#but dear lord there's nothing better than topping someone that could snap you in half | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 4 years

Text

The Evening Emerald

Word Count: 11,662

Content warnings: mentions of child abuse, abuse (both physical and mental), death threats, talks of death, alcohol mention,

Virgil reached his arm out to hook his middle finger around a brush and dragged it over, not wanting to drop any of the sections of hair he’d been holding. His step-sister snapped at him when he pulled slightly to grab the brush properly. He murmured an apology as he brushed a section out before carefully braiding it into another section. In another half hour, the elaborate hairstyle was finished.

In yet another half hour, his step-family was off to yet another party they hadn’t bothered trying to bring him to. He knew not many of those they kept company with even knew he existed. Sighing, he cleaned up the workstation and started on washing the dishes. It gave him something to do while his thoughts churned.

He wanted to get away from this household. His father had owned this house and land before he’d passed and, as his child, Virgil had inherited it. His step-father, married to his father shortly before the dear man’s demise, ran the house with an iron fist instead. Virgil was under his thumb and, having been beaten any time he tried to take command or even have the slightest bit of autonomy, he knew he wouldn’t be able to take it by force.

He moved on to scrubbing the counters and sweeping the floors as he thought. The only way he could get the land back is if he saved enough money to buy it or if he married someone rich. He couldn’t see either situation working as his step-father had hidden him away from society for so long that it had forgotten of his existence and he was never able to earn anything. Even so, he’d filched the odd coin or so from the maids or passing milk man enough that he had a sizable coin purse squirreled away.

Just as he was finishing his chores for the night, a knock sounded at the front door. Virgil waved a maid away, telling her to go on to bed, and answered it himself. The pouring rain met him, as did an elderly woman. “Please, young man, could you spare a crust of bread? Perhaps a small cup of water? I don’t want to be too much of a bother.” She shivered in the night air and her soaked clothing.

Virgil smiled, gently guiding her inside. “It’s cold out there, madam. Cold and wet. The master of the house won’t be home for another hour or so. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you drying off by the kitchen fire and having some of the leftover soup. It was going to be thrown out in the morning for the dogs anyway. Seems it could do you more good than it can the dogs.”

“You’re too kind.” She said, gratefully taking his aide.

He only released her once they’d arrived in the kitchen. Settling her in a chair, he stoked the flames and went to grab the soup. He put it on the hearth to warm up again, sitting to talk with her in the meantime. She ate the soup and smiled kindly at Virgil, thanking him for his hospitality. Just as she was about to leave, Virgil heard the carriage pull up to the door.

Quickly, he ushered the elderly woman to the back door and gave her hurriedly whispered directions back to the main road. Then, he had to almost run through the house to get to the front hall just as his step-family walked inside. They didn’t seem suspect at all and wished to go straight to bed. Virgil checked the back door once they were upstairs and, finding the old woman had left, redid all the kitchen chores.

It was close to dawn by the time he finished, prompting him to simply lay down by the dying fire for warmth and a quick cat nap. When the sun rose, he would have to get up and start his morning chores but for now he slept.

~~~~~~

A maid’s foot ramming into his side woke him. She gave him a whispered apology and an explanation that he was late in his duties and she had been scolded into doing it. Virgil took over, rushing to get everything ready before his step-family got too angry. He carefully balanced all three trays on his arms, one held in the crook of his elbow and the other two in his hands.

He gently set one down on a hall table to free his hand so he could open his step-brother’s door. The man groaned and rolled away from the light. Virgil set the tray from the crook of his arm on his bedside table before moving to throw the curtains open, still balancing a tray. His step-brother groaned again but sat up and threw a pillow at him.

Virgil expertly dodged it and moved to the door, closing it and picking up the tray from the hallway. He moved on to his step-sister’s room and did the same routine, not even getting a pillow lodged at him for his efforts.

Finally, he approached the bedroom at the end of the hall. When his father had still been alive, that door had always stayed open and Virgil had been allowed to come and go as he pleased. Laughter had always echoed from there when his mother had been alive, still there to some extent after her passing but not the same. Now that his step-father lived there, the door was always closed and laughter was rarely heard.

Virgil carefully opened the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. his step-father was already sitting up in bed when he entered, glaring daggers at him. “I don’t appreciate being kept waiting so long for my breakfast.”

Virgil dipped his head as he placed the tray over the man’s lap, moving to open the curtains. “My apologies, sir.” He knew better than to offer an explanation, preferring not to have the milk container thrown at the back of his head again.

When he stepped back from the curtains, his step-father spoke once more. “There is a list of chores I expect to have completed before you go to bed tonight on my side table.”

Virgil again bowed his head, coming close enough to retrieve the list before he departed, closing the door behind him. He didn’t look at the list until he had made it back to the kitchen. “Scrub the dining hall floors, sweep the front steps, clean out the root cellar, polish the mirrors, clean the windows, polish the silver, tidy the rooms, dust the guest rooms, who even uses the guest rooms?!” His voice rose in indignation.

The cook snickered as she pulled rolls from the oven. “I don’t know, sir, but breakfast should be done in a few minutes.”

Virgil smiled, his anger dissipating. He moved over and kissed her on her plump cheek. “Thank you kindly, Mandy, but it seems I have too many chores to stop for food. I’ll have to charm you out of a slightly larger lunch than usual.”

She swatted at him as he made his escape. “You be sure to eat lunch, young master!”

Virgil raised a hand in acknowledgment before going out to the yard. Looking over his list again, he noted some of the more laborious tasks even as he started his morning chores. The morning was slow as he worked his way through the chores and the list, especially as his step-family continued to add to it throughout the day.

When noon came around, Virgil was flagged down by Mandy and sat on a stool, forbidden from getting up until he’d finished what she’d given him. He was starting his list again at the stairs, sweeping them and the courtyard, when a messenger came in.

“Letters for the household.” She said gruffly.

Virgil nodded, holding his hand out. “I’ll take them in, thank you.”

He flipped through them, finding some from various lords or ladies around the kingdom, most likely asking for someone’s hand in marriage, but paused when he came to the royal seal. Hurriedly, he took the mail to his step-father, shuffling it to put the royal message with the red seal on top and brought them in.

Virgil’s step-father gathered his two children around him, Virgil standing in the corner where he usually was, before opening the invitation and reading it aloud. “A decree from the desk of the king: A masquerade ball will be held on three consecutive nights in honor of our Prince Patton’s engagement to our neighbor’s Prince Remus. Everyone of marriageable age from every household is invited to attend. The first ball starts at eight o’clock tonight.”

Virgil watched his step-family jump for joy, his step-sister rushing to find an outfit to wear while his step-father and step-brother shared a scheming look. Virgil felt a buzz in his own emotions as he thought he might be able to sneak out and attend at least the first one. The other two nights were a prime time for him to sneak away. His funds were low but not so low that it was impossible. He didn’t dare ask if he could attend as he didn’t want to have more chores piled on nor to be locked in his room as he knew his step-father wasn’t above doing something like that to keep him at home.

After he exited the drawing room, he paused and overheard their conversation. “We must do it tonight, it’s the only logical time to do it.” his step-father said.

“Yes,” his step-brother responded, “tonight is the perfect opportunity. And, if we don’t get the opening we need, we’ll just use the other two nights as back up.”

“By the end of the week, Prince Logan Aeron will be dead.” A sinister chuckle followed his step-father’s proclamation.

Virgil’s hand flew to his mouth, stifling a gasp. They were plotting high treason!

Instead of reentering the room, he sped up his chores while still doing them with barely a flaw. He slowed down just enough to look busy when his family left before rushing to his attic chamber. He had managed to hide one of his father’s old suits in his closet and carefully pulled it out. Red wasn’t really his color and he had no mask to go with it but it was better than nothing. Come sleet or high water, he was going to warn the prince of the assassination attempt!

He rushed down the stairs and, wearing his best shoes, he exited out the back door. Just as he was exiting the yard, the old woman from the night before rounded the corner and smiled at him. Waving her hand, she transformed from a bent old woman in rags to an old woman with a wand and flowing robes. “Hello, child.” She said.

Virgil wanted to tell her that he was hardly a child but he couldn’t find the words.

“I was touched by your consideration and generosity last night so I’ve come back to bestow a wish upon you. Please, tell me what you desire most.”

Virgil found his voice. “I want to go to the ball. Just once, I want to enjoy life.” He needed to warn the prince but that wasn’t a want. After all, the fewer people who knew about this the better.

She smiled, waving her wand. “Then so it shall be.”

Butterflies flew from the nearby garden to circle around Virgil, lifting him off the ground slightly. When they set him down, his whole attire had changed*. He’d been given a delicate purple mask that hid the upper half of his face but left space for his eyes, a deep purple dress with butterflies decorating the bottom and becoming more scarce until they stopped at the waist, purple gloves that matched the dress and had the same lace pattern as the ends as the mask, and crystal shoes that loosely resembled ballerina slippers with ribbons that wound up his calves and stopped just short of his knees. He twirled, feeling light as a feather and just as gorgeous.

“Thank you! Is there anything I must know?”

“This only lasts until midnight, it will revert back to your former clothing at that point. However, it will last all three nights if you so choose to return then, a different outfit each time.” She winked. “For variety.”

That deal was too good to pass up. Virgil agreed and was given a carriage to ride in to the castle. He arrived just as the clock struck half past eight, entering the ballroom shortly after. He was met with a wall of noise and color as people swirled on the dance floor, some standing off to the side talking, others holding plates and glasses from the refreshments table. Virgil moved forward and started mingling with the other guests, doing a good job at staying away from his step-family but keeping them in sight.

He watched the dancing for a moment, remembering his own dancing lessons and memorizing the way the dancers moved as he was a bit out of date. Still, it was a nice change to be able to be served instead of being the one to serve.

He found an unoccupied corner of the room and sequestered himself there, enjoying just watching the proceedings. He was a silent pair of eyes connected to a memory bank, trying to soak up everything he could and remember as much as possible. He watched people roam around, accidentally catching the eye of a stranger.

The man was dressed in a dark blue suit that accentuated how tall he was. His hair was styled carefully back with a few strands falling onto his forehead. His mask was a dark green that set off his suit perfectly. He turned and, waving off the people flocking around him, came toward Virgil. Once he was there, he bowed at the neck and held a hand out, making eye contact. “May I have this dance?”

Virgil smiled, taking the offered hand and allowing himself to be led onto the dance floor. “Of course.”

The masked stranger bowed as the dance began. “What shall I call you?”

Virgil shook his head, enjoying the feeling of being held close to someone as they swept around the room. “I don’t wish to use my name tonight.”

A small smile graced the man’s features. “That sentiment, I echo.” He hummed as his eyes scanned over the heads in the crowd, finally coming to rest on Virgil again. “Your dress reminds me of a kaleidoscope of butterflies so I shall call you The Purple Butterfly, or just Butterfly if you prefer.”

Virgil smiled. “Well, then, what shall I call you?”

The man thought for a moment. “Emerald. Just Emerald.”

“And if I prefer something fancier?”

He smiled conspiratorially. “Then you shall have to wait until later tonight to hear it.”

The dance started in earnest at that point, leaving them little time to talk. They glided across the room, moving as if they’d been dancing together their whole lives. When it finished, they stood there for a second with each other. The next song started and they didn’t have to talk to know they were going to dance it together. Two more songs passed this way before Virgil stopped them.

He shook his head when Emerald gave him the same eyebrow tilt and angle of his head. “If I don’t sit down now, I fear my legs will collapse.” He was used to moving a lot throughout his day, rarely getting the time to sit down, but these shoes were as new to him as the dancing was and he’d already been on his feet more than usual today.

Emerald nodded and led him over to a secluded bench. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

Virgil smiled. “If you wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to be a bother.”

He shook his head with a laugh. “It’s no bother at all, Butterfly.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

Virgil felt a trill in his heart when the man said that. He caught a glimpse of the only pair of people not wearing masks to the event, the engaged couple that the party was for, and was jolted back to his task at hand. He was about to stand and make his way to them when Emerald came back with the refreshments.

"Here you are, Butterfly," he said as he handed him a plate and small goblet. "This is just juice so don't worry about any alcohol."

Virgil smiled gratefully and took the offered items. He took a sip of the drink and found it to be a sweet and fruity liquid colored red. Looking down at his plate, he noticed simple snacks that were high in protein. "Thank you, this will be perfect."

Emerald didn't sit down right away, preferring to lean against a nearby pillar as he sipped at his own juice. They stayed there in silence, simply eating their food and watching the dancing crowd. Virgil's eyes kept drifting back over to Prince Patton and his fiancé, Prince Remus. Finally, Emerald seemed to catch on to this.

"Is there something you need to ask or tell them?”

Virgil shrugged. "Yes and no. There's something important I have to tell them but I'm not quite certain how to go about doing that. I wouldn't want to bother them during such a happy time."

Emerald turned his head, an unreadable sparkle entering his eye. "Is it something that can wait? If not, I have our prince's ear."

Virgil shrugged again, eyes scanning the crowd for what he knew Prince Logan looked like. "I can't see the object of the conversation so I'm not sure how useful that would be." He looked up at the man, smiling beneath his mask. "However, I do thank you for the offer."

He nodded and went back to people watching, almost autonomously bringing his food and drink to his mouth. Virgil did the same, savoring the rich foods and smooth drink, wondering when the next time he was going to have something like this again would be. Searching the crowd, he found his step-brother fawning over a young maiden, his step-father nearby. He really had to look to find his step-sister but she was sitting on a bench and conversing with another young lady, both sitting close enough together that the interest must have been mutual. Virgil thought about how close the masked man was standing to himself and wondered if they looked like a couple to outside observers in the same way the women across the hall did to him.

The man looked down at him from his stance by the pillar. "What are you thinking of?"

Virgil blinked, looking back up at him. "Nothing of much importance." He'd always been told he had nothing to say so why bother speaking his mind.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Come now, there must be at least one thing of importance within that brain of yours."

Virgil wasn't as sure about that as the stranger seemed to be. Still, he gestured to the two women across the room. "I was just thinking of how sweet that couple looked together." He shrugged, eyes darting back down to the now empty plate and cup in his hands.

Emerald nodded, reaching down to gather the dishware. "That they do. Here, I'll go take care of this. Would you like to dance another set after that?" He looked into Virgil's eyes, waiting for his reply.

Virgil smiled, remembering that he wasn't simply a servant tonight and could do as he liked. "Yes, I think that would be splendid."

The man nodded and left to put the dishware down on a nearby table. He soon returned and they were off, sweeping across the dancefloor for another four dances. Virgil smiled and laughed as they twirled and spun, getting caught up in the lovely feeling of one person's attention resting solely on him for so long.

Still, he came back down to earth when the last dance ended. He remembered what he was there to do: find the prince and warn him of the plot on his life. He scanned the crowd for his step-father and step-brother and found them where he'd last seen them. He tried to find the engaged princes but neither were in sight, nor was Prince Logan anywhere to be found.

Virgil's chin was gently grasped and turned and he flinched away, fearing punishment. He met his dance partner's eyes and saw an apology in them. The man leaned forward to be heard above the music. "I'm sorry, I made a mistake grabbing you like that." He didn't speak for a moment, just looked into Virgil's eyes. "Butterfly, would you like to get away from here?"

Virgil was suddenly aware of just how loud everything was, how bright all the lights were and how heavy he felt on his feet. He nodded and allowed Emerald to take his arm, quickly guiding him to a side door. The man waved at someone else but Virgil was so disoriented, he had no idea who it was nor was he inclined to find out. He found himself pulled through the door and into another, darker, room. He was directed to a bench. Light flickered at a farther end of the room but all the candles were snuffed out where they had entered, making it easier for his eyes to adjust.

Emerald knelt beside him, a hand nearby. Virgil took a deep breath and held it, doing the soothing technique the cook taught him. Soon, after much arm rubbing and deliberate breathing, he’d calmed down enough to look at the man who was staring at him in a way that was so heartbreakingly concerned Virgil had to look away.

“I’m sorry.” Virgil’s voice was quiet but it was loud enough in the silent room.

“No.” Emerald’s voice was soft. “No, it’s I who should be sorry. I touched you without your consent and for that I beg your forgiveness. If you wish to leave the ball now I will understand completely and, while I myself am not free to leave, I will find someone who can take you home.” He stood and moved as if to leave but Virgil grasped the hem of his doublet.

“Please, don’t leave me.” He didn’t want to spiral into the usual thoughts he did when his step-family mistreated him, he didn’t want to mar this perfect night with the thought of yet more violence.

“Of course.” Emerald stood near him as Virgil gathered the soft material of his skirts and stood. The masked stranger looked at Virgil for a moment longer. “Is it alright if I light the candles?”

Virgil nodded and, as the room was slowly filled with light, looked around. They were in a library, larger than the one back at the mansion. He spun in a slow circle, his dress fanning out around him, as he tried to take in just how many books were around him.

Behind him, Emerald chuckled. “Feel free to look around, pull a book off the shelf if you want. I’m not sure you can take it out of this room but every guest is free to spend as much time as they want in here to read as many books as they can.”

Virgil looked on in awe before slowly walking to the nearest shelf. He didn’t even dare to run his fingers across the spines, his gloves slightly dirty from the food. Still, he wandered the rows and looked at all the different titles that were there. Many looked interesting enough for him to curl up on that bench and read until the sun came up and the staff kicked him out. He knew he didn’t have that kind of time and whirled around, bumping into Emerald.

Emerald laughed, hands holding Virgil’s elbows to steady him. “Where are you going in such a hurry, Butterfly?”

“I must speak to Prince Logan, it’s an urgent matter.”

Emerald nodded, serious suddenly. “What if I told you I could get you an audience with him?”

Virgil clasped his hands anxiously at his waist. “Really? You’re able to do that?”

Emerald nodded. “Quite easily. I’m his closest confidant, he tells me everything.”

“What must I do to get an audience with him?”

“It’s a very simple thing. You must play a game of chess with me.” He held up a hand. “You’re not required to win, but you must play the game to completion.”

Virgil nodded, having played chess with his father often before his death and still managed the odd game with the random footman. “That’s doable.”

Emerald led the way deeper between the aisles and up a flight of stairs to a chess set. He let Virgil sit first, the purple clad servant choosing the black set. Emerald laughed and sat in front of the white.

About midway through their game, Virgil asked the question that had been brought up at the beginning of the night. “So, what shall I call you if I deem it a time to be more fanciful?”

Emerald hummed as he finished his move. “You’ll have to wait until after your meeting with the prince to know that.”

Virgil had no idea how long their game lasted, only that he’d gotten so lost in it he almost missed the bell that signaled it was half an hour until midnight. He jolted, looking at the wall that the bell came from. “Is that really the time?! I must be on my way!” The spell wore off at midnight and his family was coming home at one, he still needed time to get home and get his chores done.

“Yes, that’s the time. Is there something wrong?” Emerald had stayed in his seat but looked slightly worried.

“I must go home now. Is there any way to meet with the prince tomorrow?” If he wasn’t already dead. Virgil felt like such a fool for taking his eyes off his step-family, even just for a moment was too long.

“His schedule is, unfortunately, quite packed during the day tomorrow. However, we can resume our chess game at tomorrow’s ball and you can meet him after that.”

Virgil nodded and made his way out, back into the stunningly loud ballroom. He went around the outside edge and rode his carriage all the way back home. Everything reverted back to its former state just as he was walking up the drive.

Mandy smiled at him upon his reentrance to the kitchen, having briefly run to his room to change. “How was it, sweetie?”

Virgil smiled back as he grabbed a rag. “Oh, Mandy, it was just like a dream!” Cleaning up the kitchens, he told the cook all about the dancing and the food and Emerald, leaving out the parts where he nearly ruined the whole night and where he was very useless at stopping an assassination. “And the best thing is that I get to do it all over again tomorrow!” If the prince wasn’t announced dead and the rest of the balls canceled.

She listened patiently to his rambling story, smiling all the while and loving the way his face lit up while talking about this Emerald. “It seems you really did enjoy yourself. I’m glad.”

He paused his dashing about to stand in front of the stool she’d perched herself on. He held a hand to her cheek. “Mandy, I’ve got enough energy left in me to do both my chores and yours. Go on to bed, you look exhausted.”

“Truly? It’s not going to be too much work for you?”

He smiled. “It’ll be fine. Go on now.” She patted his cheek and told him where the cookies were before giving in and making her way to bed.

He finished the kitchen and went on to clean up the sitting room, something that he really should have done before he left but he was too excited to do so. Just as he finished that, he heard the carriage come up. He'd changed into his every day wear a few minutes after getting back so there was nothing to worry about in that regard. His step-sister went straight to bed while the men went to the sitting room and called for some tea and refreshments, just as Virgil knew they would.

Virgil stood just outside the door and listened in on their conversation. “Did you even get a good look at him?!” his step-father was saying.

“No and I’m starting to wonder if Prince Logan had even attended the ball at all.” That was his step-brother.

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief. The prince was still alive and Virgil had another chance to make sure he stayed that way. He finished the rest of his chores as quickly as possible and went off to bed.

The next day, he was whistling as he worked when his step-sister came upon him. She sat on the upholstered bench as he dusted the library shelves. An unconscious smile came to his face as he thought of the library from the night before.

“You seem to be in a good mood. Care to share why?” She asked as he went about his chores.

Virgil shrugged. “I got an early start to the day, didn’t get a single thing thrown at me when delivering breakfast, and am slightly ahead in my work.” He instantly regretted telling her the last part, fearing that she would come up with other things to lengthen his day.

Instead, she didn’t even comment on it. “It’s nice that at least one of us is in a good mood.”

Virgil sighed, knowing she was operating on a script but hadn’t been given the lines for. “What makes you say that? Are you not in a good mood today?”

He caught sight of her in his periphery as she shook her head. “I met someone at the ball last night and I think we really could make a nice match.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows as the image of her and the young woman came to mind. “Oh? And who would this be? Why does this not put you in a good mood?”

“Because I’m not sure if Father will let me pursue her.”

“Her?” He coaxed her to keep talking so he didn’t have to, making it less likely for him to make a mistake and be punished.

“Yes, her. She’s not very high up, only the daughter of a baron. I’m sure Father wants to marry me off to foreign royalty if he can, at least a count or countess. He’d never approve of a baroness.”

Virgil hummed. They themselves were only on the viscount level, only a step above the barons. He wondered what level Emerald was at. He had to be high up if he had the ear of the Prince Logan, but he could also just be a childhood friend that had continued into adulthood. He tuned back in to hear his step-sister bemoaning her life and how it wasn’t fair that her father might not let her court the baroness.

He let her ramble as he worked before bowing and leaving the now cleaned library behind. He grabbed a filled water bucket and an old rag, washing the flooring in the entrance hall. Then came sweeping the stairs and dusting the bedrooms, guest rooms included. He helped with lunch and Mandy forced him to break long enough to eat before he was off to care for the animals outside.

By the time night fell and his step-family had left, he was very nearly dead on his feet. Throwing back on his best shoes and his father’s old red suit, he gained a second wind as he headed to the backyard. The old woman met him again, this time giving him a purple vest with silver accents, a black shirt and silver tie beneath it, and a pair of black suit pants. His mask for the night was a silverish white one that had purple accents and a silver butterfly wing as the right eye. His best shoes, admittedly quite ratty, were transformed into a pair that looked straight off the shelf and were as comfortable as they could be.

He was brought to the castle in the same carriage from the night before. He got to the entrance way before he spotted Emerald standing near the entrance to the ballroom, searching for someone. Emerald was wearing the same mask as the night before but his dress was an off the shoulder piece with long sleeves and a skirt that pooled around his feet. It was a dark blue color with star-like, shimmering sequins that clustered over the top and sleeves but trailed off at the waist, leaving the rest of the gown as a solid color. Emerald raised a hand as Virgil came closer, sliding through the crowd and coming to keep pace with Virgil.

“Hello, Butterfly. How are you this evening?” Emerald sounded as he did last night, slightly detached but with an air of caring.

Virgil smiled and breathed out a sigh. “How real do you want my answer to be?” He wondered how far he could push his luck tonight.

Emerald paused in his tracks, Virgil going a few steps ahead before turning back to find him standing still. “I want you to be as real as you’d like. You’re in charge here, Butterfly.”

Virgil genuinely considered that for a moment before speaking his mind. “In that case, I don’t think I could survive a night in that ballroom. There’s way too many people here tonight.” He was almost hoping Emerald would let them go straight to the chess game.

Emerald nodded, moving the few steps to stand by Virgil and holding his arm out. Virgil gratefully took it, settling his hand in the crook of the other’s elbow, and allowed himself to be led away. “I was almost hoping you’d say that,” Emerald said by way of explanation, “as I really wasn’t looking forward to dancing all night either.”

Virgil looked down at him, observing the way the light caught his mask and made his eyes sparkle. “I really do need to speak with Prince Logan before midnight.”

Emerald nodded, patting his hand. “And so you shall. We’ll take a turn about the gardens, see the stars, and then you can best me at chess and you can have that audience with the prince.” He smiled in a way that Virgil couldn’t interpret.

“Thank you. I’m grateful that you’re willing to do this for me.”

Emerald opened a door that led outside, depositing them in front of the castle gardens. “I find you an intriguing enigma, Butterfly. Would it be out of line of me to ask you to tell me more about yourself? You don’t have to disclose anything you don’t wish to.”

Virgil stepped out with him, breathing in the cool night air. “What do you want to know? How honest would you like me to be? I can spin quite the tall tale if you let me.” He used to talk to the child of one of the maids, always coming up with clever excuses and stories as to why he was injured in some way or another. He wasn’t sure if he was willing to share the truth with someone he’d met just the night before but he was also feeling slightly brave with the mask hiding his identity.

Emerald led him down a path lined with hedges and flower beds. “You can be as truthful or as fanciful as you’d like. I shall enjoy guessing which is truth, if you’ll let me.”

Virgil nodded. They walked in silence for a few more moments, the noise of the ball fading until it was almost gone completely. He sat, staring at the flowers across the path and the butterflies that flitted around them. “I’d like to talk about it, if you’re willing to listen.”

Emerald gathered his skirts and sat beside him. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

Virgil took a deep breath. “My childhood wasn’t the best. I had a few good, happy years. When Mother was still alive, before Father remarried. By the time I turned nine, everything had changed. Mother died when I was seven, Father remarried when I was eight and died shortly before I turned nine.” He shrugged. “Life went downhill from there.”

Emerald put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Butterfly. I can apologize I asked and we can move on to lighter topics.”

Virgil shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. “Now that I’ve started, it’s easier to just keep going.” He felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. “My status no longer mattered. To them, I was just another person to put down.”

“To them? You’ve only mentioned your father’s second spouse.”

Virgil quirked the side of his mouth. “Yeah, them. Step-father, his son, and his daughter. They treat me like I’m lower than the dirt they walk on. The thing that gets me is that I let them. They’ve knocked me around so many times, I just do what they want because it’s easier than trying to fight back.”

He felt a tear slip down behind his mask. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Emerald’s arm slipped around Virgil’s shoulders and he pulled him against his side, just holding him for a moment. After a minute or two, Virgil sniffed and pulled away, pulling his mask out a bit to wipe at his eyes. “Sorry, I don’t know why I decided to spill my soul to someone I only met yesterday.”

Emerald looked back at him with gentle eyes, nothing but kindness to be found. “If you didn’t talk about it you would have burst. I can understand that feeling.” He perked up, standing and holding a hand out to Virgil. “Come on, let’s talk about a happier topic. Have you ever seen the night sky properly?”

For the next hour, they laid in the center of the hedge maze, heads together and feet facing opposite directions. Emerald pointed out stars and constellations, telling stories about them. Virgil asked about some and told made up stories about others. When they got tired of talking of stars and stories, they asked each other about opinions on anything and everything under the sun, learning about favorites and dislikes.

In that moment on the grass, Virgil felt that he could love this person, this man who comforted him when speaking of his family history, who played a mean game of chess, who had a lovely sense of humor. He knew that if he had the choice as to who to spend the rest of his life with, it wouldn’t be a hard decision to pick Emerald. It didn’t matter that neither knew the other’s name nor what they looked like, all that mattered was that they were alike enough that life would be paradise compared to his current situation.

Finally, Emerald sighed. “We should go back and join the ballroom, at least for a half hour.”

Virgil nodded and sat up. “Are you required to?”

Emerald shrugged. “As a close friend of the crown, it’s expected of me. Could you help me? I’m not sure I got all the grass off.” Virgil chuckled and helped brush him off, Emerald checking that Virgil’s suit was grass-free. They walked back together, hands linking.

They got back to the ballroom, the noise hitting Virgil like a wall. He took a deep breath as they went in, instantly trying to spot either his step-family or the royal family. He and Emerald stayed off to the side as they waited for the current dance set to end.

“Is your step-family here right now?” Emerald asked, leaning close to Virgil’s ear to be heard.

Virgil kept looking through the crowd. “I know they’re here but I don’t see any of them right now. That’s slightly concerning to me if I’m continuing the honesty streak.”

Emerald nodded, tucking him just that much closer to himself. “Can I ask why that’s concerning?”

“That’s what I need to talk to the prince about.” As much as he felt that he could trust this man, he was unsure if that trust could go as far as a plot on royalty’s life.

Emerald hummed, going back to watching the dancing. Virgil spotted his step-brother in the crowd and breathed a sigh of relief. When the dance ended, Emerald tugged Virgil onto the dance floor and into his arms.

Once they were out there, they synched up. Emerald barely had to press his fingers on Virgil’s waist to guide the dance. They moved almost as one as they glided across the dance floor. Virgil lost himself in the motions, in Emerald’s eyes, in the moment, and in the feeling of being held.

A half hour later, the dance set was finished and the pair were sitting on a nearby bench, drinking from goblets and watching the crowd. “Do you know when I may speak with the prince?” Virgil asked, leaning wearily against the wall.

“After we finish our chess match.” Emerald drained the last of his drink. “I made sure it was left in the same position as when we played last night. Care to finish it?”

Virgil nodded and instinctively reached to take his empty goblet. Emerald simply smirked, taking Virgil’s and handing both off to a passing servant. They wove around the room and slipped through the door into the library.

They sat and resumed the game, each giving a fact about himself with each piece captured. When Virgil managed to capture the second rook, Emerald laughed. “Last night I promised that there was a fancier version of the nickname ‘Emerald’ I’ve been using.”

“Yes, just as you call me the Purple Butterfly, there was something you could be called.”

“Yes, that. If it is a very serious moment, or you wish to address me by the full thing, call me the Evening Emerald.”

Virgil nodded. “Alright, Evening Emerald, let’s finish this game.”

Just as he was about to make his next move, the clock struck a quarter till midnight. “Oh my!” Virgil stood. “My apologies but it seems it will need to wait another day. I must be home soon!” He hadn’t meant to stay that late at all.

With that, he ran out of the room. The Evening Emerald was left to stare at an empty seat and hope the Purple Butterfly was safe.

Once again, Virgil arrived back at home just as the spell wore off. He changed out of the tattered suit and old shoes into his usual servant outfit before doing his nightly chores. Mandy and the rest of the staff had already gone to bed so he had the house to himself for a rare moment. Dreamily, he danced around the kitchen as he did his chores, remembering the dancing from earlier.

When all the chores were done, he prepared a snack and waited for his step-family to arrive home. They arrived soon after he sat down, giving him no time to rest as he took their coats and brought the snack to them in the drawing room. He was told to leave the room but once again stood at the door. HIs step-siblings talked of the people they met at the party for a while before his step-sister withdrew to her room. The two men, left alone in the room, talked about the royalty again.

“Did you see him at all this time?” Step-father asked.

“In my defense, I was busy with a girl.” Virgil could see him in his mind’s eye, rubbing the back of his neck with a barely apologetic look on his face.

The sound of a thud and a crash reached Virgil, making him wince. That sounded like something heavy and fragile hitting a wall and Virgil knew he was going to be the one cleaning it up tomorrow. “Do you mean to tell me that we have wasted two of the three night window to be rid of that man?” his step-father’s voice was low and slow, a sure sign that it was time for Virgil to get out of there.

He took the tray of now dirty dishware to the kitchen, cleaning them properly before putting them away, hands shaking all the while. It wasn’t the yelling that one had to worry about when it came to his step-father. It was the throwing things, the hands that lashed out quickly, the feet that would trip and kick. It was the soft voice the man only used when he was trying to get something peacefully or when he was livid.

That soft voice was what Virgil feared the most and the reason he wanted to leave so badly.

When the last dish was placed, Virgil made the long trek up to his bedroom in the attic. He pulled up the loose floorboard he kept his valuables under, checking to make sure that his coin purse was still there. It was, ready to go the day after tomorrow when he was finally going to leave this place behind forever. He put the board back before falling into bed, going to sleep soon after.

He woke the next morning to a footman knocking at his door. “Virgil.” A hushed voice reached him.

Virgil sat up, rubbing his eyes even as he pulled his work boots on. “Yeah? Come in.”

He poked his head around. “The master is up early.”

Virgil cursed under his breath, hurrying to lace the boots. “How deep in trouble am I today?”

“He threw a vase last night and wants it cleaned up two hours ago.”

Virgil rushed to the door, walking quickly with the footman on his heels. “Of course he does. And of course he wants me to do it. Because of course we don’t have a legion of maids to do exactly that.” Virgil grumbled as they descended. The footman didn’t respond but looked like he was nodding along.

They parted ways at the base of the stairs, Virgil giving him thanks and moving to the drawing room. his step-father was already there, sitting in an armchair and reading the morning paper. Virgil gave him a half bow before moving to pick up the pieces of ceramic.

The rug beneath the spot on the wall was damaged beyond repair and Virgil made a mental note to add a new rug to the shopping list. The wall was more or less undamaged, giving it a good wipe down would do the trick. Virgil stood and left the room, soon returning with what he needed to set the room right.

He hummed as he worked, thoughts drifting to the night before. The job was finished before he knew it and he stood to leave. Just as he reached the door, his step-father spoke. “There’s a new list of chores in the kitchen for you. I expect them to be completed before I return tonight.”

Virgil turned his head to look at the man who hadn’t even bothered to look up from his newspaper. “Yes, sir.”

The list was almost twice as long as it had been the first day. Virgil sighed, placing the things down where they belonged. Mandy blocked his way out the door. “I’m not letting you get a step farther until you at least eat something. I’ve seen that list and it’s more than should be asked of any one person.”

Virgil sighed but gave in, sitting down to eat. While he was eating, the scullery maid came in and set the feed bag down. “I’ve fed the animals and done what I can for them. I know it’s not much but it’s all I can give you.” He knew she’d grown up on a farm so the animals and their stalls were in good hands. He nodded his thanks as he shoved the rest of his breakfast into his mouth.

Snatching up the three trays, he went through the motions of serving his step-family before moving on to his other chores. He went up to the guest rooms, only to be told that all three of the maids had taken it upon themselves to clean them for him. He thanked them and went back down to sweep the front stairs and mop the downstairs. He was once again pulled into the kitchen for lunch but helped them to deep clean it afterwards.

The day dragged on slowly. Virgil counted the seconds until his step-family left for the ball. Finally, they did. He was up in an attic storage space trying to find decorations for something or other when the same footman came in. “Mandy wanted me to tell you that they’ve just left.”

Virgil glanced up and nodded. “Thank you.” He left his task where it was and went to get dressed. He pulled that floorboard back up and lifted out a small bag that contained his most prized worldly possessions. He opened it carefully and drew out a thin necklace chain with a small bat charm hanging from it, his mother’s necklace. He smiled, putting it on beneath his father’s old suit and best shoes.

He gave Mandy a kiss on the cheek before slipping out the back door. The old woman met him in the backyard again and provided the carriage and outfit. The shoes were the same as the first night but this time his dress was as black as midnight, with small stars dotting it and clustering in a swirl that ran diagonally across the skirt. It resembled a night sky with a nebula shining through and Virgil couldn’t have loved it more as it matched perfectly with the small bat charm resting between his collarbones. His mask was a black and silver version of the butterfly he’d worn the previous night.

When he arrived at the ball, Emerald was nowhere to be seen. Virgil slipped inside and found the same back corner as he had that first night. It wasn’t long before Emerald found him, slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer to him. “Apologies for not greeting you at the door, I was speaking with my brother.”

Virgil hummed, feeling slightly less drained of energy upon seeing him for some reason. “That’s fine, I’m not the main focus of this event.”

Emerald laughed lightly. “You’re my main focus. Speaking of,” he turned his head to catch Virgil’s eye, “what would you like to do now? Dance, walk in the garden, finish our chess match, sit and talk?”

Virgil smiled. “I honestly don’t have the energy to dance nor play chess at the moment. Finding a place to sit and talk sounds lovely, though.” He wanted to enjoy his last night with this amazing man.

Emerald nodded, stepping away enough to hold Virgil’s hand and guide him along. “Alright. I know an out of the way bench where we can sit and view the dancing without having to shout to hear each other.” He started leading the way and Virgil followed, paying more attention to Emerald’s outfit than to where they were going.

He was wearing a brilliant green suit that matched his name, his plain green mask that had been worn during both previous balls, and a silver circlet that kept his hair in check. As always, there were a few strands that had fallen over his forehead but Virgil found them endearing.

He was brought out of his musings by drunk shouting. A duke was blocking their path, shouting at a servant for, from what Virgil could gather, being out of wine. Virgil drew into himself just the slightest bit, having been on the receiving end of such yelling it is the furthest thing from fun he can think of. Emerald squeezed his hand before releasing it.

“Now see here, your grace. That is no way to treat someone who is only doing their job.” His voice was firm as he reached forward and grabbed onto the man’s arm.

The duke shook him off, squinting at him. “Who are you to order me around?”

Virgil looked around for help, flagging down a patrolling pair of guards. Emerald kept talking to the duke in a stern voice that grew angrier the longer he went on. The guards came over and Virgil filled them in on what was happening. They quickly escorted the duke out of the room and, presumably, out of the castle as well.

Emerald took Virgil’s hand, keeping him slightly closer as they kept going. They didn’t speak again until they’d arrived at a bench on the balcony. Emerald seated Virgil before he himself sat down. “I beg your pardon for my anger a few moments ago. The only thing I hate in the world is people who abuse their positions of power.”

Virgil smiled, feeling something settle in his chest at that, like something had just clicked into place. “I completely understand.”

“I must say, it was very quick thinking to call the guards over as you did.” Emerald remarked, making Virgil feel heat rise in his cheeks.

“It was just what anyone else would do.” He deliberately kept his eyes on the dancefloor, not glancing at his companion.

Emerald chuckled, switching the topic to sweets and favorite desserts. Virgil was grateful for the distraction, listening to him talk for a while until he felt awake and rested enough to dance. He told Emerald this and they waited for the next opening to step onto the dance floor.

As they danced, the world seemed to melt away. Virgil forgot about his step-family, the prince and the plot on his life, even the fear and uncertainty of tomorrow. In that moment, it was just him and Emerald. They twirled around the dance floor, both feeling as if they were floating rather than dancing, sweeping around the couples dancing with them. When they got toward the end of the set, Emerald took one of Virgil’s hands and spun him, smiling as Virgil couldn’t help but laugh as he spun. When he was pulled back in, Emerald dipped him. Virgil was held in strong arms, looking up into eyes that were a brighter green than the mask that lay over them, and had never felt more secure and loved in his whole life.

Emerald laughed through a heavy breath, holding him in the dip for a few seconds longer than the rest of the dancers before pulling him up and leading him to the same bench they’d sat on during the first ball. Both were breathing hard and just sat there for a few moments, leaning on the other. They didn’t speak for a few moments, simply sitting and enjoying the rush of the dance and the buzz in their chests.

Finally, Virgil sat up and away from Emerald. “That was exhilarating!”

Emerald chuckled, leaning against the pillar beside him. “That it was.”

A few more minutes were spent watching the dancing before Virgil caught sight of his step-father and was reminded why he was there in the first place. “Should we go finish that chess match?” He asked.

Emerald nodded and stood. “That sounds like a lovely idea.” He held a hand out and helped Virgil to his feet, tucking his hand into the crook of his arm.

They wove through the crowd until they reached the library door where they slipped through and over to the chess board. It was quiet as they sat down and tried to remember what their strategies had been and where they were in the game. Once they were mentally settled, they started up their usual banter as the game progressed. Virgil was enjoying himself, time seeming to fly.

An hour after they started, Virgil finally caught Emerald’s queen and moved into a checkmate position.

“You have captured my heart as easily as you captured my queen.” The Evening Emerald said softly, gazing down at the chessboard between them.

Virgil looked up at that, startled. “What?”

Emerald laughed. “Forget it. Let’s go meet the prince.” He stood, helping Virgil to his feet as well.

Virgil’s thoughts kept going back to what Emerald had said as they exited a door opposite the one they entered. They walked down the hall, taking a few turns before Virgil asked where they were going.

“He’s usually in the observatory at this time of night, ball or no ball, so we have to go there to meet with him.”

Virgil hummed in response. He carefully kept track of the amount of turns and in which direction they went.

“So, what are you wanting to speak to the prince about?” Emerald asked as they walked.

“I overheard my family talking about something that concerns me quite a bit.” He paused for a moment, weighing his trust for this man. After thinking, he continued speaking. “My step-father and step-brother are plotting high treason: the assassination of Prince Logan.”

They stopped walking when they got to a door. The clock proclaimed it a half hour to midnight just as they arrived. Virgil startled. “Oh! I didn’t realize how late it was. I have to go. Promise me you’ll pass the warning on to the prince? Please tell him about the assassination attempt?”

Emerald reached out, not quite touching Virgil’s arm. “Please stay. Just this once? You always rush off so quickly. You finally managed to beat me, don’t you want to at least meet the prince? Isn’t that what you came here for?” There was a note of pleading in his voice that made Virgil want to give in. The one thing that kept him from staying was the thought of what his step-father would do to the servants if he wasn’t there when they got back.

Virgil looked between him and back the way they came. “I really must go. I can’t be gone when my family returns.” He ran down the hall, back the way they came.

“Wait!” Emerald called out behind him. Virgil ignored him, even as an ache began in his chest. He made his way back through the library, along the edge of the ballroom, and out into the corridor, picking up a bit of speed in the empty hallway. The thud of boots on stone sounded behind him as Emerald made it out. Another call to wait and talk to him echoed to Virgil.

He burst out the front doors, the carriage waiting right where he’d left it. Finding it harder to run down the stairs in the slippers, he slipped them off and held them for a moment. Before he could start moving again, Emerald appeared at the top of the stairs, maskless. Virgil dropped one of the shoes in shock, screwing up his face in anticipation of hearing the shoe shatter behind him but not hearing anything. Instead, he ran to the carriage and climbed inside.

Emerald made it to the shoe that was halfway down the stairs when the carriage left the gate, Virgil gazing out the back window. He hoped Emerald would be able to do something about the prince’s life, hoped everything would turn out alright. He kept watching until the castle faded from view as the carriage raced along the path back to the house.

Hooves pounded against stone behind him but Virgil couldn’t be sure if that was his carriage or someone pursuing him and he was terrified to look in case it was his step-family going home early. He arrived in one piece and jumped out just as the dress dissolved back into his red suit, leaving him with the one glass slipper, ribbons trailing from it.

Mandy met him at the back door. “How was the last night? Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”

Virgil smiled at her and took the time to twirl her around. “I’ve decided to make my escape tonight, while the others are occupied with the ball. I shall be back as soon as I have enough money to claim this land as my own.”

She laughed. “I wish you well.”

He ran up to his room and managed to change into his normal attire before a shout and bang from downstairs caught his attention. He stored the slipper with the rest of his valuables, rubbed his face on his apron to make him look dirtier than he was, and went back downstairs. The front door was standing open and his step-family was in the entry hall. Virgil walked up to them, taking coats and hanging them up. “You’re home early. Did something happen?”

His step-father scowled at him. “There was a commotion that resulted in half of the guard disappearing in pursuit of someone. I didn’t like the situation and so we left.”

Virgil bowed his head, silently cursing his foolishness. “Can I get you anything before you retire for the night?”

“No, that will be all.” His step-father swept up the stairs and to his room. His step-brother and step-sister didn’t speak to him, just piled their coats into his arms and went into the drawing room. Virgil put the coats away and went to sit in the kitchen.

“I don’t know what to do now. Do you think I have time to sneak out still?”

Mandy came over to him and ran her fingers through his hair. “Oh, sweet. Of course you still have time. Get out while you can, we’ll be fine here.”

Virgil nodded, back straightening with intention. “Okay, thank you. For everything.”

He stood and made it to the top of the main staircase when a knock sounded at the door. A footman seemed to almost appear out of the wall and looked around for someone to take orders from. He caught sight of Virgil and gestured to the door. Virgil shook his head, hissing out, “Don’t look at me for help, I don’t have any authority here.”

The footman sighed and rolled his eyes before going to open the door anyways. Virgil dove behind the banister and peeked out at the entrance hall. The door opened to an unmasked Emerald standing in front of a small troop of castle guards. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you at such an hour but I’m wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for a man who was seen holding a shoe that looks like this?” He held up the shoe Virgil had dropped on the stairs.

The footman nodded nervously, glancing up the stairs at Virgil’s general direction. Emerald followed the footman’s gaze and smiled. “Are you up there, Butterfly?”

Virgil growled low in his throat as he came out from hiding and walked down the stairs. “No loyalty at all around here.” He muttered as he came to stand near the footman, who promptly went toward the kitchen. The maids were clustered around the doorway, just watching what was happening.

Emerald smiled. “Are you my butterfly?” The maids giggled from the doorway, Mandy coming out to shoo them away. “Is there somewhere private I can talk with you and your step-family?”

Virgil didn’t respond but led him to the doorway to the drawing room, only remembering that his step-siblings were in there as he was opening the doors. His step-brother was lounging on the couch as his step-sister paced, mid rant about the maiden she’d been flirting with. Virgil forced a smile as he advanced into the room, moving to stand in front of the damaged wall. Emerald came in and took a seat in the armchair. He looked to Virgil’s step-sister. “Would you mind going to get your father?”

She curtseyed and left without a word. Virgil’s step-brother sat up, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Emerald. “Your highness, may I ask what the reason for your visit is?”

Virgil was trying very hard not to collapse to the ground from exhaustion so his mind briefly glazed over the title before coming back to it. By the time it had registered, however, his step-father had stepped into the room and was glaring daggers at Virgil already. Emerald held a hand out to Virgil who instinctively looked at his own hands as if he had something to hand him. Instead, the man simply smiled. “Butterfly, would you please sit down next to me?”

Virgil nodded and moved to stand by his armchair, not having anything to sit on nearby. Emerald took his hand, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of it. Virgil leaned against the chair just the slightest bit. Emerald turned back to Virgil’s step-family. “So, I was told you wanted me dead.”

His step-brother squeaked and looked to his father, who was as still and cold as stone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, your highness.”

Virgil could feel his day catching up to him, just how much cleaning, dancing, socializing, and running he’d done was starting to take its toll on him. He leaned a bit heavier against the chair as he listened to Emerald talk with his step-father.

“I was informed by a trusted source that you were conspiring to kill me. I don’t think I have to inform you that that’s high treason and punishable by death.”

“Father, what’s going on? I don’t want to die.” Virgil’s step-brother asked, panic invading his voice.

Emerald smirked. “Why would you have anything to fear?” There was more back and forth conversation before Emerald ordered the guards to arrest the two men. Virgil’s step-sister went with them as she wanted to see if she could court the woman she’d been speaking with at the ball.

Emerald tugged gently on Virgil’s hand, drawing his attention to him. Virgil looked down at him. “Are you really Prince Logan?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I am. Now that you know my name, am I permitted to know yours?”

“It’s Virgil. Virgil Strand.”

Emerald pulled on Virgil’s hand until he was sitting in his lap. “Thank you for saving my life, Virgil Strand.”

Despite how tired he was, Virgil’s heart did a flutter when he heard his name. He rested his head on Emerald’s Logan’s shoulder. “I promise that I’m very happy to see you and know you're safe but I’m very tired.” He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling safe in Logan’s arms.

Logan chuckled. “I understand. Do you want to stay here or would you like to come to the castle with me? You don’t have to go back to the ball or anything like that if you don’t want to.”

Virgil hummed. “I wanna stay with you. Where it feels safe.”

He felt Logan’s chin brush the top of his head before there were arms around him and lifting him. Logan walked for a minute or so before Virgil was handed off to someone else. Metal jingled and Virgil felt himself rising, settling down with his back to Logan’s chest as he straddled what felt like a horse. He stirred slightly, causing Logan to hum a soothing tune. Virgil finally gave into his exhaustion and fell asleep in his arms.

He didn’t wake up until the next morning when the sun came streaming in through the window. Virgil rolled over, feeling soft sheets on his skin and a warmth next to him. He curled into that warmth before realizing that it wasn’t normal for him to wake up well rested nor with warmth nearby. Jolting backwards, he fell off the bed before realizing that he was in a bed. He groaned and stood, finding Logan had been the one asleep beside him. With no knowledge of where he was or how he got there, he wasn’t sure what the next course of action was.

Luckily, he didn’t have to think long as Logan rolled over, his eyes opening as he smiled at Virgil. “Good morning, Butterfly.”

Virgil smiled awkwardly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Logan rolled until his head was in Virgil’s lap. “I don’t exactly remember what happened toward the end of the night.”

Logan laughed. “That’s understandable given the circumstances. We need to talk to my father this afternoon but the morning is yours to command. What shall we do first?”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t exactly have any clothes to wear except for these.”

Logan nodded. “I can lend you some for now and buy you more later. Anything else?”

Virgil shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.” He was already feeling tired again, his body wanting to catch up on sleep.

Logan sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to mimic Virgil’s stance. One of his hands came up to cradle Virgil’s cheek. “In that case, I think we need to talk.”

“I agree.” Virgil wasn’t sure how to approach the topic he wanted to discuss.

Logan smiled. “I love you. To be honest, I couldn’t take my eyes off you when you walked into that first ball.”

Virgil smiled, his hand reaching up to grasp Logan’s wrist. “I love you too.”

Logan leaned forward slightly. “May I kiss you?”

Virgil nodded, closing the distance and meeting Logan in the middle. When they pulled apart, both had a smile on his face. Logan laughed lightly. “When I first saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I knew I had to talk to you. I’m so glad I did.” He leaned forward to rest his forehead on Virgil’s.

That afternoon, the king expressed gratitude for Virgil’s attempts to save Logan’s life and asked him what he desired as a reward. Virgil said that he and Logan wished to marry. The king raised Virgil from a viscount to an earl, gave Virgil back his father’s land, and permitted the marriage. They married a month later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Loosely based on this art.

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #prince!logan #cinderella!Virgil #patton sanders #remus sanders #side dukeality #mentions of child abuse #abuse (both physical and mental)#death threats #talk of death #alcohol mention #fluff and angst #mainly fluff with angst woven in #ace writes

165 notes · View notes

saudadeonly · 4 years

Text

burn my heart out: rewrite the history pages (Chapter 4)

Read on ao3. Part 8, consisting of 4 chapters.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Lord Voldemort wages war on Hogwarts but he is unaware of the years-worth of battle fought against him.

(or, several instalments following the Battle of Hogwarts with Sirius Black standing on the wrong side)

In which the House of Black tailors the tapestry of fate.

Word count: 6425

___

James’s knees have gone out from under him, the words streaming out of his mouth far, far away from English or any spells known to man; they’re his mother’s prayers, ancient and further away than the possibility of their survival. It’s only thanks to Marlene’s quick swish of her wand that James doesn’t end up on the floor and remains upright, half-standing, half-floating instead, but the book he was holding isn’t afforded the same luxury. It falls to the ground and slams open, revealing familiar handwriting curved over the pages, covered by an ever-moving picture of James, Lily and Harry; James pressing a kiss to Harry’s wild hair, Harry grinning and Lily’s mouth pressed to Harry’s chubby hand, all of them swaddled in thick, winter-coming clothes. Remus used to read pages-long letters in that handwriting; it’s burned to the back of his eyelids and the words the letters used to convey are the first ones he remembers when he wakes up. He doesn’t know how the picture he took got into the hands that loop their letters this way.

“James,” Remus whispers, stepping in close to take on James’s weight. He doesn’t dare look at the book or the picture again. “James,” he repeats, louder this time, as he presses his fingertips to the sweep of James’s ribs, where he was always sensitive, “we have to go, we have to –”

He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He doesn’t know how to help them get out of this one. Lily and Harry were supposed to be safe. He saw them out as far as he could and kept them protected as far as the Invisibility cloak would allow him to. It was his idea to use the passage underneath the Whomping Willow, even if Lily said that they shouldn’t, but there was nowhere else to go. If it was his idea that got them captured – or worse, by now – he will never forgive himself.

“Yeah,” James says anyway, nodding as he rights his glasses on his drained face, “yeah, let’s go.”

They rush out of the Great Hall, the two of them and others Remus cannot, for the life of him, think of right now, and they go down the corridor, through the side door of the Entrance Hall and out into the torch-lit courtyard. There is a shadow that passes behind the colonnade on the side but Remus sees the group of dark-robed figures next and he can’t look away.

Lily struggled. She is still struggling even with a stream of blood from her temple down the side of her face but her efforts are futile against the strength of the woman holding her against her chest. Aubrie Rostami, he remembers with vivid clarity, the young leader of a werewolf pack he talked to on Dumbledore’s orders. A lifetime ago but she told him his, as well as the other side’s, efforts were in vain and he believed her. Now, with Lily’s wand tucked into the belt around her narrow hips, his naivety about her words adds insult to injury.

“You have come to watch,” Voldemort says, a cruel smile playing at his lips. Beside him, Harry is caught in the arms of a masked Death Eater, who doesn’t seem to be struggling with keeping him in place. Harry has his Padfoot plushie hugged to his chest and probably doesn’t sense the danger drawing down over him. “I hoped you might.” He swishes his wand.

It’s too unexpected to counter, too sudden to make a grab for their wands – they all go up in the air, suspended in it but still able to move until Voldemort points his wand at them again and adds, almost lazily, “Immobulus.”

A desperate sound escapes Lily. “James,” she says, an apology, a plea, as Aubrie drags her little ways to the side, toward the tattered part of the group, leaving Greyback the only werewolf not standing with the Death Eaters. “James, I –”

“It’s okay, Lily,” James says, tears in his eyes. “It’s alright, I love you, I love you.”

“Touching,” Voldemort sneers. “Unfortunately, we have other things to do than to listen to you desperate lovebirds.”

“Please,” Lily says, tears running through the dirt streaked across her cheeks, voice strained through the pressure across her neck, “please, not Harry, take me instead, please.”

She must have said it a thousand times over during their walk up to the castle, begged each one of the cold, hidden faces for the life of her son; it doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking.

The Death Eaters don’t stir. They all have their masks on, except for Bellatrix who has covered her face with manic delight instead and Narcissa with her bright head bowed at the very back, but Remus doesn’t see the one he’s always looking for. If Sirius, even masked, were among them, Remus would know him by the easy way he moves, the way his spells cut cold and precise to the others’ wicked delight. It is for the better, perhaps, that Sirius is not here; Remus wouldn’t be able to stand knowing that when faced with the choice himself Sirius would easily give Harry’s life away.

Bellatrix is the only one that reacts. “My lord,” she murmurs as she turns to Voldemort with gleaming eyes, “if the Mudblood wishes so –”

“You’re right, Bellatrix,” he says, gaze flicking towards Lily as he runs the tip of his finger down the length of his wand. “There’s no harm in a little entertainment before we go on to the next part and Nagini has not properly eaten.” His eyes, red as blood, slide to Aubrie, the Death Eaters behind him chuckling. “You,” he snaps. “Bring the Mudblood here.” A scornful glance at Lily, his face cold. “Don’t worry, I will be more merciful than I was with your dear Severus.”

Remus’s stomach turns at the remark. Snape’s body turned up months ago, mangled and tortured beyond recognition, with scores down his face and sides, his bones broken a hundred times over; it is not a high bar of mercy to clear.

“No,” James shouts, his body straining against the magical restraints, to no avail. “No, don’t hurt them, please!”

Aubrie glances at the colonnade across from her then looks back at Voldemort and nods, her expression steeled. Remus follows her gaze but there is nothing there but dust and shadows, dancing with the flickering lights.

Aubrie tightens her grip on Lily, then, when they take a step forward, stumbles over the ground and ends up pushing Lily away from her, far away from the reach of her or the other werewolves’ arms, nearly to the foot of the staircase of the side entrance, where Hogwarts’ students, pale-faced, are now beginning to gather. Lily gasps out a breath, two, and stays, heaving, on the ground.

“You imbecile!” Bellatrix screams, pointing her want at Aubrie. “Do you half-breeds know how to do anything right?”

Aubrie smiles, guilelessly, at her. “Oops,” she says, tucking her hands behind her back, the lines around her eyes and mouth cut in marble. “Stupid werewolf, me.”

Bellatrix exclaims, the curse flashing out of her wand too familiar to warrant any kind of actual words. Except a purple curse slashes through its trajectory, away from Aubrie, and the combined force of the two spells slams into a wide pillar to the side, sending up a flurry of dust and debris.

Among the surprised exclaims that break out, Bellatrix looks toward the source of the second spell and finds, as the rest of them do, a masked Sirius Black strolling out from behind the columns on the opposite side. “I would appreciate it, Bella,” he drawls, hands in his pockets, “if you didn’t break an alliance I worked for months to obtain.”

“Sirius,” James gasps out, the sound more relief than anything else if it weren’t for the hope filling it up, “Sirius, you have to –”

“Silencio,” Sirius says, flicking his wand at James, whose mouth remains open around the non-existent words and eyes wide. Marlene a few paces behind him is pressing her mouth into a pained frown. Remus doesn’t want to know what she was about to tell him back in the Great Hall or how many more seeds of hope that would now be crushed she would have planted with it.

“Sirius,” Voldemort drawls with a tilt of his head, eyes narrowed, “how wonderful of you to join us.”

Sirius, positioning himself next to Aubrie, dips his head into a quick, precursory bow. “The Hogwarts grounds are vast, my lord,” he answers, his voice muffled enough it betrays no emotion. It doesn’t make sense, any of it, his book in James’s hands or his name in James’s mouth, inflected like an orison, because there was nothing he had to gain from it if this is the side he’s chosen now. Remus has never understood him but he never thought he’d let them get so close to the brink. Not ever and especially not after they saw each other in Hogsmeade, when Remus thought a line had clearly been drawn: not Harry.

Voldemort’s face doesn’t clear but he inclines his head and moves his gaze to Aubrie. Sirius’s hand reaches behind her, to where exactly Remus can’t really see but Aubrie tilts her chin up.

Before Voldemort can exact his fury over Aubrie, however, there’s a rustle among the students and they part to the side to let a tall, thin figure steps past. His blond hair reflects reddish in the torchlight as he pauses only for a second by then moves forward. Lily pulls herself to her feet with the help of a student’s extended hand instead but when she tries to follow after, an invisible wall seems to stop her.

“Barty,” Voldemort says, echoing the name murmured among the students, teeth bared the tiniest bit in an appropriation of a smile, cold as death. “You should have been back long ago.”

Barty Crouch moves toward the crowd of Death Eaters with a sort of fluidity Remus wouldn’t expect of someone who was just addressed in such a displeased tone by Voldemort. His robes are ripped at the top of his left sleeve and his leg is dusted with white so he might have an excuse but still, Remus can’t imagine he’d be that confident. He bows before Voldemort but his eyes flick toward the glowing sphere Voldemort’s snake is floating in. “Forgive me, my lord,” he says. “I got held up.”

Voldemort considers him and the robes lying out of place. “No matter now,” he answers, waving him off, “if you found it.”

“I did, my lord,” Barty says as he straightens and pulls a pouch out of his pocket. The Death Eaters around Voldemort quiet as Barty pulls the top of the pouch open and fishes out a mangled, dull silver piece that Remus recognises to have been some sort of tiara once. “I took the liberty of taking care of it.”

There is a second of stunned silence, the tiara’s remains falling off the tip of Barty’s finger as he reaches behind him and pulls a silver dagger out instead. He turns his wrist, the torchlight glinting along the blade, flashing poison-green, and chucks it directly at Nagini.

The dagger flies through the air, its trajectory straight, and Remus knows he’s witnessing something important, something monumental, like a dice roll moments before a jackpot or bankruptcy, like a ship on top of a wave before it breaks; he holds his breath, the air in his lungs stilling before it rushes out of his lungs as the dagger hits the sphere. It bounces off and clatters to the ground, only inches away from the broken tiara. Nagini curls inside the sphere with gleaming eyes, her tongue slipping out her mouth, unharmed.

Voldemort yells, wand lashing out, and Barty flies back, arms flailing around, his shout not as surprised as it should be. Except it’s not Barty that skids across the ground several feet away; his hair has bled into black, his skin tanned and when he looks up, a wheezing sound escaping him, his features have angled into the face of Regulus Black. It takes Remus a second to recognise the sound as laughter, breathless as it is, out of sync with the sharp, emotionless face he last saw. Linsy told them but, even now, Remus doesn’t quite believe it, cannot reconcile the dawning of Regulus’s death with the man that just took a hit at Voldemort.

Across the courtyard, Sirius is indiscernible under the mask, the knot of his Adam’s apple bobbing the only sign he’s even noticed. His hands are buried deep in his pockets. Otis Shah, the leader of another werewolf pack Remus talked to what seems like years ago now, pushes to the front and keeps his steady eyes on Sirius.

“You.” Voldemort’s skin has gone paler than possible, eyes wide. Even Bellatrix is silent, left out from the stream of murmurs that rises up among the Death Eaters. “You’re dead.”

“I guess not.”

There is a short scream of pain when Voldemort points his wand at Narcissa. “Bring me that,” he orders, gesturing to the pouch fallen from Regulus’s hands. “Restrain him, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix obeys while Narcissa steps forward, straight-backed, but picks up the pouch with unsure fingers. It seems that an aeon passes before her soft-footed steps bring her close enough to Voldemort to hand it over. As soon as she’s done so, she slinks back to Lucius’s side, her eyes passing between Regulus’s face and Sirius’s motionless form, the silver mask secured over his expression nearly the same shade as her cheeks.

The courtyard stands still as Voldemort pulls out several charred objects: a leather-bound book, a golden goblet, a ring. A moment of silence passes. Then a scream tears out of Voldemort, so violent it echoes in Remus’s bones, so cruel it turns into the only thing it could have: “Crucio.”

Regulus trashes into his standstill, body convulsing of its own accord with nowhere to run and Remus cannot stand the sight of him but it’s not a pain he’d wish on him or anyone. He is Sirius’s brother but he is more than that; he is someone who grew past him, bigger than him, who turned against Voldemort, the only thing Remus has ever wanted for Sirius to do. Remus cannot bear to look at Sirius’s reaction, if there is any at all.

Regulus stills, chest heaving. “I’ll keep the locket as a keepsake,” he says hoarsely, staring up at Voldemort with deep, Black-grey eyes. Inexplicably, Remus wishes it were someone else’s eyes proclaiming their defiance, someone else’s words drawing a line of sure-fire stance.

Someone clears their throat and everyone turns to look at the source of it. In one smooth movement, Sirius pulls off his mask and flings it onto the ground. It fractures, almost exactly down the line of the constellations, silvery bits smashing around. He has his wand pointed at Voldemort in the next split second, his face forged into single-minded determination, as familiar as coming up for air after diving down to the bottom, his simple movement an act of war for itself. “Avada Kedavra.”

Not pointed at Voldemort, Remus realises belatedly but at Nagini, still caught in the glowing sphere. He can’t imagine why killing Voldemort’s pet is so important to Sirius and Regulus but he’s willing to concede their already-questionable sanity must have chipped away by now.

A large chunk of stone flies up in front of Voldemort and Nagini and explodes into green fire, the sickly light washing over the astounded faces all around. Sirius Black, the most loyal of supporters, going against Voldemort himself. An alliance built for years, thrown away on a dime for the one person Sirius has always been most protective of: Regulus.

The explosion and the astonishment give him a few precious seconds but Sirius doesn’t use them to go to Regulus. Instead, he shouts, “Now!” and fires his next spell at Bellatrix and her manic-gleaming eyes. She was the only one who didn’t stop to gawk and whose wand summoned up the chunk of stone in front of Voldemort.

The clash of their spells, a knock of wordless curses, cutting and precise, lights up the night and through it, Remus sees Otis Shah punch the Death Eater holding Harry. His fingers break with the impact but the Death Eater pitches to the side and Otis doubles down, unflinching as his bones splinter. “Run, boy!” he yells at Harry, who lands, sprawled and scraped but ultimately unharmed, on the ground.

Sirius has taken on both Bellatrix and Voldemort in that time, not sparing a glance for Regulus trying to get out of the magic binding him or the werewolves jumping the other Death Eaters, but seems to be holding his own until his wand slashes through the air a split second before Bellatrix’s, confident in its motion, infallible in its target. Bellatrix is knocked back, gasping for air as she rolls across the ground, her wand falling away from her.

“Crucio!” The word out of Sirius’s mouth revibrates with a strength that makes Voldemort’s knees go out from under him, his mouth open in a sky-slashing scream but Sirius doesn’t keep it longer than a second. Instead, his eyes go to Nagini, then to Regulus. At the very end, they follow the small figure prickling through the battle.

Harry has picked himself up and is running across the cobbled courtyard but his short legs aren’t fast enough to get him away; Greyback, throwing off another werewolf, leaps through the air and is at his heels in a matter of moments, his sharp, yellow nails brushing over the top of Harry’s black hair, the sound of his footsteps reaching up to grab at Remus’s throat.

“Harry!” Lily’s hair is a beacon in a sea of black and brown but she might as well be across the world for Harry, separated by a mountain of danger and fire that he cannot brave alone, and he dashes away from them. “No!”

Harry ends up throwing himself into Sirius’s arms instead, from where Sirius has half-braced himself to catch him, just as Greyback lunges after him and, unable to stop his momentum, slams directly into the two of them. They go tumbling back, Sirius’s body like a shield around Harry’s as he takes the brunt of both Greyback’s force and impact with the stones. Remus’s breath catches in his throat, traitorously, stupidly, not only because it’s Harry, but because it’s Sirius’s arms that are secured around him.

The movement in the courtyard stills as the three of them end up sprawled across the ground, Greyback across Sirius’s legs, Harry’s dark head tucked against Sirius’s shoulder.

Otis crosses the few feet between them and pulls Greyback off Sirius with his good hand, aiming a kick at his stomach and another one at his ribs, leaving him gasping out. The last kick, centred directly at his face, breaks his nose and makes him go still.

Sirius’s lips are moving, the words they’re shaping inaudible, and Harry is nodding reluctantly as they slowly pick themselves up, Sirius getting his knees beneath himself. He draws himself up, his hair a halo of black and dust framing his face, arms firm around Harry, a silver ring glinting on his finger. His wand lies a few feet away, snapped in half. This is how tragedies go, Remus knows, an inevitable fall from grace, a turning point; the beginning of the fifth act, a certain bitterness in the fact that there isn’t any other way this could have ended.

A sob rips out of Lily. “Harry.”

Only a meter away from Remus, but still too far away, James’s face is drained, slashed open with grief and fear. “Please,” he murmurs, the sound dragging over Remus’s skin, skimming down his spine; suddenly, he is standing back in that Muggle town, years removed, his life going to pieces around him. “Sirius, please.”

“Sirius,” Voldemort says as he gets to his feet, batting away the offered help of a Death Eater and reaches out a hand, pale and unwavering. It’s obvious what he’s about to offer: a redemption for the havoc he wreaked, a way out of his predicament. “Bring me the boy.”

Sirius looks around, the grey of his eyes bottomless, incomprehensible with the way he’s caged his heart so fully. They flit over Otis, still standing over Greyback, stop momentarily on Regulus, now motionless on the ground but with his eyes wide open, and pass over Narcissa’s pale, pinched face; they settle on the phoenix feather stretched thin between the two halves of his wand. When he looks back at Voldemort he swallows and says, “No.”

The word hangs in the air, descending slowly upon the faces of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but it settles somewhere deep in Remus’s chest, pressing up to the shape of, That was ours, that Remus made space for so carefully in the outskirts of his heart two years ago. Harry, with James’s face and Lily’s eyes and Remus’s heart, is theirs, down to the bone; but he is Sirius’s too, his choice and his redemption.

“Give me the boy,” Voldemort says, voice a bit lower, those ruby-red eyes narrowing.

Wordlessly, Sirius nudges Harry out of his arms and behind himself, arms forming a protective brace around him as Harry clings to his back. The Death Eaters have spread out, forming a wall of bodies between the two of them and the Order and Hogwarts’ residents. Between Harry and his parents.

Sirius keeps his eyes on Voldemort but his calm and even words are only for Harry as his hands tighten on Harry’s torso. “It’s alright, pup.” He glances at Otis. “Now would be a good time to make your exit.”

“And miss all the fun?” Aubrie says loudly, grinning as she looks at Bellatrix, who’s picking up her wand off the ground, with gleaming eyes. An incline of her head and the werewolves get behind Sirius and Harry, their backs to Voldemort. Only now it becomes apparent to Remus that, trough the entirety of the battle, no werewolf looked to Voldemort for instructions. An alliance I worked for months to obtain, Sirius’s voice echoes, pushing a sudden realisation that whatever this was for Sirius it certainly wasn’t an impulsive decision if he had offered the werewolves something even Dumbledore hadn’t. “I rather think not.”

“Better future, didn’t you promise?” Otis adds, moving in line with the other werewolves. Bone sticks out from his fingers, blood pooling around. Still, the brace of his mouth is nothing but firm.

Remus’s throat burns; brave as they might be, dedicated and fierce, they will be no match for the Death Eaters once they decide to use their wands. Sirius must know it, too – that they are willing to die for this. For Harry.

“It’s waiting for you,” he says.

“Only if it’s waiting for you, too,” Aubrie shoots back. She pulls Lily’s wand from her belt and arcs it high above the heads of Death Eaters, all the way to the barrier keeping Lily and the students at bay. Lily’s fingers grapple for it.

“You, Sirius?” Voldemort asks, the soft, silky sound dragging through the air. “Not Regulus, not Severus. You.”

Sirius inclines his head. “Snape did betray you,” he says, the cadence of his voice a slow, agonising dance of death, a promise of, I won’t get out of this alive but neither will you, “but I wasn't yours to begin with.”

“Traitor!” Bellatrix hisses but the sound carries, her face white with rage, her wand pointed directly at Sirius. “I’ll kill you.”

“You can do better than that, Bella. Didn’t Aunt Walburga ever teach you?”

“No, Bellatrix.” Voldemort levels his wand at Sirius, pale hand steady. “I will do it.”

“My lord, such betrayal requires pain, he played us for fools for years –”

“He has the boy,” Voldemort cuts in smoothly, face a grimace. “I do not wish to lose more time. These dramatics have gone on long enough. Besides,” he adds slowly, “the greatest pain for him will be knowing that he leaves all the others here at my mercy.”

Sirius swallows, his eyes blinking closed for a moment, but he lifts his chin and doesn’t budge. Perhaps that’s all Sirius has left to give of himself: a last sacrifice, a declaration of love and lies and apology, laid bare on the cobblestones of Hogwarts, poured through the cracks of the ground it’s built on, raw with how final it is, fragile with the way it was for nothing at all; the act of a dying man, a reminder that even now he would rather crawl home than walk among them. Still, Remus wants to tell him, still it mattered. It will matter.

“Please,” Lily whispers, her voice hoarse. “Please, don’t – take me instead, please –”

Sirius, in his last moments, turns his eyes to Regulus, who is shaking his head in desperation, the pained sounds crawling up from his throat ripping a black, bleeding line into the meaning of devastation. “Guess even the two of us playing together wasn’t enough, huh?” he says, soft between him and his brother, something untouchable spread out in front of them, pulsing. “Désolé, Reggie.”

“This is your last chance, Sirius,” Voldemort murmurs. “No matter your motivations, you have been a good subject. See reason now and all will be forgiven.”

“Easy now, Harry,” Sirius says and Remus’s heart might rip its way out of his chest with how painfully it’s tugging, knowing that Harry is Sirius’s last thought. Harry sobs and curls closer. “It’ll be alright, little one.”

“So be it.”

The motion of Voldemort’s wand, the incantation falling from his lips, the flash of blinding green light; all of it is familiar, achingly so, and it leaves a bitter taste in the back of Remus’s mouth.

“No!” Regulus moves, breaking through the strain of magic around him, and Remus sees it as if time has slowed down; the scrambling off the ground, the desperate, rushed strides towards his brother, his hand, closing around the dip of Sirius’s shoulder, Sirius’s own hand coming up to wrap around Regulus’s fingers. Two brothers, one a Gryffindor, the other a Slytherin, different in everything but that which matters, both so brave, both so clever. Neither moving to save the other from death and take it on himself, but remaining next to each other. To die side-by-side. Together.

The light hits them – Remus can’t tell who it hits, because they are one, these brilliant boys; they are the stars they are named after, they are Blacks, with magic in every nook and cranny of their being, they are brothers, in blood and in name, in everything that they hate – and someone shouts. The world erupts in motion, rallying, wild, fierce, but Remus stays still, unable to watch, unable to look away, and wonders if he is the only one that can feel the magic, old, old magic, sizzling through the air, the taste of it pungent, its sound buzzing in his ears.

But even the Blacks, with their stories written in the stars, are mortal and when Regulus and Sirius collapse, their hands still linked, Remus thinks that the worse sound he has ever heard have to be the screams that rip out of McGonagall, out of James and Lily and Marlene. It’s not until Voldemort moves forward that Remus realises: he was screaming too.

There is no time to let the action sink in, however. The werewolves have surged forward, a tide of beaten bodies and broken spines, fighting for a future that may never come, their edge of surprise lost – the first retaliating spells cut a quarter of them down. The students follow their lead, firing off spells at random but their magic is nowhere near enough to get any of them to Harry.

“Fools,” Voldemort says and waves his wand as he steps past Sirius and Regulus’s limp bodies, towards Harry, who still stands, petrified, next to the safety Sirius tried to preserve for him. Nagini drops down from her sphere and curves her body after him. “Goes to show that even the greatest bloodlines can be tainted.”

Bellatrix points her wand at Sirius and says, “Crucio!” and Sirius’s body flails through the air, silent as only dead men can be. Her triumphant laugh echoes around the courtyard, drowns out all the other sounds in it, followed by a chorus of others’ as the werewolves continue to fall.

Only one doesn’t follow her lead and through the carnage, Remus catches sight of the blonde head bending down behind Bellatrix, the trembling hand that closes around the handle of the dagger that Regulus, minutes away from death, threw. Narcissa Black Malfoy draws herself up, eyes trained on Nagini, now freely slithering across the ground a pace behind Voldemort, toward Sirius and Regulus’s bodies, and moves. And then the end of the world comes bathed in green light.

It begins with Lily’s scream, unearthed from the deepest parts of her chest, thrown out into the world that seeks to take her son; it continues with Narcissa’s hand coming down in a quick, steady arc, with Nagini’s body convulsing and then stilling on the blood-splashed stones; it ends with Voldemort’s wand falling from his limp fingers, his body following a moment, a blink of a second, later. His vacant eyes, like the blood spilling from Nagini’s body, receive no mercy from the dark sky.

There is a moment of utter stillness, of complete silence and then Harry’s wails shoot over the entire battle, over the werewolves that push harder, over Lily and James that break free and dive for him. Remus finds himself among the ones that raise their wands against the furious onslaught of Death Eaters, the words, wasn’t enough, huh, beating out of his chest with the knowledge that it was; it was, Sirius, it was.

“What have you done?” Bellatrix half screams, half gasps out, turning on Narcissa, raising her wand towards her sister.

Narcissa has none of Bellatrix’s strong, ferocious features but she lifts her chin in the same haughty manner, the way Sirius and Regulus did, prepared to go down if that’s what it takes. “I have lost my sisters, my cousins and my husband to him,” she says, her jaw set, as she lets the dagger fall down and grabs her wand instead, pointing it directly at Bellatrix. “I will not lose my son, too.”

“Fool,” Bellatrix spits out, slashing her wand at Narcissa, who parries it with a quickness Remus wouldn’t have expected of her. It devolves into a fierce back-and-forth but Remus is forced to look away when a curse comes flashing his way.

He ducks out of the way and sends a retaliating one, pausing only for a moment to make sure it hits home. He turns and finds Otis half-heartedly ducking out of the way of white spells. While the Death Eater isn’t focused, Remus sends a Stunning Spell his way and doesn’t wait for him to hit the ground before he spins his wand on another one.

A part of Remus doesn’t want the battle to be over because when it is, there will be no way to keep the fresh memories at bay. He is nearly lost in it, in the dodge-and-shoot rhythm, when a familiar throaty shout reaches him.

“Lily!”

Heart thrumming up to his throat, Remus turns and sees, to his and James’s horror, Lily facing off against Bellatrix and deflecting a curse that would have likely finished off Narcissa, who is pressed against a column with no wand in hand. Her stance is sure, feet spread wide apart to keep her steady, and the sheer fury carved into her face gives even Remus pause. The best duellist of their generation, back on her feet, and ready to make a lasting impression.

The spells shoot out of their wands in rapid succession, far too dangerous to disturb from either side and it makes all the others pause and watch. More than once, they have to dodge out of the way of a redirected spell. Lily's sleeve darkens with her blood; Bellatrix's leg buckles every few, unsure steps.

“Is that all you have, Mudblood?” Bellatrix taunts, with none of her previous delight; her voice is full of rage and if she had had time to think about it, Remus is certain there would be grief there as well.

Lily jumps out of the way of a red streak, hair flying, and twists her arm through the air, making her wand only a blur of light wood. The purple spell hits, right over Bellatrix’s heart and she falls much like her master did: with none of the ceremony that seemed to have been reserved for her in life, the way all mortals fall.

“No,” Lily says, pushing her hair out of the way, face stripped of all anger and slowly washed by exhaustion. She crosses the space back to James, who is kneeling with Harry, and folds herself into his arms. Remus hears her murmur, “This is all I have.”

Half-lost, he steps forward to join them but a sharp cry makes him look up instead. Fawkes has appeared in the sky, gleaming gold and red, with Dumbledore holding onto his long tail. They land in the middle of the courtyard, Fawkes unharmed and Dumbledore with a charred beard but their presence seems to be enough to make the rest of the Death Eaters concede. Lucius Malfoy, kneeling by Narcissa’s side with his fingers over her cheek, is the first one to throw his wand to the ground.

The rest of the happenings seem like peculiar snapshots to Remus: the able picking up the injured, checking the dead, Dumbledore binding the Death Eaters, Fawkes bowing low over a few bodies, the werewolves slowly coming together. He can only watch, pain spiking up every time he breathes.

When everything settles like dust, McGonagall is the first one to move, limping and with dirt-smudged robes, almost toward Dumbledore until she steps past him – to Sirius and Regulus, Remus realises with a painful tug that begins in his lungs and ends somewhere around his liver. “Sirius,” she says as she drops down beside him, her hand gentle over his slack face, painted in dramatic, torchlight-falling lines: high cheekbones, arching brows, sharp jaw. Remus’s eyes burn. He thought, for a moment, that he might get to look into his eyes again and tell him – tell him something, anything, that would have crumbled away this bitter ache; now he can’t even scream. “Sirius, I’m sorry.”

The words seem too familiar for someone so far removed from Sirius, from the pain he caused and the bridges he burned. She had her fondness for them in their school years but to be so openly mourning the death of someone she must have thought was a Death Eater less than an hour ago seems – it seems –

There’s a familiar presence in his space, a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. He faces Lily, who has Harry in her arms and is looking up at him with glassy eyes. Her lips are twisted down and her eyelashes dotted with tears, the side of her face crusted with blood. Remus draws her against him, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, and hopes her warmth makes it down to all the parts of him that have frozen over.

“Hi,” he breathes when Harry reaches for him suddenly, small fingers grabbing over his shirt. He takes him from Lily and wraps his arms around him as Harry clings to him, just like he clung to Sirius. Blood soaks his fringe, pooling around the new wound across his forehead, and Remus uses his wand to Vanish it away for the time being, then draws him tighter against himself, thankful despite everything that it isn’t this small body that’s lying among the motionless ones strewn across the courtyard. “Hi, little one.”

There’s a sob behind him and he turns to see Marlene crouched down with her hands pressed across her mouth, shaking her head. Her eyes are focused on Sirius and McGonagall but she leans into Dorcas when she kneels beside her and hugs her to her chest. It’s not unlike how she was all those years ago on a cold December night, crumpled in on herself on the floor of his small apartment, begging them to tell her it’s not true. Remus’s heart wants to go out to her but it is shackled by its own pain.

James’s approach is slow, the antithesis of a man rushing to his friend’s side, desperate to find out if his heart still beats; his steps are heavy with the knowledge that no life is waiting to greet him. He folds his knees underneath himself and reaches for Sirius’s hand, his face contorted into anguish, brown skin sallow. Remus has seen the expression on his face too many times throughout war and aimed at the face beneath his even more than that. Only Sirius, Remus think with more painful humour than he feels, could have broken their hearts over and over, years after they were supposed to let him go.

“James.” McGonagall looks up at James with big eyes, her forehead creased up. Her hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist, quick enough it makes even James look at her in surprise. If it hadn’t been such a strange day all together, Remus might have thought McGonagall to have truly lost her mind. “Tell me I’m not imagining it,” she says, voice hoarse, as she brings James’s hand to Sirius’s neck and presses his fingers there.

James lets out a low, breathless sound and bows down to press the side of his face to Sirius’s chest. “It can’t be,” he whispers.

“What is it?” Marlene asks, drawing herself up, swaying on the balls of her feet. “James, what is it?”

McGonagall lets go of James and Sirius to push herself toward Regulus and feel against his neck, too. She stays silent for a few moments, chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. Then she faces back to them, her lips curved up into a near-smile. Her laugh comes out sudden and small, disbelieving and out of place among the downtrodden winners, but it makes something in Remus’s chest bloom up.

“They’re breathing.”

___

A/N: To the tumblr anon who asked me if they could write "so and so finds out about Sirius": please don't let the fact that this part of the story is done discourage you from writing the rest of your ideas. I'd still very much love to read them.

24 notes · View notes

ajoy3fanfics · 4 years

Text

101 ways to shut Granger up- Sixth year, pt.1

Find it on AO3!

If you knew your last minute of peace would truly be your last, what would you do differently? Draco often wondered that over his summer. Would he have breathed a little deeper, revealed in the normal pace of his heart? Savor the sweet feeling of living without anxiety, without his pulse racing, heart beating out of his chest? Would he have stopped to take it all in, make it a flesh memory, if for nothing else than to hold on to it all the tighter later?

As he wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand, breathless, struggling to stand, he stopped musing about what he would change, but more importantly, wondered what he did. When did he last feel anything but nauseous? When was the last time he felt like the world wasn’t about to fall apart if he so much as looked at someone the wrong way?

Certainly before summer. Before he was escorted from Hogwarts Express, a grim look in his mothers eyes. She gave him a tight lipped smile, a short, but tight hug, before she whispered that they must hurry back, to keep quiet, because there were eyes everywhere. It was not until they reached the gates of the manor that his mother warned him that things had changed.

“Guests,” She called them.

Criminals, murderers. The criminally insane, more like.

It chilled him to the bone to see his home crawling with the scum his family would never so much as glance at before he came back.

Before she did too.

When he walked through the front door it felt as if he had entered a different world. His head spun as he took in the foyer, usually tranquil and empty, now filled with strangers strolling past him. As if they had any right to roam the halls of his house. They didn’t even have the breeding to nod his way or greet the young master hello. Draco scrunched his nose up in distaste.

“Manners, Draco.” His mother prompted him.

“You’re reminding me of that? What the fucking hell-

“-language.”

“-going on here?” He clenched his fists by his side. He fucking hated to be left out. The entire year he knew something was wrong, could feel it in his gut, but his mother has not so much as hinted at anything amiss.

“Draco.” The way his name hissed from her lips, dripped out like a poison, made him freeze. He hunched his shoulders, could freaking feel her eyes boring into his back. “I thought you’d never get here, love.”

Bellatrix practically flew in front of him, grasping Dracos face between her bony hands. “Let me get a look at you.” It was the strangest mix of sadness and pride.

Bellatrix appraised him from top to bottom, clicking her tongue as she turned his chin. Every fiber, every muscle, every atom screamed at him to look away, pull his jaw away from her claws, and go anywhere else. Fucking Hogwarts sounded better than this hell. And it had only been a minute inside.

“He’s too thin, Cissy.” She snapped. “Much too thin. What have you been feeding my nephew?”

“He eats well, Bella.” She defended. “Draco has quite the sweet tooth, in fact.”

She smiled at that, teeth rotten, sharp. “Is that so?” Some memory sparked in her eyes; something from long that had nothing to do with him. She turned to Narcissa. “Just like Daddy?”

“In many ways.” She answered proudly.

“Right, right. Of course.” Bellatrix smoothed down his hair, carding her pale, cold fingers through the blonde strands. She leaned in close, voice dropping to a languid whisper. “Last of the blacks.”

“I’m a Malfoy.” Draco spit it out before he could bite his tongue. He was scared of his aunt, always had been. But now she didn’t just act like a fiend from a nightmare, she damn well looked like one too. It churned his stomach to have her so close. He could still smell Azkaban on her, as if the filth was a permanent fixture on her skin. He didn’t intend to say a word to her, but all the nonsense about being a Black dredged up his memories of their last visit. Why was his mother not pulling him away, as she had done then?

“Ha! A Malfoy.” She gripped his hair by the roots as she laughed and tugged. Hard enough to make him wince, quick enough that she instantly let go. Easily could have been brushed off as an accident. Easily could have been a misunderstanding. “Well, Draco… I have to say I’m surprised. After hearing what your traitorous father did-”

“-father?”

“- I’d think you’d be all too eager to shed the Malfoy shame. Take up the Black name, live your legacy.”

“He will do no such thing Bella.” His mother finally intervened, after what seemed like an eternity. She stood between Draco and his aunt, and Draco was sure his heart rate had doubled since he saw the main gates. “And I thought we discussed letting me talk to him first. He has no idea-”

“He should be upset that he failed, not that he has to live the consequences of it!”

He was a pot boiling over. A volcano ready to explode. Too much energy in his body. Too many thoughts racing through his head. The busts on the pedestals shattered around him, wandless magic crackling through the air as he roared, “What the fuck is going on?!”

Narcissa and Bellatrix immediately stopped, turned to face him, stunned to silence.

His aunt smiled. “Just like a Black.”

~.~

Had it been an insult or a compliment? It rattled around in Draco’s head. His knee jerk reaction was that she was speaking from a place of pride. But when Draco learned that Bellatrix had killed her cousin Sirius Black, he wondered if her words were indeed a threat.

~.~

Interestingly enough, the news that his father had been locked away did not startle Draco.

His mother thought to be gentle, that the news might blow him over, literally knock him down. Instead, it crashed over him, a wave so intense he felt numb.

Of course his father was in Azkaban. There was no way he would allow this madness; his aunt and her lunacy, the vermin that came and left the manor to skulk around his home. These people wouldn’t be invited for a holiday party at Malfoy Manor, let alone encouraged to board unless something dire had happened to his father.

In some respect, it surprised Draco to know his father had failed whatever half-baked mission they aimed to achieve. Lucius had always been so confident, so in control of everything and everyone. In all his life, he had never seen his father incompetent. It was difficult to imagine what it looked like.

From the way his new house guests snickered, the gossip that was swapped in not-so-hushed whispers in the halls, it had been a sight to see. That was the way those assholes put it anyway.

Two men, Yaxley and some lackey of his, seemed to revel in it. Bringing the Malfoy name down into the mud gave them a sick sort of pleasure.

“Just a matter of time until this place falls into the right hands.” Yaxley said, smirking as he glanced towards Draco. “The Dark Lord promised me some big rewards to clean up after Malfoys fuck up..”

Draco snapped his attention to Yaxley, trying up his courage as his squared his shoulders. Yaxley was a tall man, slim, but fit. If he threw a punch, Draco was sure he wouldn’t escape without a few broken bones. And wouldn’t he love that, the filth he was?

“Don’t you dare say another fucking word against my father.” He seethed.

“Draco! Stop!” His mother rushed to him. The woman seemed like a magnet since he came home, never far from his side. His mother gripped his arm as she pulled him back. Draco had clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Draco, Stop.”

He felt like hitting Yaxley, felt like shaking his mother off of him, but he could feel her fingers dig into his skin, her hands trembling.

“Mind your temper, boy.” Yaxley took his time as he moved his gaze to Narcissa, looking her up and down slowly- too slowly. “Mummy won’t always be around to protect you.”

“Don’t fucking look at my mother-”

“-Mother, father. Where should I look then, boy?”

“Yaxley.” She commanded, “You are a guest in my home. I will not have you acting in an uncouth manner. Please take your leave for the night.”

Yaxlet nodded, but sized Draco up before he turned to leave. “S’fine. The Dark Lord asked for me anyhow.”

“Lowlives.” Narcissa hissed. “Not worth your time, dear.” His mother had said, gripping his arm as she pulled him back. Draco had clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He fucking hated this.

Draco twisted out of his mothers grasp and stormed the stairs, eager to get to his room, to find comfort in the only four walls that had any ounce of normalcy.

So it should have been no surprise to see his Aunt Bella waiting for him at the landing, arms crossed, lips pressed together in disapproval. In the shitshow that was now his life, it made sense that he wouldn’t be able to carve out even a minute of refuge for himself.

“Should’ve taught him a lesson.” She spat. “Scum like that, talking to a Black that way.” She craned her neck to see if Yaxley was about, then raised her voice to yell, “Disgraceful!”

“Right?” He felt his lip draw up in a sneer. “Makes me fucking sick.” Draco rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots in his neck. He had only spoken a few times to his aunt, and never typically alone. He had thought she would have pounced on him, if the way she acted his first day back was any indication. But it seemed that the Dark Lord kept her busy.

“Just a lousy upstart, that Yaxley. Thinks he’s in The Dark Lords good graces because he did one mission for him and earned some praise.” It was clear his aunt felt the same distaste he did.

Draco found himself saying, “As if that's all it takes.” Though he was unsure why. In his house of enemies, perhaps he was trying to find an ally.

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward. “The Dark Lord isn’t a fickle man, Draco.” Her voice was low, serious. “But he does not take mistakes lightly.” She gripped his forearm as she spoke, eyes ablaze with passion. “It's serious business, not something to be toyed around with for status, like that Yaxley.” He watched as Bellatrix brought her hand to his face, caressing his cheek with her thumb. “You know better though, right love? Why we need to do this work? We can’t let the Yaxley’s of the world look down on us.”

“No,” he said, the words sticking in his throat.

“So we need to stick together, you and me.” She spoke slow, searching his eyes. “Cissy is too tender-hearted, always has been. She can’t endure this much longer.”

Draco nodded his head in agreement.

“We need to get this family back under control. You and me, Draco.”

~.~

As scary as Bellatrix had seemed to Draco as a child, he had to admit he somewhat admired her. She was unafraid of anyone; perhaps it was simply that she was crazed and fear was no longer an emotion she registered.

But when Bella hexed Pettigrew for speaking to Narcissa in a demeaning, demanding tone, he couldn’t help but feel that maybe they were on the same side.

~.~

If Draco had thought that Aunt Bella had made an idle proposition earlier, he was sorely mistaken. Draco took family seriously- the Malfoys were known for it- but Bella had a devotion to the Black name and lineage that made her a woman possessed.

“You’re our last hope, Draco. The prodigal son, eh?” She smiled at him like a snake.

Being the last hope didn’t just involve a title. Apparently it required him to wake before dawn and train. Bella was quick with a wand; it made him shudder to think how lethal she would have been if she had been in practice all these years. If Draco had assumed she’d be rusty with a few spells, he was sorely mistaken.

The bitch hit hard.

Every spell, every curse was merciless. One to stiffen the muscles, to set them on fire. One to turn the blood to lead. One to boil the skin, one to derail the mind. She taught him curse after curse, dueling with him until he got it right.

‘Why can’t she have her own damn kid?’ Draco wondered. ‘Why pin all her hopes on me?’

When he could not perform, could not match her sophisticated skill, she turned angry. Face red, brows furrowed and teeth clenched.

“No!” She shrieked, aiming her wand at him. She sent a spark of electricity his way- a curse to seep into his bones. “Do you think your opponent will be as forgiving as me?” She broke the spell, leaving Draco huddled and wheezing.

“Do it again.”

~.~

Even night time proved to give Draco little peace. With his head on his mountain of pillows, a cooling charm over his four poster bed, a light comforter to balance the temperature, he still could not get comfortable. He found himself balling his hands into fists, cursing under his breath until he could not take it anymore. With a quick silencing charm, he would scream until his voice was hoarse.

It was only when he was exhausted, both physically and mentally, that he was able to close his eyes. No sooner would he shut them, but the events of his day would flash in his mind. Where was his father? Was he faring well? His mother, his poor mother, how much more could she take? How much more could he take?

No. He needed a distraction. Needed to focus on something else. Something pleasant- fucking anything. Something consuming.

Granger.

She was probably at the Weasleys, spending her days filled with obnoxious red-heads and Potter. The idea filled his belly with fury. What would they be doing, all alone with nothing but the summer heat? Did Weasley have his hands all over her? Pawing away like an animal no doubt. The clumsy oaf probably couldn’t piece together how to unhook a bra, let alone give her an ounce of pleasure.

No. No, no, no. That couldn’t be right. He had heard before that Potter spent his summers with whatever bit of a family he had. That Granger went home to hers. He had heard her talking once, about trips and teeth. It made little sense, but it had instantly relieved him to know that she did not spend her time with those two in the summer. Most likely.

Probably.

No, definitely. That's what he had to go with. He needed something positive. Needed to believe there was still something left for him, even if she never was his.

~.~

The Dark Lord was due to have a visit soon, at least that was the gossip around the kitchen. His mother had fretted nervously, ordering the elves from this room to the next, making them clean and re-clean every surface on the estate.

As anxious as it made Narcissa, Bella seemed to be buzzing with energy.

And it only made her push harder.

And kinship he had felt with her had quickly dissipated. It was clear she was self serving, though she did have some affection for her sister and nephew. All in the name of family, no matter how twisted and fucked up it was.

“ Why are you incapable of doing this?!” Bellatrix screamed. It was early and Draco still felt sluggish. “Lazy like your father! No ambition! No follow through!” She punctuated each insult with a flick of her wand, the hex cutting to the bone. Draco could feel blood trickle down his forehead, dribbling down his brow. His lip was split in two, the taste of iron in his mouth. Taking the back of his hand, he tried to wipe away the fresh cuts.

“I don’t want to fucking do this anymore.” Draco spat. He had never wanted to do it in the first place.

“Oh, sweet Draco. You think it's a choice?” She let loose curse, one that made his body feel like glass- stiff and fragile. Draco was sure that if he made even the slightest movement he would shatter. She strode over to him with impatience.

“This is your destiny, Draco. You need to seize it! When the Dark Lord comes, he will want to know your heart is pure. Is your heart pure, Draco?”

He swallowed, trying to control his breathing. “Yes.” He answered too slowly.

“Of course it is, dear. And your mind? Free of treacherous thoughts? No ideas of rebellion rattling around that brain of yours? Scheming like your father-!”

A pain unlike anything Draco had experienced crashed through his head. He had practiced briefly with Snape- but it was nothing in comparison to this. Snape had been intrusive, poking and prodding- giving him room to defend himself. Teachable moments, perhaps.

This was different.

Bellatrix did not poke, she shredded. It felt like a knife ripped apart every synapse, lit every thought ablaze. She turned over the images, rifled through his memories. The ones of his childhood, the anger he felt towards Potter.

But of course, Potter lead to Granger.

He tried to shut her out. Tried to keep her away from Hermione. But Fuck, Bellatrix was skilled and he was so weak. So fucking weak.

Filthy images, fantasies, passing glances filled Bellatrix’s mind. An obsession laid open for his aunt to see. His darkest secret, exposed to the most dangerous individual he knew.

She would kill him now. He was certain of it.

By the time she took her claws out of Dracos mind, she was panting.

“That filthy mudblood?” She whispered. “That filthy-” She sent a curse, fire in her eyes.

“-little-” Another, jabbing at his spine.

“Mudblood-” She curled her lips in disgust as her wand slashed through the air.

“-Whore!”

He was crying, there was no use denying it. He would spend his last moments on Earth curled up in a ball. Lying in fetal position, waiting for death at his aunt's hands.

Bellatrix crouched next to him, resting her chin on her palm. She looked furious, gritting her teeth, rage barely contained.

“This won’t do. It won’t do!” She screeched. “You were meant to carry on the Black name.” Her tone turned sad, remorseful. “How can you be so like Andromina? Poor Cissy, to go through this again.”

No, not like his aunt. Not like the one that had been disowned. The one better off dead.

“I- I’m not.” He was missing a front tooth, could feel the broken bones and shattered bits in his mouth.

“And the Dark Lord? What will he say?” She cut her eyes to her nephew. “Your mother will pay the price for this too. The Dark Lord, he’ll say our family is tainted, the seed is bad! The line full of traitors! Your mother, my dear Cissy-!” Bellatrix seemed to conveniently forget that she was part of the line she so easily called traitorous.

“It’s, its just-” He breathed in, broken ribs stabbing. “Just an attraction.” Draco panted. “Thanks all. Aunt Bella, I, I swear.”

She considered him for a moment, a crumpled heap of a man.

“A passing attraction, you say?” She rolled her neck as she sucked on her bottom lip.

“It is.” He turned to look her square in the eye. There was a moment of pause before she answered.

“That better be all.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Young children do have peculiar tastes.”

“Right,” He was exhausted, utterly defeated.

“I remember when I was in school, some of the questionable boys I found cute. No accounting for taste in these years, you know.”

“You’re ri-right Aunt Bella. It’s- its nothing serious.”

“If it’s nothing serious, then it’s nothing to trouble the Dark Lord over.” She said quickly.

“Y-Yes, Aunt Bella.”

She nodded, as if listening to him from far away.

“We’ll just have to train all the harder. Won't we, love?”

~.~

As Draco nursed the bones he was currently regrowing, he wondered if Hermione would have like the manor. Before his aunt, before the wild creatures had taken over it.

He wondered if she would have liked the garden, would have minded the peacocks. He drifted to sleep, dreaming over Hermione Granger on his broomstick. Hugging him tight, hugging him close.

~.~

The day the Dark Lord had come had been surprisingly cheerful. Bellatrix had been away since the night before, so he was out from under his thumb. He had taken an early breakfast with his mother, now accustomed to being awakened before the sun even rose. After a light breakfast, he had retreated to the library, found a book he had been meaning to read, and drifted off to sleep in the plush leather arm chair. It had been the time he had slept well since he had arrived home.

A loud pop had awakened him. An elf cleared its throat, announcing his arrival.

“Master Draco is needed in the dining room.” He wrung his hands nervously around his shirt. Even the elves had not escaped the wrath of their new guests.

“Thank you.” He sighed heavily, not ready to leave. Not ready to give up on his dream of normalcy.

This had been typical for him, had been his everyday once. Now it was nothing more than a vacation from his daily life. Misery was his new normal.

“Master Draco must come quickly!” The elves' voice lowered. “Misses says it's urgent.”

Draco stood and pushed open the heavy oak doors and walked towards the dining room.

Voldermort was waiting.

#Dramione fic #Draco Malfoy #draco x hermione #dramione #Dramione fanfic #dramione fandom #ajoy3

12 notes · View notes

rebel-author-chick · 5 years

Text

Better Than That (Loki x Reader)

@marvelbingo Square: Loki Warning: Smut Pairing: Loki x Reader Summary: You help to distract Loki after he see’s the Hulk on Sakaar. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155904

A/N: This is my first time writing smut and I’m really proud of it. I want to give a big thanks to @winchester-with-wings for beta-ing this and giving me advice on how to write smut!

“Hulk! Hulk! Hulk!” The cheering from the city below could be heard echoing throughout the palace. A celebration was being had in the streets of Sakaar for the Hulk’s victory over the Lord of Thunder, as your father had dubbed him. It wasn’t unusual for the people of Sakaar to celebrate one of their champion’s victories, but this battle had been truly spectacular. Unbelievably, the Lord of Thunder had actually started to win the fight before suddenly losing to the Hulk. It had been a wonderful battle and you were still basking in the glow of your father’s victory, even if it was only symbolic.

You walked through the party your father usually held after every tournament. Easily sliding past all of the party-goers, you spy the man you had been looking for. Loki was looking out of one of the many windows that lined the room, which was highly unusual for him. Ever since he had come to Sakaar, he had been the center of attention at every party. He was so beautiful standing there, the lights of the city illuminated his lean figure. You were so used to seeing him surrounded by numerous people that it worried you. Sliding up to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind and placed your head on his shoulder.

“Something the matter, dear?”

Loki jumped at the contact, having been lost in his own thoughts, “Oh, Y/N, you startled me.” He hadn’t meant to get lost in his head, but seeing the Hulk again, so close and in the last place he thought he would be, left him with some bad memories. The only solace he had was knowing that his brother now knows exactly what he went through back in New York.

You watched his face as he spoke, dragging your eyes along the outline of his smooth jaw and resting on his eyes. His brow was scrunched up, and his eyes had a far off look in them. “That’s usually not an easy thing to do.” You moved around him, putting your chin on his chest and staring into his eyes. “Is something wrong? You’re not being your usual self.”

“I’m fine, love. I just have some things on my mind.” He looked at you, finally, and smirked. It was a look you knew well, but had never been on the receiving end of. He was lying to you. “Why don’t we go back to the party?”

If you were any other person you might have let it go, but he should know you better than that. You were the reason he had gotten into your father’s good graces so quickly after arriving on the planet. Your father, the Grandmaster, was an easy target for someone as sly as Loki. He'd fallen for everything Loki’s silver tongue would say to him, especially when they were compliments. Topaz, however, was less inclined to have Loki around. She would rather have thrown him into the dungeons with the other gladiators or just kill him on the spot.

That’s where you came in. You were usually the tie-breaker between the two, even if your opinion wasn't what mattered. Your father knew what he wanted to do, nothing would change his mind. Just another one of the games he liked to play.

Ever your father's daughter, you liked him, mostly his looks. He was one of the more attractive prisoners who were brought to the palace. Dark hair and green eyes had always been your weakness, and he was just so tantalizing. You had been getting bored with the other playthings you had, and if the things he was saying to your father were any indication, you could only imagine what else he could do with his tongue.

So, you asked your father if you could have him.

It didn’t take much for him to say yes, a pout here and a few battings of eyelashes there, and he was putty in your hands. That night, Loki confirmed your suspicions about how good his tongue was.

You hadn’t meant to fall for him at the time, but you had and he seemed to have fallen for you as well. It was because of the relationship you had formed with him that you knew he was lying.

“I have a better idea,” you said as you started to kiss up his neck. You sucked on the crook of his neck and smirked as you heard him let out a small moan. After leaving a satisfying mark, you trailed kisses up to his ear, nibbling on his earlobe. “Why don’t we go back to my room and have a little fun?”

Loki groaned and looked over his shoulder at the room. While your father knew what you and Loki did together, once you two had become an item he started acting more protective of you. You rolled your eyes and started to run your hands down Loki’s chest before cupping his half hard member. You giggled as he jumped, snapping his head back to you.

"Careful darling. Or I might just have to take you right here." You felt the cool glass of the window at your bare back as he pressed you into it. "What would your people think of their princess being fucked against a window, like a common whore?"

"You promise?" You teased, the thought sent a warm heat to your core. Loki's lips crashed onto yours. He forced his tongue into your mouth, not that you resisted. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him impossibly closer to you. You grind your hips onto his, needing the friction. Your body felt like it was on fire. Loki growled and in one swift motion, captured your arm; dragging you through the crowd and towards the exit.

You made it to your room in record time. The door had barely shut before Loki had you pressed up against it. You run your hands down his back, resting them on his waist. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Do you really want to do this now?” Loki ran his hand up your leg to cup your ass under your skirt. You moan as he kissed your neck, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You tangled your hands in his long black hair and ground down onto his dick. “Good point, we’ll talk about it after.”

He laughed and laid you down on the bed. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“You should know me better than that.” Pulling him on top of you, you buck your hips into his, meeting his eyes, “Now, shut up and kiss me.”

“My pleasure,” Loki smirked at you before attacking your lips, causing you to let out a muffled moan. You tangled your fingers in his hair again, giving it a slight tug when he did something you liked. He moved onto your neck as he used one of his hands to push your skirt up. His long fingers started to rub you through your panties, already wet with excitement. He focused most of his movements on your pulsing clit, your moan so loud you were sure they could be heard back at the party. You buck your hips again, whining, “You have too many clothes on.”

With a snap, both of you were left naked. "Better?" You hummed in approval.

Loki’s fingers found your folds and he slid one inside you, slowly pumping his them in and out of you. His lips closed around one of your nipples and your arched your back, pushing your chest into his face. You tug his hair as he adds a second finger and starts rubbing your clit with his thumb, fast and hard. The only things that could be heard in the room were your moans and the squelching sound coming from your lower half. You felt yourself tighten around his fingers and arch your back, close to release. Loki added another finger and removed is mouth from your nipple.

“L-Loki,” you cried as your body gets closer and closer. “I-I’m going to…”

“Come on, sweetheart. Cum for me.” The deep and low sound of his voice pushes you over the edge and you let out a loud moan. He removes his fingers from you, before putting them into his mouth and sucking on the one at a time, his eyes staring directly into your own. You whimper at the sight. It takes you a minute before you can catch your breath. Glancing down, you see his cock, long and lean like the rest of his body. Pulsating and red, its tip dripping with precum.

“Your turn,” you tell him before pushing him down and putting it in your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base. You play with the head, tongue licking and sucking it while your hand pumps the shaft; Loki’s grunts and moans spurring you on. You take him deeper into your throat and you feel his hand gather up your hair in a tight fist. He thrusts up into your mouth and you pump your hand faster in response.

“Fuck!” He moaned, tightening his grip on your hair. “So close.”

You hum around him and pick up the pace. Loki’s thrusts became erratic so you used your arm to still his hips. A few more pumps of his cock and ribbons of cum shot into your mouth. You licked up any remains, relishing in the salty taste, and looked up at Loki. He was flushed, bright red and breathing heavily, one of his arms slung over his eyes. You slowly crawled up his body and sat on his lap before gently removing his arm. “Hope you’re not getting tired.”

Loki smirked and bucked his hips underneath you. His cock was already hard again and rubbing against you, “Never.”

You ground your hips down on him in response, causing you both to let out a long moan. Positioning you above him, Loki grabbed your hips and teased your entrance with the tip of his cock. You whimpered, remembering the feeling of his fingers inside you earlier, “Stop teasing~!”

In one quick motion, he pushed you down onto him as he snapped his hips up to meet yours. He stretched your walls around him and he gave you a minute to adjust to his size before rolling his hips. It caused you to let out another moan. Loki thrust into you as you meet them with your own from above, his fingers were definitely going to leave bruises.The two of you get into a steady rhythm, hips meeting at just the right angle. Suddenly, Loki flipped you onto your back. One of his hands left your waist to rub your clit in slow, small circles. “Let me take control.”

His fingers speed up and his thrusts met yours causing you to let out moan after moan. It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar ball of fire in your lower abdomen. Clenching your walls around Loki, you feel his thrusts falter, letting you know he’s close too. You kiss Loki hard, sending both of you over the edge. You lay with Loki still above you, panting the only noise from either of you, as you both come down from your highs.

After a few minutes, Loki collapsed onto the bed next to you, both of you breathing heavy. A quiet silence falling over the room. You reach your hand out to grasp Loki’s, giving it a light squeeze. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Loki turned to you and squeezed your hand back, “I know, and I am very grateful for that, love. Today just brought up some bad memories, that’s all.”

“Ok, just remember that I’m here for you. Whenever you need me.” Loki smiled at you before giving you a deep kiss. “Now, if those memories are still giving you problems, I know what’ll take your mind off it…”

#loki x reader #loki x reader smut #smut #marvel #marvelbingo2019 #my writing

249 notes · View notes

singledarkshade · 4 years

Text

Magical Mix Up

Chapter Four

(Chapter Three can be found here)

Rip turned when Amy arrived at his side with a mug of tea. He took it with a slight smile before placing it on the table beside the courier he was building. It was not easy doing it from memory with his currently fuzzy brain, but he was getting there. Once he finished it then the next part would be to tune it to the frequency of the Waverider’s engines and time travel matrix, which would be the really tricky part. However, the Doctor seemed convinced he could help with that. Rip had to admit that this was an interesting ship, there seemed to be no obvious pattern to the layout, and the tech was beyond his own. He would love to spend some time investigating it.

“How are you doing?” Amy asked softly when she placed a plate with some chocolate biscuits next to him.

Rip looked up at her and could see the worry in her eyes for her husband, “Hopefully I should be finished soon. Normally I could make this quicker but after my last trip through the vortex I’m a little slower than I usually am.”

Amy laughed, “You seem to be doing alright.”

Sighing Rip shrugged, “This is familiar to me. Making things and fixing things always helped me relax when I was stressed.”

“So, you make a lot of things that let you travel in time?” Amy asked amused.

Rip laughed softly, “Actually, yes.” He could see she wanted to ask and decided to help ease her mind, “I was raised by an organisation called the Time Masters who trained me to guard the timeline. My ship, the Waverider, is more than likely where your husband is being held. I know that ship better than anyone because I basically rebuilt it. Multiple times in fact.”

“Is Rory safe there?”

Rip nodded, “He will be. If they think he’s me with missing memories then they’ll be trying to get him to remember,” he gave an amused smile, “If a friend of mine is still with the team then I’m hoping he’ll work out Rory isn’t me. If he doesn’t, I will never let him forget.”

Amy smiled at him, and squeezed his hand, “We’ll get you home too.”

“Thank you, Amy.”

Amy left her husband’s double to work while she went to check in with the Doctor. Spending time with Rip, she could see the differences that only someone who knew one of them well would and hoped one of the people who had grabbed Rory was able to see them too.

“Doctor,” she called, finding him with his head buried in the chest he kept in the console room, “What are you looking for?”

He looked up, dazed slightly at the movement, before replying, “Rip needs some elion crystals for his version of the vortex manipulator. I know I have a few but can’t quite find the bag.”

The end of his sentence was slightly muffled as he stuck his head in the box once more. Amy winced as she heard things clattering and smashing before the Doctor emerged with a small black velvet pouch in his hand.

“Found them,” he cried, bouncing to his feet, “Come on, Pond. Let’s pass these to our guest.”

Amy followed him, finally asking, “Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“Surely you know how to make one of these,” Amy noted, “So, why let him do it?”

The Doctor stalled and turned to her, “Because this is his technology, I don’t have the precise knowledge he does, and it won’t be as accurate for tracking the ship. Besides he obviously needs something to do, and I don’t want him messing with the TARDIS.”

He started walking again, stalling once more when Amy asked, “So are Time Masters and Time Lords related somehow?”

Turning to her, he demanded, “Time Masters?”

“That’s who Rip said raised him,” Amy explained, confused as the Doctor slammed his hand to his cheek with wide-eyed astonishment.

“Of course, he’s that Rip Hunter,” the Doctor shook his head before starting to walk again, “Well that explains the knowledge of time travel devices.”

“You know a lot of people called Rip Hunter?” Amy sighed, even more confused.

Amy managed to catch up just before the Doctor entered the small room Rip was using.

“Here,” the Doctor place the pouch beside the other man, “Elion crystals.”

Rip nodded and gently slid several out onto the table, quickly finding one that fit his requirements. Amy and the Doctor watched him place it in the casing before finishing the final few connections and snapping it shut, “Done.”

“Excellent,” the Doctor said, “Let’s get to the control room and we can use that, along with the trail we followed to find Rory.”

Rip was relieved he managed to create the new courier so quickly. And he was right, sitting here working on it made him relax so his mind felt clearer. Following the Doctor and Amy through the corridors of the ship, he tried to work out what kind of vessel it was. There were no windows showing space or the time stream, not to mention there was no flow to the corridors. Stepping into the control room, Rip knew the Doctor’s technology was leagues ahead of the Waverider.

“Okay,” the Doctor brought up several schematics, “This is the original energy trace we detected in the hospital where Rory works,” he pointed to the top line, “And this is the one that found you,” he pointed to the bottom line.

Rip nodded and checking the information began to calibrate the courier, happy that it only took a few minutes before he found it.

“Got it,” he smiled at the nervously bouncing Amy.

The Doctor pulled out a long wire and offered it to him, “Plug it in and we’ll follow the trail to give us a destination.”

Rip followed the instruction then moved to join the Doctor and Amy at the other screen. Hope filled him when they got a lock and the screen lit up showing a pathway through the timestream to…

“Ancient Rome,” the Doctor said, “Oh that is unfortunate.”

Confused, Rip asked, “Why?”

“Because Rory and Rome,” Amy sighed, “Are not a good combination.”

*********************************************

Rory groaned as he managed to pull himself up out of the awkward angle he’d been thrown into. Thankfully he had no broken bones, and nothing seemed to be bleeding. Looking around he saw that the door to his cell was now open. Rory eased his way out of the room watching for any of the people who had put him in there.

He could hear shouts from nearby, from the small snatches he could hear it sounded as though someone was trapped. Part of Rory wanted to go help but he knew that if he did then he would end up back in the cell once more. The nurse part of him was shoved to the back as the Centurion took control and heading away from the group, he was relieved to find an exit to the ship which was half open. Climbing onto the crates sitting in the room, Rory managed to squeeze out of the door and quickly looked around. There were some rocks not far from where he was, and he ran towards them quickly. Reaching a safe haven, for now, Rory turned and stared in amazement at the ship in front of him. Blinking as it suddenly disappeared, Rory realised they must have fixed a few things and would soon be looking for him.

Luckily just beyond the rocks where he was hiding were several trees that he could use as cover to find himself a safe space. Moving quickly Rory reached the trees and hugged the tree line to give him as much protection as possible. Reaching the edge, he walked a few feet beyond finding he was on a hill and looking down relief filled him.

The Centurion was home.

Sara sighed in relief when they managed to release Jax from the engine room finding he wasn’t injured and Zari called down to let them know she’d managed to fix the shielding so the ship wouldn’t be visible, wherever they were.

“Is everyone okay?” John asked.

“Zari was a little banged up,” Sara told him, “But I’m okay, Jax?”

Jax nodded, “I’ve been better but I’m fine. You?”

“Yeah,” John shrugged, before asking, “What about Rip?”

Sara’s eyes widened and she darted off to the cells without replying, hearing the two men following her. Reaching the open door, she skidded to a halt finding an empty cell.

“That’s not good,” Jax grimaced.

Taking a slow breath Sara turned to them, “John, you come with me and we’ll look for him, he can’t have got far. Jax, you and Zari fix the ship. Focus on making sure we can secure Rip once we find him again.”

Jax nodded and Sara grimaced, this was the last thing they needed with the ship out of order but turning to John she said, “Let’s go.”

*********************************************

“Bollocks.”

Cisco turned in surprise to where Gideon was sitting at the unexpected swearing coming from the former AI.

“What?” he asked.

Gideon let out an annoyed sigh, “The Legends obviously did not follow my instructions implicitly and skipped a few steps. Therefore, the engines fired and threw them through the time stream.”

Cisco grimaced, “That is bad.”

“Extremely,” she frowned, “This means my ship has crashed in the past, very possibly contaminating the timeline.”

“Can you track it?” Cisco moved to her side.

Gideon smiled at him smugly, “Of course I can, Mr Ramon. I ensured one of the steps they would not skip implanted a trail for the time sphere to follow.”

“So, where are they?” Cisco asked.

“Rome,” Gideon brought up the details, “Neither of our outfits are suitable for the time-period. We need attire that will not draw attention and possibly some weapons that we can conceal but access easily. Just in case.”

Cisco frowned, “Not sure where we can get that. We don’t have a fabricator or a seamstress on call.”

“A costume shop will suffice,” Gideon noted, “And I can make adjustments.”

“Okay,” Cisco said, “Let’s get things together, so we can go find them. I should probably call Barry.”

Gideon shook her head, “There is only room for two of us in the time-sphere and I may need your expertise to get the Waverider fixed.”

“Okay,” Cisco nodded, before murmuring softly, “This is going to be fun.”

Gideon finished inputting the co-ordinates for the Waverider while Cisco pulled together outfits and supplies that they required. Sitting alone in the time travel device her dear Captain had created as they sat watching an empty part of space waiting for time pirates that were possibly going to arrive sometime within the next month. He was bored, driving her crazy with his continual tinkering and finally suggested he perhaps work on some theories of what Time Masters could use in addition to their ships.

He’d designed the sphere and the time courier over those few weeks. It made her smile to think of him. Rip Hunter had been a handful and it was almost impossible at times to keep him in one piece, but she missed him deeply.

It hurt more in this form, an emptiness that she knew would never be filled but Gideon would keep his memory alive in her and continue to protect the timeline as he would want.

Closing her eyes, Gideon thought of the kiss they’d shared and wondered how different it would be in this form. Shaking herself, she focussed once more on ensuring the time-sphere was ready for their journey. She had no time to be sentimental, no time to wish things ha been different and no time to imagine the impossible.

The Legends, the team her Captain had asked her to watch over, needed help and that was what she would focus on.

No matter how much she wanted to dwell on other things.

#fic #legends of tomorrow #rip hunter #gideon #sara lance #jefferson 'jax' jackson #doctor who #rory williams #amy pond #eleventh doctor #the flash #cisco ramon #crossover

9 notes · View notes

martelldoran · 4 years

Text

i have too grieved a heart (redux)

Fandom: HP Characters: Lily/Narcissa, Snape, James, Mary, Dorcas

NSFW: no

Summary: After the incident at the lake, Lily realises that more than just her relationship with Severus Snape is doomed. She now must say goodbye to Narcissa.

Read on AO3

May 1976

Lily Evans was many things. She was a witch first and foremost, and currently – though not for very much longer – in her 5th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was a proud Gryffindor. She was muggleborn, the first witch in her family. She was a talented potion maker, often spending her free time down in the dungeons mixing her brews and revelling in the multicoloured fumes. She was a dab hand at her charm work and liked to summon little sparkling lights to brighten up her study spaces. She was a passionate friend. She was bright, loved nothing more than spending her afternoons listening to records in the sun, and adored being outdoors surrounded by nature. Yes, Lily Evans was many things.

But at that precise moment, on a sunny afternoon in May after having just sat her Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L, she was absolutely fucking furious.

“Evans!”

It was the bellowing voice of James Potter. He had not stayed to try and remove Severus’s underpants as he had said, instead choosing to charge after her. Reaching the steps to the main door with her breath rushing and chest tight, she didn’t pause.

But then a hand closed around her wrist.

She wrenched herself away. Her wand was lifted and a spell teetered on the edge of her snarling lips as she spun round.

“Do not touch me!”

The boy staggered back onto the grass, hands lifted with the palms facing her. His mouth was a small ‘o’ shape and his hazel eyes were wide.

“Okay, I won’t.”

Her wand did not lower and neither did his hands. White knuckle fury still beat through her.

“I’m sorry, Evans. I went too far. I always go too far,” he said, his voice was tight, restrained as he measured each word. “Not that it’ll make a difference but I’ll apologise to Snape too, though I think I burned that bridge a long time ago.”

This last part he added as an afterthought, saying it more to himself than her. He shifted from foot to foot before slowly lowering his hands. The normally perfectly tousled black hair had fallen flat and was falling into his eyes but he didn’t try to fix it. Instead he continued looking right at her. It made him look like a little boy again.

“I am sorry. Truly. I hope you can see that, Lily. If not now, then later.”

He had said his piece. With a stiff, defeated nod of the head, he turned and made his way back to the lake. The fury had lessened somewhat. She watched his retreating back for just a moment before beginning her ascent up the stairs once again.

Half way across the Entrance Hall he made himself known to her, calling her name. Somehow having detangled himself from the clutches of Sirius Black, he must have skulked in a bush until he’d seen James leaving. Severus Snape’s normally pale, sallow face was flushed and his eyes darted around the hall, never resting on her face for long.

It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. And she was repulsed.

“Lily,” he began, taking a step towards her.

She retreated and raised her wand once more.

“Stay away from me,” she growled, in no mood to hear his excuses.

She knew what he’d say. She was a vengeful, wrathful god, ready to smite down those who had wronged her. She was Artemis condemning Actaeon to die by the jaws of his own dogs.

“Lily, please, I’m sorry,” he pleaded. He had his hands up like James but he took another step towards her. “I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out.”

“And is that supposed to make me feel better?” she snapped, wand trained on his face. “How many times have I heard you say you’re not like them, Mulciber and Avery? Then heard you defend them in the same breath? You agree with what’s being said, don’t you, by the one they call the ‘Dark Lord’. Maybe not all of it but there’s something in there isn’t there, that calls to you.”

Severus, inching forward, shook his head vigorously, lank hair dancing on either side of his face.

“No!” he wailed. “I don’t, I don’t think that, Lily. You’re my friend.”

She wavered. He was her oldest friend. He’d introduced her to magic, told her she was special, been there for every rant and every time her sister rejected her. Emboldened by her indecision, he took yet another step towards her.

A warning shower of red sparks streamed from her wand and crackled at the boy’s feet. He yelped and jumped away.

“I told you. Stay. Back. I don’t want you anywhere near me.” Her voice rose, ringing in the empty Entrance Hall. It was deserted, everybody had surrendered themselves to the sunshine. She hardened herself. “I see it now Severus, you’re one of them or if you’re not, you want to be. You and that fucking chip on your shoulder.”

She gave a humourless laugh, staring him dead in the eye. Her rage had not cooled but she was steady, held up by steel and smouldering fire.

“You’ve made it clear where your loyalties lie. And let me tell you now, if we come across one another out there” -- she gestured vaguely around the Entrance Hall – “I will not hesitate to cut you down.”

At this, he lurched forward, a cry on his lips. He tried to reach for her.

‘Petrificus Totalus!’

The spell screamed within her mind hit him square in the face, freezing the boy’s pained expression to stone. He tumbled to the floor, landing frozen on his side. She was Medusa victorious

“I warned you. Come near me again and I won’t be so lenient.” In that moment with fire coursing through her veins, she meant every word of her threat.

Turning on her heel, Lily tore up the staircase. All in a rush, she could feel the weight of everything that had just happened come crashing down around her. Hot tears bulged in her eyes and a golf ball sized lump in her throat threatened to choke her. A bathroom, a bathroom was what she needed, somewhere nobody would disturb her. Without thinking she turned her course to the girls’ toilet on the second floor.

Bursting through the door with a loud, resonating bang, a painful, heavy sob wracked her body. She stumbled towards the nearest stall and locked herself in. Animalistic wails tore from her mouth and echoed off the tiled walls. It was like her grief had manifested into a physical form and was joining her for a macabre duet.

Hugging herself, she crumpled to the floor. With her back to the door, she leaned her head back against the wood and let the grief she felt come in waves. How had it come to this? All she’d wanted to do was help her friend and now here she was.

Lily had been called a Mudblood before. More times than she truly cared to count. But never had she imagined, even in her wildest dreams, that she’d hear that word come from the mouth of someone she considered her friend, let alone said with such venom.

Tears slid in a continuous stream down her flushed cheeks. They hung off the end of her chin and pooled in the hollows of her neck and collarbones. Slowly, a damp patch grew down the front of her robes but she paid it no mind. Lily was a raw, gaping wound and nothing else mattered but her pain. Her mind was a jumble. The scene by the lake replayed in a hideous loop. Then it was the argument in the Entrance Hall. Severus’s pained expression was seared onto the back of her eyelids and her words echoed in her ears.

How long did she sit there sobbing? She cried and she cried and then, when it seemed like she had no more tears left, she cried once again. Time had no meaning in that cramped toilet stall. It could have been seconds, it could have been days, she didn’t care. Noone would come in here and disturb her anyway. They would hear her howls, assume it was Moaning Myrtle off in one of her moods and steer well clear.

Eventually, however, she stilled and the tears dried up. There was a certain calmness to her now. With a dull realisation, she was unsurprised about Severus. Some dark part of her already knew that he was lost. He wanted to be the best, he always had. And if following this man got him what he wanted then so be it. He would do it.

Ever since they were children, there had been this urge to prove himself and to rise above everyone else. It came out when they raced across fields and threw stones into a lake. It came out during exams and every time there was a potion or poison to be brewed. Glory would be his one way or another.

“Lily? Lily, are you in here?” Dorcas Meadowes’s husky, mellow voice cut across her reverie. She hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Her voice was thick and raspy with disuse.

“Will you come out? We’re worried about you.” She was closer now, right outside the door.

“I can’t. I never want to come out,” she moaned. Her face hurt. There was no need to look in a mirror to see how awful she looked, she could feel the swelling around her eyes and cheeks.

“Don’t say that, come on, open the door,” Dorcas reasoned, giving the handle a gentle shake.

When no answer came, there was a weary sigh and she murmured, “Alohamora.”

Lily shifted her weight off the door just enough so that she wouldn’t keel over when her friend opened it. Dorcas knelt next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. The redhead leaned in, the familiar scent of wood smoke and amber in her nose. Dorcas’ shirt was open at the collar - her blue Ravenclaw tie undone and hanging loose around her shoulders – exposing the dark skin of her throat.

“Let’s go.”

Not wasting any time, Dorcas pulled Lily up by her armpits and observed the damage. Her glittering black eyes skated over her from top to bottom. She pursed her full lips together and tsked loudly.

“Oh dear. You truly look awful, you know that,” she said, a sad but understanding smile on her face.

A sniffle and a half-hearted quirk of the lips was all the answer she received. With a sigh, Dorcas propelled her from the bathroom. Quick steps and a firm hand on the small of her back guided her through the corridors. They didn’t meet a soul, the castle was almost deserted. Through the fog clouding her brain, Lily registered this and was thankful. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to see her, a Prefect, like this.

“Oh, good heavens! Is everything alright Miss Evans?” It was the deep, plumy voice of the Fat Lady. She ignored the portrait’s question.

“Pygmy Puff,” she mumbled. Somehow, from somewhere, a new wave of tears rushed up and threatened to spill down her cheeks.

The portrait swung open but Lily didn’t move.

“Marlene is waiting for you, honey. Go on in,” murmured Dorcas, giving her a gentle push.

Silently, she climbed through the portrait hole, leaving Dorcas to make her way back to the Ravenclaw common room, and was immediately met by Marlene. She appeared in a whirlwind of blonde hair, ready to ferry Lily up to their dormitory. The common room was full, that much she knew, and she could tell that every single pair of eyes were trained on her as a heavy silence fell. But she was too tired to care. She wanted to go to bed.

“Is Remus here?” she rasped.

Marlene nodded and pointed to the cluster of armchairs by the fire where all four of the Marauders were staring at her. All but Peter Pettigrew were unnaturally still, caught in the spell of Lily’s dishevelled appearance. Peter couldn’t seem to stop himself from twitching, fidgeting with anything he could lay his chubby hands on.

In a daze, she approached the four boys. Although she could feel James’ eyes boring into her, taking in every single red blotch and the puffiness of her face, she refused to look at him. If she did then there was no way to stop the tears that were once more lingering right beneath the surface.

“Remus, I can’t do my rounds tonight. Can you cover?” Her voice was dead, a thick monotone that didn’t sound like her.

“Uh, yeah, yeah of course I can. Whatever you need.”

There was a slight pause before he asked, “What will I tell Cissa?”

But she had already turned away, Marlene her golden shadow.

“Whatever you want. I don’t care,” she sighed.

In that moment, she didn’t. She couldn’t bear to think of Narcissa, with her star bright eyes, gleaming hair and the purest of pureblood status. It hurt too much.

Never before had the walk up to her dorm seemed so long. Every step was an effort. It was like her bones had been replaced with lead and added weights had been strapped to her ankles and wrists for good measure.

The quiet of the dorm was a blessing. Not bothering to undress, Lily kicked off her shoes and collapsed into bed. Marlene perched on the edge. Her blue-grey eyes were stormy. Words pressed up against her lips, clamouring to be released but she kept her mouth shut tight. She simply stroked Lily’s hair, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead head, told her to get some sleep and bade her goodnight. With a flick of her wand the curtains to her four-poster shut, enclosing her in blessed darkness.

It didn’t take long for sleep to claim her.

When she awoke, the grey light of the pre-dawn leaked between the curtains of her bed and the familiar snuffles and even breathing of her roommates cradled her sleep addled mind. She was still in her robes from the day before, rumpled and creased. Her sleep though deep had clearly been plagued by ceaseless tossing and turning. Mouth dry and tasting stale, Lily sat up and pawed at her still puffy face. The damage of the day before a cruel mask she would have to wear for a few more hours yet.

Lily slid from bed as silently as she could, gathered her wash bag and towel, and slipped into the stone stairwell. Before the cold could seep from the flagstone through her socks to chill her feet, she flited upstairs to the wash room. Peeling off her soiled robes, she shivered as the cool air met slid over her bare skin.

The shower’s warm water was bliss. It beat the last of sleep’s cobwebs away, leaving her mind clear and focussed. Of course, all she could think about was the previous day’s events. If it hadn’t been clear to her before, it was now. For some witches and wizards, it didn’t matter what she did or who she became. It wouldn’t matter if she was the most powerful witch or the most talented. For those few people, she would be a Muggleborn before all else, a parasite siphoning off magic from those who they deemed needed, no, deserved it more.

Names flashed in her mind: Rodolphus Lestrange, Evan Rosier, and, of course, Bellatrix Black. Narcissa’s sister. Her sweet, darling Narcissa who she loved so dearly. Bellatrix’s name appeared in The Daily Prophet almost daily now. The young witch made no attempt to hide her name or her loyalties. The more chaos and misery she sowed the better. It was reported just yesterday that she was single-handedly responsible for over 80 muggle deaths and had seriously injured several muggleborn witches and wizards over the last few months. Details on the way she conducted her business were scant but gruesome. Torture was her art and her greatest pleasure. After all, what information could a muggle possibly give her? No, it was all a game.

As she pondered these thoughts, Lily scrubbed herself clean with care and precision. She dragged the sponge across her skin until she was pink and raw. A growing sense of dread grew in the pit of her stomach and settled there, rock hard and heavy. There was something she knew she had to do.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread for the rest of the morning. It was there while she dressed, and crowded her while she ate a solitary breakfast in the Great Hall. Her owl, Artemis, somehow knew she was there and brought her that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet but she couldn’t bear to open it. She didn’t need to know about the latest terrors and growing anti-muggle sentiment that was growing in certain wizarding circles. Any other morning it wouldn’t be an issue, but after the previous afternoon’s excitement, she could live without it.

Th first of her friends to make their way to the Great Hall that morning was Mary MacDonald. Mary had not changed much in the five years she had known her. She was still small and slight and still wore her hair in a blunt bob with a heavy fringe that hung into her eyes. When she rose to meet her, the Hufflepuff embraced Lily without a word. They stood like that, intertwined, for several minutes.

“Yesterday was a bit shite, wasn’t it,” said Mary, stepping back from their hug.

Lily chuckled.

“That’s something of an understatement.”

Mary inclined her head and shrugged one shoulder.

“Look, I know that Severus has been your friend for a long time, but maybe it’ll do the two of you some good to have some distance? Let the dust settle. He can maybe get his priorities in order,” she offered.

Lily wasn’t so sure but she nodded anyway.

“I meant to ask,” she said, with the most unsubtle change of subject known to witchkind. “How did Dorcas find me?”

“Oh, well, we looked for a while but couldn’t find you so we asked Remus, who asked Sirius, who asked James and for some reason, he knew that you were in the bathrooms,” Mary explained. “I don’t know how he knew. He disappeared up into his dormitory and when he came back, he knew where you were.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Lily murmured, unable to work out how on earth James Potter could have worked out where she’d been hiding.

After a few more minutes, Lily left Mary in the Great Hall and hurried up to the owlery. She scratched out a quick note and sent Artemis out to find the addressee.

As she watched her owl swoop through the sky, she felt a tremor of trepidation through her body.

A rap on the door alerted Lily to her presence. She swept into the spare classroom with a flourish, her long, white blonde hair swishing as she twirled. Star bright eyes twinkled at her and a broad smile adorned her face. She was as brilliant as a winter’s day and just as beautiful. Lily’s heart wrenched and she longed to fall into her embrace, to lose herself to a thousand kisses.

Narcissa pulled her close before she could say a word. She cupped her face, one hand slipping through her hair, and kissed her deeply. Lily could feel her resolve weakening with every second. All too soon, Cissa pulled away with a coy smile.

“Hello darling.” Her voice was warm, an undercurrent of excitement running through her words.

Her head was cocked to the side and she ever so gently pushed a stray strand of hair away from Lily’s face. The redhead shifted out of the embrace needing to put space between them. If she felt her touch again then she knew any remaining resolve would leave her.

“We, uh, we need to talk,” Lily mumbled.

“Uh oh, that sounds ominous!” she laughed, her smile hadn’t faltered for even a second.

“This has to end.”

The words were out like a bullet train.

Narcissa let out a cold, humourless laugh.

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t ending. Lily, come on, this is us,” she insisted, reaching to take her hands. But Lily avoided her touch.

Hurt flashed across Narcissa’s face. It was only for a second then a mask of cool collectedness covered it.

“Is this because of what happened at the lake?” she asked, very matter of fact. “Snape is an idiot. Mulciber and Avery are rubbing off on him.”

She was being dismissive. Of course she was. It was her go to defence mechanism.

“Well, yes. They are. That’s part of the problem. What he said, there are others who think that as well.”

“And they’re wrong.”

“Even when it’s the likes of your family saying it, Cissa?”

There was a beat where neither of them said anything.

“Oh, come on, Lily! Just because my family runs their mouths about Muggleborns and blood purity doesn’t mean I believe that nonsense.”

Lily wanted to stop this. She wanted forget about the lake, the war, and the man hellbent on securing pure blood supremacy but there was no turning back now. Even if she wished it with all her heart, she couldn’t go back to how it was before. If there had been such a thing as before.

“Bellatrix isn’t just running her mouth though is she. She’s killing people Cis. She’d kill me too.” The words faltered in her mouth, turning to ash.

She couldn’t keep looking at Narcissa. She shone too brightly.

The blonde shifted, stiffened.

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you told me yourself what she did to Dromeda. Why wouldn’t she do the same to you?” Lily reasoned in a quiet voice. Her eyes were trained on the hem of her robes. “I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt. . . And I don’t want to get hurt.”

The pause was bloated, filling with unsaid words, waiting to burst open like a sore.

“That’s bullshit Lily and you know it. We could run away. I could protect you.”

“I know that you would try but your loyalty is to them, not to me, and I wouldn’t ask you to choose. But, I can’t be with you like this. Your family would never accept me, never accept us. It was always a fool’s game to think otherwise.”

“You know what, Lily, you could have been a Slytherin with that attitude,” Cissa snapped, lips pursed and jaw jutting.

“Yeah, well we both know why that didn’t happen.”

“There are Muggleborns in Slytherin!”

“Oh, and Elijah Robertson’s head just magically cracked itself open on the flagstone did it?”

Narcissa drew up short, whatever she was about to say died in her mouth. And whatever it was must have left a sour taste judging by the way her face twisted.

“N-nobody knows who did that.” She faltered, voice meek and unsure. It was an unsettling role to see her play.

“Yeah. Sure. But it’s an open secret. Everyone knows that it was Dolohov and his goons,” Lily scoffed. She could feel her ire beginning to rise, heart racing. Before she could argue any further, she added, “I’ve made up my mind. I can’t be with you anymore.”

With a huff, Narcissa slumped against a desk.

“I don’t want this to end.”

It was a whispered admission. Tears glimmered at the edges of her star-bright eyes and there was an almost imperceptible wobble to her bottom lip.

“I know. But it has to.”

Lily hated seeing her like this, hated the fact that it was her fault. She shifted, twisting her hands together. They sat in silence once more. There had been a seismic shift between them and now they stood on opposing sides of an endless ravine. There was nothing either of them could say that would bring the other back.

“So, that’s it,” murmured Narcissa. Her tears remained unshed and her light had dimmed. Their eyes met and Lily thought she saw the faint ghost of a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t suppose I get one last kiss?”

There was no question. Pushing off the desk she had been leaning against, Lily closed the gap between them in two strides. The pull was as magnetic as it had always been. With gentle hands at her waist, she pulled the blonde girl into a standing position. The rich silk of her robes was slippery under her fingers; its familiarity calmed the fluttering of her pulse. The expensive perfume Narcissa so loved to wear tickled her nose as they drew closer.

Their lips brushed together like a sweet whisper. Again and again and again. They were all featherlight touches.

Until they weren’t.

They were a thunder storm breaking through a summer drought. Mouths hot and bruising, they drank each other up. Hands tangled in hair and grabbed at clothes; all Lily wanted to do was lose herself in this last fevered embrace. She gripped the girl tight, crushing her against her as if they might sink together and never be apart. Heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears, her mind was a tumultuous sea of everything Narcissa.

But, with time, as with all things, they slowed. Foreheads pressed together, still breathing each other, their eyes locked together. A pink flush had crept into the blonde’s cheeks and her lips were cherry red. They stayed that way until their breathing stilled and became even once more.

It was Narcissa that pulled away first, smoothing her hair and straightening her clothes. She now avoided Lily’s gaze, trying to compose herself.

Lily said nothing. What more could she say? Anything else would be an insult.

Cissa brushed and brushed and brushed down her robes but the wrinkles in the silvery silk would not disappear so easily. She paused, head bowed, and sighed. When she raised her chin once more her jaw was set and eyes tight, but that practised mask of cool collectedness was full of cracks.

“I will see you around, darling,” she said, squaring off her shoulders and drawing herself up to her full height.

With a flash of a smile and an airy wave of the hand, she spun on her heel and left. It was only as the door snicked shut that Lily allowed her tears to come. From some unknown reserve, the tears came and fell silently onto her cheeks. She had never felt more alone.

#hogwartsonline #hpfemslash #marauderseragang #hprarepairnet #lily evans #narcissa malfoy #usertessa #hp #marauders #my writing #angelblue007 #fics #narlily

39 notes · View notes

juneiswriting · 4 years

Text

Open Heart: Second Year, Chapter 9, Ethan Diamond Scene Rewrite

AN: While I’m starting my internship and things getting a bit hectic, with a 1.5 traveling time every day one way, I still finished the rewrite :P Have fun reading?

By the way, if you are up to read something else, I got you covered! I am writing another story and need beta readers there, see if you are interested? LINK

“Out of the question.” Ethan scowled, crossing his arms on the desk.

“But! Ethan, we’re the better hospital! He should be treated here!” Ariel planted her hands firmly on the desk, leaning in, her eyes narrowed in determination.

“Yes, of course we're the better hospital. But the man made his choice.” Ethan shook his head. Every time he thought he got used to Ariel coming up with crazy ideas, she always surpassed his expectations.

“It's not that big a deal. We just need to talk to him. You have privileges there and everything!” Ariel kept staring at him, her gaze intense.

“This is absurd. Did someone put you up to this?” Ethan frowned, this idea was crazier than all the rest she had come up with.

How did she know about the senator?

“Well, it was June's idea.” She pulled back slightly with a shrug.

“Hirata will do anything to get her way. She doesn't play by the rules.” He warned, rubbing his knuckle with his thumb.

“Maybe she's right. Nobody else plays by the rules!” She frowned, leaning in again, even more determined than before.

“I won't stoop to Carrick's level, Ariel. Next time, we'll beat him fair and square.” Ethan rolled his chair, turning his side to her, holding up his palm between them.

“But life isn't fair. You said that yourself this morning. And if we keep taking the high road, we'll be out of a hospital.” She slammed her fist on the desk with a loud thud. Ethan flinched, snapping his head back at her. Her eyes widened, retrieving her hands from the desk, rearranging her hair with a sheepish look. "Sorry… I didn't mean it."

Ethan looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “I suppose you have a point there. I'm assuming you'd like me to join you.”

“C'mon, Ethan! You have privileges there, right?” She looked up at him with a wide grin. Ethan's face softened, he sighed silently at himself. Once again, she managed to drag him to do something crazy…

Why can't I just say no to her...

“Of course. But that doesn't exactly help you go unnoticed... though I do have an extra coat of theirs somewhere around here…” He stood, searching for the said scrub in the closet in the corner of his office.

“That and plain scrubs would fool anyone!” Ariel squealed, following him half jumping.

“Dear lord, it appears we're going through with this, doesn't it?” He frowned, handing her the scrub. "Try it on?"

Ariel put on the scub, her breath caught when she realised she was wearing his scrub. The tip of her ears warmed, she flicked her eyes down to the ground.

"Is there a problem?" He looked at her from head to toes. While his scrub was a bit longer for her due to their height difference, it still fitted. Looking at the Mass Kenmore badge on the scrub, he swallowed.

While we are the better hospital, what if I weren't her superior anymore?

"Nothing… It fits." She looked up at him slyly, straightening the scrub. Her voice snapping him back to his office.

He cleared his throat, shaking off his thought, "Great, let's get going."

Ethan parked his car a block from Mass Kenmore, laying low from any prying eyes. The car ride ended up in silence, he wondered what was on her mind, while what happened minutes ago replayed in his non stop.

When she looked at him with her watery brown eyes, he couldn't say no. When she slammed on the desk, her determination struck him, reminding him why he picked her for the program. Next time… Next time I will stand my ground...

They walk through the front doors of Mass Kenmore, side by side. They were close to each other, letting their hands occasionally brush against each other, sending a spark to both of them.

Near the entrance, he turned to mutter in her ear, shaking his head. “I don't know how I let you talk me into this.”

She giggled, “Well I did, so... look more natural! You know how good you are at being subtle.”

He blushed slightly, remembering what happened in the bar, and the night… He glared at her, but the smirk on his face betrayed him. She grinned with an innocent blink. He flicked his eyes to the guard at the entrance, schooling his face.

“I.D., please.” The guard held out his hand. Ethan presents his Edenbrook badge.

“I'm on the security clearance list. I have research privileges here.”

“So you are. Thank you, Dr. Ramsey.” The guard nodded to him, after checking his list.

Ariel tried to sneak past the guard as his attention was on Ethan, but the guard still saw her.

“Excuse me, Doctor! Ma'am! I need to see your I.D. as well.”

She turned to face the guard, heart thumping, she opened her mouth, but Ethan was faster.

“She's with me, obviously.” He scowled, putting on his commanding voice. He folded his arms above his chest, towering the guard with his height.

“I'm sorry, but every doctor working here needs to be accounted for, and…" The guard gulped under his intense stare, struggling to hold the gaze.

"Surely you can look her up, yes? I can't possibly manage my research without a resident on hand to help record the trial data.” He snorted, tapping his feet.

“I can do that. What's the name?” The guard grabbed his tablet, putting it up to his nose.

“Joan Smith.” Ethan said, unblinkingly.

The security guard gave her a skeptical look, then looked through the list on his tablet. He reluctantly nodded at both of them. Ariel and Ethan walked through reception. She forced herself not to look back at the guard, keeping her head straight and stood tall.

“How did you possibly guess that there's an intern with that name working here?” After getting far enough, she whispered, flicking her eyes up to him.

He grinned wide, snorting, “I'm a diagnostician, Ariel. Observation is my job. Now if you're done staring at me…” Ariel looked away at once, her cheeks warmed.

Ethan leads them up a floor into a sprawling labyrinth of corridors. Ariel looked around, taking in the complicated floor map. She glanced at the schedule on the wall, but nothing caught her eyes.

“Do you know where Mass Kenmore would keep a senator?” Ariel asked, fiddling with her hair.

“Not off the top of my head. We'll need to check their patient records.”

“So you're saying we need to hack into their files.” Ariel beamed, he was certain that if there weren't others around, she would jump and run off to a computer.

“You're having too much fun with this.” He shook his head with a glint of amusement in his eyes, smirking.

“Or maybe you're not having enou--” She giggled, nudging his side.

“Oh no.” Her eyes widened at the figure in front of them. Her eyes widened at a familiar face heading towards them, his gaze locked on the chart in his hands.

That's Landry! Ariel gulped, while she wasn't exactly surprised seeing him there, she couldn't get spotted.

Landry lowersed the chart, looking up, when she shoved Ethan in the back, straight into Landry!

“Wha--” His eyes widened at her sudden movement, stumbling to halt from bumping into Laundry.

“Dr. Ramsey! I'm... Oh, god. I'm sorry. Was that my fault? I bet that was my fault.” Laundry stuttered, his eyes widened in shock as he saw Ethan standing in front of him.

Ariel lowered her head and hurried past Landry while his attention was on Ethan. At a safe distance, she turned, she smirked at Ethan, folding her arms.

“You should watch where you're going, Olsen.” Ethan scowled, towering Laundry.

“But... Why are you here?” He stared at the ground sheepishly under his intense glare.

“Are attendings at Mass Kenmore in the habit of running their schedules past second year residents?” Ethan rolled his eyes, daring Landry to ask another question.

“Of course not. Sorry.” Landry was frozen in his place when Ethan brushed past him, muttering something under his breath. Since Ethan knew what Landry did to sabotage Ariel, he couldn’t forgive him, even after he showed up when Ariel solved Naveen’s case, claiming that Landry helped. Good that Landry was in Mass Kenmore, all the annoying people should stay close to one another.

Ethan joined Ariel, continuing their path down the corridors, “You're practically a super spy.” She smirked, he rolled his eyes.

“I may have a talent for this, I'll admit. I can’t help to be that good.” He chuckled with a shrug.

At a turn, Ariel halted, Ethan almost bumped into her, he opened his mouth to protest, but she grabbed him by his elbow, pulling him into a nearby supply closet, slamming the door behind her. Their shoulders touching in the small space. He frowned, “What is happening with you?”

“I saw Carrick walking by,” she whispered.

He rolled his eyes, that was fair, while that could be inevitable, at least they delayed it.

“I haven't hidden in a supply closet in almost a decade, rookie.” He chuckled, looking around in the dark room.

“Are… Are you sure?” Her face fell, staring at the ground. Seeing that Ethan gulped, his eyes widened, did he say something wrong? He searched his brain. He remembered hiding after Naveen chewed him out when he misdiagnosed a patient, but it was a long time ago, he already swore not to let it happen again, and he kept it, was there anything he left out?

He flicked his eyes down to her, she was still looking at him, pain flashed through her eyes, her lips pursed. Was it something to do with her?

He blinked, his breath caught, deep in thought. Then his eyes lit up, he knew what he missed, they hid together for Naveen’s test last year, shortly after Miami… Miami… The past rushed through him, drawing the breath out of his lungs. Ariel must have caught his demeanor changed, her sad face softened by a small smile.

His eyes flicked to her lips, he found himself closing the distance with her, his hand raised despite his wish, wanting to caress her cheek.

Ariel bit her lip, also moving closer to him, she was staring at his lips, he saw the desire and longing in her. His heart raced.

But we are in Mass Kenmore...

“I think... I think the coast might be clear.” He awkwardly took a step back, clearing his throat, tearing his eyes from her.

Ariel pulled away, he could almost hear her sigh, she slipped past him, opening the door a crack, with a slightly defeated voice, she said, “We're good to go...”

Ethan turned to her as they continued down the corridor, his eyes softening, he gently tucked on her elbow, “I meant to talk to you... I saw the results of Kyra's scan. How are you holding up? It… must be hard for you. Everything crashing down...”

She swallowed audibly, shaking her head, keeping her head high, “I can't think about that right now. I need to focus on finding Senator Farrugia.”

Ethan nodded slowly, understanding. He walked along her side, after another turn, he gently said, “Alright, Ariel. Whatever you need.” Her eyes flicked to him momentarily with a small smile, nodding. She quickly stole a squeeze of his hand.

They walked on until reaching an empty administrative office. She took a peek inside from the window, casually slipped inside and checked the computer. It's unlocked. “Gotcha!” She threw her arms in the air.

Ethan nodded to her with a mischievous grin, “Let me. I'm familiar with their system.”

She retreated to the door, he leaned casually against it, acting as a lookout as Ethan slid into the seat and tapped at the keyboard, his eyes narrowed as he focused.

“So how often do you come here?” She asked while looking out of the window at the corridor.

“Very occasionally. I'm consulting on a research project with an immunologist which requires me to come by a few times a year, but I largely try to avoid the place.” He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“Because of Tobias?”

For seconds, there was only the sound of keyboard tapping and the sound of them breathing.

“You guys seem to have nothing in common.”

“Nothing much now. I was never what I'd call an idiot, but I was young once. And he was a little different then, too. I was studious but frustrated. He was confident, fun. Always in trouble. We clicked straight away.”

“So you were the Bert and Ernie of med school?”

“Not quite. As far as I recall, Bert never tried to impress Ernie by commandeering a cadaver.”

“You what?”

“I wasn't entirely successful.”

Ethan sat back, his smile fading. “There's no Farrugia anywhere in the hospital. Are we sure June's tip was reliable?”

“I think so... Could he be under a pseudonym? Would a hospital allow that?”

“It's possible. But that means we need to figure out what a senator neither of us has ever met would use as an alias.” Ethan rubbed his temple, groaning.

“What do we know about Tobias? He would have been the one to admit the senator, and it seems unlikely he'd pick a name at complete random.”

Ethan's eyes lit up as Ariel finished her sentence, “Dwight Theodore Lewis III.”

“Who?"

"It was the name on Tobias's fake I.D. He kept it framed on his desk as a memorial to all the good times' they'd shared. He used it any time he needed to avoid getting in trouble.” He rolled his eyes at the memory, someone was too good at getting into trouble.

Ethan worked through multiple screens, searching the patient records. A minute later, he looked up and grinned.

“Room 734. That's in the V.I.P. wing.”

“Kenmore has a literal V.I.P. wing?” Her eyes widened, mouth agape.

“There's more than one reason I despise this place.” He swirled in his chair, getting up to go.

“...Hold that thought, I need to grab my water bottle from the desk.” An unknown voice came from the corridor, Ariel retreated from the door, moving closer to Ethan.

They stared at each other in alarm. The employee was too close to make a run for it and there's nowhere to hide.

I need to make sure whoever leaves at once...

Without warning, Ethan grabbed her by the front of her scrubs and pulled her close. His lips clashed over hers, he kissed her with an intensity that makes her heart skip. Her eyes widened briefly, melting into the kiss, his touch.

His hand reaching behind her head, pulling her close, deepening the kiss while his other hand ran up and down her back.

“Oh! Uh... Sorry!” The intruder halted at the door, turning away.

Ariel sighed against Ethan, barely registering the sound of retreating footsteps until he reluctantly broke the kiss. He kept his hands pressed flat against her back, holding her close. She rested her head on his chest for another moment, savoring the warm and comfort.

“We should... We need to…” He shook his head, taking a step away from her. What were we talking about before?

“Room 734. Yeah.” She smirked, rubbing her hand along the length of his arm. His cheeks warmed, flicking his eyes away from her.

As they got out of the office, they carefully looked around, making sure the coast was clear. "Hey, professional spy. Of all ways to stop that employee, you found the most interesting one." She grinned.

"It worked well, didn't it?" He smirked at her with a shrug.

"I'm not complaining either." She chuckled, he shook his head in amusement. He had no idea why he did that, it simply felt right. He didn't regret it at all, he would gladly do it again if needed.

"Of course it had to work, you are Ethan Freaking Ramsey after all!" She laughed when there's no one in sight. He rolled his eyes with a grin. They hurried toward the elevator when...

“Ethan?”

They freezed at the familiar voice behind. Ethan's voice dropped to a whisper.

“Keep going. Don't let him see your face. I'll keep him busy.”

“But--” She resisted from turning and looking at Ethan.

“No but, Go.”

He stopped to wait for Tobias, Ariel slipped a surgical mask on, hurrying to the elevator. She kept her eyes straight ahead, hoping no one would find out, her heart racing.

Ethan turned to face Tobias, seeing Ariel disappeared into the elevator safely from the corner of his eyes, he sighed silently.

“Come to see what a real hospital looks like?” Tobias walked closer with a cocky smile on his face.

“Is it really a hospital if there are no qualified doctors working there?” He snorted, wanting to turn away.

“Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Ethan... Oh, who am I kidding, it definitely does.” He winked at Ethan.

Ethan glared at him, his jaw tight. He battled himself not to dash off. Tobias was the one treating the senator, Ariel would need the time.

“By the way, Ethan, I’m having a good time treating my coma patient, any interesting cases with you?” Tobias let out a hearty laugh while straightening his scrub.

Ethan cursed Tobias under his breath, he spoke with a stern voice, “Good to know she’s still alive in your hands.”

Ethan flicked his eyes over Tobias's shoulder, he saw a familiar figure walking by, halting behind Tobias, turning to another side. Is that Zaid?

As if on cue, Zaid looked his way, giving him a playful wink before disappearing at the turn. Ethan gulped, Zaid and a wink doesn't coexist, right?

“Ha, are you looking down on me?” Tobias smirked, keeping his head high, staring at Ethan with narrowed eyes. Ethan teared his eyes back at the problem at hand.

“Given my height, I have no choice. Must I remind you. I didn’t care to look at you. You stopped me on my path, not the reverse.” He glared at him, his feet started to move automatically, he couldn't stand another second looking at Tobias's smug face.

“Feeling good about yourself, huh?” Tobias shouted at Ethan as he brushed past him.

“Can’t be better…” Ethan muttered under his breath, making sure Tobias was the only one who could hear him.

Ethan folded up his arms, making his way to the exit, not looking back. Hopefully Ariel would be fine and do her job well. His rookie was a great one, she would have the senator convinced by now.

Getting out of Mass Kenmore, he picked up his pace, hurrying to his car. Success or not, he would pick up Ariel, making sure she was safe. He jumped into his car, starting the engine.

He drove by just in time when Ariel and Zaid were running out of Mass Kenmore. Wait… The two are laughing, that couldn't be Zaid… Did Baz dressed like Zaid?

Anyways, he pulled by the roadside as the two ran closer, he poked his head out from the window, with a grin. “Need a ride?”

“This is just like a movie!” Baz squealed, he leaped into the car with Ariel as Tobias and the guard busted out of the entrance.

“Hit it!” Ariel nudged Ethan's side while fastening her seat belt.

Ethan slammed his foot on the accelerator, leaving Tobias in the dust.

"Good work, spy master!" She chuckled, flicking her eyes to Ethan, a ghost of a smirk on his face.

AN: By the way, if you are up to read something else, I got you covered! I am writing another story and need beta readers there, see if you are interested? LINK

#open heart #open heart fan fic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart scene rewrite

30 notes · View notes

typicalmidnightsoul · 4 years

Text

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼- Chapter 10

𝕨𝕖 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣

Neither of us is happy but neither of us wants to leave so we keep breaking one another and calling it love. - Rupi Kaur

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4 5, 6 7 8 9<- here

Annabeth whirled on Algeron "That's not the full story!"

Algeron growled his cool demeanor snapping,

"Your flaw has always been that your unconditional love has tendencies to blind you, so I ask you Annabeth, you have been in Nesta's head, do they deserve to know Nesta's story? Will they respect that bit of her story or will they twist it to their accord and make insults out of it. To me, they don't. I cannot tell the story to people who don't care. My words are done." He held up a hand as Annie opened her mouth once more, "Go Annabeth."

The people of the hill vanished in mists and puffs of green smoke, the nature around them bringing them back inside them

----------------

They had came back to a horrifying scene. Annabeth claiming she needed rest and retreating to a nearby room, while everyone else went to see Nesta.

Nesta's eyes seemed to be drenched in bleach. They were wholly black.

Clare shook her, "Nesta stop you're scaring me!"

Nesta's body convulsed one more time before going limp.

Safia held her hands over her, "She's alright."

Clare let out a sigh of relief before going back to her endless watch over Nesta.

-------------

Annabeth was in a room Cassian had directed her into. She needed answers, from the Lord himself if he’d give it to her.

She kneeled in front of nothing; hands cupped in front of her, whispering an ancient language into it.

All she saw behind her closed eyes was smoke, nothing was clear. Until Cassian came in. He did not know she was praying and lightly touched her shoulder.

She inhaled a sharp breath, the smoke clearing.

Cassian lay on top of Nesta,

“Sweetheart what’s wrong?”

Nesta smiled at him, tears forming in her eyes,

“I’m pregnant.”

Cassian froze.

“You...you’re pregnant? With my baby?” His eyes widened.

She nodded, laughing, “Of course, you brute who else’s would it be?”

He laughed too, his eyes sparkling with pure joy.

She put a hand on his cheek, “Are you happy?”

He gave her a bewildered look,

“My mate is pregnant with my baby! Why the hell wouldn’t I be happy?!”

Cassian moved his hand.

“Lady Annabeth, are you ok?”

Annabeth froze. Mate. They were mates.

She plastered a smile on her face, “Yes dear, of course I am.”

“Nesta’s was awake a few minutes ago; her eyes were wholly black I thought you should know.”

She let out a breath, she couldn’t tell anyone. Not with the state Nesta was in.

“I’ll talk to Vera about it; she’ll probably have a healer specified in that area.”

Cassian nodded heading out of the room.

------------------------

Nesta woke up in silence her eyes were filled with fury. Audrey came to her side,

"Nes, you should-"

"After i had my outburst at the lake in the human lands, i had a vision, you were there, was that-that really you?"

Audrey's eyes hesitated, "Nesta this is not the-"

"Answer the question please."

Audrey sighed, "Yes that was me."

Tears slipped down Nesta's face, "You were in my head, so you saw everything right?"

Audrey dropped her eyes, "Yes."

Nesta pushed her hands away, "I told you I needed you," her voice broke, "WHY DIDN'T YOU COME FOR ME?"

"I WANTED TO KILL MYSELF WHY DIDN'T YOU COME FOR ME."

Audrey sobbed, "It wasn't the right time."

"When would've been the right time? When I took my own life? When I let my powers get the better of me?"

Oliver crouched down next to her taking her hands, "We would have never let that happen."

Nesta flung his hands away, "And you?! You left me! You left me there on the lake with them!! You let my powers override, you didn't do anything except give me more grief."

Clare said from Audrey's side, "Nesta you're not in your right mind."

"YES I AM. This is the clearest I have been with myself since I was thrown out of the Cauldron."

Feyre said softly with a hint of fear in her voice, "Nesta we can talk about this after your health improves."

Nesta's eyes went to Feyre, her voice took on a different tone, one filled with pain and grief and anger,

"You and your court dragged me here, you used me to help you win the war and when i stopped listening to you to save myself from more grief YOU EXILED ME, YOU THREW ME AWAY!"

Her eyes went to Amren, "I TRUSTED YOU, and you did the same thing your court did! You told me to listen to your high lord and lady, you told me to try- like your high lord could just order me to be alright and i would be fucking fine."

She took a glass bottle and smashed it on the floor in front of Rhysand's feet, "You knew NOTHING about me! About those years we spent in poverty! Yet you came to my house and JUDGED ME, you always have and you always will, I almost died to protect your world and YOU DIDN'T GIVE A FUCK YOU HYPOCRITE!"

"267 proposals, 267 TIMES I WAS PRESENTED TO A MALE WHO WAS MORE INTERESTED IN MY DOWRY THAN ME and who wouldn't be? Marry Nesta

Archeron and become the next Prince of Merchants, that is what was announced in the continent and in Prythian. You know what chased them away? When I said in a meeting, when I presented my opinion that slaves should not be buried alive with their masters if they died, I made a vote that tipped the weight in favour of slaves and courtesans and I was humiliated in front of the whole court, I was told that my vote didn't count, that I was inferior THAT MY VOTE WAS CONSIDERED HALF A VOTE. Not a full one because women are incomplete they are inadequate and they will not decide the future of anyone as they cannot be trusted."

Jonah sat on the edge of her bed holding her close to him, "We know Nesta, we know, please calm down your health will go worse."

"I DON'T CARE."

"I do, please Nesta I beg-"

"Nesta listen to Jonah, I know you're mad but please don't take out your anger on your health," Azriel said his voice midnight smooth.

"Oh!" Nesta replied her voice sickeningly sweet, "Now you've decided to say something, I wonder what's so special about this situation that you of all people decided to speak up now WHEN YOU DIDN'T SPEAK UP WHEN I WAS PHYSICALLY BREAKING. None of you did."

Her face went pale with fury, "EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN THIS ROOM IS RESPONSIBLE FOR BREAKING ME, FOR MY SUICIDAL THOUGHTS," She started picking up bottles and vial chucking them on the floor, glass crashing, "EVERY TIME I LET SOME ONE IN THEY REMIND ME WHY THE HELL I HAVE MY WALLS IN THE FIRST PLACE."

“You came to my house and insulted me” It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was talking to Cassian, “Your high lady was such a hero that you humiliated me for it, one question,” Nesta’s eyes swirled with the power Feyre saw that day in Hybern, “Where was Feyre when they crippled me in a cell that let in no light in the asylum? Where was she when they dragged my broken body to the lab and pushed drugs into me to thoroughly clean the Fae essence off me? Where was she when Thomas Mandray decided he wanted a prize for putting up with me, and if I didn’t give it to him, he’d take it himself? Where. Was. She?” Cassian dropped his eyes as if in shame.

Jonah held her by her shoulders, "Enough, Nesta, you were never responsible but I am not going to lose my sister for them. I refuse to.” Nesta looked at him,

“I have told you this a million times.” His voice took on an angrier tone, “They don’t deserve you.”

The doors crashed open, Annabeth and Vera examining the mess.

They ran to her, Annabeth slowly prying Jonah off her and Vera sat beside the curled up figure, silently raging against the cruelty of the world and rested a hand on her temple, “Not another word my love,”

Annabeth touched her arm-

And they were gone.

“What the fuck?!” Luna, who had winnowed in at the end of the outburst, was the first to say.

---------------

Cassian had trudged outside, his temper getting the better of him, Luna had followed him out.

“Cassian are you ok?”

He nodded. “Do you think she’ll be ok?”

Luna nodded, “You might not see her, but she is safer with them than she is anywhere else.”

They were silent for a long moment until-

“Cassian I have been meaning to ask you,” She swallowed, “Eris told me that in the war, when you were with the Ariel legion, Nesta called out your name…to save you,”-He tried shutting out the memory-“How could you have possibly have heard her?”

He stayed silent.

“You could not have heard her with the height you were at.”

No answer.

“When someone is asked a question they usually answer, Cassian.”

“Luna this is not a conversation to be having now.”

Luna sat down walked in front of him, “I knew I wouldn’t get a straight answer from you, so I did think of a way this would be possible…” He froze, “Is Nesta daemati?”

He almost let out a sigh of relief, “I do not know.”

Luna let out a light disbelieving chuckle, “Well the how could you have-“

She froze, taking him in.

“Are you mates?” She whispered.

He growled, grabbing her arm and dragging her to a distance they wouldn’t be heard.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Luna dragged a hand through her hair, “You’re mates?!”

“Yes, ok, but you are not allowed to tell anyone.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, “Why?! Are you embarrassed of her?!”

Cassian gave her a disbelieving look, “What?! No! She just… I don’t deserve her and she hates me, she has made that clear on many accounts. I don’t want to force a relationship on her when she has gone through so much.”

Luna’s face was lined with outrage, “That is NOT for you to decide. Nesta deserves to know.”

“And then what? You don’t know her reaction. The only form of ‘mates’ she knows is Rhys and Feyre. So what if she feels pressured to be like them?”

“Do you know Nesta? When has Nesta ever done something because she felt like she had to?”

“Please, Luna try and understand. This is not just about her, even though I know she is the one you love and will forever look out for, this is also about me. For a male to be mates with a female and then be rejected might kill them, might kill me.”

Luna went red with rage, “So if she never falls in love with you, you never tell her?”

Cassian shook his head, “I just need to figure out what to do. Before I tell her could you please no tell anyone?”

Luna considered. Then nodded, “This makes no difference, however because you two being mates isn’t a god given miracle. If Nesta says no, then it is a no. If Nesta says yes the she will say yes not because of a stupid bond but because she has genuinely fallen for you. Look, I know Nesta and even if there wasn’t a bond and you two fell in love with each other then she’d love you till the day she died. A pathetic mating bond would never have changed that.”

He nodded and Luna stood,

“Your secret is safe with me.”

She walked a few steps before turning,

“A word of advice, Cassian. If Nesta does indeed fall in love with you then respect it. The people who are loved by Nesta Archeron, as few as they are, are deeply honored because to be loved by Nesta Archeron is an honor of the highest command. Her life is the least she’ll give. Cherish it.”

As he heard her shoes crunch away in the sand, he wondered if he’d ever be worthy to be loved like that.

------------------------------

Tags : @mis-lil-red @wannawriteyouabook @absolute-dissapointment @skychild29 @aesthetics-11

#nessian #nessian fanfic #nesta archeron #cassi #feyre archeron #luna #elain archeron #azriel #rhysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf

20 notes · View notes

vampiregirl1797 · 4 years

Text

Hopeless: Chapter Ten

Klaus Mikaelson x OC

GIF Not Mine

Warnings: More SMUT people, so 18+ ONLY

Click Here For Masterlist

I woke up to the sounds of birds chirping and the sunlight stroking my skin, but the warm body I had fallen asleep next to was absent. I stretched and yawned as I took in my surroundings, slowly registering that I was in Klaus’ room. I frowned as I tried to remember the events of yesterday and as soon as I was conscious enough, my brain was more than happy to supply the memories. The party. Katherine and Klaus. Me leaving the party. A certain hybrid finding me. We had sex and I must have fallen asleep afterwards. I idly wondered when he left as I climbed out of the bed and started to search for my dress. But then I remembered Klaus ripping it apart and with an annoyed huff I rummaged through his wardrobe and pulled out one of his shirts and slipped it on, just encase I ran into someone on the way to my room.

Honestly, I had never done the “night after walk” before. Usually when I got to the having sex part of a relationship I didn’t need to worry about sneaking out. But there weren’t any parts of my relationship with Klaus that could be described as normal. I focused my hearing as I stepped out of the hall and found Katherine, Elijah and Klaus to be in the dining room.

‘Are you sure your sister is well? The hour is rather late for a lady to be rising if she is not sick.’ Katherine commented, her English accent grating on my nerves because I knew it was fake.

‘Our sister is quite the late riser. Isn’t that right, Niklaus?’ Elijah said, I could only imagine the pointed look he was giving his brother in that moment.

‘Indeed, brother. But there’s no need to worry… something tells me she’ll be joining us sooner rather than later.’ I swear I could hear the smirk in his voice; obviously he had heard me rising.

‘Ten points to the eavesdropper.’ I muttered, knowing he could hear me, ‘and by the way, you owe me a new dress. I had to borrow one of your shirts to wear back to my room.’

There was a sound of choking that made me smirk.

‘My goodness, are you alright, Lord Klaus?’ Katherine asked, sounding rather worried.

‘Yes. My drink just went down the wrong way.’ He said, the sound of hunger in his voice made me bite my lip; clearly he liked the image of me in his clothing.

‘Something tells me you’re lying.’ I teased, unbuttoning his shirt, ‘it’s a shame you left before I woke. Something tells me we could have found many creative ways to spend this morning.’

I heard him growl, the doppelgänger gasped in fear or surprise and Elijah cleared his throat, warning not only Klaus but myself as well. I felt my cheeks heat when I realised Klaus hadn’t been the only one who was able to hear me.

‘Sorry, Elijah.’ I mumbled, rolling my eyes when Klaus chuckled quietly.

I was pretty sure Katherine thought crazy people surrounded her at this point and if she didn’t then I would have been surprised. I made good time in changing into a pink dress before making my way downstairs to the dining room. I avoided Elijah’s eyes and shared a knowing smile with Klaus as I took the empty seat to his left. The hybrid was sat at the head of the table with Elijah to his right and I found it quite interesting that the doppelgänger preferred the empty seat beside the elder Mikaelson rather than the one beside the man who was supposed to be “courting” her. But I didn’t comment on it in favour of drinking the glass of blood that was waiting for me. I bit back a moan of pleasure at the taste before helping myself to some bread that was in the centre of the table. I frowned when I noticed that the conversation had basically stopped when I walked in.

‘What?’ I glanced over to Klaus and noticed he was hiding a smirk behind his hand, but he wasn’t the one who answered my question.

‘It is improper for a lady to begin her meal without properly greeting those already at the table.’ Katherine told me, deadly serious and I found myself looking directly at her for the first time since she had arrived.

She must have read the hatred on my face because she shrunk back from my gaze a little and I was amused that I could intimidate Katherine Pierce.

‘I’ve never been one for formal conventions, you’ll have to forgive my manners.’ I smiled but there was nothing friendly about it.

‘I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced.’ Elijah cut into the conversation, trying to relieve the growing tension, ‘Lady Katarina, this is our sister, Evangeline.’

‘It is a pleasure, Lady Evangeline.’ Katherine bowed her head slightly so she no longer looked me in the eye.

‘Likewise.’ I gritted out, picking up my blood and taking a long sip. I almost choked in surprise when I felt Klaus’ hand on my thigh. I placed my goblet on the table and shot him a look but he was the picture of innocence, which made me roll my eyes.

‘So, Lady Evangeline why is it you do not share the same accent as your brothers?’ Katherine asked, eyeing me almost suspiciously.

‘That is a good question,’ I pursed my lips and grabbed another roll of bread, stuffing some of it into my mouth to buy myself some more time. Klaus shot me an amused look while Elijah looked exasperated.

‘Thank you.’ Katherine said, clearly confused.

‘Forgive our sister, she is rather insecure about her different way of speech.’ Klaus said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, ‘we asked our mother about it as we were growing up but she never provided us with an answer before she died.’

‘I’m sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.’ Katherine murmured, seemingly embarrassed to have bought it up.

I placed my hand on top of Klaus’ where it still rested on my thigh; I imagined that the mention of his mother’s passing stirred some unpleasant memories. I entwined his fingers with mine and squeezed gently, silently offering him any comfort he may need. A part of me expected him to pull away in anger or irritation; Klaus Mikaelson wasn’t weak and he didn’t need to be comforted, after all. But he had never had a problem revealing vulnerability to me and I was grateful for that. Maybe it was because my guard easily came down in his presence so he felt I deserved the same courtesy. Or maybe it was because he was as comfortable around me as I was him. Either way, I was glad.

His thumb moved over my knuckles in thanks and we continued eating breakfast that way, each of us only using one hand. If Elijah or Katherine noticed, they didn’t comment on it and the rest of the meal passed rather peacefully as a result. When we were finished, I expected Klaus to announce his plans with Katherine for the rest of the day, but to my surprise Trevor entered the room just as the maids were clearing our plates.

‘Good morning, Lord Klaus, I have come to escort Lady Katherine and Lady Evangeline to the market.’ Trevor bowed his head respectfully.

My head whipped in Klaus’ direction so fast that if I were still human, my neck would have snapped. My hand tightened around his so hard I heard bones crack as I met his gaze with a fierce glare.

‘Market? What is he talking about?’ I asked, barely managing to hold back my snarl.

‘I thought it would be nice for you and Lady Katherine to have chance to bond and what better way to do it than to shop?’ Klaus asked, clearly amused though I could see the creases around his eyes that hinted at his pain.

‘How lovely.’ My smile was lethal. I dropped his hand and stood in one smooth movement, looking over to Trevor with a nod. My expression must have been terrifying, because he gulped and took half a step back.

‘It does sound rather pleasant. I just need to freshen up and I will be back in a moment.’ Katherine said, bowing out of the room without meeting anyone’s eye.

As soon as she was gone I had Klaus pinned to the wall with a hand on his throat. Of course it didn’t affect him, but it helped with my anger considerably.

‘You have got to be kidding me! Tell me this is some kind of joke you’re employing to get a rise out of me! You’re not actually going to make me spend the day with her are you?’ I practically shouted in his face, the only thing controlling my anger was my desire for the doppelgänger not to over hear me.

‘Calm down, love there’s no need for hysterics.’ Klaus smirked, antagonising me even more.

I threw him into the opposite wall and pointed at him accusingly.

‘This is just for your amusement, isn’t it? Well you know what, Lord Klaus mark my words, you’re going to regret this.’ When he simply cocked his brow in amusement I went to lunge at him again but found myself stopped by two strong arms around my waist.

I looked up into the eyes of Trevor and immediately shoved him off me. He snarled and went for me again, his vampire face on full display. I gave him an unimpressed look and prepared myself to attack when he was suddenly thrown away from me.

‘I didn’t think it was necessary, mate, but let me make it perfectly clear. Evangeline is off limits do you understand?’ Klaus snarled in Trevor’s face. When the latter replied an affirmative, Klaus snapped his neck and let him fall to the ground with a thud.

I would never admit it aloud, but seeing Klaus acting all protective and possessive was actually a HUGE turn on for me. I shook away those thoughts and fixed him with an annoyed look, as arousing as that was; I was capable of taking care of myself.

‘Was that necessary? I could have taken him.’ I crossed my arms over my chest and rolled my eyes at his look of disbelief.

‘Love, he’s over a hundred years old. You’re a baby compared to him.’ His eyes darkened as he continued, not letting my scoff deter him, ‘and he doesn’t get to touch what is mine.’

‘Oh dear.’ I muttered, holding my hand out to stop him from getting too close and distracting me from what I wanted to say, ‘I’m not a piece of property, Klaus.’

‘No, but you do belong to me.’ He insisted.

‘I’m sorry, but does that not contradict with what I just said?’ I glanced over to Elijah for back up only to see he was already gone. I focused my hearing and realised he was talking to Katherine, probably preventing her from walking into the middle of our argument.

His vampire face came forward and instead of being afraid, I was confused.

‘Is this a wolf thing? You need to mark me as yours? Because I think you did a pretty good job of that last night.’ I told him honestly, sighing happily when his hands rested on my hips. His head went to the crook of my neck, allowing his fangs to tantalisingly graze my skin.

‘I don’t know what it is about you, Evangeline.’ He murmured so quietly I was sure even Elijah wouldn’t be able to hear him, ‘every part of me is screaming to protect you, make you happy and to make sure everyone knows you are mine.’

‘A part of me will always belong to you, Klaus.’ I said, meaning every word. He was the first person I had been in love with and he would always have a part of my heart.

He growled, clearly liking my words and before I could blink I was pinned against the wall with him drinking from my neck. My eyes fluttered closed and I relaxed into him, enjoying the pure pleasure flowing through my body. His hands tightened around my waist, silently offering me support. One of my hands went to his hair while the other rested on his shoulder, clutching him as close to me as possible. This felt different from the way we had shared blood last night. The first time was purely for pleasure, and although it was still incredible, it felt more like I was offering him assurance. Assurance that I cared for him, that a part of me did belong to him. I was taming the wolf part of him, surrendering to its desire for dominance, as well as its possessive and protective tendencies towards those he cared for.

I don’t know how long he fed from me for, but by the time he pulled away I was starting to feel a little light headed. My forehead slumped into his shoulder, suddenly too heavy to remain upright. Klaus adjusted my weight so that he was holding me with one arm and I heard him bite into his own flesh.

‘Here, love.’ He murmured, tilting my head up and brushing the loose hair away from my face before placing his bleeding wrist to my lips. I responded immediately, greedily taking a few gulps of his rich tasting blood before pulling away and offering him a grateful smile.

‘Have your testosterone levels returned back to normal?’ I teased, still heavily leaning on him, my hands gripping his forearms.

‘I apologise love, I don’t know what came over me.’ He rested his forehead against mine, allowing me to see the sincerity in his blue orbs.

‘Don’t worry about it, your part wolf, it’s bound to come with a dominant streak.’ I shrugged, playing with his hair idly, ‘it’s part of who you are and nothing to be ashamed of.’

He didn’t say anything for a few moments, and when I looked up to him I realised why. His eyes were wide and full of unshed tears, indicating to me that he was grateful and touched by my words. The surprise on his face told me he wasn’t used to being accepted, truly accepted, for what he was and that broke my heart a little. Suddenly, the fact that I loved him wasn’t something I wanted to hide from anymore, I wanted him to know, to understand that there was someone on the earth who not only accepted him for who and what he was, but loved him for it too. But before I could get the words out, Trevor letting out a groan of discomfort interrupted us.

We shared a look of irritation and Klaus placed a gentle kiss to my forehead before we pulled apart. As his warmth left me, I could feel my body yearning to feel it, to be encased in it, again. I had to force myself to remain where I was and pull myself together. I had never been this clingy with anyone before, and I wasn’t going to start now.

‘What happened?’ Trevor murmured, rubbing his neck as he stood.

‘You moved to attack my sister and I snapped your neck in punishment. Be glad that I did not remove it.’ Klaus snapped, his tone furious.

‘I apologise Lord Klaus, Lady Evangeline.’ Trevor bowed his head and I rolled my eyes, more than done with the fifteenth century formalities.

‘See that it does not happen again. You are dismissed for the day. Return home to your sister.’ Klaus said, glaring when Trevor opened his mouth as if to argue.

I turned to him in surprise when I heard the door shut.

‘What about going to town?’

‘I do not trust him with your safety. Elijah can take Katherine to keep her amused and if you would like to, you can spend the day with me.’ He offered me a tender look and a soft smile. I felt my cheeks redden under his gaze, but I returned his smile with a nod of agreement.

‘I would like that very much,’ I said with a smile, taking his offered arm and following him as he led me out of the house, ‘but are you sure? You are supposed to be courting Katherine after all.’

‘I gained her interest enough to get her to move in and the show yesterday was more for the guests benefit. The compulsion is in place, both with her and Trevor, and so I see no reason to waste precious time with her when I could be spending it with you.’ If I had an eternity with him, I would never get used to being on the other end of that intense stare. His blue eyes glittered with sincerity and adoration; I found myself gripping his arm tighter as my knees weakened. If my heart were still beating it would have been furiously pounding against my ribcage with his words.

‘Very well.’ I grinned, not bothering to hide my happiness, before my expression turned serious, ‘though I have one request.’

‘What is it?’ he asked, curious.

‘We have that sword fighting rematch. I said I’d beat you at least once before I went home, remember?’ I smirked, though it transformed into a smile when he laughed genuinely.

‘So be it, love.’ He said, once he had managed to compose himself.

‘Mmhm, just know I’m gonna be the one laughing when I kick your ass.’ I shoved him when he started laughing again.

‘I’m sorry, love it’s not funny.’ He held his hands up in surrender, but he was clearly struggling to hold in his laughter. I rolled my eyes at his attempt to apologise and walked ahead of him, my arms crossed over my chest as I headed over to the utility shed where they kept their weapons.

I grabbed Elijah’s sword and Klaus’ and exited the shed with a devilish grin on my face. Klaus cocked his brow in question and I just threw him his brother’s sword in answer.

‘This isn’t mine.’ He frowned; observing the sword like it was about to strike him.

‘Tell you what… you beat me and I’ll let your have your sword back.’ I smirked, moving the weapon around and getting a feel for it.

‘You know I could easily take it from you, right?’ he gave me a patronising look that made me roll my eyes.

‘Very true, but where’s the fun in that?’ I asked innocently, grinning when his shoulders slumped in defeat.

I laughed when he suddenly took the first swing, clearly trying to catch me off guard. The clang created by metal meeting metal echoed around the trees.

‘I almost forgot. You fight dirty.’ My eyes glittered with mischief as I considered the ways I could actually win this game. Clearly, I was no match for him in strength, but perhaps I could beat him with a good strategy.

I shifted my weight so that I was resting on my right leg, my dominant leg, which led to me leaning slightly forward. When I saw Klaus’ gaze drop to my chest for a moment an idea popped into my head. He may be the strongest being on the earth, but he was still a man, a man who couldn’t help but gaze at what was in front of him.

‘You know, I think I figured out why you won last time.’ I said, keeping my voice causal.

‘Because I’m physically stronger, because I’ve been fighting for four centuries longer than you… either of those is a suitable explanation love,’ he smirked.

‘No because I’m restricted in this dress. I can’t move around as easily as you can.’ I said and before I could talk myself out of it I ripped the lower part of my dress so that it cut off just below my ass cheeks, revealing a lot of leg but that was the plan.

I looked over to Klaus when I was finished and bit back a grin when I saw his lust filled eyes staring at the newly exposed flesh. He’d already seen me naked, but he was looking at me as if he hadn’t.

‘Klaus?’ I murmured, biting my lip when he didn’t seem to hear me. I stalked over to him, his gaze never moving from my legs, and when I was close enough I knocked the sword out of his hand and pinned him to the ground, holding my sword to his throat.

He blinked up at me in surprise that quickly morphed into shock when he realised what I had done.

‘You cheated!’ he exclaimed, clearly outraged.

‘It’s not my fault you couldn’t take your eyes off my legs.’ I smirked, throwing his sword to the side and moving to get up.

I was quickly stopped, however, by two hands on my waist. I looked down to Klaus and caught the seductive smirk on his face. I huffed and gave him my best unimpressed look, which was hard when I was on top of him. His hands didn’t waver and started to travel to my exposed legs, gliding smoothly over the flesh. My eyes closed at the feeling, the warmth from his hands spreading through my body like fire.

‘Klaus,’ I tried to make it sound like a reprimand but it came out as a breathy moan. Internally cursing my body for betraying me, I tried again, more forceful this time, ‘Klaus. We shouldn’t.’

He leaned up, pressing our chests together as his hands glided up my thighs, getting closer and closer to where I was starting to yearn for him. His forehead was against mine; close enough so that our noses were touching.

‘We’re going to be apart for six hundred years, Evangeline, so we should. We should make the most of what little time we have left, before I have to live without you.’ He murmured, his words made the fight leave me and I closed the small gap between our mouths.

I kissed him softly, affectionately, conveying how much I loved him, how sorry I was that I was going to have to leave him, through the kiss. I knew he understood as his hands squeezed my waist once in understanding before gliding up and tangling in my hair. He pulled away first, his lips dropping to my collarbone and his hand coming to move away the fabric of my dress as he kissed the skin he exposed. A breathy moan fell from my lips when his mouth closed around my nipple, his tongue flicking back and forth over the soft flesh. My back arched without my consent, causing my hips to grind against his and resulting in the both of us releasing simultaneous sounds of pleasure.

Before I could blink I felt myself being pushed against something and opened my eyes to see we were deep in the woods, surrounded by trees much like the one I was being pressed against. My legs wound around his hips and my hands went to his shirt, unbuttoning it before pushing it from his shoulders. I felt the smooth, hard skin of his chest before leaning down to kiss along his pecks. I smiled when the nip I left upon his collarbone caused him to moan and involuntarily jerk his hips. I made my way up to his throat, trailing my hands along his back gently enough to make him shiver. When I reached his earlobe I bought the soft flesh in-between my teeth and tugged gently. He moaned again, his hands tightening on my waist and pulling me closer to him. I released his ear and kissed along his jaw, making my way to his lips and when I reached my destination I kissed him hard, silently telling him how much I wanted him in that moment.

He growled against my lips and I gasped against his when I felt the rest of my dress being torn from my body, leaving me bare in front of him. His hands travelled over the newly exposed skin slowly, attentively, as if he were committing every inch to memory. Klaus pulled away from the kiss and gently lowered me to the floor, leaving me more than a little confused, at least until he fell to his knees in front of me. The hunger and desire in his eyes made a moan escape from my lips and I repeated the sound when he took my right thigh and placed it over his shoulder before diving into my centre. He worked slowly, leisurely and continued to bring me to the edge only to leave me hanging multiple times. Each time he did, his eyes would meet mine, a mischievous twinkle in them before he dove back in to repeat the process. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and when I was once again reaching my end, my hands tangled in his hair to prevent him from moving. I could have sworn I felt him smirk, but he made no movement that indicated he was going to move away and instead inserted his fingers, adding to the pleasure created by his mouth and allowing me to fall over the edge screaming his name and pulling on his hair so hard I’m surprised I didn’t leave him with bald patches.

When I recovered, he was standing in front of me, a smug smile on his face as his hands brushed my hair behind my ears. Before I could call him a jackass, his mouth was on mine and I was once again being pinned to the tree. He lifted my left leg this time and slid into me with one swift movement that had me releasing a loud moan at the sudden intrusion. I pulled away from the kiss and rested my forehead against his shoulder as he moved inside of me at a pace that wasn’t too fast or to slow; it was perfect. I felt myself nearing the end and I wanted him to get there with me, so I bought my vampire face forward and gently bit into the crook of his neck, my hands winding in his hair to give me balance. He released a loud moan and his pace increased, it became rougher more uncontained and it wasn’t long until I exploded. Klaus followed closely behind me and when he had emptied himself inside of me, I removed my fangs from his neck and licked away the stray droplets of blood as the wound closed. Klaus shuddered and rested his forehead against my shoulder while my head fell to the tree behind me.

My arms wound around his shoulders as we both struggled to return our breathing to normal. I don’t know how long we were stood there for, entangled together in the woods, but eventually we pulled apart and started looking for our clothes. Klaus was pulling on his trousers when I picked up my dress—or what was left of it—from the floor.

‘What is this?’ I muttered.

‘Your dress love,’ he answered sarcastically, chuckling when I glared at him.

‘I can’t wear this, it’s been ripped to shreds.’ I gave him a dark look, but he didn’t look even a little remorseful.

‘Sorry, love, you’d already ripped it and so I got the impression you wouldn’t mind if I ripped it a little myself.’ He sent me an innocent look that made me snort. I threw the dress at his face and bent down to grab his shirt from the floor, quickly slipping it on.

When I looked up and saw Klaus’ eyes begin to darken lustfully I pointed at him in warning.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Klaus.’ I said, trying and failing to sound stern as I stepped back away from him. He just grinned, undeterred and followed after me slowly.

‘I can’t help that you look positively ravishing in my clothes, love. Really, it’s your fault.’ His eyes twinkled in amusement as he continued to advance towards me.

‘My fault?’ I protested, ‘you ruined my dress and if you hadn’t I wouldn’t have had to wear your clothes.’

‘I cannot say I regret it, love.’ He looked me up and down and I felt my own desire grow at the heavy lidded look he was giving me.

‘No.’ I said, feeling like I was telling off a pet.

He didn’t listen and continued to walk towards me but I flashed away before he could touch me. I heard him growl and couldn’t help but release a delighted laugh at the sound. I strained to hear him as I continued to run and felt my dead heart pound when I couldn’t pick up on anything that hinted to where he was. I slowed down and looked around, hoping something would clue me into his whereabouts.

CRACK.

I span around to where the noise came from except there was nothing there. My heart pounded in anticipation, and when I felt warmth radiating onto my skin from behind me, I knew where he was. My shoulders relaxed unintentionally and just as I was about to flash away again a pair of hands around my waist stopped me and pulled my back flush against his chest. A laugh left my throat when he accidentally touched the skin below my belly button; my secret ticklish spot. My amusement faded when his warm breath hit my neck, making me shudder in pleasure.

‘You didn’t really think you could evade me, did you love?’ He murmured quietly.

‘I could have if I really wanted to. Maybe I just wanted to make you work for it.’ I teased, gasping when he suddenly span me around.

‘You are something else, Evangeline.’ He said, caressing the side of my face gently.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything and leaned up, sealing my mouth over his.

Xxx

Klaus’ POV

I heard the front door open with Elijah and Katarina’s voices echoing throughout the manor. I glanced down to the beautiful woman who was peacefully sleeping against my chest. My hand stroked through her hair, thinking over the day as I had been since she had fallen asleep. To be completely candid, my thoughts rarely consisted of the ritual anymore. Which was amusing in itself seeing as being able to unlock my werewolf side had been my primary goal for centuries and all that was needed to change that was Evangeline Gilbert. A woman who accepted me for who I was despite everything I had done, everything I was capable of. I of course was planning on going forward with the ritual, but I refused to waste any time with Katarina when I knew Evangeline would be leaving me in two days.

I felt my heart squeeze painfully at the reminder. I knew she had to leave me, but a part of me wanted to keep her here against her will. A part of me would rather her hate me than have to leave me, but I knew that I could never do that. I had sworn to myself that I would give her the future she deserved, and I had no plans to go against that. She came here to save her family and I would make sure that happened by assuring that Katarina didn’t flee. Then I would have to live without her for six hundred years. I sighed forlornly at the reminder, subconsciously holding her tighter in my arms.

‘Klaus.’ I glanced down to her in surprise but when I heard her breathing was still even I realised she was talking in her sleep.

‘Yes, love?’ I kissed her forehead, smiling slightly when she nuzzled further into my chest.

‘I love you.’ I blinked, wondering if I had heard her wrong, but I knew I hadn’t.

My heart soared in my chest and I felt a huge grin break out on my face. No one, aside from family, had ever said those words to me before. I couldn’t believe it. I kissed her hair, her forehead, her nose, her cheek but forced myself to stop encase I woke her up. We had had a busy day. A devilish smirk formed on my face as I thought over her moans and expressions of ecstasy as I had taken her for the second time in the woods before we had moved to my chambers. We hadn’t left the room all day, opting to feed from each other rather than leave bed for a meal. She was just as captivated and enamoured with me as I was with her. We couldn’t get enough of each other. I always desired to be around her; to be touching her and a part of me wondered if there was a supernatural explanation for it because I had never felt this way for a woman before. But I knew I was simply in love with her.

My gaze moved away from her face and to the door when I heard footsteps hesitating behind the closed wood. I focused my hearing and the absence of a heartbeat assured me it was Elijah. With a sigh I carefully shifted out from underneath Evangeline, smiling softly when she groaned in protest and tried to reach for me again before settling on my pillow. She hugged the fabric and inhaled, seemingly satisfied with the scent she found because she relaxed again. I shook my head fondly and kissed her forehead before throwing on some clothes to answer the door. I stepped out to join my brother in the hallway, not wanting to risk him seeing Evangeline when she was indecent and vulnerable. She was mine and not to be seen in that state by anyone else but me.

‘Brother. I trust you had a good day with the doppelgänger?’ I smirked, my hands clasped behind my back.

‘I kept her occupied, yes.’ Elijah sighed, gesturing to my closed bedroom door; ‘I trust you had a good day with our other guest?’

I couldn’t have hid my grin if I tried, ‘that would be one way of putting it. Personally I prefer the word exquisite to “good” but that’s just me.’

‘Niklaus, I am happy you have found someone who seems to inspire such happiness within you, but I must implore you to focus. The ritual is taking place soon and you don’t seem to care.’ Elijah fixed me with a frustrated look when I continued to grin.

‘Don’t worry brother. I have everything in place, the witch is ready, the werewolf is secure in the basement, I have a vampire in mind and so all that needs taking care of now is the doppelgänger. I am trusting you and Trevor with her, brother. Make sure she does not flee.’ I clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave him but he stopped me with a firm grip on my arm.

‘I am glad you found her, Niklaus. You deserve happiness more than any of us.’ Elijah told me seriously. I felt my eyes fill with tears and I shook them away before giving him a grateful nod and a brief hug that surprised us both.

‘Thank you brother.’ I murmured into his shoulder before stepping away and into my chambers in one swift movement. I leaned against the wood of my door, taking a breath and forcing the tears in my eyes to leave.

A part of me wondered what was happening to me, but I knew; my humanity was back and stronger than what it had been when I was human. My gaze shifted to the sleeping beauty in my bed and I knew why—it was because of her. She had awoken a part of me that I thought was dead and buried. I was surprised by the lack of response from that realisation. Before she had arrived I would have insisted that feeling and caring for anyone was a weakness waiting to be exploited and I would have sooner killed than give my enemies something to use against me. Except now, while the thought of hurting her made me feel ill, and the thought of others hurting her filled me with complete rage, the way she made me feel was worth it. She was my weakness that much I knew, but she was also my strength and I would protect her whether she wanted to be with me in the future or not. Slipping off my clothes I slid back into my bed, smiling softly when she immediately curled into my side, her face nuzzling into my chest for a moment before she released a happy sigh and relaxed completely. I gently brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead before allowing myself to fall into unconsciousness. I had told her I didn’t know if I would find her again in the future. But I lied, because I was going to find her, no matter the cost, and I wasn’t going to let her go.

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine #Klaus Mikaelson x OC #the originals #the vampire diaries

34 notes · View notes

beckzorz · 5 years

Text

If The Shoe Fits

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Words: 8771 Summary: An assassination at the Jelly Belly factory goes haywire when SHIELD arrives on the scene. Warnings: NSFW (language, mentions of child pornography, smut), 18+ A/N: Happy Fourth! This is part 3 of my Looks to Die For series, written for Attie’s Challenge Challenge! Thank you @barnesrogersvstheworld! My prompt was, “You love me?” Hope you enjoy!

A portrait of Captain America. Two portraits, really, since there’s one of Steve Rogers and another of Sam Wilson.

“Huh,” you say.

The little boy gaping beside you nods enthusiastically before his attention is drawn elsewhere. You can’t quite blame him. Captain America—either or both—are fascinating, but there’s a lot going on here. Portraits line the walls. Two versions of Marilyn Monroe, one of Harry Potter, a wall of animals. There’s three whole portraits of Ronald Reagan, of all people. You can’t think why.

Not exactly what you were expecting from the Jelly Belly Bean Art Gallery.

The animals, yes. Past presidents? Not so much.

Still, it’s a far cry from your last job. Even with the absurd college student getup you’ve got on, an air conditioned factory beats the jungle any day.

You trace the sharp line of Steve Rogers’ jaw with your eyes, then step sideways to inspect Sam Wilson. Two beacons of justice, and you’ve only got two questions in mind.

One: what would they think of you?

And two: why doesn’t Bucky Barnes get a Jelly Belly portrait?

You’ve half a mind to march up to the tour guide to demand an answer to question two—he’s not likely to have an answer to question one, is he?—but a ping in your ear diverts your attention.

“Time to go,” comes Kasie’s voice.

Your lips curve into a little smile as you saunter to the tour guide. “Nature calls,” you murmur, and Kasie snorts in your ear. The tour guide turns to you with a helpful smile as you reach his side. “Excuse me, where’s the bathroom?”

—

On your way down the hall to the bathroom, you pass a tall blond man wheeling a janitor’s cart. A slight smile and a tilt of his head is all the acknowledgement he gives you.

Apart from the two of you, the hall is abandoned.

As soon as you pass him, you veer to the side, following his head tilt, and burst through a set of doors marked PRIVATE. The neutral look on your face morphs into a dark smirk.

Time to get to work.

—

Twenty-four minutes later, you’re sitting at a desk with your feet propped up. Under the desk, the curled-up corpse of the man whose name graces the office door. The computer is running a program from a thumb drive you’d hidden in your bra. An effective weapon, a thumb drive. Jab it into someone’s eye, they scream. Jab it into a computer port, and with the right coding…

Well, there’s money moving in your direction. Payment for a job well done, on top of your cut for the heart attack you’ve just induced. And a little bit more.

With gloved hands, you pick up a paperweight shaped like a clump of jelly beans.

“Y’know,” you say into the open air, “it’s strange getting paid to murder someone involved in making candy. Candy makes children happy.”

“Well, this guy was doing plenty to make children unhappy,” Kasie says.

“Oh, sure. No doubt about it.” Your lip curls distastefully. It had been all too easy to find his stash of child pornography. On his work computer, no less. Your stomach had damn near curdled at the endless scroll of files. You hadn’t opened any, but dear lord, even the file names and preview images had been more than you could stomach. And the job brief hadn’t said anything about exposing the bastard, but if he happened to be discovered dead in his office from a heart attack with that folder easily accessible…

Well, you won’t complain. Maybe it’ll help the police catch a few more perverts. Assuming the company doesn’t just hush the whole thing up, but a hint dropped in the right ears will go a long way if it comes to that.

The right ears. Your face softens and your stomach settles. All the sugar from the tasting rooms and the nausea from finding that obscene stash fades as you think of the right ears, and the head between them.

Bucky. A good, nice head on good, nice shoulders on a good, nice body… Thinking about him while you’re waiting for the program to finish running is an excellent distraction. Better than thinking about the horrible things the man at your feet had gotten up to during his lifetime.

“Oh fuck.”

Your head perks up. Kasie’s voice is strangled.

“What?” you blurt.

“SHIELD is here,” Kasie hisses.

“Why are you whispering?” you snap. You stand up, hands curled around the edge of the desk as you try and steady your racing heart. Your eyes dart around the office, but it’s empty. Just you, and a corpse at your feet. “This channel is secure.”

“Fuck you. Get the hell out of there. Now.”

“No way!” You slap the desk. Your hands tremble, and you clutch the desk again. “I’m almost done. If I can get all the shit on this guy—”

“It’s too risky!” Kasie exclaims. “I am not letting you get caught in SHIELD’s crossfires again, you hear?”

“SHIELD can suck my dick,” you snap. “I’m not giving up on this. Whoever this guy was getting his shit from deserves exactly what I just gave him.”

Faint popping through your earpiece. You freeze.

“Luka?”

Silence.

“Luka, what’s your status?” Kasie says, voice barely steady.

More radio silence. Bated breath as you wait for the third in your trio to respond.

A klaxon wails.

“Fuck,” you say.

“Evacuation,” Luka breathes, just loud enough for you to hear under the alarms. Relief floods through you until he speaks again. “Guns.”

“Okay that’s it,” Kasie announces. “I’m calling this off. That’s an order.”

“Just two more minutes,” you beg. Your knuckles, curled so tightly around the edge of the desk, are white under the plastic gloves as you stare at the download bar for your thumb drive. You’re so close. The drive is almost done, and then you can deliver the wrath of god. SHIELD has nothing on you. You survived the last time, that night you met Bucky Barnes through a rifle scope. This can’t possibly go any worse.

Kasie doesn’t answer.

Well, silence from her is close enough to a yes for you. You sink back into the chair, limbs stiff. The alarm is still wailing. Your foot knocks against the body under the desk.

Two minutes? Enough time to rearrange your victim into a plausible slump in his chair. You grunt as you tug him into the open air. You wipe your brow with the back of your wrist before hefting him into his chair by his lapels. There’s nothing worse than deadweight, but then again, that’s just part of the job. A few artful rearrangements of his stiff limbs, and you’re satisfied.

Running footsteps echo in the hallway, louder than the alarm.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

You duck behind the desk, hand hovering right by the thumb drive, and wait until a key scrapes in the lock before pulling it free. The computer beeps unhappily. You tuck the thumb drive in your bra and fold yourself under the desk.

The door unlocks, opens. Two steps, and then a low fuck before the door slams shut.

The man rushes to the desk and the dead man in his chair.

“John? John, you bastard!”

Slap.

Your eyes widen. Hitting a corpse? That’s a bit much, even for you.

“Wake up, you good-for-nothing—”

The stranger is nearly choked up. You can just make out the shadow of his shoes as he shakes the dead man by his lapels. So much for your two minutes.

“Shit.”

The stranger gives up. He nudges the chair over and bends over the keyboard, typing at a rapid fire pace. Then he sucks in a harsh breath. “Oh you bastard…”

Well, he must’ve found the child porn.

“Bribery wasn’t enough for you, huh?” the man mutters. “You sick fuck.” He’s typing again. Your legs are starting to cramp. You’re used to lying flat on rooftops, not stuffing yourself in tiny spaces.

Wait—was that the trash can noise? Is he deleting evidence?

Well that won’t do.

A harsh shove of your foot sends the dead man’s chair careening back into the wall. The typing stops, the stranger drops to one knee, and you barrel into him, arms fastening fast around his neck as you catch him in a chokehold.

“Wha—”

His voice cuts off, his fingers digging painfully tight into your arms as you squeeze the breath out of him. You grit your teeth against his struggles, your tailbone bruising against the floor as he flails his legs. You’re not trying to kill him, just to render—him—unconscious.

One of his hands drops from your arm, reaches into his pocket. Your eyes widen as his thumb swipes. The dial tone.

“Shit,” you mutter. You aim your leg, kick at his hand until he groans, but it’s too late. Someone’s picked up.

“Hello? Rick?”

Rick gasps just loud enough. You tighten your elbow around his neck, his eyes bug out, but he manages it.

“John’s—office—”

Then Rick slumps, finally unconscious.

“Rick? Rick?!”

You wriggle out from under Rick’s prone body and dig his phone out of his pocket. A single click, and his phone’s off. You pat Rick down, but he’s got zero weapons.

“What is it with these people? Why do none of them carry guns?” you grumble.

“It’s because they have armed security,” Luka grumbles in your ear.

“Luka!” You pop to your feet with a delighted grin. The edge of the thumb drive digs into your chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be inside in a few minutes to get you,” he says.

Tension melts out of you. “Luka, you sweetheart.” He might look gentle, but Luka’s one of the fiercest close-combat fighters you know. If he can get to you, you’ll both get out safe.

Still, no point in wandering around as unarmed as you are now. You scan the room, desperate for any kind of weapon. Your phone is tucked in the pocket of your leggings, but you’ve still got one pocket free. A pen jar… Aha, there. A letter opener.

“Head to the warehouse,” Kasie says. Her voice is grainy. “Damn, SHIELD’s interfering with my signal. Luka, meet hsssssssssss—”

Kasie’s comm cuts out, but you got the memo.

You heft the letter opener in hand and stalk to the door. One quick breath, a listen for any sounds under the alarm, and you slip into the empty hallway at a light jog. Red lights whir overhead. Distant popping filters through your earpiece, and then comes Luka’s voice.

“See you soon,” he whispers.

A click, and all you can hear is the alarm.

—

Eleven minutes later, Doc Martens slamming on the concrete as you race through a giant warehouse, you’re regretting those extra two minutes.

“Y’know,” you pant, “whoever thought these shoes were a good idea has clearly never had to run in them.”

A gunshot rings out behind you just as you skid around a corner. You don’t look back. The armed security that Rick had summoned had caught up two minutes back, and it’s been a race to the finish. Plus, somewhere SHIELD is lurking, waiting…

Another gunshot. The bullet whizzes so close you can feel its wake. You can hear them behind you yelling at you, yelling about SHIELD on its way—

“Shit shit shit!”

Another corner looms ahead; you take it.

Still running, you pull a pin out of your hair. It’s not a comm device, it’s not a thumb drive, it’s not a bug. It’s a gift from Kasie, the very one who warned you about all this Avengers and SHIELD nonsense from the start.

You hurl yourself between two stacks of boxes before anyone turns down your aisle.

“How long?” you whisper.

“Forty seconds,” Luka answers.

Running footsteps pound close, voices echo closer, and you wince.

“Too long,” you say. “Scram, Luka!”

“Wait—”

You twist the hairpin, lean to the side, and throw it into the aisle. Then you curl into a ball and cover your head with your hands.

A heavy moment, still and quiet save for the slowed footsteps and a confused huh. One single scuff of a shoe as someone bends to look. You suck in one last breath.

An explosion rocks the warehouse. Sound and heat wash over you as the boxes at your back shudder. There’s an overwhelming urge to look, to peek, but you stay curled up, head protected, as the boxes over your head slide and start to fall. The edge of one pokes into your back, hard and painful against your spine, but at this point you can’t move. The crackle of flames is loud in your ears. The sickly smell of burnt sugar tickles your nose, and you cough. Smoke catches in your throat. You gag, eyes still squeezed shut. You breathe straight into the arm of your sweatshirt, shimmying your hands out of the burning plastic gloves and tossing them aside.

At least the running has stopped. All you can hear is a faint ringing, the alarm and something else. No one’s following you anymore, not that you can—

The box at your back flies away. Your eyes pop open and instantly swell with tears from the smoke. Before you can even move, hands are on you, pulling you up, out. Your eyes are burning, so much that you can’t see. Your assailant tugs you against their chest, holding you too tight to escape. You shout, kick, and then you realize that one of the hands on you is metal.

You still. Try and blink the smoke out of your eyes. A black uniform, straps, holsters…

“Bucky?”

“Next time,” Bucky growls, “wait.”

—

You blink the tears from your eyes, grasping weakly at Bucky’s shoulder as he hurries through the smoke. All you can hear is a faint ringing. You hadn’t expected the hairpin bomb to be so loud. Nor so… successful. So destructive?

Bombs aren’t your style. Never have been. But at that kind of disadvantage…

You couldn’t risk it. The data you’ve got—your own life—

Bucky shoves an emergency exit open. The alarm’s already ringing, at least. Smoke billows out over your head as you stumble outside, gasping in the sweet fresh air, clearing your lungs of burnt jellybeans and smoke and fire. You lean heavily against the concrete wall, head tipped back and eyes closed as you catch your breath.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bucky hisses.

You open your eyes slowly, still breathing heavily. Your vision is still blurry, and it’s hard to make his expression out right away. “Just that I wanted to not get shot.”

Bucky glares at you. You blink, confused. It’s not like he hasn’t had to make spur-of-the-moment choices.

“I didn’t have a gun, and I can’t run as fast as you. What else was I supposed to do?”

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here!”

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here, either.” You close your eyes again. You hadn’t breathed in that much smoke, but after that sprint through the warehouse, it was enough to drain you. Anyway, Bucky’s seen you turn into a puddle before. Hell, he’s made you turn into a puddle before. You bat those thoughts away and force your eyes back open. “If I’d known there were SHIELD shenanigans going on, maybe I would have brought a gun.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Why the hell didn’t you? How can you just walk in somewhere that dangerous so fucking unprepared—”

“Not all of us can flash a shiny badge to get through security, Bucky.” You gesture at yourself, at your smoking sweatshirt and the Doc Martens and the leggings. His scowl doesn’t fade, and you frown at him. “Why are you so damn pissed?”

“You should’ve known better.”

“Somehow I managed just fine in worse scrapes than this before you came along.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I wasn’t dealing with so much shit before I met you! No one was impersonating me, no one was blowing my cover to SHIELD, no one was making my jobs impossible—”

“Well I’m not giving up my job,” Bucky says flatly. “I can’t.”

You purse your lips. “Neither can I, Bucky.”

He raises an eyebrow. You scrub a hand down your face.

“I know no non-extradition treaties rely on me keeping my job. But it’s real fucking hard to walk away from what I do. You know that.”

“Have you ever even tried?”

“I don’t want to try. And I shouldn’t have to. You’ve never had a problem with what I do before. Why now?”

“Why now?!” He gapes. “Are you tucking kidding me? You almost got killed by your own damn bomb!”

“I had a plan,” you say. “It’s not my fault you ruined it.” You toss your head vaguely in the direction of where Kasie and Luke had been—hopefully where they had been, because now Bucky’s looking that way, his eyes narrowed. If they’re caught—

But you know them. Kasie and Luka are professionals. They’re long gone.

At any rate, Bucky’s expression shifts. He tilts his head just barely to the side, eyes darting between you and the distance, and then finally his face softens. Finally.

“Of course,” he murmurs. He shakes his head and tugs you into his arms. His lips press against your temple, and you sigh, all your annoyance fading away. “I’m sorry. I just—fuck, angel, I’m sorry. I should’ve known better.”

“Yes,” you tell him. You wind your arms around his waist and squeeze tight. A comfortable silence for a few moments, but you can’t help but add, “For the record, I don’t mind being rescued by you. Even if I didn’t need it.”

His chest rumbles as he chuckles, but there’s a hint of melancholy to it. “Just wish I’d gotten to you sooner.” He steps back, looks you over. His lips twitch.

“What?” You look down, raise an eyebrow. “Something funny?”

“No, no,” Bucky says quickly. He gestures to your outfit. “I’m not used to seeing you dressed, uh, like this.”

You look down. Patterned leggings, a cropped blue sweatshirt, scuffed Doc Martens… All of it a little scorched at this point. You bite your tongue. You’re not sure if you look more like a broke college student or a gentrified hipster.

“Well, you’ve seen me in worse,” you tell him, adjusting the sweater so the wide neck bares most of a shoulder.

Bucky winces. “I’m not sure about that.”

“What, you don’t prefer this over that plain dress getup I had?” You wiggle your foot in the air. “Look! Legs!”

“Well,” he says, “at least then I knew exactly what you had on underneath.” He winks, and you can’t help but laugh.

“No hiding any thigh holsters under these leggings, that’s for sure.”

Bucky cups his hand around the back of your neck and draws you in, his smile the last thing you see before your eyes slide shut and his lips meet yours.

It’s heaven to kiss him. Always has been. Rough and needy like the first time, brief and desperate, or even like now, soft and sweet and smiling, his hand warm on your neck as his other catches your fingers and squeezes them tight.

Bucky kisses you like he’s trying to charm away all your worries, and you let him.

A woman clears her throat, and Bucky pulls back, his face all apology as you gape, gaze flitting between Bucky and a thoroughly unamused SHIELD agent.

“Sorry,” he mouths.

One pair of handcuffs, an open van, and an unpleasant shove from the SHIELD agent later, you’re starting to think that maybe you should’ve murdered the Winter Soldier when you had the chance.

—

“You know, Barnes, I wasn’t expecting to have to detain your girlfriend.”

Agent Nunez sits quite primly in her chair, her hands folded on the table over a file and her head tilted as she looks you over. Bucky, the bastard, is leaning against the wall, arms crossed and face black as he glares at his colleague. Nunez taps her file.

“So. One casualty, two cases of second-degree burns, and thousands of dollars in damages. What do you have to say for yourself?”

You set your jaw. “I want my lawyer.”

“That’s not how this works,” Nunez says. “You didn’t get picked up by the police. This is SHIELD.”

Your jaw ticks. Oh, how badly you want to snark back at her—Oh, so SHIELD doesn’t play by the Constitution? I seeee—but you don’t. You can’t. Anything you say will be twisted, dissected, used against you.

They’ve already taken your comm device. Already taken your phone. Already taken your fingerprints, height, weight, eye color… A search more invasive than any leery airport guard’s. The only weapon you’d had after the assassination was the letter opener, and that had been abandoned in the warehouse when Bucky pulled you from the fire. They’d taken the thumb drive shoved in your bra, though. You pray they’ll make good use of it. In the meantime, though?

“I want my lawyer.”

“SHIELD isn’t interested in talking to your lawyer,” Nunez says. “We want to talk to you. And the longer it takes to get our answers, the less patient we’ll be.”

Bucky tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. Your eyes flit to him, but looking directly at him hurts. You look away.

“She’s the associate who helped on the Malinda Jackson case,” he says.

“I’m well aware,” Nunez says drily. “Invaluable help, I’m sure.” She eyes you again, her gaze lingering on your scorched sweatshirt, your bared shoulder.

You shift in your seat and tug at your restraints. You’d cover your shoulder, but you can’t move your hands more than a few inches from the table.

“At any rate, that doesn’t explain the bomb,” Nunez continues. “That kind of bomb is exclusive to factions that we do not mix with, Barnes. Just because you got your clearance back doesn’t mean you can drag the whole underworld up with you.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Shit. The whole underworld? The bomb had come from Kasie. Kasie, your friend, your mentor, your crewmate. If it’s traced back to her…

You hadn’t even thought of that. Had Bucky? Is his whole claim that SHIELD didn’t have a problem with your crew a lie? Is all this a ploy to bring them down? Bring you down?

Your eyes slide to the left. Why is he just standing there? Why did he let them take you? Did you never matter to him at all? You can’t look at him, not full-on. None of this makes sense. After everything you’ve shared, after everything you’ve said—not that you’ve said everything, but so many looks and touches and kisses…

Your stomach churns. You can’t look at him.

Instead, you stare at Agent Nunez, at her probing dark eyes and her hands folded over her file and the sharp collar on her SHIELD uniform. She raises her eyebrows at you.

“Nothing?” she asks. She sighs when you keep silent and turns to Bucky. “Barnes?”

You glance at Bucky just in time to see him glancing at you. His lips are pressed so tight together there’s barely a hint of them left.

Bucky squares his shoulders. “Send for Commander Hill.”

—

Agent Nunez uncuffs you from the table and walks you straight into a holding cell. Small, with just a low, stiff cot and a toilet in the corner. Not even a sink. It’s dim, but at least it’s clean. As spotless as the rest of the facility. And there’s an entire door, with a round porthole window. Privacy, at least, in which to rage in.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Nunez says. Only her head is visible behind the mostly closed door. “Commander Hill is on her way.”

The quiet puff of the door closing is as final as any deafening slam.

You collapse onto the cot, cuffed hands dangling between your knees as your shoulders shake. You heave in deep breaths, desperate to keep your tears at bay. None of this is worthy of your tears. You’ve been in scrapes before. You’ve been nearly stabbed by the Winter Soldier, you’ve been nearly exposed by a woman you’d never met…

But your rationalizations rings hollow.

Bucky’s just a man. One man. A superhero, enhanced in myriad ways, but still just a man, in the end. Malinda Jackson is only one woman.

SHIELD?

SHIELD is something else. SHIELD is huge. Bigger than you, bigger than your crew, bigger than nearly the whole world. Certainly big enough to deal with aliens. And you… You’re just one woman too.

You cast your eyes around the room, but it’s impossible to discern where the camera is. Are? They wouldn’t leave you in here unsurveilled. That would just be stupid. And as much as you wish they were a bunch of idiots, you know better.

Well, if they’re smart, they’ll know you’ve been wanting to cry since Bucky looked at you in the alley with regret all over his awful face.

You lie down, bury your head in your arms, and let the tears flow.

—

The door grinds open. You stiffen. You’re still lying down, face concealed. Without a clock or watch or phone, you have no idea how long it’s been. But it can’t have been long. Your cheeks are still damp. Ten, fifteen minutes? Was Commander Hill so close all along?

The door eases shut. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in. Did they just take a look? A quick peek at the Winter Soldier’s girlfriend?

The cot dips by your stomach. A chill settles over you. A heavy hand settles on your hip, nudging you until you turn to look up at—Bucky. His face is paler than usual, his eyes wide as he stares at you. Your heart skips a beat as you blink the last tears from your eyes. He reaches to wipe your cheeks, but you sit up and scoot away before he can touch you any more.

“Why?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. His hands slowly drop into his lap.

You don’t need to say any more. He knows exactly what you’re asking.

“Because I thought this was the best way to keep you from getting actually arrested.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Your face—it was on all sorts of cameras. Not while—” He glances at the door. “Not while you were in the bathroom. But in the warehouse? They know it was you who set that bomb. There’s no escaping that.”

Your heart sinks. That’s true. Kasie and Luka had set things up so your foray into the office wing was undetectable, but the detour into the warehouse…

Damn it, that was Kasie’s call. And now you’re suffering for it.

“That’s the trouble with spur-of-the-moment decisions,” you mutter. “Spur-of-the-moment screws-ups.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, “don’t beat yourself up too much.” He slants a smile your way. “I’ve done worse.”

“Oh?”

“I almost killed Captain America.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest, but it doesn’t quite make it to your lips. “That wasn’t you, Bucky.”

“Oh, I meant last week,” Bucky says. “Definitely almost killed Sam. He deserved it, though.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” He catches your eye. “And I’m dead serious about why I did this, too. This isn’t about catching you.”

You roll your eyes. “As if you could.”

“Found you on that island, didn’t I?” Bucky’s smirk is all kinds of dangerous, and you look away, biting your tongue, as a flush pricks at your cheeks. “Besides, they knew I had you. If I’d let you go… It would’ve gone worse.”

“Right,” you scoff, but something inside you settles back in place. Maybe Bucky had gotten you caught in SHIELD’s crossfires, but it hadn’t been to hurt you, or to catch you. It’s so he can help you. He’s not out to get you. Even if things are dark right now, even if you’re in the scariest place you’ve ever been, he’s still your Bucky. Still the little shit you lo—adore.

You reach out, handcuffs clinking, to grab his hands and fix your eyes on his.

“I believe you,” you tell him. His face softens, but you squeeze his hands harder, and he stills. “Now fix it.” You pull your hands away and try to cross your arms, but the cuffs won’t let you. You huff and drop them in your lap.

Bucky squeezes your knee. “I sent for Hill,” he says. “We just have to wait. I’m sure she’ll figure something out. She… knows of you.”

Undercurrents hopefully indiscernible to whoever’s listening in, but you hope he means that Hill is well aware of your crew. And, if you’re reading him right, she’s aware too of SHIELD’s hands-off policy towards you.

“Okay.” You nod. “Okay.”

He nods back. An understanding you pray follows through. If it doesn’t…

Bucky scoots closer and angles himself so his back is to the windowed door. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

You rattle your cuffed hands on your lap. “I can’t exactly go anywhere.”

“It’s important.” His eyes flit between yours, but he doesn’t go on. You roll your eyes.

“What, you love me?” you scoff.

Bucky’s eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes. “I mean, I—”

“For god’s sake, Bucky, I’m kidding,” you hiss.

Bucky’s face goes blank.

Something tightens in your throat. You sigh. A glance at the door; you shift your legs so no one can see as you slide your hands a little closer to him, palm up, and glance down meaningfully. Bucky’s brows pinch together as you wiggle your fingers. Carefully, surreptitiously, he lets his fingers brush against yours. It takes all your willpower not to grip his hand so tight it hurts, tight enough so you could pull him close, hold him—

But you can’t.

“Now’s not the time,” you say, gentler.

“Isn’t it, though?” Bucky sighs and runs his hand through his hair. There’s a noise outside, one that has you both flinching, staring at the door, holding your breath. Bucky’s hand drops to the knife at his side.

The sound fades. No shadows fall against the window. You’re still alone.

“I do,” Bucky says, still staring at the door.

Your heart leaps in your chest. Words crowd in your throat, too many for you to find a single thing to say.

“I do, angel.” There’s another scuff outside the door—footsteps, you think—and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand properly this time. He looks back to you, finally, and every witticism, every word, dies on your tongue.

Every single feeling that’s burning in your chest is mirrored in his eyes. You blink, bite your lip, swallow.

“You love me?” you breathe.

“God yes,” Bucky answers, his voice thick. His metal hand cups your cheek; he presses his forehead to yours. “How could I not?”

“You know I’m a criminal, right?”

The smallest, most beautiful huff of a laugh escapes his lips. Okay, so maybe not every witticism went away. But that’s the you that Bucky loves. You and your mouth.

“Not yet.”

Bucky stands up just as a shadow falls across the window. A key scrapes in the lock. You gaze up at him, your hand cold now that he’s feet away. Funny how easily he does that.

The door swings open, and a tall thin silhouette hovers in the doorway. When your eyes clear from the onslaught of bright hallway light, you at last make out Maria Hill.

“Barnes,” she says, “what the hell am I going to do with you?”

“Dunno,” Bucky says. He tilts his head in your direction. “I’m more interested in talking about what you’re gonna do with her.”

—

The same interrogation room, but this time Nick Fury’s right hand herself sits across from you. Your hands are back chained to the table. Unlike before, with Agent Nunez, Bucky is perched on the edge of table, twisted so he can study Hill’s file.

“So Agent Nunez tells me you were uncooperative,” Hill says to you.

“We were waiting for you,” Bucky says.

Hill rolls her eyes. “You’re not her lawyer, Barnes. Let her speak for herself.”

You open your mouth, close it. Your lawyer request is probably the wrong move right now, but… what on earth would be right? Maria Hill has the power to make you disappear. You stare at her with pinched brows, catching your tongue between your teeth.

“Or not,” Hill says eventually. She sighs. “Fine. I’ll talk it through, and maybe in the meantime you’ll decide to stop clamming up.” She sorts through the file. “I’m assuming you weren’t just there for a tour.”

You don’t signify that with a response.

“So these are the men from the warehouse,” Hill says. She tugs our the third page in her folder—three pictures, with names and one marked deceased.

You don’t react.

“All victims of your bomb. But also all armed, without permits, and records to boot.” Hill studies you with severe concentration, but your expression is bland as can be. “Presumably you wouldn’t have set off that bomb if they had been unarmed,” she continues. “But that’s not the most interesting part.”

Another page drawn out, and your heart stutters. The two men you’d encountered in the office wing, your target and the Rick fellow you’d rendered unconscious.

“Richard Cline here says he was attacked by someone matching your description in John Franklin’s office. And Franklin, according to his autopsy, had just had a heart attack. That can’t possibly be a coincidence.”

The metallic tang of blood fills your mouth. Your eyes widen—you’ve bitten your tongue? You can’t remember the last time you’ve done something so stupid. So telling. It takes all of your willpower not to automatically spit the damn stuff all across the files, all across Maria Hill.

Instead, you swallow it. Swallow your pride. John Franklin’s office had more than a dead man inside it. You lick your teeth, hoping to wipe the blood away.

“Franklin had child porn,” you say. “Lots.”

“Excuse me?” Hill’s eyes widen. She rifles through her files. “I’ve got nothing on—”

“The drive I had,” you interrupt. “Nunez took it. Sent it off to be inspected. Dunno when that was. Hard to tell time around here, what with your blank walls.”

Bucky squeezes your shoulder. Hill’s eyes flit between you and settle on Bucky.

“When did you two meet again?” she asks.

You open your mouth, then close it. A glance at Bucky. He shrugs.

“Before the Malinda Jackson case,” he says curtly. “Why?”

Hill pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Yes, quite…” She scrolls along, but you’ve no idea what she’s looking at. “Right, of course—you’re the reason that he was so distracted when Rex Carston was murdered.”

Your vision swims.

“Damn, Hill.” Bucky’s hand tightens on your shoulder. It’s the only thing keeping you from sliding under the table in shock. “Isn’t there something about leaving stuff at the opera?”

“It’s ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,’ and you were not in Vegas.” Hill shakes her head. “Wow, Barnes. I have to hand it to you. That’s a long time to keep a secret like this.” Hill looks at you with something like—approval? “You’re part of Kasiemobi’s crew.”

A roaring in your ears. You lurch to your feet, the chair beneath you clattering to the floor. Kasie—your crew—

“Calm down,” Hill says. She leans back in her chair and holds up empty hands placatingly. “You’ve got a blanket pass from us. Although… I have to ask how the hell you screwed up so badly today.”

Bucky bends to right your chair. You slide back into it, fingers trembling.

“I—” You swallow. A glance at Bucky, and you find some strength in his eyes. You look back to Maria Hill. Swallow again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hill nods. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t trust me either. And I imagine SHIELD probably had something to do with your spectacular mess.” She collects her file and tucks it under her arm. “I’m going to confirm that tip about the child porn, and then Bucky can escort you—wherever you need to go. However.” She narrows her eyes at you both. “Open communication about your whereabouts. Try it next time.”

Your mouth drops open, Bucky sputters, and Hill strides out the door, leaving you chained to the table and Bucky with you.

A beat, and then Bucky is laughing, gripping his sides, bent over, positively cackling with amusement. You tug at the handcuffs, but neither they nor the table budges.

“I don’t—” a grunt as you try to tug free— “get—what’s so—funny!”

Bucky gasps, wipes his eye, catches his breath. But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he swoops down and clutches your face in his hands to pepper kisses across your cheeks and mouth until you’re screwing up your nose and squirming away.

“Bucky! Stop!”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the brilliant smile on his face. Despite the anxiety slicing through you, there’s a rush of warmth at that beautiful face.

God never made a man this good.

“Don’t you get it?” he says, his smile brighter than any sun. “You’re okay!”

So much delight is shining out of his eyes that you can’t help the smile spreading on your face. Bucky traces your lips with the rough pad of his thumb.

“You’re okay, angel,” he murmurs.

You rattle your handcuffs and raise your eyebrows. “You might want to rethink that pet name. Most angels don’t get cuffed to interrogation tables.”

“Most angels don’t wear Doc Martens either, yet here we are.”

You scuff your shoes against the floor and duck your chin. “I was starting to like these, actually. I know you don’t like ‘em, but…”

“Actually, this look is starting to grow on me,” Bucky says. He nudges your face back up towards his. “But you know my favorite look is the one you’ll have just as soon as I can whisk you outta here and get you—”

Your heart skips a beat as Bucky breaks off, his lips twitching. He glances meaningfully at the door. His unspoken words hangs in the air, clear as day, clear as the light in his dark blue eyes.

Home, in bed, with me.

You turn your head and kiss his metal palm, then the other.

“I like that look too.”

—

“Somehow, Hill always manages to remind me about paperwork.”

Bucky’s grumping has you giggling as he drags you up a flight of stairs to his hotel room, your Doc Martens thumping louder on their stairs than Bucky’s steel-toed boots, bless. With him, here, so close to being finally and properly alone, the stress from the longest day of your life is starting to unwind.

“She does, doesn’t she?” you tease.

Steps from the stairwell to his door, the slide of a key into the lock, and then you’re inside. Bucky triple locks the door—regular lock, deadbolt, chain lock—with brisk precision, and then you pounce.

You fist your fingers in his hair and tug his face down to yours so you can finally capture his lips. He moans into your mouth, his hands squeezing your waist without a moment’s hesitation. Every single bit of stress melts away under his touch, his lips, the feel of that beautiful body pressed tight against yours. You tug a hand free from Bucky’s hair and start on the buckles of his holsters, of his uniform. They fall easily, as they should. It’s criminal to keep this man covered for a second longer than he needs to be.

Bucky slips his hands up under your cropped sweater and pushes it up your arms, over your head. You toss it aside and fall to your knees to unbuckle the holster on his thigh, your hands dancing dangerously close to the growing bulge in his pants.

“God, fuck me sideways,” he mumbles, his hand on your hair and the other against the door. You raise an eyebrow. His knife falls to the floor.

“If you like,” you say. “I was kinda hoping to fuck you right here, but—”

Bucky tugs you straight back into his arms. He catches you around the waist, settling you at arm’s length, breathing heavily. You reach for him, frowning, but he grabs your hands and holds them tight. His eyes bore into yours as his breathing steadies. The seconds stretch by, long and agonizing when all you want to do is touch him, but he’s just looking, watching, drinking you in.

It’s not enough.

“What’s wrong?” you demand.

“Wrong?” Bucky shakes his head, gives a little huff. “I… Nothing’s wrong. Except I said something, earlier. And you haven’t said it back.”

You blink.

“Oh,” you say. You tug your hands free from his and step closer, close enough so your chest brushes his. You cradle his face in your hands, the scruff on his cheeks a tingle against your palms. Bucky grips your hips, holding you close against him. His eyes burn bright, bright as the sun, bright as the moon, bright as every single star in the universe. They’re all burning in your chest, in your heart.

“I love you, Bucky,” you tell him. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Only one kiss right now, because when have you ever settled for just three words? “I love you so much I think it should be illegal. I love your face, I love your body, I love your brain, I love your mind, your smile—”

Bucky grins at that. You can’t help but smile back.

“I love your soul,” you tell him.

His grin softens into something like awe, those plush lips of his just barely parted.

You trace the shape of his face, his cheekbones, his jaw, his mouth. Your whole body is full of something so warm, so tender, that you never would have been able to name it before. Before him. “You’re beautiful to me. In every way.”

“I guess it takes an killer to love a killer,” he says, lips twitching.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah. It just worked out that way. For us.”

“I don’t think someone who isn’t in our line of work would love that part of me quite as much as you do, though,” Bucky says, grinning again. He starts walking backwards, not quite slow enough to keep you from stumbling.

“Well, they wouldn’t know just how brilliant you are,” you deadpan. “I, on the other hand, have an intimate understanding of just how good you are at your job.”

“When I’m not being distracted, you mean,” he teases, and you can’t help but laugh.

Bucky lowers his hands to your thighs and hikes you up, looping your legs around his waist as you wind your arms around his neck.

“Well,” he says, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, “now that’s settled, where were we?”

You tilt your head, and then Bucky grinds his hips up, his clothed cock driving straight against your core.

“Fuck!” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. The warmth in your chest boils over, needy, desperate, sudden, hot.

“There we go,” he murmurs, eyes all but black. He slips his left hand under your sweater and claims your lips.

You let your legs fall to the floor. Bucky’s hand under your ass holds you up as he tastes you, drinking you in as you devour him back.

His metal hand kneads your breast, and you gasp into his eager mouth. Fire sparks along your spine, to your fingers, your toes, to that pulsing bundle of nerves between your legs as he takes you apart with only a single hand on your breast and his lips on yours. You’re a mess before his other hand dips into your leggings, pushing them and your panties down over your hips, baring your hips, your legs… You toe off the Doc Martens, your socks tugging free easily along with them as you work your leggings the rest of the way off until you’re just in a bra before him.

You break away from the kiss, breathing heavily. Bucky’s metal hand is still at your breast, the other is cupping your bare ass—and it feels so delicious to have his hands on you—but there’s something wrong.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “Bucky, why are you wearing so many clothes?”

“Well—” he kisses you again, squeezes your ass— “because the nice thing about your cute little outfit today was how little was actually involved.” His hand slides lower, lifting you onto your tiptoes, teasing—

“Oh!” You clutch desperately at his shoulders, still covered with that stiff uniform. “Fu—Bucky, c’mon,” you whine. You tug at his collar; the scruff on his jaw burns your fingers, but he doesn’t relent. He curls his fingers tighter between your legs until your knees buckle and your whole world is a haze. “Fuck!”

The darkest chuckle as Bucky hefts you up, back against the wall and his leg slotted between yours, his thick pants rough against the soft skin of your thighs and his arm curled around your waist.

“Usually I have to stuff your mouth to get you at a loss for words,” he muses. His metal hand tugs at your bra strap; it snaps back against your skin. The sensation shoots straight between your legs. You suck in a breath and try to focus on Bucky’s gleaming grin, Bucky’s glinting eyes. “I dunno, babe, I’m liking this.”

“Y-you like that I can’t actually get my hands on you?”

“I mean, it’s kinda nice having you like this. All soft and pretty.”

“But with just a few moments of work,” you murmur, hands seeking out his fly, “you could be all soft and pretty too.” Zipper down, you curl your hand between your bodies and grip his hardening cock. His low groan is music to your ears. “Well, hard and pretty.”

You twist your hand, thumb circling his tip, and he hisses.

“You’re fucking nuts if you think doing that is gonna make me want to put in a drop of effort.”

You tsk and grind down on his thigh still propping you up.

“The things I suffer for you,” you tease. You wriggle until Bucky lets you drop to the floor. You sink to your knees and bat your eyelashes at him, sitting demurely on your heels. You trace a finger along the seam of your lips. Bucky reaches for his cock, but you shake your head.

“No no,” you tell him.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Don’t be a tease, angel.”

“Me?” You suck your finger into your mouth. A lewd pop as you pull it free. “A tease?” You trace your hand down your neck, past your collarbone, straight down to circle a pebbled nipple, straining against the soft cup of your bra. You don’t bother containing your shudder, your whimper. “Such an unfounded allegation.”

Bucky’s growl is, you decide, an altogether fair reaction.

“Why don’t you take that pretty bra off?” he says.

“I suppose I could.” You slide the straps down your shoulders and reach back to unhook it, the motion thrusting your chest forward for Bucky’s eager eyes. One slight shimmy, and you’re fully bare for him, curves and marks and all.

“Fuck, you’re such a fucking sight,” he groans.

“Already? But I haven’t even got your cock in my mouth yet.”

You lean forward, a hand on his thick thigh, but he puts a finger on your forehead before you can tug his cock free.

“Let’s change things up a bit,” he purrs. He tugs you up, gathers you in his arms, and carries you over to the bed. His uniform is rough against your skin, but there’s a thrill in it. Here you are, bare, vulnerable, wide open straight down to your soul, tossed on the bed like a sack of potatoes, and then there’s Bucky.

You’ve never seen him quite so much like the Winter Soldier in the bedroom. All that black material straining over his chest, his tapered waist, his thick arms, the left bared for your enjoyment. He looks so damn powerful as he stands over you. Just the sight of him staring down at you with blackened eyes and that uniform sends a rush of heat to your core.

“Bucky,” you moan.

He grins. “Who’s complaining now?”

“You will be, if I decide I’m bored of not having your hands on me.”

“Aw, angel, don’t be like that.” Bucky crawls across the giant bed, caging you in. You press your thighs together, not quite so lost as to reach for him. Instead, you let your fingers dance along your belly, the light sensation going straight to where you crave him most.

“No need for that,” he murmurs. He settles between your legs, spreads them wantonly wide to make room for his head, his shoulders. “Time to make good use of my mouth.”

Bucky dives right in. He licks a solid stripe up along your cunt, his scruff burning your thighs but you couldn’t care less. Your legs seize up, tightening around his head as your hands fly to your breasts and a gasp tumbles from your lips. When his mouth latches onto your clit, your cry is barely human.

He eats you out with more passion than usual. His tongue draws shapes against your clit, letters and numbers in more language than you know. All the while, his finger drums against your thigh, and only after the fourth repetition do you realize—it’s Morse code.

Because of course it is.

A laugh bubbles out of you.

“I love you, I love you, I love—oh fuck—I love you,” you chant, breath catching as he teases your rim.

“That okay?” he murmurs.

“Oh—fuck me, yes, yes!”

A slow push, and his finger is in your ass. It’s—it’s different, it’s dark and heady and there’s nothing stopping you from bucking your hips into his eager mouth, chasing every ounce of pleasure—of love—that he can give.

And oh, he gives. His tongue on your clit, his finger moving slow and deep, sucking and thrusting and holding you down with his free hand so there’s no escaping the oncoming precipice.

You’re gone far sooner than ever before, cunt spasming against nothing until Bucky eases two fingers in, gentle. He hums, the vibrations prompting a fresh shudder as you collapse against the mattress, every bone in your body somewhere else. You can’t see a damn thing. Only the memory of Bucky, telling you he loves you, and then it all just fades away.

Minutes pass before you come back to yourself. You blink away the stupor. Bucky sits on his haunches, sucking his fingers clean. His eyes are dark and hungry yet so damn soft as he looks down at you spread wide just for him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. He lays down alongside you side, cups your damp face in his warm hand. “I love you.”

You open your arms to him, and he settles with his ear over your heart and his hand splayed on your belly. You can feel dampness on his beard, and your lips curl into a smile.

“I love you too.” You kiss his forehead and breathe him in. It’s him, all right. It’s him, and he’s home.

How nice to be home. It’s been a long day. An uncomfortable bus ride to the Jelly Belly factory, an assassination, a chase, an explosion. Hours in SHIELD custody, not one but two interrogations, and the first declaration of love you’ve ever received—or given.

Yes, a long day.

Bucky lets you hold him, the silence sweet and comfortable. He’s still in uniform, the straps and buckles rough against your bare skin. You’re too tired to do anything about it. Bucky’s face is tilted up so he can look at you every now and then, but you’re nodding off. The world goes hazy around you. Bucky eases himself out of your arms. You shift, a little whine building in the back of your throat until he shushes you.

“Rest, love,” he whispers. A clink, a thud, some zips, and then he slides in beside you, his body bare and warm and perfect. With a click, the room goes dark.

You tuck your face against his shoulder. “Love you,” you mumble.

Bucky presses a kiss to your hair.

He’s here. You’re together, and you’re home.

#Attie’s Challenge Challenge #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes #looks to die for #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes smut

530 notes · View notes

onedayiwillflyfree · 5 years

Text

When The Sun Begins to Fall Chapter 4: Dear Anne

Read the full thing on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255530/chapters/50948122

Chapter 4: Dear Anne

Dear Anne,

Oh how I wish you were here. Perhaps then, someone could finally describe the beauty that is Paris. But since you are not currently present, I shall do my best.

The city is always bustling, always changing and moving, you never see the same face twice. Hordes of people fill the streets daily to sell their various wares. They peddle items from trinkets and souvenirs to the finest jewels and silks. People are even selling food from their carts, just like they did in the streets of Trinidad. Every food you could imagine is available as you walk down the road. Cheeses, toasted chestnuts, fresh pastries, and (what I am sure would be your favorite) the most delicious chocolates. You would be in awe of the romantical culture.

Speaking of romantical, Notre Dame is as stunning as your imagination described it to be. I have included a postcard, but it doesn’t quite do the actual cathedral justice. The glass is stained to be the loveliest colors of the rainbow. And the bells, Anne, are perhaps one of the loveliest sounds I have heard in my twenty years. One day, I hope you will be able to lay your eyes upon its beauty.

I hope letter finds you well, Anne-girl. Give everyone my love.

Take care,

Gil

———-

“Long time no see Carrots,” Gilbert said smirking. Anne, who had been rendered speechless, mouth sat agape. He chuckled, placing his bag on her nightstand and stepped toward his friend.

“Gil,” Anne whispered, finally finding her voice. “What are you…” She slowly pushed herself up out of the chair, only to begin to stumble forward. Gilbert dashed to her side, grabbing her hand and arm in support. Anne let out a wry laugh. “Heavens above, I am such a…”

“Clutz,” they finished in unison. Their gazes immediately found one anothers, hands still interlocked, and smiled. A warm feeling began to rush over Gilbert, as it did almost every moment they were together, as he felt Anne’s soft skin against his own. In the nine months since they had bid one another farewell, he worried that their friendship would begin to fade into the distance. That Anne would become just another childhood friend who would surely forget about the laughter they once shared. Yet standing there, being together once more, he could tell nothing had changed between the pair. He supposed that is what being kindred spirits was all about.

Anne let out a chesty cough, knocking the quilt off of her shoulders and ending the moment. Gilbert looked down at their interlocked hands and began to notice that the warmth he felt was different than the one he normally felt when he was around her. The heat was emitting from Anne’s body like an oven. He clenched his jaw. “Let’s get you to bed, Anne-girl, I imagine you’re tired.”

Surprisingly, Anne put up no arguments, leaving the quilt laying next to the chair as Gilbert led her over to her bed. He noticed she was leaning against him a fair amount, her muscles shaking with every step. She also appeared to have lost some weight, but he couldn’t tell for sure due to the flow of the nightgown. A blush creeped upon his cheeks as he caught himself staring at Anne’s lean body.

For Lord's sake, Gilbert, she is just another patient. Assess her as you would any other. He scolded himself as he pulled down her covers to allow her to crawl under them.

“So,” Anne started as adjusted her pillows behind her to allow her to sit up. “You never answered. What are you doing here?”

“Are you serious?” he walked over to his bag and brought it to her bedside.

Anne rolled her eyes, giving a small, breathy laugh. “Oh, honestly, I am fine.” She cleared her throat and gently patted her chest as if something was stuck, “It’s just a little…” she hit her chest once more, only this time harder. “Cold,” her voice caught.

Gilbert chuckled. “Well, you had Bash so frightened that he practically ran to Charlottetown, so I suppose I had to come check if you were just wanting everyone to fuss over you or if you were just being…” He was interrupted by a series of coughs as they echoed through the room. “Dramatic.” he mumbled. Noticing a cup of steaming tea on her bedside, he handed it over to her, which she proceeded to take a large sip. She coughed once more, this time spitting the tea back into the cup.

He quickly took the cup from her as she patted her chest. As he went to put it down, he glanced into it, noticing a streak of thick mucus laced with blood. He swallowed hard, sliding the cup away from her eye line. Anne shivered.

Gilbert looked over to the quilt on the ground and went to retrieve it. Upon picking it up, he realized that it was the quilt Mary had made for him as a birthday present just months before her passing. Picking it up, he held it close to his heart. He had been unable to bring it to Paris with him, his trunk filled to the brim with medical texts and clothing. Before leaving, he brought it over to Anne, as she had always admired the craftsmanship and figured it would not go unloved in the months he would be separated from it.

“It kept me warm all throughout the winter,” Gilbert turned his attention towards the bed to see Anne staring back at him. “I suppose you’ll be wanting it back now,” Anne whispered, sadness creeping into her tone.

Gilbert smirked, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers, before he throwing the quilt over her lap. “No, you keep it for a little while longer. You can give it back to me when you are feeling better.” He flattened the quilt over top of her, tucking her in as he would Dellie, allowing just enough slack so when she lay flat it would go up to her chin. “Then, when you return it, we could have a picnic in the orchard like we used too. I have sorely missed your apple pie.”

“I suppose Winnie would be joining us as well,” Anne mumbled, barely audible. Gilbert stopped, hearing envy drip from every word. He dropped his hands to his side in frustration.

“I suppose she would,” he turned towards his bag, pulling out his stethoscope and a thermometer, “Perhaps Roy would like to join us as well.” It came out colder than he intended but any mention of a certain Royal Gardner made his blood boil. When he turned towards his friend, a blush had crept upon her cheeks and neck. Although he was confused as to why she was upset, from what Anne had written him, the pair loved one another enough that they rushed their courtship and were set to be married early next spring.

She broke from his gaze, suddenly thoroughly intrigued with a lavender patch on the quilt.“Yes, I suppose he would.” Her voice was small. Gilbert softened his gaze, he didn’t mean to upset her. He stepped towards the bed, pulling a chair up along with him.

Once there, Anne met his eyes. “May I sit?” She nodded, gaze not leaving his. He sat close to the bedside, pulling the stethoscope from around his neck.”If it is alright with you, I would just like to have a listen to your lungs.” She nodded once more as he positioned it properly in his ears. “Sit up please Anne and take deep breaths when I tell you.”

She did as she was told and Gilbert pressed the stethoscope firmly against her nightgown by her upper lungs. He should have asked her to take it off but he didn’t want to embarrass her, so he decided to just do a quick exam while opting to do a full when Doctor Ward arrived. “Alright Anne, deep breath for me.” Please, please be clear he prayed silently as she obliged.

He almost let out a cry of joy when her lungs contracted normally. Joy consumed him as he moved the end to the lower right lung, asking her to breathe in again. As she did, she let out a hoarse cough. The lung rattled slightly, but not enough to cause worry. He continued the process with the left lung, pausing when an unfamiliar noise rang through his ears. “Can you take another big deep breathe and let it out slowly?”

Anne peered at him from the slits of her eyes, exhaustion had begun to set in. “Gil, can it wait? I’m so tired.”

“Anne, do it,” he didn’t mean to snap but he was trying to focus and didn’t need to argue with her at this very moment. Mustering every ounce of strength she could, she breathed in deeply, letting the air flow slowly through her lips. Gilbert’s throat tightened when her lungs sounded like a piece of paper being crumpled, ready to be thrown away.

As she let out the last bit of air, she wheezed causing her lungs to rattle even harder. “Gil,” she coughed as he pulled his stethoscope out of his ears and wrapped it around his neck. He met her eyes once more. Her eyelids slowly blinked, fighting to stay awake for another moment. “Finished?’ she asked half-heartedly.

“Yeah Anne-girl,” he took a pillow out from behind her and helped her lay back, pulling the covers up to her chin. “I’ll do more in the morning when the doctor arrives in the morning. You get some rest.”

He began to pack up his bag, opting to leave it there until morning, when he felt a tug on his sleeve. “Gil?” Her voice was soft as she began to slip off into the land of dreams. “I’m glad you’re here.” The words came out as a breathy whisper, Gilbert barely able to hear it. He smiled softly as he fought off the urge to brush a stray curl behind her ear.

“Me too, Carrots, me too.”

———

As he made his way downstairs, Gilbert had to resist a smile as he was greeted by the sweet smell of Marilla Cuthbert's cooking. He looked on from the platform to see Marilla pouring stew into a large bowl, mumbling to herself. Bash sat next to the fire, playing with his daughters curls as she slept in his lap.

Bash looked over as Gilbert stepped off the platform and to the table. “How is she?” he whispered, not having any desire to wake the sleeping toddler.

“Asleep thankfully. Although, she does need a new cup.” He walked over to the sink, pouring out the contents of the teacup before Marilla could peer at its contents. She glanced up from the bowl she was pouring and met Gilbert's eyes, a million questions swimming behind them.

“Does she have it? Is Anne going to…” Marilla’s voice caught before she could get out the final word. Gilbert reached up to his hair before remember it was firm and unmoving so he brought it to his neck, rubbing tension knots out gently.

“Marilla, I haven’t graduated yet, I’m not allowed to make an official diagnosis…”

“To hell with procedure Gilbert Blythe! You tell me right this moment: is my girl going to die?!” She snapped, throwing down the bowl of stew on the table, causing brown gravy to spill onto the table. Bash covered Dellies ears but she appeared to be unphased by the commotion, snoring lightly. The three of them stood silently. Regret filled Marilla’s features and she collapsed into the chair that stood before her. “Gilbert, I apologize...I don’t know what came over me.” Gilbert stepped towards her before pulling out the chair next to her and sitting, resting his hand gently on hers.

“Marilla, it’s alright.” Tears had once again welled in the older womans tired eyes. A silent understanding passed between the pair as she placed her other hand on top of his. They were all exhausted with worry and anything said in anger would be null. Gilbert squeezed her hand. “So, while I can’t diagnose her fully, I can say that I don’t believe she has consumption. When I listened to the upper portion of her lungs, here,” he gestured towards his upper ribs to help give context to what he was explaining. “They were clear.” Marilla’s free hand shot up to her mouth as she let out a cry of joy. Bash smiled, sighing in relief.

Gilbert wished he could share in their enthusiasm but after what he had just heard in her lower lungs gave him pause. “However,” he continued, their full attention immediately trained back to him. “Her lungs are making this crackling sound whenever she coughs or breathes and that worries me slightly.”

“What does that mean? Marilla questioned, her face paling.

“Well, rattling lungs paired with fever and headaches, along with a cough,” he cleared his throat. “It can usually indicate pneumonia.” Marilla bit her lip as she took in the information that was shared with her. Bash looked between the pair before he raised his hand slightly.

“What is pneumonia exactly?” he asked.

Gilbert squeezed Marilla’s hand once more, bringing her back to the conversation at hand. “Pneumonia is an infection within the lungs. There is no cure, yet, but it isn’t necessarily a…” Death sentence. He decided it best not to say it out loud, seeing as at the mere indication made Marilla lose all color in her face. The room became silent once more only to be interrupted by the sound of Gilbert’s stomach growling. Marilla smirked and slid the bowl of stew in front of him. He managed to get out a quick thank you before he began shovelling the flavorful stew into his mouth.

He felt joy course through him as the stew crossed his lips, as it captured all the essences of home. Bash’s special spice mixture, the earthy taste and feel of the carrots and potatoes from Matthew’s former garden, and Marilla’s sweet broth that would bring grown men to tears. The only thing that would make the feeling better is if Anne was sitting at the table with him, scolding him for forgetting to eat again.

Shoveling the last spoonful into his mouth, he dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin, realizing only now how much of a mess he made. Marilla and Bash stared at him, smiling. “Sorry,” placing his napkin next to his bowl. “I, uh, didn’t eat yet today.”

“Well that explains why you look so thin,” Marilla snatched the plate and proceeded to scoop it full once again. “Did they not feed you in Paris?”

“Oh, the food was wonderful.” If only I had eaten it more often. He hated to admit it, but while in Paris he would usually only eat once a day, sometimes not even that. Between the classes, lectures, activities Winnie had planned, and studying, most days he forgot to eat. It wouldn’t be until he would walk past a particularly fragrant patisserie that he would remember.

Marilla looked concern as he placed the bowl in front of him. He tried to push it away. “Oh Marilla, I couldn’t.”

“Gilbert, you may be a man now, but as long as you are under my roof,” she slid the bowl back towards him and shook his fork at him. “You listen to me. Eat.”

———

“You know, I had almost forgotten how formidable Marilla could be,” Gilbert said, as he adjusted his grip on Dellie. The little girl had woken up not long after he had finished his second bowl of stew, only opening her eyes just enough to reach for her uncle before drifting off in his arms. Her head lay on his shoulder as her arms draped across his shoulders.

Bash chuckled. “The Cuthbert women are not to be trifled with, that’s for sure.” Gilbert smirked, adjusting Delphine once more. He was amazed at how much she has grown in such a short amount of time. It made him wonder how much else had changed, how much he had missed.

The pair walked in silence, both deep in thought. They were halfway home when Bash peered over to Gilbert. “Blythe?”

“Hmm?” He whispered, not wanting to stir Dellie.

“You think Anne is going to be alright?” Bash asked, matching Gilbert’s stride.

Gilbert sighed. “I believe so. The infection seems to be isolated in the lower portion of her lung, so as long as it doesn’t spread over the next few days, she should be fine.”

Bash nodded silently, as if to debate something. “And then you’ll be off at that point again I suppose?” Despite trying to hide it, a tint of resentment soured his tone, causing Gilbert to stop dead.

“Have I done something to offend you?” Gilbert asked, trying to keep his voice down.

Bash stopped a few feet ahead and brought his hand to his neck with a sigh. “Let’s not do this tonight.”

Gilbert tensed defensively. “No, if I have done something something to offend you, I want you to tell me.”

Bash spun around, allowing Gilbert to see the exhaustion on his brothers face. He realized now that the man before him had probably had as an exhausting day as himself. “Gilbert, I am tired. You are exhausted. I don’t want to fight. It’s a talk for another day.”

Gilbert opened his mouth to respond, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to rest until this was discussed, when Dellie lifted her head off of his shoulder. “No yell.” She whispered, half asleep.

Bash sighed once more as he stepped over to the pair and snatched Dellie from Gilbert’s arms. “No yelling, my sweet.” He kissed the top of her head then stared at Gilbert. “No yelling.”

————

Gilbert decided to let Bash and Dellie walk ahead, wanting to clear his head before he turned in for the evening. He held his lantern by his side as he strolled up to the house, admiring the comfort he instantly felt as he stepped through the fence that lay on their property line. Minus a single gas lamp lighting his bedroom, the house was dark.

Bash must have already gone to bed...suppose we will talk in the morning. He shrugged lightly, trying to push the anxiety aside he had felt since Bash’s comment.

He made his way towards the barn, peeking his head in to see that Bash had completely rebuilt the loft and stable doors. It looked incredible, better than any job that Gilbert could have done. Silently, he promised to help with whatever Bash needed over the next few days, as long as Anne’s health was improving.

Turning towards his house, he saw a second lamp had been lit in Bash’s bedroom. He swallowed hard, knowing that a fight was going to ensue when he entered his home. But part of him wasn’t worried because much like his arguments with Anne, Bash and he never stayed upset with one another for long. the house,

Entering through the threshold, nostalgia hit like a boulder. Nothing had changed within the house, every object in its rightful place, not even a kitchen chair out of place. Fresh apples sat in the center of the table, causing a sweet aroma to greet him, enticing him to grab one and take a large bite from it. Something about the taste of the fruit after dinner satisfied his sweet tooth that he never seemed to grow out of. He walked over to the stove, eyeing the cook book that Anne had beautifully created for Dellie. He gently stroked the cover and whispered, “Evening Mary.”

A floorboard creaked behind him and Gilbert spun around to face Bash, whose tired eyes fighting to remain open. “You know,” Bash began, Gilbert sucked in a large breath, readying for whatever he was about to be told. “Mary loved you like a brother.”

Well, I wasn’t expecting that. Gilbert closed his fingers around the book, smiling down at it. “As I loved her. She was my sister.” He turned back to Bash expecting to see a returned smile, but the man was the most serious Gilbert had ever seen him. Gilbert’s smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

“Just don’t let her down Blythe.” Without waiting for his response, Bash turned on his heels and made his way towards his bedroom, shutting the door lightly behind to not wake his daughter.

Don’t let her down? What does that mean? Gilbert wondered, putting the half eaten apple down on the table, staring into the dark hallway. He shrugged, deciding to put it off until morning. After the day he had today, he wasn’t sure how much more contemplation he could take. He grabbed a pitcher, filling it with water from the spout before he made his way down the hall. Before making his way into his room, he peeked in to check on Dellie, who was snoring happily while snuggling a rag doll. The corners of his mouth pulled, a soft smile forming.

<em>“Queen Anne, you didn’t need to bring anythin’ for Dellie,” Bash complained but in truth, he was smiling as Dellie cradled her new favorite possession.

“Well Bash, every little one deserves something that is all their own, made especially for them.” Anne stroked the little girls cheek as giggles filled the room. Gilbert listened from the hallway, Anne unaware of his presence. He observed her closely, memorizing every detail of that moment, and wondered how someone who has had a tragic start in life, be so wonderful. He knew that the man who would one day call her wife, and the children, who would one day call her mama, would be the luckiest group of people in the world.

Anne looked up, meeting his eyes as she picked up Dellie, and smiled softly. Giving a soft wave, he prayed to whomever was listening that he would be able to be apart of her life then too.</em>

“Sweet dreams, Del,” he whispered, smiling as he shut the door gently. As he turned towards his room, he heard mumbled words coming from Bash’s room. Stepping closer, he debated one whether or not he would knock, almost bringing his free hand to the door when he heard words that halted him.

“Oh Mary, you would know what to say to him,” Bash whispered to his deceased wife. Gilbert lowered his hand to his side as he continued to listen. “I’m worried about him. He has changed and he doesn’t even realize it.”

Gilbert bit his tongue, feeling anger stewing inside of him. Unable to listen to anymore, he stormed off to his room, closing it tightly behind him. He went to his dresser, pouring water into the wash basin and splashed the cool water in his face. I haven’t changed. Sure, I’ve matured, but I am still the same Gilbert John Blythe I was when I left.

He dried his face and caught his reflection in the mirror. Marilla wasn’t kidding. The last time he looked in the mirror, he was a boy, trying to be a man. His hair stringing over his eyes, his moss eyes full of wonder and courage. Now, with his slicked hair and fatigued eyes, he looked like a man of thirty rather than twenty. The pressed white shirt that Winifred had bought him in Paris made him look like he had come from a long line of land barons. Sighing, he leaned over the basin and began to pour water over his hair, slowly scrubbing the pomade away. After a few moments, he felt slick curls beginning to fall lose in his fingers.

When he looked back into the mirror, he smiled, seeing some semblance of his former self. No matter how fancy his clothes were, no matter how he changed his appearance, deep in his soul, he was still the boy with big dreams and not a dime to his name. And if he wanted to make those dreams come true, he would do whatever it took. He would simply just have to adapt.

#anne with an e #anne with an e spoilers #gilbert blythe #fanfic #fanfiction #anne with an e fanfic #anne shirley cuthbert #anne shirley #anne x gilbert #gilbert x anne

78 notes · View notes