to get the better of a mountain dwelling Lythican. ‘Lady Olivia is not pleased with her quarters’ Harold sighed in annoyance.

‘Lady Madeleine allocated the rooms personally, and has given Lady Olivia the second best suite available. May I ask what is wrong with that?’

‘It may be your idea of luxury, but as you know, we Lythicans care nothing for soft beds and gilded ornaments. The placement is not to her liking. Lady Olivia has important business with the King and needs to be close by so he can call on her services at short notice’

‘It’s too late to change anything now’ Harold sniffed ‘Guests have been arriving all morning and it’s simply too difficult to make any alterations to the arrangements’

‘Would you like to explain that to Lady Olivia herself?’ Ruby asked ‘or perhaps the King might make a request in person when he discovers how inconvenient your allocation is’ Harold swallowed.

‘I’ll take another look at the schematic’ he said unsteadily ‘Karlingford is of course honoured to have the new King under our care, and Lord Godfrey has always been a gracious host’

‘Lady Olivia will be eager to hear from you. She’ll be in the King’s suite for now’ Ruby asserted, and went back to report to her boss.

------

Despite Madeleine’s efforts, the polo match was lacklustre. The weather was overcast and drizzly – not so wet to have to cancel, but enough to make both riders and horses cold and miserable. The stands were half full and spectators huddled in their waterproof coats under umbrellas. The donations were generous enough for the renovation of the main library, but only just managed to scrape past what they had hoped to raise. The afternoon tea served at Karlingford didn’t fare much better as gusts of wind threatened to blow the marquees away and all the bright summer outfits that folk usually wore to such events were discarded for warmer duller clothes.

The Duke was in a foul temper, and the King claimed he had to leave early to return to the Palace before carrying on to Lord Delacour’s residence in the Cormery Isles and the nobles’ golf tournament. Lady Olivia also left not long after.

However, Madeleine did discover that Olivia did indeed skip breakfast each day and was not seen before midday for the few days she was there. She couldn’t get much more information, as the rooms she had set up to eavesdrop on her were reallocated to Lord Delacour when Olivia demanded closer quarters to Liam, and she had her own maid brought over from Lythikos, refusing entry to any of Madeleine’s staff. Lord Neville was only too pleased to be staying in such a grand suite and was insufferably smug for his entire visit.

That fact actually played into her hands, as it meant Lord Neville was only too eager to help her in her efforts to spy on the Nevrakis heir. Sadly she heard not long after that Olivia would not be going to the Cormery Isles, but would be in Lythikos personally assisting in arranging the early winter sports events. She suspected that she and Liam would be spending some time together, but had no way of knowing for sure.

One thing Madeleine could do while she was at her father’s manor was to try and get more information out of her mother. Although she was notorious for bedding younger men, she didn’t do so when her husband was around. She would have spent her evenings with Regina, but the Queen Mother was spending hers with Lord Domvalier. Lord Godfrey spent as much time as he could with the King, and when he wasn’t available, would instead pay a visit to the Beaumonts or Delacoeurs or other worthy noble families.

That left Madeleine and Adelaide in each others’ company one night, and patiently she plied her mother with champagne and let her ramble on about whatever subject she cared to talk about. First of all she bemoaned the fact that Maxwell Beaumont was under her roof and she couldn’t lay a finger on him, then got rather maudlin and complained that Bastien now had a partner and had eyes for no-one else.

‘That man is dynamite in the bedroom’ she sighed ‘Maddy, you need a good man to keep you happy. Are you still a virgin?’ When she didn’t answer, she waved her hand dismissively ‘I can’t believe Leo didn’t at least sample what he could have had’ Madeleine gritted her teeth.

‘Mother, that’s really not appropriate’ she said ‘I might ask you what happened when you disappeared last month.’ Adelaide rolled her eyes and dropped her head back.

‘Okay sweetie, I know when I’m beaten. You’ve got a pretty low opinion of me already, what could it hurt?’ She sat forward in her chair to pour more champagne, but didn’t drink any. She looked at her hands, turning her wedding ring round and round on her finger.

‘I’m listening. I can’t promise not to judge, but I’ll try’

‘I – well, I went to Monaco to meet someone. He likes to play games with – you know being dominant. I’ll spare you those details’ Madeleine’s blood ran cold as she listened ‘He – he tried to kill me, like I said. ‘He…’ She closed her eyes and tears squeezed out ‘He injected me with heroin and left me to die.’ Madeleine couldn’t speak – she was filled with rage against the perpetrator. Whatever her mother was – drunk, lush, cougar – she didn’t deserve to die. It was a while before her mother spoke again, so she handed her a tissue and sat next to her on the couch. She both wanted and didn’t want to know more. Why? Who? Her mind span.

‘If – if it wasn’t for the young man I’d met on the plane going to Monaco, I wouldn’t be here now’ she sobbed ‘He found me and called an ambulance’

‘Who was he?’ Madeleine asked in a strangled tone.

‘He said he’d followed me deliberately – that both Bastien and the King knew where I was going’ she went on ‘They asked if I’d press charges, that he was working with Anton Severus and the Sons of the Earth. I said I wouldn’t, because then you’d find out – and your father – and – and everyone’ She broke into fresh sobs and Madeleine sat trembling with horror and anger, unable to leave her mother’s side. Her hand hovered over her shoulder but didn’t land.

‘In the end I didn’t have to say anything, they caught up with them later. Bastien wouldn’t tell me the details, he wouldn’t even see me, he passed it over to Lewis’

‘This is outrageous’ Madeleine spat ‘How could they let them get away with this? There must be some way of getting retribution without the news getting out’

‘Please Maddy, don’t meddle with things’ Adelaide pleaded ‘I’ve learned my lesson, I won’t fall for something like that again’ Madeleine glowered – she couldn’t see how her mother could keep that promise. She knew who she had to talk to next, and it couldn’t wait.

-------

Bastien cursed as his phone pinged. Sophia lay beside him, fast asleep, and he too had been out for the count. He looked blearily at the screen, blinking at the bright light. Lewis, now on duty for the night shift, informed him that Lady Madeleine wanted to speak with him urgently and she was waiting in her study. He passed his hand over his face and swung his legs out onto the floor. He’d been expecting this though not at such a late hour, and went over the details of her mother’s situation in his head, rehearsing how much he could tell her daughter without compromising security.

Had he been anywhere else, he would have told her to go to his office, but she was on home ground. The only thing he could do to keep the upper hand was to get dressed as if for work, and take his time over it.

‘Mmmm’ Sophia murmured, stirring at his movements ‘What is it, Bas?’

‘Go back to sleep theá mou’ he said gently ‘It’s work – nothing for you to worry about though, a minor matter that I have to see to’ She muttered again, unintelligibly, and was snoring gently before he’d finished getting dressed. He took his time making his way to meet Madeleine, and presented himself with a calm demeanour.

‘Mr Lykel, you took your time’ the so called Ice Queen was uncharacteristically agitated.

‘What can I do for you, your Grace?’ he asked coolly.

‘It has come to my attention that you had some knowledge of an attempt to kill my mother’ she said, voice shaking a little. ‘I demand you tell me what you know, and bring the guilty party to justice’

‘This is a delicate matter, your Grace’ he replied ‘May I sit?’ She nodded in irritation, and also sat behind her desk, but she wrung her hands together as he went on

‘May I ask why you think this is the case, Lady Madeleine?’ he asked

‘She told me’ she said shortly ‘Why haven’t you dealt with this matter already?’

‘I can assure you that the matter is in hand, but it may cause repercussions if it got out into the public domain’

‘I don’t care if everyone knows it, or just you and me. I demand you deal with it in a satisfactory manner’ Bastien sighed

‘Exactly what did Lady Adelaide tell you?’ he asked

‘Enough’ she said, enraged ‘She also told me that a certain Mr Nazario was involved. Who is he?’

‘I can only reiterate that all this is extremely sensitive information and ties in with the security of Crown and State. His Majesty is aware of the situation, and I can assure you that your mother’s assailant will answer for his crime’

‘Mr Lykel, I’m sure you can appreciate that I was at one point close to being Queen of Cordonia, and the King has chosen no-one else’ she said persistently ‘I caution you that in the future you may regret any refusal to assist me’

‘I suggest that you take up the matter with his Majesty’ Bastien said, stony faced.

‘How convenient that he’s not here right now’ she said in a low tone.

‘Then you may have to wait until you see him in person. I cannot break his confidence’ Madeleine practically growled as she went on

‘Mr Lykel, if I am ever in a position to be your superior, your employment will be terminated and I will hire people who will be more co-operative.’

‘If you were my superior I would tell you what you needed to know and serve you appropriately. Unfortunately, I plan to retire from the Guard shortly, so that will not be an issue’ he said, omitting to tell her that he would also be part of Liam’s reformed Council. ‘Will that be all?’ He asked ‘It’s very late and I’m officially off duty’ Madeleine glowered at him.

‘You may leave’ she spat ‘but this isn’t the end of the matter’

------

Olivia decided to visit Lucretia on her way back to Lythikos. She had been moved from a maximum security facility and was under house arrest in a cottage in the grounds of the Palace. The King’s guard had swept the Palace for explosives and listening devices, but had only come across equipment that the previous King had installed to keep tabs on his guests, some of which were known to them and others that were not. Bastien was not one hundred per cent happy with the security of the Palace just yet, but Liam’s quarters had passed muster, as had all the other accommodation suites in both the main part of the Palace and the staff wing. Places like the ballroom, library and other common areas were still being checked and were off limits to all but the Guard and Army personnel.

Lucretia still refused to talk to anyone about her role in the assassination at the coronation. She was free to move around the cottage as much as she wished, but had a security detail if she ventured outside. She was known to take walks every day before lunch, so Olivia had the Palace cook prepare some Lythican cookies as a gift, and went to visit her in the afternoon when she might be taking tea.  Her aunt was waiting in her lounge, and rose to greet her.

‘You’re looking pale’ she remarked ‘Life in the lowlands doesn’t suit you’

‘If it makes you any happier, I’ll be going there tomorrow to organise the arrangements for the Royal Charity tour’

‘Oh, that’ Lucretia said ‘Constantine’s spawn is trying to curry favour with his subjects’

‘You really shouldn’t call him that’ Olivia flushed with anger ‘He’s nothing like his father’

‘Then he won’t hold on to power for long. If nothing else, his Father knew how to do that at least. Sadly it meants house Severus has had a hard fight to regain their rightful position. How is your husband?’

‘I wouldn’t know’ Olivia said shortly, and put the box of cookies on the table. ‘If you’d like to make tea, I brought Knophlinken.’ For a split second, Lucretia’s pupils darkened. Olivia knew she loved them, as she often had them made when she was a child. They were hard, strongly spiced and barely sweet at all. Her aunt opened the box and inhaled the scent.

‘Almost’ she said shortly ‘Too much cinnamon – but I suppose you can only get the real thing from Lythikos. I’m guessing they were made in the Palace’

‘Indeed’ replied Olivia ‘Liam had some spices sent from the Lodge’

‘Well I suppose they will do’ She rang a little bell for the maid she was allowed to employ and ordered her to make tea for them both.

‘So you refuse to visit your husband’ Lucretia went on ‘I must admit he’s not the man he should be. If he was, I wouldn’t have had to step in and accelerate his ascension to the throne. Sadly he was too slow or too stupid to take advantage of things. That, and Mr Lykel was lucky to spot the assassin I hired before he dispatched the King and Prince.’

‘I think you’ll find that was skill, and not luck’ Olivia said coolly. The maid came in with a tray of tea things. In Lythikos, it was served with hot spiced milk and never with sugar. Olivia found that the aroma of the spices turned her delicate stomach as her aunt went to pour it, and she dry heaved. Her aunt stared at her, narrowing her eyes, and Olivia’s blood ran cold.

‘Are the spices not to your taste my dear?’ she asked archly ‘Or could it be that you’re going to bear a child – the spawn of the Rys dynasty?’

@emceesynonymroll @sirbeepsalot @cora-nova @stopforamoment @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria

@drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @pedudley @indiacater @texaskitten30

@be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @ladyangel70

@rainbowsinthestorm @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad @kimmiedoo5

@bascmve01  @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @princess-geek

[curry-planet]

Lost In Wonderland | Itaru Chigasaki

"Although this world is filled with uncertainty. As long as I'm with you, it seems like we'll be just fine."

Itaru Chigasaki found his reflection in the mirror staring back at him with a smile that was so damn bright. He took a deep breath before straightening out his Mad Hatter costume that he was wearing currently.

He definitely wanted to wear game inspired formal wear but for now he'd do it all for the sake of this event.

Flowers were sprawled everywhere. Every guests table and chairs has flowers clinging onto them. Itaru looked out of the window and he saw the arch in front of all the chairs. He'd be down there soon.

This event sure did look bizarre compared to your normal ones. The table's centerpiece was a teapot! Teapots with flowers spilling out of them! The garden looked ethereal. Thanks to Tsumugi's help of course.

On the other side of the garden was a humongous table that was far too large for them to even use as a dining table for the reception. This table held gifts for them.

The cake came in three layers decorated with overly large fondant that were shaped to look like a teapot. There was also a pocket watch perched at the bottom. Omi and the other members sure did have fun making the cake. Itaru smiled at this thought.

It felt crazy. Everything did. It felt like a dream.

Itaru never thought about marriage in his life. Not even romance. That all changed when [Name] [Last Name] approached him backstage on the closing night of "Boy Alice in Wonderland", the first play he starred as the co-lead.

[Name] gifted him a little plushie that was modeled after him playing as the mad hatter. Itaru remembered how brightly his cheeks flushed. He stood there in shock clutching the handmade plushie as [Name] bid her farewell, congratulating him and wishing him well.

When he got back to his dorm room, he placed it on top of his desk temporarily. He'll find a place for this little Itaru later.

Well that was a lie. During one of his gaming sessions, he placed his phone down on his desk as someone knocked on his door. It was Sakuya holding a box of pizza. It must have been the pizza he ordered earlier. He paid Sakuya for the pizza, thanked him and shut the door.

Itaru was on his way back to his table when he tripped over his discarded shirt that was on the floor, fighting to find balance, he latched onto the first thing that his hand found. It was his desk, it shook slightly and forced little plushie Itaru to fall over into his phone screen. As if everything was on slow motion, it fell and accidentally touched his phone screen, which was opened on the gacha page.

It was a one 1x pull gacha thank god. Itaru couldn't believe his eyes when the Limited edition SSR of his favorite waifu appeared on screen. He tried to do a 10x pull again using plushie Itaru's hand.

5 freaking new SSRs. This plushie must be blessed by the gods! It was a good Sakuya substitute if the aforementioned boy wasn't around.

Ever since then Itaru was sure to watch every play Mankai did. Searching for that [Hair Color] haired girl with a pair of [Eye Color] eyes.

It didn't take long, looking for her that is. She was basically present at every play! Itaru approached her by thanking her. The rest is history.

___

[Name] [Last Name] admired the girl staring right back at her through the mirror. She couldn't believe her eyes. She was wearing a pale blue wedding dress that looked like it was plucked straight out from a fairy tale. Her dress was designed and made by Yuki of course. The young boy wouldn't talk to her until she agreed. Her make up, was of course done by Azami. He insisted and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

A knock brought her back to reality. It was Izumi Tachibana, the theater's director and her now best friend.

"Ah~ You look so pretty!" Izumi couldn't help but exclaim. "You look like a princess, I think I'm gonna cry!"

"Aww come on! It's my wedding day! Be happy!" [Name] said with a laugh.

"I still can't believe you're marrying Itaru..." Izumi sighed. "Not that I think he's not good for you! It's just-!" Izumi panicked.

"It's just very unexpected. Got it." She laughed as she put on her earrings that were sparkling in the afternoon light.

Izumi sighed softly the said, "It's almost time."

[Name] hummed in response. Her eyes glanced over the room once again. The sun's rays casted a saturated golden hue all around the room that was painted off white. She had a pocket watch that was placed on top of the vanity.

Before [Name] stepped outside of the room, she gave Izumi a hug, thanking her for everything.

[Name] arrived at the aisle in the garden that she will be walking through. The venue was small, the only guests were the whole Mankai Company alongside with a few of her friends.

Walking down the aisle felt surreal. Everything was in slow motion. The sun glowed bright. The flowers were in different colors, and in full bloom in spring. Alice in Wonderland themed decorations were placed all over the venue. There were so many things that she would normally find distracting yet her eyes only found Itaru in front of her standing by the arch, fully dressed in his Mad Hatter outfit.

[Name] laughed to herself. When Itaru proposed to her, she joked about being married in his Mad Hatter outfit in a Alice in Wonderland setting. It was her favorite tale after all. Seeing it in real life almost brought a tear in her eyes.

[Name] looked to her left. The whole Spring and Summer Troupe were grinning ear to ear as they watched her walk down the aisle. To her right was the entirety of the Autumn and Summer Troupe giving her smiles and nods of encouragement. Matsukawa, Tetsuro and Yuzo were also present, giving her encouraging smiles as well.

[Name] arrived in front of the arch. Itaru was quick to act and took her hand. [Name] felt like she was living in a fairytale right now. She couldn't even comprehend what the pastor was saying. All she could do was stare at the man beside her.

The man beside her wasn't too far different. All he could do was marvel at the gorgeous lady beside him. He never imagined himself loving someone as much as he loves [Name]. He loves her so much he'd let her play on his accounts.

Itaru knew [Name] was a sucker for fairy tales, she's a sucker for everything remotely connected to the fantasy genre. That's why he ended his vows by referencing one of her favorites,

"Wendy we can get away, I promise if you're with me, say the word and we'll find a way, I can be your lost boy, your last chance, Your 'everything better' plan, Somewhere in Neverland"

As he said this, he took her hand and rubbed soothing circles across the back of it. [Name] smiled as she caught in the reference. Just her smile could render Itaru frozen for days to no end.

It was now [Name]'s vows that were being spoken. She really wasn't a woman of many words. In fact, she was fretting over this portion of the wedding the other day. She finally settled on a line that Itaru and the Mad Hatter would say,

"Although this world is filled with uncertainty. As long as I'm with you, it seems like we'll be just fine."

The ceremony went by too fast. The next thing she knew they were exchanging rings and I Do's.

[Name] wanted to savour the moment more. She wanted to capture the moment, to freeze it in time. She wanted to remember how the wind felt against her skin. How cold her hands were because of her nervousness. Specially how Itaru's hands felt against her own.

"And now, by the power vested in me, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss." The pastor spoke in loud, firm voice.

It was this moment that every little girl dreamed of. Being married like the princes and princesses in the fairy tale books.

Itaru placed a hand on her soft cheek. Slowly they inched towards each other. [Name] closed her eyes and felt Itaru's lips on her own. The kiss was perfectly soft, full of love yet passionate at the same time.

[Name] opened her eyes and found Itaru's pretty pink eyes staring back at her. This made her smile, which Itaru reflected with one of his own.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. I present to you, for the first time, [Name] and Itaru Chigasaki" the pastor said, officially announcing their marriage.

A roar of applause erupted from within the guests. Izumi was sniffling, holding a tissue in her seat, Kazunari was taking pictures and uploading it to his Instablam (with the newlywed's approval of course), Omi was holding his camera taking pictures of the wedding ceremony. Homare was spouting freshly crafted poems, your wedding was too inspiring! He couldn't help it as his genius stirs by seeing them, young and in love! Taichi was crying with Izumi on the other hand.

"Typical Mankai Company." [Name] said with a smile. Itaru wrapped his arm around her waist and held her closer to him, a smile similar to [Name] plastered on his face.

This marks the start of their new life.

___

Wonderland A Go Go! Boy Alice [Masumi Usui (CV: Yuusuke Shirai)], Hatter [Itaru Chigasaki (CV: Shintarou Asanuma]

Somewhere In Neverland All Time Low

[split-n-splice]

Oop, a longer chapter. Bear with me.

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

40. Whose Side – 3

Her foul mood was expected, but her curt greeting still stung like a viper bite.

“I-I’m sorry I’m late,” sputtered Drakken, glancing at his bitter passenger. Making up excuses was a lost cause, but the feeble explanation tumbled out of his mouth before he could think to match her callous attitude. “I slept through my alarm, a-and I got distracted, and then you didn’t answer when I called so I figured I had best come check on you, but you weren’t home—”

“Drakken,” she interrupted tersely with a voice cold and sharp as ice.

He gulped. “Yes, Shego?”

“Shut up.”

He bit his cheek to silence an objection. The van idled a moment more as he studied her dark glare fixed dead ahead, her arms folded tight across herself and the faintest hint of green glimmering from between her fingers, visibly containing how upset she was at – at him? What had he done? Besides forget to pick her up from Buckley’s again? He wracked his brains quickly, but decided figuring her out was best saved for another time.

Attempting to appease her didn’t suit the image he was going for. He’d have to work on it. Nonetheless he couldn’t stop himself from piping up. “It’s not too late to pick up some Chow.”

Shego was silent.

Drakken turned the van around and said nothing of it when she dug out a pack of smokes from her pocket to light one up. He certainly kept his eyes off her every time she brought it to her lips to take a puff. Or he tried to, anyway.

By the time he’d navigated his way back to the Cow-n-Chow, she’d relaxed enough to kick her feet up on the dash and tune the radio. That came as some relief, but he knew better than to believe the danger had passed. Drakken was ready to order her usual for her when she spoke up, requesting salad instead. Erring on the side of caution, he ordered her usual anyway, which she tucked into and finished without a word before demanding another stop for a video rental.

He anticipated being presented with a dark and ominous film, but instead she returned to the van dully announcing she could use a laugh, and flashed the cover of a detective comedy. He had mixed feelings about the whimsical man in the picture, but ultimately decided it wasn’t his movie to watch and so the only opinion he spared was a grunt.

“Anything else?” could have been asked a little more nicely, but she could have answered a little more crossly too so he counted his blessings.

“Yeah. Do you have popcorn back home or should we pick some up?”

A sound of frustration snuck out of his mouth, but at least he could nod.

She’d get her popcorn and movie, and he – he had a backlog to catch up on. If there was any urgency to complete projects though, he quickly forgot about it when Shego’s fingers curled around his arm as he made to cross the tech lab to head downstairs. Weak against her pull, he followed her lead with nary a word in defiance.

He barely stifled his protest when he was shoved down onto the couch, his shoulders feeling strangely sunburned where she’d pushed him. “Shego, I can’t—,” was all that made it out of his mouth before her cold stare shut him up. He sat stiffly in place for a minute, contemplating ways to get out of a goodie-goodie comedy he already owned a copy of. He told her where the popcorn was when asked, but otherwise kept his lips zipped tight as the buttery aroma warmed the stale air.

Shego still wore the same stony glare as she wordlessly turned down the lights, popped in the tape, and threw herself down on the far end of the couch, guarding her bowl of popcorn she didn’t seem keen on sharing.

By the light of the previews, Drakken dared to watch her from the corner of his eye – and before they were over, he’d found the gall to unzip his lips. “Do I need to build a brain tap machine to figure out what has you so…so…,” pissed off would not be a safe choice of words, he decided as Shego’s glare turned to sear through him. “Because I can and I will.” How hard could it be? Like a lie detector, but more in depth, right?

“Stay. Out. Of my brain,” she ground out. Slumping further and drawing her knees up, she added in a small grumble, “Jackass.”

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her ire, but he knew a brain tap machine was off the table. For now.

Drakken crossed his arms and willed his gaze to stay on the television, but it strayed once more as scenes he’d seen before played out. She couldn’t be that angry at him for being so unfashionably late, could she? Puzzled, he stared until her jaded gaze darted to him, if only for a split second.

He hardened his own frown on the television, willing his arms to unfold, bracing himself to stand on the count of three – or ten – or one hundred. He made it to the count of sixty-five when he bit the bullet. His butt was lucky to have made it an inch from the cushion when a hand snapped out, nails digging into his shoulder. He could smell the trace of fabric smoldering beneath Shego’s palm, and felt the tremble before she retracted her grip and stuffed her hands in her armpits to hide the faint green glimmer emanating from her palms.

Swallowing and setting his jaw, Drakken stared down the moody young woman who did not appear to be enjoying her movie whatsoever. “I have better things to do with my time than—,” he began tersely, but of course was interrupted by his puzzling company.

“Lipsky, you are going to watch this normal movie with me, on a normal couch, on a normal television,” she said, her voice bearing a threat of consequence if he dared defy her. “And it’s going to be – I’m going to be—,” she was swallowing hard then as if to gulp down the frog in her throat, batting her lashes to blink away – oh for Pete’s sake, were her eyes misty?

This wasn’t a tearjerker movie, but he glanced to the television anyway as some silly, borderline obscene, gag played out.

“Yes?” he carefully urged, playing the odds she might shed a little light on the situation.

Shego all but blew up on him, flipping the bowl of popcorn balanced on her knees in the process. “NORMAL!” she shouted in frustration, and in the dim light, he caught a glimpse of the green embers fizzling and oozing from her palms as she clawed the air as if she wished to wring someone’s neck. “I want to feel normal! Just for a little while. So please. Forget about anything outside of this room for the next ninety minutes. Just shut up. Shut up and watch the fucking movie with me.” Given the daggers she shot at the television, it was a wonder she didn’t pelt it with plasma.

The startling outburst had Drakken pressed to the far corner of the couch, but at least she didn’t paw at any tears. She looked as though she’d rather throw punches before she let tears roll down her cheeks, though he was sure he saw the threat looming by the rapid flutter of her eyelids. He studied her as she curled into herself again.

He scoffed and gestured to his own blue skin. “Normal? Shego, normal is something people like us aren’t likely to be getting back,” he blurted out, much colder than intended. Even if true, once the words left his mouth, he braced to be struck with a punch, or maybe a glow-laced punch, or maybe hands around his throat, or—

Shego drew a shuddering breath and continued to glare at the television as though that would be enough to let out whatever pent-up frustration he was caught in the crossfire of. “It’s not just that,” he barely heard her grumble into her knees.

“Then what?” Drakken carped. She’d said shut up. He should have listened.

Thankfully a reprimand – verbal or physical – didn’t come, though he was so braced for one he was starting to cramp up. Shego was quiet for a long moment, until finally she exhaled slowly as though to calm herself. He swore he could see it, like breath on a chilly morning or a thin wisp of smoke after taking a drag. “It’s personal,” she said decisively.

In that case, whatever business she had with his television and couch tonight was none of his. Before second thoughts could weigh him down again, Drakken stood and played deaf to her displeased grunt behind him. He glanced to the door. He did have things to do. But he also had something he’d wanted to show her. He’d even tried to tell her so earlier, but she’d been determined to make him sit and keep her company.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Yes,” she snapped.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” he griped back, barely without whining, and pinched the bridge of his nose before trying again. “I think you’ll like it. I was really looking forward to showing it to you.”

It was the truth. He’d intended to show her the rare orchid sometime this evening, ever since she’d asked about it on the ride to Buckley’s Brew. And right now, she sure looked like she could use something to lift her spirits. Though there was also a risk, given the funk she was in, that she could destroy the specimen without regard to its value or the lengths he’d gone through to construct the miniature biosphere to grow the picky plant in, let alone the seeds he’d acquired in a high-stakes gamble. With a little work under the scope, the plant he’d genetically-modified himself months ago had been brought to bloom years ahead of schedule.

Shego’s misty-eyed glare burned into him for a long moment before she gave a stubborn sniff and reached for the remote to stop the movie with a loud crackle of white-noise filling the room. “Whatever,” she said coldly. “I’m going to get dressed for bed.”

It was barely six in the evening – but Drakken refrained from bringing that up as she shouldered past him. Her burnt mattress and linen had yet to be replaced. He desperately hoped that by tomorrow, his couch wouldn’t need to be replaced too. He frowned down to the marks she’d left on his coat, blue fabric singed black where shoulder pads ought to be, and discarded the victim of his volatile hot-tempered accomplice over the back of a barstool.

He slowly counted to three – only three – before leaving his living quarters and into the tech lab. Already, Shego was nowhere in sight, but as he passed down the hall toward his office, he heard the shower running. He tried not to slow or pause or lean toward the washroom door, but he didn’t make it past in time to miss a distinct sniffle inside. She couldn’t possibly be that upset he’d failed to pick her up from Buckley’s. Personal, she’d said. Then it was none of his business, he reminded himself, squaring his shoulders and stalking off for his office once more.

She wanted to be normal, she’d stressed. What was that supposed to mean? Drakken again wracked his brains. What was her idea of normal? Was she homesick? Did she regret passing up her opportunity to rejoin her brothers? Just a few nights ago, when he’d mistakenly brought his own personal woes to her, they’d sat together in front of her television and she’d drowsily reminisced about piling up on the sofa for family movie nights, failing to console him through his acceptance that he may never see his own family again – though he could barely relate to whole idea of family movie nights as an only child. Did she miss that? Not being alone? He knew she had four brothers, at least, and a father, and presumably a mother too – in other words, some aspect of her normal was a sizable family. He was only one person, and he was not crowding henchmen into his quarters to substitute for a family. Androids and henchmen had to be a sorry substitute for family anyway.

Drakken stopped at the bottom of the staircase, sighing wretchedly and rubbing at a crick in his neck.

It was quite possible he was off the mark, but if she wouldn’t tell him what was on her mind and he couldn’t devise any mind-tapping devices to get to the bottom of it himself, he was left to speculate. Unfortunately speculating was bound to give him a headache. Leaving Shego to sort herself out was possibly for the best, he decided, but he still turned for his desk to retrieve the orchid he’d left there.

He froze in his tracks when he lifted his eyes from the stone floor to see an uninvited figure sitting sidelong in his office chair, holding the glass pod containing the plant. Unplugged from what was essentially its life-support system, the delicate little biosphere was scarcely more than a glorified flowerpot, but it was still infuriating to see the intruder turning it over so carelessly.

The wave of alarm washing over him had Drakken scanning the room, frantically questioning where he’d had that blasted intruder alert button installed. That’s right – it was at the CCTV system desk across the office, in convenient reach of any henchman on security duty. Why didn’t he have a henchman stationed there anyway? He should know better than to let his guard down with a perceived threat in the area! He grit his teeth, inwardly berating himself.

“So,” cooed the young woman behind his desk before he could storm up to her. “Who’s this for?”

Frozen, Drakken couldn’t help a nervous gulp. There was no way she could know he’d brought it up from the basement for Shego. Then again, maybe she did. He thought out loud sometimes, and this stranger had the gift of invisibility to make spying a breeze. “Shego,” he growled through his teeth, though it wasn’t so much an answer as it was the irate wish for his accomplice to be beside him to explain the woman’s presence.

Miss Kimbley arched an eyebrow and smirked. “She doesn’t go for flowers,” she informed as if offering a helpful piece of information. “Oh, but try a fish dinner!” she recommended instead, smiling wider and chuckling, though Drakken failed to see what was so funny as there was certainly nothing comical about the territory she was suggesting. Even the henchcrew was strongly advised against cracking jokes of such nature.

Cheeks warming over, Drakken fixed a grimace on his face and hoped it was enough to mask his fluster. He sputtered something indignant and incoherent before he could stop himself, and he bit his tongue with a grunt and tried to form the words right before he spoke again. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” he demanded, crossing the room to yank the spherical biosphere from the intruder’s hands. She was Shego’s acquaintance, but he was certain Shego wouldn’t have willingly invited her in.

The woman shied back just a little bit at the bite in his tone, but then she rose to her feet, pushing the biosphere aside to stand toe to toe. Drakken decided to set it down for safety’s sake, though the thought occurred too late to cradle it in his arms and make a mad dash upstairs for Shego. Instead he glanced across the room toward the CCTV desk, wildly seeking the button to sound the alarm, and lurched back from the fingers spreading over his chest.

“I have an offer for you, Mr…?” said Miss Kimbley, but he recognized a honeycoated tone when he heard one.

“Drakken,” he hissed. He batted the hand away, taking a swift step back toward the staircase – and most importantly the alarm button across the room. “Dr. Drakken.” Hadn’t he clarified that earlier? Alias or not, maybe he shouldn’t be giving his name out to a potential Global Justice spy. Even so, if she had something to offer, she had something to gain, and it was practically reflex to inquire, “What do you want?”

Despite another step back, the intruder was invading his space once again. “Better question,” she chimed, giving the bottom of his tie a tug. He snatched her hand this time, and tried not to consider how cold her fingers felt compared to Shego’s, which he could so often feel warming him even through his gloves. She didn’t let up, clearly not taking the hint nor offence to his scowl and raised lip. “What do you want, Doctor?”

Impulse urged him to snap at her that he wanted her out of his lair. The woman was trespassing, therefore posed a threat, and he was inclined to trust Shego’s judgment that he ought to keep his distance. Which was hard to do with his back against the wall. His mouth was dry. Where was that button? Better yet, where was Shego?

“Whatever she’s offering, I can do better,” said the confident pretty little thing before him in a voice that made his stomach give a sickened flip-flop. An odd shimmer like a mirage glazed over the woman and she was gone – to the naked eye, anyway. He knew better than to believe she had left, not when he still felt the invisible touch running down his stomach and—

If he hadn’t had a reason to panic before, he certainly did at the first tug of his belt.

“Hands off, missy!” snarled Drakken, leaping to the side and stumbling over his own feet. He reached for his waist – everything was in place – and just to be sure everything was in order, he tucked his shirt in a little neater.

The ghost of Shego’s past was visible again, down on her knees, a chafed look on her face for a split second before one of deep consideration settled in its place. Her gaze strayed from him as he regained his composure, her hazel eyes darting to his filing cabinet. One of the drawers had been pulled open. Had she been rifling through his files? Without a doubt, if she was here to spy.

“You need a thief, right?” she said, taking a stab at finding his sweet spot from another angle. “Assassin? Watchdog? I’m your gal.” She stood, gesturing to herself.

She most certainly was not his gal. He didn’t have a gal. And even if he did, even if Shego – Drakken stopped that thought in its tracks and gnashed his teeth, hoping his glare was as menacing as the ones he practiced in the mirror. But by the slow bat of the intruder’s fake eyelashes, it was not.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he ground out, gesturing to the stairwell to signal it was time she took her leave. If she couldn’t take the hint, then he didn’t need someone on his crew who needed it spelled out for them.

Priscilla Kimbley glanced from the stairs to him, the calculating look still set in her furrowed brow. “Look, man, I need a change of pace,” she said pointedly, taking a step closer once again, but he squared his shoulders and balled his fists and she paused. Hopefully intimidated. Hopefully thinking twice about trying underhanded persuasion a second time. “Looks to me like Shego struck gold here. I saw some of your shit in the basement. Pretty wicked stuff.” Her wry smile was back. She couldn’t still be pushing for what he thought she was, could she? She didn’t look like the henchwoman type. She wouldn’t last a week in villainy.

Drakken glanced across the room to the button again. He could press it now, and Priscilla could be gone by the time the henchmen assembled, and if Shego was still in the shower – well, whatever the case, the intruder would be long gone before anyone could hope to catch her.

“Shego is more than I can handle, thank you,” he said stiffly, stepping toward the stairwell and nodding up it. He needed this woman out of his lair, before Shego could see her and he risked having another catfight on his hands. “Goodbye, please leave.” If only it was that easy. She understood the hint. No one was that stupid.

She still took her time sauntering over to him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said flippantly. “She’s not even giving you one-hundred percent.��

True, he wasn’t taking advantage of his accomplice’s full potential, but she did what he asked of her and that was enough. He still couldn’t stop his brow from scrunching as the intruder passed him and took the first step up. He nearly reached out to snatch her by an arm. “What do you mean?” he all but demanded.

The young woman paused to glance back. “She’s on drugs,” she answered simply, as though it were obvious.

And maybe it was obvious to anyone who knew the troubled superhuman. He’d like to think he knew her well enough. He’d smelled evidence on her before, and she’d made a friendly offer the other night and had the paraphernalia and everything. “I am aware she smokes—”

Priscilla Kimbley laughed, the single bark echoing up the stairwell, and she clamped her mouth shut as if only realizing now how well sound traveled in the lair’s stony corridors. “Nah, not that kind,” she said, toning it down to little more than a giggle. She set her hands on her hips, beaming down at Drakken, and he hated having to tilt his head to look up at the woman standing several steps above him now as she explained. “This shit puts her out cold. And I do mean cold. Total chill pills. Those megalomaniacs pulling the strings of that little superhero team of hers use it to keep her under control. I can get you some, if you wanna mess with it.” She gave a nonchalant shrug, as if offering to give him some miracle drug to control someone as dangerous and unpredictable as Shego was no big deal.

“I-I know about that too,” he bluffed. But did he really? He’d had a suspicion she’d been taking something, but it could have been anything. Truthfully he hadn’t given it much thought, but he wracked his brains quickly now.

When she’d first arrived, she’d skulked through his lair half-asleep occasionally, sometimes grumbling about withdrawals late at night amidst her unique issues – issues which were just now proving to be not as benign as he’d thought, if her crispy mattress had anything to say about it. If such a drug did exist, why in the world would she be back on it? Was she relapsing? She couldn’t be. She’d been so excited to use her full power when he’d made her the enhancing gloves – why would she self-sabotage herself to turn down the heat? Where would she have even gotten such a drug?

Drakken’s mind didn’t finish reeling through the possibilities before he blurted, “She doesn’t take them anymore—”

The intruder scoffed and reached into a pocket, producing a little orange bottle. She rattled the contents. “And you believed her?” she jeered down at him.

Drakken made a reflexive grab for the bottle but the woman held it out of reach with a wicked snicker before surrendering it without further difficulty. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It had to be just a bottle of aspirin, but the label – bearing a bar code and dosage with the instructions Take with food before bed, prescribed to simply Shego – looked legitimate enough, even if it didn’t clarify what the drug was. He trusted his accomplice leagues more than this shifty intruder, and he trusted her not to weaken herself – not to mention, if she was taking it, then she would have to be in contact with the supplier, Global Justice, and there was no way—

“I’ll let you sleep on it,” said Priscilla, interrupting his doubtful train of thought. She smiled again as she backed away up the staircase. “Roofie her if you don’t believe me. Only way you’ll get to have a little fun with her.”

He had plenty of fun with Shego – Vegas and the stolen station wagon were still fairly fresh in his mind – but as the words sank in, he concluded that spray painting graffiti and pushing cars off cliffs wasn’t the kind of fun this woman was suggesting. He opened his mouth to object, to defend himself or Shego or them both, but the intruder had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Maybe Shego hadn’t been over-exaggerating when she’d said the woman was not a friend. Maybe she’d had every reason to attack her when she’d arrived on her doorstep.

Stupefied for a second too long, he was late in diving up the stairwell, reaching out to grasp at open air, hoping to catch the invisible lady in his lair, but his hand met only empty air. “I am not drugging my partner in crime,” he hissed out, knowing she must still be near enough to hear him, and strained to listen for the slightest breath or shuffle of retreating feet.

He heard nothing.

Still clutching the pill bottle in one hand, daring not stow it in a pocket lest the intruder merely steal it back – invisiblity had to grant an innate talent for pick-pocketing – Drakken climbed the staircase a few steps more, his free hand outstretched and feeling uselessly for the invisible intruder. When he decided it was a lost cause, he let his hand fall and he snorted his frustration. An invisible woman who didn’t want to be caught would be a challenge to catch without a full sweep of the lair with infrared goggles, and he simply didn’t have enough for every henchman, nor did he have his own handy.

“I am not drugging Shego,” he repeated to himself, though as he returned to his office, pills in hand, he had to wonder how often she drugged herself. He tried to guess how many pills were in the bottle – the label specified 30 – and wanted to believe that most, if not all, were still accounted for. Where had Shego even gotten the pills? Had she brought them from Go City? She couldn’t possibly still be in contact with that rotten Global Justice – that would make her a spy, wouldn’t it? He trusted her not to be a spy. He knew it in his gut! Her brothers, on the other hand…

He shook his head but it didn’t clear up the plague of second thoughts he had now about his partner.

Drakken dropped himself down in his desk chair and pushed up his glasses to rub his weary eyes until stars burst behind his eyelids. Friday night, Shego had behaved especially strangely. He didn’t want to consider the possibility it wasn’t just the alcohol to blame – but he’d been sober enough at the time she’d stolen his cheese to make out her cursing to herself about needing to eat with something she damned with enough profanity to make a sailor blush. Looking at the bottle of pills now, the instructions take with food served as a jigsaw piece he didn’t want. The puzzle was coming together and he didn’t like the picture it formed.

How had Priscilla Kimbley gotten hold of Shego’s medication anyway? Were they working together, conspiring against him? No, of course not. Shego clearly had a beef with the woman, and she reminded him at every opportunity.

He’d very much like to believe Miss Kimbley was pulling his leg, but evidence pointed to Shego’s use of the mysterious medication. He shook the bottle around again and counted carefully – recounting at least two more times for good measure. There were a few missing. So what? That was proof of nothing. That Kimbley woman could have easily stolen a few. And if Kimbley had stolen them from Shego, then she would be missing them.

As Drakken was battling to convince himself that his companion wasn’t taking some strange chill pill provided by Global Justice, soft footsteps descending the staircase made him jump.

It was only Shego, in her googly-eyed owl pajamas and soft green slippers – not the sight one would expect in a lair of all places, but regrettably a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Her hair was still damp, and her voice was a little on the hoarse side when she croaked, “Hey,” in greeting.

Drakken didn’t realize how fast he could move until he’d stuffed the bottle in his pocket and come to stand beside her. “Are you ready for that movie now?” he blurted, though he wasn’t eager to watch it himself, if he was being honest. Somehow it felt like an appropriate change of subject.

She sniffed, nose stuffy, and gave a weak smile. “I’unno,” she said with an effort at dry wit, “are you ready to be cute and cuddly?”

His legs felt weak and his heart thrummed meekly against his ribs. He wasn’t cuddle material nor did he strive to be cute, yet the prospect she might think so gave him an itch to try it out anyway. “I-I’m—let’s not get ahead of yourselves,” he stammered with a nervous smile.

She reached out for his arm, fingers curling delicately into his sleeve. She didn’t inadvertently burn him when she touched him this time, though by the look of concentration skewing her face, she was trying hard not to. “You wanted to show me something?”

In that moment, he tried to forget just how nice she smelled fresh out of the shower, and tried to think of how lovely the orchid did instead. And then he sharply reprimanded himself – because giving the orchid a whiff when his nerves were high would only heighten them, and he didn’t need any mood enhancers, for good or for bad, at a time like this. Neither did Shego, for that matter, but he turned back for his desk and the biosphere anyway.

“Now, it’s not for keeps,” he warned, gesturing to his desk and the flower on it. “But it looks nice, no? Y-you probably shouldn’t sniff it. It has strong effects on the brain. Amplifies – uhm – maybe when you’re in a better mood.” The blossom was largely unstudied, but by what he had gathered, the potent flower could act as ecstasy or it could plunge a person into depression, and cause any number of wild mood swings depending on the circumstances.

He went on to explain the exotic pink blossom to her, the lengths he’d gone to cultivate it, and its potential – but she looked bored the entire time his mouth was moving. Maybe that Priscilla woman was right, he considered, disheartened as he set the biosphere aside. Shego really didn’t seem all that impressed by flowers, even flowers as difficult to grow as genetically-modified orchids in climate-controlled biospheres. He made a mental note to find some she did like – and corrected himself that it was only to prove Shego’s indifference wasn’t withstanding among all flowers. No one hated flowers that much, except maybe the odd villain or two who utterly despised healthy ecosystems.

Shego pulled at his sleeve. “Okay,” she said, sounding bored to death. “You like gardening. Great. Can we go back upstairs and play pretend now?” She seemed more stable now, at least.

Drakken couldn’t help a sigh. “Do I have to pretend to be cute and cuddly?” The idea still had him uncertain. Especially the idea of cuddling – a possibility seeming realer by the moment, and with her no less – well, it made his insides do a nervous jig. There were more productive ways to spend his time, and yet he was compelled to bend to her will.

She flashed an impish smile. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Good.”

“Because you already are, flower boy.” She turned away then with a small laugh at his grunt of indignation.

Despite what should have been an offence to his villainous ego, he followed her back up the stairs. His smile on her back faded though, and he reached almost involuntarily for his pocket and the pills in it. Pills prescribed by Global Justice.

Keeping his eyes up, he studied the back of her head, eyes inadvertently drawn to something that stood out against the sheet of black. Maybe he just hadn’t walked close enough behind her to see them before. There wasn’t much to see there on the back of her head – except, of course, a grey hair or two he hadn’t noticed until now with her hair damp and sticking flat around her shoulders.

Following Shego back to his quarters, Drakken tried not to stare too hard. She seemed too young for grey hair, but he was mindful enough to keep the thought to himself. She wasn’t older than she said she was, was she? No, of course not. He’d first met her as an awkward teenager – well, technically she still was a teenager – but it was only four years ago or so that he’d first encountered her. She’d been in rough shape, but thinking back, she’d still been very much a kid then. He hadn’t been in the best shape himself either, and he’d been in even worse shape when he’d ditched her at that lonely rest stop in the middle of nowhere.

Something about that fateful day echoed at the far reaches of his mind, just out of his grasp. Something about Subject B.

Drakken mulled it over as he made a fresh batch of popcorn while Shego sheepishly swept up the mess she’d made earlier.

It wasn’t until she was sitting on his couch, awaiting his return with the bowl, did it finally resound clearly in his head and out of his mouth. “Subject B is liable to break down in a matter of years,” he muttered incredulously to himself, staring down at the grey strands standing boldly against her unnaturally iridescent raven locks.

The thought of cellular damage crossed his mind. If her body hadn’t adapted to her alien power, the plasmic fire would have destroyed her years ago as surely as it would have anyone else’s who came in contact. Thankfully the first round of researchers had clearly been wrong about her – try as she might, Subject B hadn’t destroyed herself during the metamorphosis – but that didn’t mean they were entirely wrong, either. Without a so-called chill pill to suppress the flame, was she still at risk of hurting herself? Had Global Justice been doing her a favor by regulating her alien glow in some way?

Shego glanced back at him innocently, tearing her eyes off her movie. “What was that?” he barely heard her ask.

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, sitting down awkwardly on the far end of the couch, the bowl of popcorn set on the one cushion between them.

He tried to face the movie and eat popcorn one puff at a time from the palm of his hand while his companion snacked by the handful. He didn’t make it long before his eyes slid across to her, the thoughts still wreaking havoc in his head.

She caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” he blurted, gaze snapping away briefly. “Um. Actually.” He was sitting on the pill bottle in his back pocket. He shifted, but it didn’t make his rear feel any better. Unabashedly studying the woman in her pajamas now, the question “Are you on any special medication?” escaped his trap.

Shego quirked her brow at him, suspicion fleeting on her face, but she laughed awkwardly. She took a guess, “Like…what? Birth control?”

He had to dismiss that one the best he could, awkwardly scratching at his neck. “Ah, no. That probably couldn’t hurt, but no, I mean – what I’m asking is – I’m just wondering if you’re taking anything. That’s all.” He swallowed and waited.

She dropped the wry playful act, her glare hardening on him. “No,” she denied, though he could hear the lie laced in her tone alone. “What makes you think that?” She needed to work on her deception skills.

“Nothing. Nothing, just…” Drakken blurted, realizing he was just as bad. His own pulse thundered in his ears. If Shego had put Priscilla up to giving him the pills, she’d be expecting him to come clean, wouldn’t she? And if she hadn’t, she’d have to expect him to return the stolen item. And if they were stolen, and if she was on medication, then maybe she needed them. “Well, actually, you said something the other night. And I just thought, if they help…maybe you’d want these back. I believe these are yours.” Swallowing doubt and anxiety and anything else, Drakken fished out the bottle from his back pocket and held his hand outstretched, bottle in his palm for her to take.

Shego’s eyes locked on the bottle. She reached for it but withdrew her hand just as quickly, wringing her fingers. “No, thanks. I don’t need that shit,” she spat – only to change her mind in the next instant. Before he could argue it or retract the offer to return the medication, she snatched up the bottle and jumped to her feet.

“It might be for your own good, Shego,” he called, leaping up to follow her to the kitchen. Her hands were emitting green cinders as she fought with the child-proof lid. He smelled melting plastic. She was heaving for breath. She was angry. What was she so angry about? It was a damn good thing he hadn’t let her sniff the flower.

“Fuck off!” she shouted vehemently, chucking the bottle with full force in the general vicinity of his sink. The half-melted bottle shattered, little white pills scattering. Before the pills had even stopped bouncing, she scrambled forward to collect him, cursing to herself. “Whose side are you on anyway?” she snapped back at him, voice cracking, as he approached the kitchen island.

“Yours!” Drakken blurted in reflex. “I mean – I thought – I thought you were on mine, is what I mean. And if they help you, maybe you should—”

“No,” she spat. She was trembling, throwing every pill she found into the sink under the running tap. She slammed cabinet doors to find the switch for the garbage disposal. “No, no, no,” she repeated to herself, to every pill she disposed of. He heard her counting them under her breath.

Once the distraught superhuman was sure that every tiny pill had been thoroughly destroyed and washed down the drain, she hovered over his sink, shaking her head as she ran her glowing hands beneath the steaming stream of water while the garbage disposal snarled tirelessly.

Drakken was quiet for a long moment, standing cautiously on the other side of the kitchen island though he knew he wasn’t out of the danger zone. Once her tremors had subsided somewhat and the steam had stopped billowing, he crept forward, daring to stand beside her and shut off the faucet. When he reached for her shoulder, he was just about zapped by the energy radiating unseen from her body.

Despite the shimmer of unchecked green glow glistening over her skin, Shego turned sharply toward him, her face thudding into his chest and arms constricting around him, squeezing the breath out of him in a bear hug comparable to his mother’s. The only difference was Shego was not his mother, and her body burned like a furnace against him, namely her hands digging into his back. He winced. The plasma burns eating holes in his shirt would need lotion later.

Bearing it, Drakken squeezed his eyes shut, choosing not to look so closely at her grey hairs, evidence she might very well be breaking down in some way. She was certainly breaking down on an emotional level, anyway. Cute and cuddly, he reminded himself as he gingerly held her by the shoulders, desperately hoping to channel whatever cute and cuddly part of him she’d been hoping for tonight even if it wasn’t his normal.

He knew the third degree was coming when his companion went rigid and roughly shoved him back, an accusatory glare written across her face. Drakken didn’t wait for her to demand answers before opening his big mouth to spill the beans.

[rainphilosophy]

Comfort  Bill Skarsgard x Reader One-Shot

Warnings: Sexual content. NSFW.

Prompt: The reader is an actress doing a movie with Bill and her trailer is way comfier than his. He likes to chill there instead of his trailer and one thing leads to another.

Suggested by @jpie0522

~*~*~*~*~*~

Bill watched the acting scene before him with wide eyes, standing behind the cameras, occasionally sipping from the water bottle he held between his long fingers.

The scene carried on perfect and smoothly, Y/N was a natural. Everything she said had the ideal tone to it, every move she made and each little gesture she made was flawless. Bill would have believed anything she said without even doubting a word. Then again, that seemed to be the case of everyone around her. Her grace, sweetness and innate charm had whomever worked with her kissing the floor she walked in. And, unfortunately for him, Bill was no different. He found her enchanting, and more than once he found himself making up convincing excuses just to be able to remain close to her for only a few more minutes. Her company caused a string of discordant sensations in him. Being next to her was soothing as silk, as if he could lie with her for hours, simply listening to whatever she had to say. Yet, her touch and proximity also stirred in him a bolt of adrenaline that coursed through his veins and made him tremble.

Initially, upon the urgency to know each other more to connect better on screen, they accustomed to go out for dinner after wrapping a long day of filming. However, when winter struck, it had become so piercing cold outside; snow poured profusely, the floors covered in a thin but slippery layer of ice, and the roofs were sheathed in a white cloak. Y/N had suggested to order takeout instead, and huddle up within the warmth of her trailer. He had been happy to accept the offer, more than he cared to admit.

Some of his favorite moments replayed in Bill’s mind like a movie, as he continued to watch the scene that went on in front of him. He remembered how they had cuddled up in the small couch, he remembered how Y/N had snuggled up into his chest seeking warmth, and he had wrapped his arms around her little frame for the first time apart from their scenes in front of the camera. They had talked for most of the time, paying almost no mind to the film they had set on the TV. Since then, they had never gone out to dinner again, and every day after filming, Bill would quickly shower and would head straight for her trailer.

Although, the last few days they had been unable to continue their ritual, as the cold had catched up with Y/N, and she had opted for excusing herself from filming a few days to get better and not spread her cold. Needless to say, he missed her nightly company more than he thought he would.

Bill was violently snatched away from his thoughts when the director, who stood next to him, yelled “Cut!”

The actors and actresses began to scatter around in different directions, chatting amongst themselves and members of the crew. Sighing, Y/N separated herself from the rest, making her way over to where Bill stood. He received her with open arms and a chuckle, and she responded with a giggle of her own when he playfully pinched one of her rosy cheeks.

“Very impressive darling.”

“What are you doing here?” She inquired, smiling shyly at his compliment. “Today’s your day off. I thought you would be lazing in your trailer.” She said, while running her fingers through her hair and plucking out the bobby pins that held her bun, letting her locks fall one by one around her shoulders. Bill pauses, momentarily distracted by the sight of her long mane falling around her little face.

Clearing his throat, he focused on that she had said.

“I was bored. And I thought I’d come over to see you in action.” He said with a smirk. “Besides, my trailer isn’t as comfortable as yours.”

“That’s rubbish!” She protested, with a mouthful of pins.

“It’s true. Your sofa is much softer than mine.” He laughed, lifting his arm to pry out an astray pin from her hair, making her blush. “Anyway, you look so much better. I hope that means you’re not bailing out on me tonight.” He said, a hopeful glimmer glowing in his green eyes.

Y/N cheeks burned ever harder.

“I think I’ve ignored you long enough. Just let me change, meet me in my trailer in an hour”. She smiled sweetly before heading to the dressing rooms.

A while later, and earlier than he should, Bill was knocking on the door of Y/N’s trailer. A voice inside signaled him to come in, and so he did. Once inside, he found her sitting on the sofa with her legs pulled up, brushing her wet hair. She had showered and changed into a long, overworn sweater that reached her knees, and was barefoot.

“Hey”. Bill muttered with a smile, making his best effort not to look to much at her bare legs as he walked over to join her.

“Hey”. She responded back with a beam, although she was obviously exhausted. She slid the brush over the damp strands one last time before handing him the remote control.

“You pick the film.” She winked and walked away to discard the brush.

After they had agreed on a scary film, Bill lay along the length of the sofa, his long legs inevitably poking over the edge of it. With his back pressed against the backseat of the sofa and a blanket enveloping them, he held Y/N from behind, his arms wrapped tightly around her little frame.

Laying there with her tangled in his arms, he couldn’t help but imagining how easily he could get used to it. But that thought suddenly soured, as his mind wandered off to the idea of what would happen when the remaining weeks of filming came to an end. Thinking he would never again enjoy the peace her company gave him made him cling to her a little bit tighter.

He pressed his nose into her moist hair, and took in the fragrance of vanilla scented shampoo, body lotion and her natural perfume.

Unpremeditatedly, his fingers found the hem of her sweater, and when his fingertips made contact with the smooth skin of her thigh, he sighed and she tensed.

He froze, waiting for her to jerk herself away from him, but she did not do such thing.

As he buried his face further into her curls, his eyes detected a spot of bare skin that was not covered by them, and, completely driven by pure instinct and not a single drop of reason, he let his lips graze gently against her neck, before pressing them into a firm kiss. He lingered there, waiting for a response, and he got it when Y/N’s body seemed to melt into his. He smiled against her as he continued prepping small kisses along the nape of her neck, her shoulder, her jaw. He let his hand wander a little further, gently raising the fabric over her thigh.

The combination of his ridiculously large hand stroking her thigh and his lips pressed against the spot below her ear, elicited a soft moan from Y/N’s lips, which in response made Bill groan at the lovely sound. As the heat of the situation escalated to a dangerous point, Y/N squirmed in his grip, laying on her back to look into his eyes.  

“Bill…” She whispered, barely breathing. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know”. He mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning forward to run his nose against hers. “Do you want to stop?”

Y/N seemed to meditate his question for a few seconds, seconds which seemed never ending to Bill. She finally sighed.

“No. Not really.” His lips were immediately crashing down on hers. Bill kissed her with so much hunger and need she was almost taken aback. He shifted himself on the sofa so he could suspend himself above her, holding himself up by his arms, placed at either side of her head. His mouth was insatiable, his tongue nudging her lightly, asking for permission. She granted it by parting her lips, and she was soon tasting him. Y/N raised her arms up to plunge her fingers into his unruly chocolate brown locks, pulling softly. A pleasured moan came out from the depths of his throat and he kissed her even harder, his hands now far from idle, rolling up her sweater to glide his palms over her legs. Y/N felt an unknown and burning need to feel him against her, so she slid her hands from his hair, down his chest and into his waist, and yanked him on top of her. Bill barely missed a beat, his lips abandoning hers to replace them with the sweet skin of her neck, but this time he didn’t lay light pecks, instead letting his tongue taste her before sucking hard at her throat, earning a loud moan from her.

“You have no idea how much I want you, do you?” He whispered hoarsely into her ear, before playfully biting her earlobe. She mildly responded by raising her head to kiss his throat. He felt it burn, there were her lips touched him, and he groaned. He brought his forehead to rest against her, kissing her lovingly. “I need you. Now”. She cupped his face.

“I need you too. Please”. The sound of Y/N’s voice begging for him nearly made Bill go putty in her arms.

There would be plenty of time in the future to undress her slowly and leisurely. In that moment, the clothes that separated their skin couldn’t disappear fast enough. The dim light of the horror movie that still played on the TV offered the perfect light he needed to behold her naked body. He groaned at the sight of her, bending his head to cover one of her hardened nipples with his hot mouth, sucking hard and pulling at it with his teeth. Y/N quickly covered her mouth to stifle the scream that wanted to surface, but Bill snatched her hand away, looking up into her eyes.

“Don’t do that. I need to hear you, please.” She cupped his face again to pull him back for a kiss.

“Please Bill. I need you, please…” She implored, panting, and of course, he couldn’t say no to her.

He held himself up by his elbows, while Y/N fingers raked through his hair.

She closed her eyes when she felt the tip of his manhood nudging her core.

“Look at me Y/N. I need to see you”. She opened her eyes, in the exact moment Bill thrusted himself inside her, filling her to the hilt. A perfectly synchronized cry escaped both of their lips. He stilled momentarily, getting used to her, before rearing and driving himself back in. He repeated the action a few times before he established a rhythm, his hands fisting in her hair as he brought his mouth back onto hers, kissing her furiously.

An hour passed. Or maybe a few minutes, Bill wasn’t sure, when he felt Y/N’s body begin to shiver. Bringing his hand down between her legs and attaching his mouth to her nipples he continued ramming into her, until her eyes closed shut, her legs enclosured painfully tight around him and a strangled moan erupted from her throat. The pleasure her walls clenching around him brought was just too much. His arms shot forward and his hands gripped the arm of the sofa, veins popping out from the sheer force. He rocked forward a few more times until he couldn’t bear it no more, burying his face into her neck and letting go.

Bill dropped his weight on top of her, completely spent, and hummed when he felt Y/N tangling her fingers in his hair. When he regained some energy after a few minutes, he raised his head to peek at her and smiled.

“I think I’ll be staying in your trailer from now on, it’s definitely more comfortable than mine.” She dropped her head back and laughed.  

[azritesx3]

“A Devil’s Love” Chapter 9: Can You Hear Me?

Description: Chloe’s best friend is back, and Lucifer’s charm can’t seem to affect her either. Is she also a miracle child? Or something…more? [Story starts during S2 Ep4, Female Reader Insert]

—————————————-

AN: For those of you who read the Lucifer comics, in about 10 seconds you may be able to figure out where I'm getting ideas for Earth's background! *cheekydevilface* But don't spoil it for everyone! To those who haven't read the comics: please do. Then watch the tv series again. You'll love all the easter eggs.

AN: Updated July 25, 2020 - Grammar, Major story change

Rating: Teen Warning[s]: Swearing, Torture

Show Timeline: Season 2 after episode 15

Spotify Playlist /// AO3 Fanfiction Net Wattpad DeviantArt

Tag List: @ayanna-wild​, @anushay1998, @emiwrites3reads​, @i-am-canada-13​, @heart-of-pots-and-pans​, @tinyybiceps, @jessicarene99​, @lucifersnipnips​, @givemebooksorgivemedeath​, @sailor-earth-1

—————————————-

It's about that time. You can move your back again and when that happens, even just the smallest movement, punishment begins once more.

You lay on your dirty bed face first. It's faint now since they've been torn from you, but you can hear the Discarded coming down the hall. Slowly making their way to your door.

You slowly come to a sitting position. Legs hanging over, palms gripping the mattress, and a death stare at the door.

The heavy steel door opens and you're greeted with a small army of Discarded lead by the only other being alive besides you and Father.

"Please d...don't fight." The brown-haired boy steps into your room. A couple of the Discarded come in as well.

You grip the mattress tighter, "You always ask that. You should know what my answer is by now."

The boy sighs and moves his shoulders back. His wings come out and spread to their full length. He pulls out a familiar syringe.

You seethe at him, his wings, and the syringe.

It's not fair.

---------------------------------------------------

You wake with a start, expecting the whip's pain.

But no pain comes. Something's different.

You slowly open your eyes. This wasn't your old home of steel walls and chains. You're in what looks to be a jail cell, but with bars all around. You slowly lift your head, the pain from multiple hits causing you to blackout for a second. You move your body to carefully sit on the bed. Looking around, you see that the cell is placed in the center of a room. Like an animal's circus cage, put on display for all to see.

"Bout time you woke up." The voice startles you. You whip your head around, big mistake, and see a man sitting in front of your cell.

Despite your body's warnings, you lunge at the man, but that's when you realize your hands and ankles are bound by heavy chains.

"Hm, interesting…" the man says to himself. You squint to get a better look at him, but he positioned his seat to cover his top half in the room's shadow. All you can see is the man's expensive and lavish looking shoes, pants, and a heavy coat. He's also holding a cane on his right. You're not entirely sure, but the cane's top looks like a type of whale.

"Who are you?" You ask. Your voice is incredibly gruff and dry.

The man doesn't answer. He instead waves his free hand up and you hear a click to your right. Looking, you see the cell's door open and a man comes in. He's holding a glass of water and a plate with bread.

"Don't be stupid." The new stranger says.

Does he even realize he left the door open?

You run as fast as you can towards the opening, which was still pretty fast considering the situation your ankles are in, but you stop just short of freedom when a shocking sensation courses through your body. You scream and fall. Managing to keep your eyes open, you see that the bounds on your wrists and ankles are electric. When the pain stops you can see the man in the seat has a remote control.

Oh yeah. He knew.

"Told you. You all are always stupid." The stranger in your cell drags you back to your bed, "At least ya didn't hit me. Yous people usually hit me and ruin your dinner."

"A cop has a much better mindset than the usual ones I get hired to take. Sure it helps too that this one has been through something like this before." Says the sitting man, who you figure is the boss.

The man in your cell places the water and plate down on the floor in front of you. He then walks away and locks the cell door behind him, "That why you told 'im you need more money? Cause she'd be a feisty one?"

The boss doesn't answer. He lifts his hand in the same motion as before and you watch the stranger exit through a door behind his boss.

The boss crosses his legs, "I suggest you drink some water. It would be a shame to ruin your voice with all the questions you're about to ask."

You just stare at the shadowed man.

He sighs, "None of the water or food you receive will be poisoned. I wouldn't be as rich as I am if I let my captures die on me. Bad business practice that is."

You slowly pick up the cup and down its contents, keeping an eye trained on where you believe the man's eyes to be.

"Better now?" He asks after you put the cup back on the floor.

You stand up and shuffle over to him. You sit in front of the bars to be as face to face as possible. Unfortunately, you still can't make out any facial features.

"Who the fuck are you?" You hiss.

"Yes, I do suppose you were expecting someone else, but fear not little doe." The boss leans in so you can see his top half, but he keeps his head in the dark, "Your father shall have you back soon enough."

"Who are you?!" You yell. You grip the bars and shake your chains violently, "Are you with him?! Are you-"

"Hush down, doe." He leans back into the chair, "I am not a direct accomplice to your father. Never even met him. He just hired me to capture you."

"I am called The Kidnapper. America's most infamous person at making people disappear. I am a simple businessman, that's all. Nothing extra special than that. Can't say the same for you though."

Your head begins to pound again. You remove one hand from a bar to grip your head.

"Though I will be asking him if I can keep those fancy chains and the formula for that shot. Especially if I'm now going to be capturing you folk more."

"Stop…" you grit your teeth. The pain is becoming unbearable to the point where your nails start puncturing your head, "What…"

"Poor confused little doe." The Kidnapper tisks and stands, "You will remain here for one week. That is when the LAPD will consider your case cold and stop actively searching for you. That is also when you shall be dropped off to him."

No. Please…

"They'll find me…" you manage out. You squint up at The Kidnapper. He's silhouetted by the light from the open door, "They'll always be looking for me."

"Not when they have no leads."

---------------------------------------------------

An entourage of LAPD forces flood your home. Brighter lighting is set up in every dark corner. Ella and extra forensic workers are flashing their cameras constantly. Dan and other detectives inspect every nook and cranny of your place. Maze watches paramedics try to awaken Alice, who they moved onto the couch.

And Chloe, with all her might, is trying to not freak out about her BFF being kidnapped and her partner being completely out of it.

Lucifer hasn't moved an inch since they came. He still stands on your balcony. Hands still gripping the railing. He keeps his head held high. He stares at the night sky with burning eyes. His mind filling up with awful, monstrous thoughts.

He doesn't even budge when he hears Alice finally come to, but he does listen in:

"How are you feeling ma'am?" A female paramedic asks.

"Groggy." With the help of the paramedics, Alice rises to a sitting position, "Scared."

Lucifer turns his head.

"I don't want to bother you as soon as you wake up, Alice, but…" Chloe starts.

"No, it's completely alright." Alice moves so her legs are over the front and she sits straight, "We need to find Earth as soon as possible."

"Agreed." Chloe nods. Maze goes around Alice. Lucifer moves to lean against the frame of the balcony door.

"From what I could see everything looked completely normal in Earth's place." Alice begins as the paramedics look her over, "I go to the coat closet and notice the door slightly ajar. Right when I was about to call Earth a man came out."

"Did you happen to get a good look at him?" Chloe asks.

Alice shakes her head and looks disappointed, "No. He, and all the men that came out, were dressed in all black. The only part of their bodies that you could see were their eyes. Everything else was covered."

"Sounds professional." Dan comments.

"Sounds like they know better than to get hair or skin particles on anything," Ella says from the floor of your bedroom.

"But right before I fell I managed to scratch one in the eye! Look-" Alice raises her hand, then looks shocked. She brings her hand to her face to inspect her fingers.

"They...they washed my hands!" She yells.

"What?" Chloe asks, disbelief in her tone.

"Yes! Even under my nails!" Alice's eyes start to water.

"They also got rid of their shoe prints in the dirt of the plants," Dan says.

"And there won't be any prints since their hands were covered." Maze says, pissed.

"Damn it." Chloe hisses.

"This situation sounds familiar." Everyone, including Lucifer, looks up and sees Agent Monroe entering your apartment.

"Familiar?" Chloe questions.

"Throughout the years all around the country, there have been attacks like this." Monroe says as he walks to the group, "Usually the victim's place remains intact, but from the descriptions of these men and how no leads are found adds up."

"Who are these guys?" Alice asks.

Monroe looks at her, "They work for the-"

"The Kidnapper." Lucifer finally speaks, and it seems to startle the group. They all turn to him wide-eyed, then back to Monroe.

Monroe nods, "Yes."

"I've heard the stories, but doubt they were true. I just figured the 'missing' person simply didn't want to be found." Chloe looks between the two men.

"That's how the case gets closed after a time of no leads." Monroe replies, "But no, Detective Decker. Most of those 'mysterious' kidnappings are The Kidnappers doing."

"So, what happens now?" Dan asks.

"Now we continue scavenging this apartment from top to bottom, corner to corner, crack to crack." Monroe answers, "We'll still take a sample from underneath Ms. Alice's nail, despite them cleaning it, and we'll stare at the dirt on the balcony until we're positive we can't spot a print."

"Hey! I may have something!" Ella yells on the floor. When she looks up she notices that she's next to Lucifer's foot, "Good thing you didn't step this way, big guy!" She says looking up at him.

"Oh?" Lucifer says. He moves out of her way and the rest of the group, except for Alice, surrounds her.

Ella flashes a bright light on a spot on the floor, "Looks like I got a tiny bit of blood here! Still looks fresh too! And-" she takes her tweezers and lifts something from the ground. It's incredibly thin, almost impossible to see, but of course, Ella Lopez finds it.

"Is that-"

"Yup! A needle!" Ella interrupts Chloe excitedly, "No vial attached, but I'm hoping there's still some juice in it."

"Excellent finds Ms. Lopez." Monroe praises.

"Do we have a time limit?" Chloe asks Monroe.

"I'd say we have a week. That seems to be The Kidnapper’s favorite time length."

"Then let's get bloody started already!" Lucifer says. He pushes through the crowd and leaves your apartment. Chloe follows him and Dan, Maze, and Ella (with possible leads bagged) follow soon after. Monroe stays a while longer to help the other detectives and scientists find any more clues.

Day 1

---------------------------------------------------

"You're still mad at me." You said with a mouth full of pizza.

Your apartment was quiet save for the chewing of good pizza and the tv. Lucifer hadn't said a word since you asked what pizza he'd like. While he ate he just stared blankly ahead of him.

Your words finally got him out of that daze, "I'm not mad at you, darling."

"Then what's with the silent treatment?" You took another bite, "You always talk."

"Just pondering is all."

"About?"

"Who you're so scared of."

You sighed and leaned back on your couch, trying your best to sink into it.

Lucifer set his plate down on the coffee table and turned towards you, "Darling, I have hundreds of resources at my beck and call. Whoever is causing you fear I can take care of."

"You sound like the Godfather." You tried to joke. Lucifer didn't laugh though. He looked serious.

You sank further in. After moments of silence you caved, just a bit, "Lucifer, when I tell people they become leverage against me. Only Alice and Damien, who runs my NY clinic for me, know the whole truth. Chloe barely knows anything, but I'm afraid that because of my closeness to her she'll end up like-"

You stopped. Too much information.

You finally looked at him, "I don't want more people hurt."

"Better than a Godfather, I'm the Devil." You huffed and started to turn away from him, but Lucifer gently pulled you out of your hole and held your hands, "I hate to say it, but besides my Father and brother no one can really harm me."

"Amenadiel?"

Lucifer chuckled, "Absolutely not! I was talking about Michael. But-"

"How many siblings do you have?" You asked with a raised brow.

"Too many, though...one less." You saw that quick emotion of regret cross his eyes before he returned to normal, "K9 the point is, I can and want to help you. The fact that someone has this hold over you makes my blood boil."

"Why?"

"I…" Lucifer looked down at your joined hands. He squeezed them, then gently rubbed his thumbs on your palm, "I don't know." He looked back up to you, "Please, darling."

You looked at him. That strange feeling in your chest grew, making you want to spill everything to him and cry.

But you can't.

You squeezed his hands then pushed them, him, away, "I can't, Lucifer." You said with a regretful smile, "I'm sorry."

The defeat from his eyes and body made you hate yourself, but this was for the best.

"I...can tell you the other reason I left. Chloe knows this one, as well as everyone else."

---------------------------------------------------

Lucifer leans against his glass railing, looking at the LA sunset while lost in the memory. He takes one long huff of his cigarette and slowly blows it out.

"Hey." Chloe comes up behind him and leans with him.

"Detective." He says distantly.

"You ok?" She asks. Worry clear in her voice and eyes.

"Depends." He says and flicks the ashes off the bud. He watches the particles fall to the street, "Any news?"

Chloe looks at the sunset. With a sigh, she says, "No. The lab is still trying to get DNA from that little blood sample."

"Then I'm bloody fantastic, Detective." Lucifer spat out.

Chloe watches him take another long drag of his cigarette. She sighs and goes to leave him. No sense in trying to talk to him when he's in this kind of mood.

"Detective."

Chloe turns around and looks at Lucifer's back. Surprised, she says, "Yeah?"

"Do you know why K9 left?" He asks the sun.

"Um yeah," Chloe is confused now, "To get away from her adoptive family. They were horrible to her and she wanted an escape from them, but Lucifer," she takes one step closer to his back, "I questioned the Hammers already, and they were very adamant in not even knowing she was back. Which I expected." Chloe moves closer to place a hand on his shoulder, "I'm confident they don't know anything."

"Of course." Lucifer's reply is still distant, "Just curious is all, Detective."

Chloe wants to say something to cheer him up, but she's not sure what. So, she pats his shoulder and leaves.

Lucifer takes in one last drag, "Of course she doesn't know anything. She told you as much didn't she?" He flicks the bud off the railing and stares at his disappearing sun:

"You should have told me, K9."

Day 2

---------------------------------------------------

Day 3

Chloe and Dan are inside Ella's lab. For the tenth time, they look through all the photos taken of the crime scene. The entire lab table is covered in photos.

Chloe snaps first, which makes Dan's head rise up. This was very uncharacteristic for his ex-wife, but then again this is her closest friend in danger.

"What is taking so long?!" Chloe hisses. She grinds her teeth and mindlessly moves photos.

"It was only a small, very small, sample found Chloe," Dan says.

"I know, but this is a cop! One of ours taken!" Chloe's hands ball into fists.

"You know Monroe took Ella to the FBI's lab for better testing."

"Which means it should be faster getting a result! Besides…" Chloe breaths in and out. Calming her herself down, she starts to look somber, "I'm starting to worry that the blood sample won't be of who we need."

"Chloe." Dan reaches across and takes hold of Chloe's hand. He gives her hand a small squeeze, "We're going to find her."

Chloe doesn't seem to hear him though. At least, she doesn't nod her head or look him in the eyes.

Dan sighs. Pulling back he looks through the windows behind Chloe, "Where's Lucifer?" He asks, agitated. Lucifer is her partner. Why isn't he here helping?

"He's not in the right mindset to help, Dan."

"Really?" Dan scoffs.

Chloe looks up at him, "What?"

"Just doesn't seem like Lucifer to get so worked up, unless he and Earth are closer than I thought."

"Lucifer cares about his friends, Dan." Chloe snaps.

"I think it's more than just that, Chloe."

"CHLOOOEEE!" Chloe was just about to question Dan further when she hears her name being yelled. Chloe looks behind her and sees Ella zooming down the stairs and running towards her lab door.

Chloe quickly opens the door so the poor woman doesn't run into it. Ella skids to a halt and slams a folder down on the table, causing numerous pictures to fall.

"I GOT HIM!" She yells triumphantly.

"What?" "Who?" Chloe and Dan say together.

"That blood sample is, by the Big Guy's grace, from one of the invaders!" Ella opens the folder and spreads out the info. Dan and Chloe stand behind her as they look at the results.

"His name is Jerry Carter." Ella starts, "Age 23. Has no current criminal record."

"Sounds like it might've been his first job." Dan comments.

"Yeah, poor kid." Ella shakes her head. She pulls out a page, "But from the looks of all these addresses, definitely someone who would work for the elusive Kidnapper."

"My God." Chloe takes in all the addresses, "The Kidnapper seems to move all throughout California."

"With a time frame of a year too," Ella says. She points to all the dates and sure enough, each one is about a year apart.

"This will take longer than four days to stake out each one," Dan says. He looks up to Chloe and sees the worry in her eyes.

"It will definitely take a long time, but Monroe has a bunch of teams already going to half of these places." Ella points to the locations marked with a star, "He gave these to us because they're closer."

"Let's get started then." Detective Decker is back on the job, and that makes Ella and Dan smile.

Ella and Dan leave to recruit some of the K9 officers to help out because, despite Miller's betrayal, a lot of your officers love you.

Chloe sends a quick text to Lucifer.

---------------------------------------------------

Day 4

Within 24 hours Monroe's team found Jerry Carter. Much to Chloe's disappointment, however, Monroe took him to the FBI base instead of the precinct.

"I understand you want to find your comrade and friend, Detective Decker, but you and others in the precinct are too personal. I need Mr. Carter to talk, not feel threatened." Is what Monroe told Chloe when she showed up at the base.

Much to Chloe's confusion and worry, Lucifer didn't seem too upset or bothered by it.

---------------------------------------------------

Day 5

Another 24 hours later, Chloe's phone rings.

"Decker." She answers.

"Hello, Detective Decker. This is Agent Monroe." Monroe's professional voice comes through.

"What's the story?" Chloe says. She's on the edge of her seat.

"Mr. Carter told us about their attack on Ms. Earth, and he gave a few of the Kidnappers holding locations, but my gut is telling me he knows more."

"Lucifer can get it out of him," Chloe says immediately. Lucifer looks down at her with a raised brow. He just arrived.

"I do have impeccable timing it seems." Lucifer comments.

"That's precisely why I'm calling, Detective. I've heard about Lucifer's talent at getting people to talk, and with only two days left we need Mr. Carter to talk." Monroe replies.

"Agreed." Chloe looks up at Lucifer and nods, "We're leaving now."

The FBI base in California is far from the LA precinct. Chloe was disappointed when Monroe found the guy, but now she's worried that since Jerry was found so far away that meant you were far away too. She knows there's no time to waste now.

The ride to the base was about two and a half hours and during the whole drive, Lucifer said nothing. Chloe tried to get him to talk, to ease her nerves, but he'd reply with short answers or a simple hum.

Lucifer seems to start back to life when Chloe parks at the base. They both quickly exit the car and head inside the building.

"Thank you for coming-"

"Where is this chap?" Lucifer interrupts Monroe.

Monroe motions for the two partners to follow him. After some lengthy corridors, they stop in front of a metal door.

"Mr. Carter refused to answer with all our eyes on him. So, we moved him to this more secluded spot. We can't see or hear what's being said inside, but there's a recorder working on the table." Monroe says.

"Wonderful." Lucifer smiles. Chloe should be happy to finally see one from Lucifer, but that particular smile made her feel uneasy.

Monroe opens the door for Lucifer. Chloe tries to squeeze in but he stops her, "I think it's best for just Lucifer to talk to him. If he's as good as your reports say we need no other distractions."

Chloe, reluctantly, agrees. She watches the door close behind Lucifer. Monroe motions for her to take a seat next to him on the opposite wall. She has to do more waiting.

---------------------------------------------------

You stood behind your vet clinic. You've just finished your last surgery for the day and you needed a breather.

Leaning back against your building you listened, well half-listened, to Lucifer on the phone. Day three of the stakeout with no results.

Instead of being focused on the conversation Lucifer was trying to have with you: a case that led him to the most expensive school in California and something about igniting a blade, your mind continued to replay the nightmare, or maybe memory, you had a night before.

All around you is nothing but trees, grass, and dirt. You take a deep breath in. The air tastes so good here. You want to stay here forever.

But you know your Father is going to find you. You have to be quick.

You kneel on the ground and place your palms together, something you've seen your brother do when he can't find Father. You've also seen your Father do this when calling for the lonely red man.

In your mind you scream for help. Scream for freedom, and tell your location as best you can.

You stand and quickly run back to your cage, so as not to be caught.

What may have been days later, you wake to a cold aura staring at you.

You squeezed your eyes shut and closed out Lucifer's voice more to try to remember the image in front of you, but all that came back was the same memory that flashed before you in Lucifer's bathroom.

A man. Strong and muscular under his white armor. His wings darker than your darkness.

"Who are you?" You ask.

You notice his grip tighten on his sheathed sword, "He has heard you and has sent me to give you what you seek." His voice is booming. His voice is cold.

You shiver.

In a movement you couldn't see, the man appeared behind you. He grabbed hold of your--

Static started filling your mind.

He pulls.

You scream.

You gasped for breath and slid to the ground. You heard Lucifer's distant voice call out to you, and saw that you had dropped your phone.

You scrambled for your phone, "I'm fine!" You said quickly.

"Sure as hell doesn't sound like it, darling. Did you see dog boy?" Lucifer's voice sounded concerned.

"What? Oh, no. No. I was just, um." You took a shaky breath in and breathed out. No point in lying, "It's just I had a bad nightmare last night. I can't get it out of my mind."

"A silly little nightmare makes you react that way? I'm going to need to have a chat with an old friend."

"I'm fine, Lucifer. Really." You swallowed the lump in your throat, "Actually...I've got a question for you."

"Oh? Do ask."

"Ok, so I'm going to pretend for a second that you're actually the Devil-" Lucifer sighed on the other end.

"Lucifer, do you...um...hear people?" You asked.

"Every day, darling. I'm hearing a bunch right now." He replied humorously.

You sighed and rubbed your temple, "No, Lucifer. I mean…" You swallowed again. This was such a ridiculous question.

"Do you hear prayers?"

"Ah." Lucifer went quiet.

You panicked, "Yeah, dumb question. Was just humoring you-"

"I do, well used to. Still can, I should say." He suddenly replied, "I'm sure you can imagine the kind of prayers the Devil gets. I got sick of it." He said with a hint of venom.

"What is it, like, an on-off switch?" You joked.

"I wish." He replied seriously, "No, K9. I had to train for many centuries to have those twisted requests quiet down."

"Oh…" You weren't sure how to react, "So, what happens now when people pray to you?"

"I may have a slight buzzing in my mind every now and then, but I've grown to ignore them."

"Ok." You replied, accepting the answer.

"So, do you believe me now?" He asked hopeful.

You scoffed, "Of course not, Lucifer. It was just a rhetorical question."

"Blast."

---------------------------------------------------

You're pulled from your daze by the footsteps and murmurs outside the door.

You slowly rise from your cot and walk to the front of your cage to hear better. You're not sure how many days it has been, but obviously significant enough to weaken your body and make your stomach scream. The bread and water these people gave you were not enough. It was like they were purposely weakening you.

That thought is only further proven with how many times you've been shocked. Every now and then your body would react like it was being shocked when no one was around with the damn remote. Not a good sign.

Besides the men that came to give you the food and empty your waste bucket, you've had no company since the Kidnapper himself on day one. It made you stir-crazy, but one good thing is that you could hear better in the silence.

You press the side of your face to the bars and push as far out as you can. You pick up some chatter.

"Can you believe it?"

"Not good for Jerry, that's for sure."

"Has this ever happened before?"

"No, but considering how the boss ain't worried it's no big deal. Cops only got two days before we leave."

"Right. Smooth sailing, eh?"

The voices laugh, then become too hard to hear as they walk away.

Two days?

"You will remain here for one week. That is when the LAPD will consider your case cold and stop actively searching for you." The Kidnapper's voice comes through your mind.

You panic.

Shit. Shit shit shit!

You stumble backward and trip on your ankle chains. Your still wounded head pounds madly. You slowly go into a kneeling position and wait for the stars to go away.

If you had enough water in your system you'd be crying right now.

Instead, you lift your heavy shocking cuffs and stare at your dry palms.

You contemplate.

---------------------------------------------------

"Hello there Jerry-boy!" Lucifer sing songs into the room.

Lucifer takes in Jerry's Carter appearance with a smile as he sits across the man. Curly brown hair, white, brown eyes, petite build. No one special.

Good.

"I already told ya'll everything I know," Jerry says. He looks Lucifer up and down.

"Ah, these FBI chaps don't think that's the case, Jerry." Lucifer's smile is wide. His eyes don't match it. "So, they asked me here to persuade it all out of you."

"Ya can't hurt me." Jerry sits confidently, "Who even are you?"

"Oh! Where are my manners? Lucifer Morningstar." Smile still on, Lucifer holds out his ringed hand.

Jerry doesn't take it. Instead, he scoffs and rolls his eyes, "Right. First my boss goes all crazy sayin' an angel spoke to him, and now I'm talking to the Devil. Ya'll Californians are crazy."

"Well that's some new info spilled." Lucifer leans in, "An angel spoke to the Kidnapper?"

"Ain't like them government jockeys would believe it. 'Course another crazy would." Jerry crosses his arms and leans back.

"Hm, well as interested as I am that's not what I'm here for." Lucifer stands, "The Kidnapper took a friend of mine, and I want her back." Lucifer holds his hands behind him and slowly walks around the table, "I believe you're the one that attacked her, correct?"

"Everyone was attacking her, buddy. Freak of nature if ya ask me. Never seen a bitch fight like 'er."

Within a blink of an eye, Lucifer has Jerry hoisted up in the air with one hand and the other hand pushing down the pause button on the recorder. Lucifer's smile turns twisted as he watches Jerry try to squirm free.

"That's not a very nice thing to say, Jerry-boy."

"Let me down you fr-" Jerry freezes mid insult. His mouth is still open, his eyes are as wide as saucers, and he's visibly shaking.

"See something you like?" Devil Lucifer is out, red eyes and skin. His smile is still twisted.

Lucifer plops the human back on the metal chair and leans in close, "When I press play you are going to give me every location of your boss's holdings. You are going to give me names and in the future, I will find you again so you can properly apologize to dear K9 and tell us about this angel."

Lucifer stands straight, "Are we clear Jerry-boy?" Jerry is still in frozen mode. Lucifer sighs and slaps him across the face, making Jerry fall face-first on the metal table.

Lucifer pulls his head up by his hair and burns his red eyes into Jerry's soul, "I said are we clear?"

"Yesyesyesyespleasedon'thurtme." Jerry says all at once.

Lucifer returns to normal and smiles, "Wonderful." He let's go of Jerry and presses play, "I believe you have information to spill Jerry-boy?"

And spill Jerry did. He lists every location the Kidnapper holds people in California, places where the man himself could be staying, and gives names on every accomplice he knows of. Satisfied, Lucifer leaves the broken human with a smile and strides out of the room.

"So?" Chloe fast walks to her partner looking hopeful.

"You know me, Detective." Lucifer winks at her and she smiles back.

"Thank you, Mr. Morningstar," Monroe says sincerely and quickly walks in the room to grab the recorder. When he returns he tells Chloe to call her trusted co-workers to meet them at the base. Once everyone arrives Monroe leads everyone to an interrogation room. He places the recorder on the table and hits play.

Lucifer stands in a corner while everyone else writes down notes on their pads. The back of his head starts to itch and he scratches it, a bit too forcefully.

"You ok?" Chloe whispers to him.

"Hm? Oh yes." Lucifer forces his arm down and smiles at his partner. "Just an itch."

A persistent itch.

---------------------------------------------------

24 hours left

You sit against your bars with your back towards the door. You don't move when you hear the door open and footsteps come towards you.

"You've got 24 hours, little doe. Then you'll be back home." The Kidnapper says behind you.

"Home." You whisper out. You twist around to look at him and are surprised to actually see him. You take in his details carefully. Grabbing hold of the bars with shaking hands you push your face against the bars.

"I'm going back to Hell."

"Yes well, normally I don't regret my job, but in your case…" He sighs and walks closer to you, "Sorry doe. I'm protecting the human race by doing this. Your Father said so."

You lean away from him and stare, "You're just as crazy as he is, as I was."

He shakes his head, "No little doe, you've forgotten. Forced to forget. This is the only reason I have regret in this, but you'll remember. Eventually." He turns away and walks out the door, leaving it open as a joke.

You start to shake and hyperventilate. You crawl over to your cot and kneel, hands together.

Lucifer. You pray to him.

Please, Lucifer. I'm banking on this. I've got nothing left. I don't know how far I can get in this state. If anything you said is true, please. Please save me.

Can you hear me? Please, hear me.

---------------------------------------------------

3 hours left

Lucifer and Chloe have been out since early morning checking out locations. Each one had been a bust so far, and Chloe was starting to get worried. She knows time is running out.

Meanwhile, her partner was getting agitated by the hour. She thinks it's because of them having no luck. When in truth, though that definitely is a reason, the insistent itch in Lucifer's mind was not going away.

Bloody Satanists. Dad only knew why now he was having trouble calming the prayers, but he's getting sick of it. It's getting in the way of finding you and Lucifer wasn't having it any longer.

While Chloe talks on her phone to give Monroe, Dan, and the other groups another no go update, Lucifer stays further back. He shuts his eyes and lets the voices in.

Of course the usual murderous pleas and psychopathic prayers came flooding through, but Lucifer focuses his mind on the one new soul who keeps hounding him.

Lucifer.

No...that can't be right. Lucifer focuses on this voice.

Seriously, Lucifer. I'm starting to feel like a hopeless idiot in this cage.

It is! Lucifer’s eyes open wide in shock and joy, but doing so shut your voice out. He quickly focuses once more and instantly hones in on your prayers. He listens intently while searching for your location.

He sees you in a cell, kneeled by an uncomfortable-looking cot. He looks around to see empty space. He looks further out, and now he's in tight hallways.

Still not enough!

He goes as far out as he can without losing your connection. He sees what looks to be a ship's haul with a rope embroidery stamp and hears water, as well as other humans getting the ship into gear.

There!

His eyes open and he runs to Chloe, "DETECTIVE! I KNOW WHERE SHE IS!"

---------------------------------------------------

30 minutes left

You haven't moved from your stance since you started praying to Lucifer. Your body felt stiff, but you're ready for whatever comes next.

You hear the door open and footsteps come to your cage door, "Time to get going, sweet thing."

The man opens the door, comes to your back, and lifts you up by the underarms. You slam the back of your head into the man's face and keep steady while he stumbles back. Ignoring the stars you see, you spin around and wrap your chains around the man's neck. His eyes bulge at you. One hand grabs at your neck while the other reaches into his pocket to pull out the shock remote.

He presses it and starts to smile at your pain, but you push through and tighten your chains around his throat. His face turns blue and you twist your arms to crack his neck. You fall to the ground from the constant shock and blindly grab for the remote. You click it off and smash it to pieces.

You give your body a minute to stop convulsing, then stand and shuffle out the cage and to the edge of the door. You listen from inside the room and can hear some kind of commotion coming down the right hall. You peek out of the door frame, look from side to side, and then shuffle down the right hall.

---------------------------------------------------

"LUCIFER!" Chloe yells at her partner as he storms out of her car and heads for the ship. "We need to wait for backup!" She yells getting out of her car.

"No time for that, Detective! The ship's ready to sail!" He yells without looking back.

Lucifer walks straight to the ship. He knocks out a couple of unsuspecting dock workers then walks onto the ship.

It's massive, but thanks to your prayers he knows just where you are.

He takes a couple of stairs down then hides in the shadows at the sound of voices. He pulls out a pocket knife and runs it across his palm.

He smiles when he doesn't bleed.

Good girl, Detective.

"Hey, freeze!" "Who the hell are you?!"

The two men walking down the hall pull out their guns and aim it at Lucifer when he comes out.

"Here to rescue someone, chaps. Now if you'll excuse me-"

The men shoot as soon as Lucifer takes a step. He stumbles back, but smiles viciously.

"Now, why'd you have to do that?" Lucifer changes his face and the men scream. They fire relentlessly as Lucifer walks to them. Lucifer slams the men against either side of the walls and continues forward.

Eventually, he comes across a more open room that's connected to other halls. He wants to go down the hall you're in, but there are a dozen or so men holding him at gunpoint.

"You know, I expected someone like the Kidnapper to have better defensives than this. Shame, really." Devil Lucifer speaks to the crowd.

"Holy fuck-" "It is true! Everything the boss said-" "We can't fight the D-" "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP AND FIRE!"

---------------------------------------------------

You just finished bashing your chains against your third victim when you hear the gunshots coming from up ahead.

You stumble forward. Along with your constant shaking body, pounding head, and fatigue, that last guy gave you a gut-wrenching punch and a bullet wound on your thigh. It's just a graze, but losing blood is something your body can't take right now.

By the time you get close to the opening of a new room the gunfire dies out and it's just screams. You brace yourself for a couple of seconds, then storm the best you can into the room.

You freeze. Bodies of men lay all-around a singular man standing in the center of the room. His back is towards you, but you recognize that kind of suit anywhere.

But his head...where is his hair?

"Lucifer?" You choke out.

He turns, and you come face to face with the Devil himself. His skin is charred to an awful degree. The white of his eyes are pitch black to make his blood-red eyes pop.

Lucifer smiles, "K9! I-" he starts to walk towards you, but stops at the look on your face.

"It-it's true. It's all true."