#in this tone that makes it clear she thinks of herself as a total cripple

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 11

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!) Guest starring Nick Fury and Maria Hill

Summary: Fury comes for another weekly check-in and Reader gets in trouble. He also brings along a doctor, will he have good or bad news for Rocket?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: A -l o n g b o i- of a chapter. Also, for my records, this is day 14 of the Guardians living with reader.

Word Count: 7,756

You wake up early, partially due to the pain in your arm, but mostly because you knew Fury would likely be coming today and you wanted to try and get to town and back before he arrived.

After a light breakfast you start to go out back door to retrieve the box the raccoon corpse was in, but Peter, who had also just finished eating and who suspected exactly what you're doing, jumped up and said he'll help you get the box.

You roll your eyes, and you're about to tell him you are fine to do it yourself when you hear knock at door. You assume it's Fury, but you want to be careful. You look out window, prepared to tell Peter to keep the others out of sight, when you notice two SHIELD vehicles behind your own, and that they hadn't been cloaked like Fury's was last time.

"It's Fury," you tell Peter, and he goes to fetch a few of the others who weren't already in the kitchen, mostly Rocket, because he expected they would want to see him after you said you'd be contacting SHIELD about the raccoon fight and whether Rocket had his shots.

Feeling slightly relieved that it was just Fury and that he hadn't decided to test you this time, you answer the door to see not only Fury and Agent Hill, but another man.

Fury gives a quick greeting and introduces the man as a doctor they brought along to test the dead raccoon. Apparently they came prepared after your message to Maria the previous night. You offer to go unlock shed but Fury says he needs you to stay there, and to give the doctor the keys. You are surprised, but obey, assuming he just wants briefed on what happened last night.

You hand the doctor the keys and he disappears back out the front door while you lead Fury and Maria into the kitchen where the others are just as Peter comes back down the stairs with Drax and Rocket.

As suspected, Fury asks first about what happened with the raccoon incident.

Rocket rolls his eyes and grumbles, "Nothing."

Drax speaks up. He tells Fury that he and you heard the commotion outside, saw Rocket getting attacked, and then you shot the offending animal.

Fury nods. "I see. I trust you've already looked him over, but our doctor will be doing so again before he administers the booster. According to our records Rocket was given a rabies vaccination, but you can never be too careful."

"Good." you reply, nodding your head in relief.

Rocket just hopped up on the counter to sit with his arms crossed indignantly, not looking forward to being examined for something he had already been checked for, but surprisingly he chose not to be a child about it.

"How long before we know if the raccoon was infected or not?" asked Kraglin.

Agent Hill answered. "The test takes about two hours. We brought a lab van so the test could be preformed on site that way we'd know as soon as possible."

Leave it to SHIELD to come prepared for literally everything.

"We also brought another couple weeks worth of rations. NOVA expects you all to be here for awhile more." This earned unhappy muttered grumblings from Rocket, but the others kept their mouth shut. They were never under the impression the negotiations would be done quickly. Maria continued, "So if a few of you want to help carry the boxes in..." she gestured towards the kitchen door. She said it politely, but it wasn't exactly a request. She wasn't a maid.

You nodded and started to head toward the door when Fury said. "Agent, stop."

You stopped, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Sir?"

Peter, Drax, and Kraglin, who had stood and were also about to follow Agent Hill (and tell you specifically not to go, for obvious reasons), also stopped, surprised by Fury's tone. He almost sounded a bit like he was scolding you despite his tone being even.

"Please remove your sweater."

The sweater he was referring to was actually an old knit cardigan. You had taken to wearing it the past few days due both to a string of overcast and therefore chillier days, and well, for said obvious reasons. "I'm sorry, what?" you ask.

"Your jacket. Take it off."

You swallow. You had a sneaking suspicion why he would ask you that. He had an annoying habit of somehow knowing everything. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not-"

"Remove your jacket, agent. Or do you need Agent Hill to assist you?" It was clear that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

You try to hide a grimace as you did what you were told, doing your best not to wince as you pulled your sweater off your good arm first and then the injured arm. Silently you wondered who had squealed on you. A small gasp from Mantis was heard when she saw what your sweater had been hiding, and you could feel the eyes of the others also on you as Fury gave you an unamused look and Agent Hill's eyes widened sightly. Even Rocket looked a bit surprised. He wasn't expecting it to look that bad.

Purple and green bruising stained your arm, radiating out from your elbow and stretching from your bicep to maybe 5 inches shy of your wrist.

"The doctor is also here to check over your injury as well." Fury said. Looking to Gamora he thanked her for informing them of your injury before turning back to scold you for not having mentioned it to them or having seen a doctor for it. He also threw in that you should be wearing a sling and resting your arm instead of 'acting like a dumbass who thinks they don't need to take care of themselves.'

"Sir, it's fine. I-"

"I'm trusting you to protect these people. How are you going to do that if you cripple yourself by neglecting injuries?" he scolded.

You shot an unhappy look to Gamora, but you could tell she wasn't sorry. You also caught almost smug looks from Yondu and Peter before turning back to Fury.

"How did it happen?" asked Maria. Gamora had told her that it had happened, that you refused help, and that you put it back in place yourself, but she hadn't told her how it happened. Seeing the aftermath of the injury now herself had made her curious.

"Slipped," you say before anyone can speak up for you. "Clumsy me," you add sarcastically.

Peter raised an eyebrow and shared glances with Kraglin and Yondu, surprised that you seemed to be covering for him. However, he didn't correct you, assuming you gave that answer for a reason, and after all, it wasn't totally a lie, more just... not the whole truth.

That explanation was apparently good enough for Fury and Maria because she nodded at the guys for them to follow as Fury laid into you again.

***

Maria opened the back hatch of the SUV, revealing crates of rations to be taken inside.

Lifting up one of the crates, Peter tried to make conversation, mentioning how Fury seemed surprisingly mad at you for not seeking out a doctor for your injury.

Sure, he could understand your boss telling you that you were dumb for neglecting an injury and scolding you for being stupid, but Fury's anger seemed different than he would have expected. Almost like he genuinely cared that you had gotten hurt. He couldn't remember any of his mother's bosses caring that much. If anything, if she had gotten hurt or sick, they would have preferred that she pretended she hadn't and just worked through it. Then again, he always did think most of her bosses were mean. Maybe she just had bad luck?

"Yeah, well, this wouldn't be the first time she's hidden an injury." Maria admitted. "I imagine he's getting a bit tired of it."

Kraglin took a crate from Maria. "She do that often?" he asked, surprised that anyone would just routinely hide when they've been hurt for seemingly no reason.

"It's not a super frequent occurrence, but she does have a bad habit of not saying when she's hurt. Once she got stabbed on the job in Hong Kong... we only found out when another agent walked in on her trying to stitch herself up in the hotel afterwards." She stacked a crate on top of the one Drax was already holding and shut the hatch before bending down to pick up the last crate she had set on the ground for herself. "Then there was a time when we were on a job together in Romania. We had been captured and held hostage for two days. I noticed she started looking worse and worse as time went on. I thought she was just getting sick, but then she passed out during the last interrogation attempt before SHEILD busted in the door with backup." She started walking back towards the house with the men. "I found out after they got her to medical that the day after we got sent out she came down with appendicitis and instead of telling someone that something was wrong and getting medical treatment, she apparently decided it was better to just cut out her own appendix- still don't know how she managed that without anyone noticing." Maria sounded like she clearly disapproved of your prior actions. "Anyway, with no way to keep it clean while we were being held prisoner, she had developed an infection. She was put on suspension for that one. I've got more, but I think you get the drift."

The three men's eyes were wide as they followed Agent Hill back to the house.

"That's insane." Peter said. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Beats me. She didn't always used to be that way, but now we use her as an example for what you shouldn't do with the new recruits."

"What do you think changed? Could she have suffered a brain injury that made her dumb?" Drax asked.

Peter shifted his crate so he could open the door and scolded Drax for being rude. As they walked into the hall Maria said, "No head injury that I'm aware of, she just kinda changed after-"

She never got to finish that sentence, for they entered the kitchen to hear you angrily say to Fury, "You can't be serious."

The four made their way towards the pantry with their crates, cautiously eyeing the situation so as to not appear nosy. Well, except for Drax, who was just flat out staring.

You were staring angrily at a stern-faced Fury while Gamora looked at the two of you, uneasiness in her eyes. Yondu and Rocket had looks of almost smug satisfaction playing on their faces, while Mantis and Groot appeared confused and intrigued.

"Serious as a heart attack." Fury answered. "After the doctor examines you and gives his orders, she-" he pointed to Gamora, "is going to report back to me if you break them, since clearly she has more sense than you."

"Sir, I don't need a babysitter-"

"Act like a baby, you get a sitter." Fury responded, cutting you off. "Adults know better than to just ignore serious injuries, Agent. Or do I need to remind you of the stunt you pulled in Romania?"

Gamora looked uncomfortable, and she wasn't even the one being scolded, though now she did wonder what you had done in Romania, wherever that was. Yondu was also curious, as Fury's statement confirmed you had done this more than once.

You sighed indignantly, "Sir I-"

"Enough. Unless you want to tell me you intend to defy orders, I suggest you keep any excuses to yourself. If I hear anything about you neglecting the doctor's orders, your ass will be assigned to a desk so fast your head will spin. Are we clear?"

Your eyes widened. Desk duty?! He couldn't do that to you. "What? Sir?! You can't do that-" you say, your voice almost pleading with a hint of indignation.

He says again, more firmly, "Are we clear?" Not only could he, he most definitely would. You thought being assigned to stay home was bad? Try being stuck in a cubicle for the next foreseeable future.

"Yes, sir." you say begrudgingly.

"Good."

Rocket started chuckling, pleased to see you get dressed down by your boss. In your own home, no less. Then he got an idea. "Hey, Agent." he said in a mocking tone.

You turn to glare at him. "What?" you respond irritably.

"Why don't you tell me where that new bed in my room came from?" He was wearing a shit eating grin, and you weren't sure why he'd bring it up right now.

You roll your eyes. "How should I know? Bed faeries? Piss off."

Rocket grinned wider. "Really? 'Cause I've got a feeling you aren't allowed to lie to your director, so if he were to ask..."

Fury, not in the mood, flatly repeated what he had said on the last visit, "I'm not here to get involved with your petty squabbles." adding, "I couldn't care less what this was about."

Rocket almost looked disappointed, and you relieved, before Agent Hill said, "Well, he might not care, but we'll be here for the next two hours waiting on results anyway... and technically I do outrank you..." Her smile wasn't malicious, it was clear that her intent was only some good-natured ribbing to her fellow agent who seemingly didn't like to admit that she'd done something nice for the asshole raccoon. Trying to lighten the mood.

You give Maria a look that says, 'Are you fucking kidding?'

Rocket looked delighted, and a few of the others looked pleasantly intrigued by your expression. By now everyone had pretty much gathered that you had made Rocket the bed, but you never would say as much. It'd be interesting if you'd actually admit it, or suffer whatever consequence lying to a superior might entail if they would choose to enforce it.

Fury, however, rolled his eye and told Maria he was going to have a word with the doctor. His way of saying that this issue wasn't worth his time, but he also wasn't going to stop whatever happened next.

Maria didn't force you to come clean about the bed. Not at first anyway. She did, however, exercise her power to keep you in line. Meaning, if you didn't do like you were told and just sit and wait for the doctor while the guys finished emptying the crates into the pantry and returned the crates to the vehicle, she'd make veiled threats to ask where the bed came from.

You knew she was only having a bit of fun, but you still stared daggers at her.

***

After a bit Fury returned with the doctor, who greeted you again by handing you the keys to your shed, stating that he locked it back up. He also informed that part of the the rabies test involved freezing the samples for 45 minutes, so he would examine you and Rocket in the meantime.

You went to motion for Rocket to go first, but Fury prodded the doctor in your direction, giving you a look that you knew better than to argue with. Rocket stuck his tongue out at you and remained sitting, satisfied, on the counter. Out of most everyone's sight, though, his tail twitched.

You were tense, but on your best behavior the whole time the doctor examined your injured arm, not wishing for Fury to come up with another punishment for your disobedience.

The doctor pulled a device out of a briefcase that turned out to be a fancy portable X-ray device to make sure there were no fractures. Luckily there weren't any.

The outcome was determined that you were very lucky. Somehow you had managed to set the bones back in place well enough on your own without accidentally breaking the radial heads in the 're-entry' process, something the doctor said he'd wouldn't have expected for a self-reset, but then again, most don't attempt to reset this type of injury on their own either. You were given a mild scolding by the doctor for not putting the arm in a sling so the ligaments could heal, however, and he said you were very lucky it didn't re-dislocate. You internally groaned as "I told you so's" peeped from behind you.

The doctor placed your arm in a strange hinged brace with a strap that made it sort of like a sling with the instructions that you were required to wear it with the strap for a week. Afterwards you could remove the strap, but you would still need to wear the brace for at least another two or three weeks. You were also placed on a weight restriction of only 5 pounds for your injured arm. Great...

You didn't say anything, only nodded, having gotten the message that it wasn't in your best interest to argue if you didn't want another tongue-lashing from Fury.

When the doctor was done with you he moved onto Rocket, who's ears momentarily flattened when he saw the doctor was now approaching him, but he quickly recovered, begrudgingly allowing himself to be examined.

As expected, the doctor found nothing of concern, barely even a scratch, which he was sure to clarify that Rocket likely wouldn't have contracted rabies from even if the animal does test positive.

The doctor turned to his coat pocket and pulled out a pre-loaded syringe of pinkish liquid, declaring to Rocket that it was the vaccine booster as he pulled off the cap.

Peter saw Rocket stiffen and finally noticed the twitching of his tail, and decided to be merciful and distract him. "Hey, Trash Panda,"

Rocket turned his head to Peter as the doctor grabbed his arm. "I don't answer to that, Star-Munch."

"You just did." Peter laughed.

Rocket growled at him before turning back to the doctor and asking him to hurry up so he could bite a chunk out of Peter's face.

"Already done," stated the doctor, capping the now empty needle and slipping it into a plastic bag before returning it to his pocket.

Rocket raised his eyebrows, forgetting his previous anger towards Peter. "Oh." His tail ceased its twitching. He hadn't felt a thing.

Peter didn't return to taunting and just let him forget. Mission accomplished.

Now done, the doctor announced he'd be going back to the lab-van to check on the samples, leaving you to sit awkwardly with your boss, co-worker, and the rest of the Guardians.

You look to the ceiling and sigh before saying, "Well I suppose I should offer you some tea if you're going to be here awhile."

Maria nodded that she'd take some and no sooner than you go to stand does Peter speak up and say, "Let me help-"

You give him a seething look that actually makes him recoil. "Unless you know how to make tea, fuck off. And even if you do, still fuck off. I don't need both arms to make fecking tea and I don't need your help. I'm not an infant." Your tone was even, but the venom was still there. A bit harsh, perhaps, but it sent the desired message. The whole situation was making you very cranky and maybe they shouldn't push it. At least for awhile until you had a chance to decompress.

Fury, however, shot you a disapproving look before you turned to put the kettle on, though he didn't say anything. He had pretty much expected this is how you might react.

The next half hour was mostly sipping tea and awkward attempts at conversation as everyone waited for the doctor to finish the test.

Yondu wasn't much interested in trying to make conversation, though he was surprised to find he didn't mind the tea. He was watching as you fiddled with your cup. You were quiet, and he thought you seemed nervous. Could you be nervous about the test results on that animal? Why? All evidence pointed to Rocket being completely fine, he hadn't been bitten, and that's what you said they had to worry about, right?

When the doctor finally returned he had good news. The raccoon had tested negative.

Yondu watched you visibly relax and it made him wonder if there was something you hadn't told them.

He was right. You were worried about the possibility of the raccoon's blood or saliva having found its way into one of the scratches or, more grossly, Rocket's mouth or eyes. If the raccoon had been infected, you knew those would be other possible ways Rocket still could have contracted the virus. You hadn't told the others because you hadn't wanted them to worry, but doing this only then made you worry. Not just because you didn't want to see even an asshole like Rocket die like that, but because you had told the others he'd be fine if he wasn't bitten, and that hadn't fully been the truth. It was a weight off your shoulders to hear that the test came back negative.

With that news Fury, Agent Hill, and the doctor were finally all able to leave. Fury stood and made eye-contact with Gamora. "Remember what I said, she steps out of line, disobeys the doctor's orders, you report back to us. Understood?"

Gamora nodded uneasily. She hadn't expected to be put on the spot and honestly wasn't looking forward to her assigned task, sure that it would only serve to piss you off.

Fury looked at you now. "Understood, Agent?"

You exhale irritably and say, "Yes, sir."

"Good. We'll be seeing you again next week."

You led them to the front door to let them out, but right before she walked out Maria turned to you with a smile and said, "Oh, almost forgot. Where did that new bed in Rocket's room come from?" She said it louder than necessary, no doubt to make sure that the others could hear the question being asked.

"Dammit, Maria!" you scold.

Fury now turned with a smirk, seemingly finally finding humor in the situation. "You know what. I changed my mind. I'd also like to know. Agent?"

You look to the ceiling with a pitiful look. Maria had only been joking, there wouldn't be any real consequences for refusing to tell her. Fury, however, was your boss, and if he wanted to be a dick about it, he could. Apparently your recent stunt with your injury had pressed his 'asshole' button. "I built it." you mutter.

Fury spoke in a tone louder than necessary, just to mess with you. "Sorry, Agent, I didn't catch that."

You glare at him and only speak up a little bit. "Said I built it, sir."

Fury chuckled, and spoke again in the louder-than-necessary voice, "Ah, you built the bed! What a nice thing to do, Agent!"

Rocket could be heard from the kitchen cheering, "I frickin knew it!"

You glared at your boss and coworker. "I hate you both so much."

Fury chuckled. "Goodbye, Agent."

"Goodbye, sir." you reply, promptly shutting the door.

You turn to see Rocket standing smugly in the kitchen doorway. Peter and Kraglin were standing behind him, appearing amused.

"Not a word." you say, barely looking at them as you made for the stairs.

Rocket laughed. "Oh, I was just going to ask if I should give my regards to you, or the faeries."

"Can't hear you!" you call back as you walk up the stairs.

"Come on now, that was a nice thing ya did!" Kraglin said, his tone teasing.

"Not listening!" you cry back as you climb higher, fully aware you were acting a bit like a child, but not caring in your pursuit to get away.

They heard your door shut and Kraglin turned to Peter to say, "She's an odd one, ain't she?"

"Yep."

***

Gamora felt uneasy. After conversing with the others about you, she had contacted Agent Hill on the communication device SHIELD had given them in case any issues arose. They were naturally concerned with how you kept to your room after the injury, and a few therefore worried that the injury was worse than you let on.

They could have just let you be, after you made it clear that you wouldn't accept their help, but after they saw you risk further injury to save their friend, she and Peter collectively decided they'd risk overstepping and contact SHIELD. You helped one of them, they'd help you. Even if you didn't want it, they felt you needed it.

What they hadn't expected was for Fury to be angry about it and, as a result, assign Gamora as your warden.

She talked with Peter in private, discussing what she should do about the situation. She didn't see the situation going well. You barely knew each other and you could be... well, stubborn might be an understatement. Eventually they agreed there was only one thing to be done. Just do it.

Or, at least make it look like she had every intention of carrying through without pissing you off to much. Sometimes people needed a little tough love for their own good, but Gamora knew if they crossed the line into overbearing things could go south real quick, and she didn't want to risk finding the tipping point that would make you make them leave. Being assigned someone to report back on you if you misbehaved was probably humiliating enough without them pushing it.

Now if they could only get Rocket on board.

You stayed in your room most of the day, but when you did come out to eat or to stretch your legs Rocket would throw teases at you, saying that you better stay in line if you didn't want Gamora to tell on you, and throwing taunts about the punishment Fury had threatened you with if you disobeyed the doctor's orders.

To their surprise, however, you just ignored him. You literally just didn't acknowledge him. Just walked about your business, and returned to your room without even a glance in his direction.

Then they realized it was only because you couldn't hear him. You had your earbuds in. Probably for the best, really.

Gamora's uneasiness eventually turned into relief when it became clear that you didn't hold a major grudge against her for squealing on you or her assignment from Fury. Based on your reaction earlier she had been worried that you'd focus your ire on her, but for whatever reason, you didn't seem to.

It was true, you didn't hold a grudge against her. Well, not after you had a chance to cool down about the situation, that is. Listening to music always made you feel better, so it helped your mood that you had kept your earbuds in for most of the day, (and let's be honest, it saved Rocket's ass too.) You took some time to reflect. Except for a period when you went for a walk to decompress, you stayed in your room and just thought about the situation. From what you had seen of Gamora, she probably only thought she was helping. Why she wanted to, you couldn't guess, but you just assumed she did. Fury was probably just trying to teach you a lesson, and you resolved to not let it get to you. You'd play the game, be good, and then he'd eventually get off your back. Easy.

After spending most of the day reflecting, you didn't feel as cranky as you had that morning. Yup, good old music and walking had done it's job to help your mood...

You hadn't made the connection that each of the three times Mantis came to your shared room to check on you, and would take your hand or place hers on your arm to ask how you were feeling, you felt a little more contented. You just assumed she was feeling affectionate and that you enjoyed her company.

Both of those were true, but Mantis had also been working her magic a little, wanting to see you cheer up but doing it in tiny doses so as to not ruin the practical joke Yondu had said would be real funny later if she didn't tell you about her abilities. She didn't know when the joke would be over, but she also didn't want to ruin it and disappoint her new friend.

Later that night you decided to break out a bottle of whiskey from the cellar. Try to get a buzz going. You brought it into the kitchen, asking those already at the table if they wanted any. Well, it was more like telling them that they knew where the glasses were if they wanted some, but still, an offer is an offer.

You sat down and poured yourself a glass as Peter grabbed a glass each for him and Gamora, and Kraglin fetched one for himself and Yondu.

Gamora was the first to speak. "I just wanted to aplogi-"

"No."

"What?"

"It's awkward enough without the apology. It's done. I'm sure you thought you were being helpful or something, but it's done."

Gamora raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well I-"

You sigh. "Look, if it makes you feel better, you're forgiven or whatever, but I don't want to talk about it. 'Kay?" you down your glass and pour another. "Don't kill my buzz before it's even started."

Peter started to speak up. "Well I feel Krags and I at least-"

You cut him off as well. "Same goes for you. We're not going to talk about it right now. It's done."

"Oh...kay..." Peter said, taking a sip. He attempted small talk after a bit. "So... how did you come about working for SHIELD?"

You sipped and shrugged before setting your glass down. "My dad was an agent, and I guess I followed in his footsteps." you say, toying with your glass. Eager to turn the conversation away from you, you asked, "How'd you lot go about becoming 'Guardians of the Galaxy'?"

That question had the desired effect. Peter started off the story by telling you how it actually all started with them getting thrown in prison over a stone and then breaking out of said prison together to locate said powerful stone that some dick called Ronan was going to use to wipe out an entire planet.

About a quarter the way through the story the rest of the Guardians came and the same offer was extended to them before you stood up and announced you should probably grab another bottle as the one you brought up was nearly empty.

Rocket piped up, "So where ya hide it anyway?"

You looked at him, confused and a little tipsy. Cocking your head you asked, "What?"

"The booze. You always seem to pull it out of thin air. Figured you were hiding it."

You blink at him while Peter scolded him for being dumb, a sentiment you now currently shared. You laugh and look at Gamora, who looked embarrassed by her friend. "Is he always this dumb?" Not waiting for an answer you turn back to Rocket. "It ain't hidden. Dipshit." You turn away to resume your task.

Rocket, offended that you would call him dumb, said, "If you ain't hiding it, why haven't we ever seen where you keep it."

Now Kraglin was giving him looks. Even if you were hiding it, it was your shit. You were already giving them a place to stay, you didn't owe them booze too. The rest were sure Rocket was just trying to get a rise from you, but the secondhand embarrassment was real.

You rolled your eyes but kept walking. It was most likely the alcohol, but you were actually finding humor in his stupidity. "It's in the cellar, space case. I won't stop you from tagging along. Make sure your mother signs the permission slip." With that you slipped out the kitchen door.

The guardians exchanged glances at your comment and Peter, who remembered school and field trips, said, "That was a joke. You wouldn't get it." He then stood up and said, "Might as well take the chance to see something new since we don't know how long we'll be stuck here." He then looked to Rocket and asked if he was coming, since technically the invitation had been extended to him.

Rocket, who had been clearly hoping for, or at least expecting, a fight, awkwardly followed in the direction you had left. Mantis and Groot stated they wanted to go see the cellar too, but the others opted to stay behind.

Seeing that four of them had actually decided to take up your mock-offer to come to the cellar, you waited for them to catch up. You honestly didn't care if they went into the cellar, as long as Groot didn't go down there to play, and you made a point to ask Peter to tell him that you didn't mind him coming down with the rest of you tonight, but he was under no circumstances to come down there to play as he could get hurt.

Rocket translated instead, seeming irritated that you had given the message to Peter instead of him, and you open the door start to walking down the stairs, the others trailing behind.

The cellar wasn't anything spectacular. The stairs were a bit creaky with age, and it was dusty and dim even with the light on. The walls were stone strung with cobwebs and the floor was made up of old red brick.

You reached the ground and led them to some shelves on the wall across from the boiler, to grab the whiskey. On the other wall next to the shelves was an old wooden door, but other than that, a few cans of paint, and another set of shelves on the far end of the cellar, it was largely empty. You didn't keep much down there due to the damp.

You turned back to face them once you grabbed a bottle and asked if Rocket was satisfied. You didn't recieve an answer, not like you had expected one anyway. Gesturing back to the whiskey you said to Peter that it was down here if they wanted it. You didn't care as long as they didn't get sloppy drunk and start wrecking shit on the regular.

Peter nodded and the four took in the sight of the cellar. Mantis looked like she regretted her decision to come down, and said it was a little creepy, and Groot seemed to share her opinion. Good. Would mean he wouldn't care to come play down there. Peter and Rocket, however, looked at the shelf behind you in surprise. There was... more whiskey than they had anticipated. A lot more.

"Not that it's any of my business, but why do you have so much whiskey down here?"

You turned back to the shelf. Remembering the reason combined with your tipsy state made you giggle as you answered honestly. "Decided to order a small case awhile back just to have a bit around. Might have ordered it drunk and messed up the size of the order... just a bit..."

'A bit' was an understatement. The whiskey didn't sit on just one shelf, but rather the whiskey took up a whole shelving unit. You had only meant to order one case. A case would have been maybe six bottles. Somehow you ended up ordering six cases, and of course there were no refunds. So, into the cellar with a few other assorted bottles it went. You didn't do any online shopping while drunk after that again.

Peter chuckled at your honesty and noticed the wooden door for the first time. He debated asking about it, it seemed oddly placed considering the layout of the house above, but Mantis beat him to it.

"Where does that door go?" she asked, pointing to it.

You look to the door and then back to them. "Closet," you say, before widening your eyes in mock realization to tease Rocket. "Oh right, better prove it before that one gets all suspicious again!"

Rocket narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, not thrilled with you making him the butt of a joke as you opened the door to reveal a small, dark closet, maybe a meter deep and just as wide. Pipe wrenches hung on hooks off the door, and inside was a bucket, a broom, and a shovel resting against a wall of shallow shelves which were empty aside from a few random tools and a couple lanterns.

You closed the door after a moment and to Peter's surprise you handed him the whiskey bottle you had retrieved and grabbed another. "Might as well grab two, save me a trip if we run out again," you explain before shooing them all up the stairs.

Once back in the kitchen you re-took your seat and poured yourself another glass before sliding the bottle towards the middle of the table for someone else to grab. "Alright, I believe you were telling a story now?" you say to Peter as he also sat down, seeming surprised you were still interested.

And you were. It was quite an interesting story and you had to admit it captured your attention quite well.

Before you knew it an hour had passed and the second bottle was finished between seven of you when they'd finished telling it. Mantis didn't like the taste and Groot wasn't permitted to have any, though fortunately he didn't seem to mind. Just sipped on some juice you had gotten up to pour for him and Mantis and played about on the table adorably as Peter told the story.

The Ronan guy had gotten the stone, but Peter and his team still won anyway, having managed to get the stone away from him. You had giggled when you realized that Peter had more or less described that they had used 'the power of friendship' to hold onto the stone, though he didn't seem as keen on that comparison. You were also surprised to learn that the little Groot before you wasn't the original Groot, but rather more like the original's son, and that Kraglin and Yondu weren't part of the team yet in this story, but actually the leaders of an almost adversary group of space pirates that had agreed to work with Peter with the promise of obtaining the stone for themselves. You wanted to ask about that, how they came about joining Peter's team and where the rest of their crew was, Ravagers you believed they were called, but before you could Yondu interjected.

"Yeah, I'd almost forgot about that switcharoo ya pulled with the stone, boy." Yondu said to Peter, who, now several drinks in, included that bit of the story despite the former captain and first mate sitting right at the table with him.

Peter chuckled nervously in response, and said in jest, "Well, you got a cool troll doll out of it, that's something, right?"

You snorted a short laugh out your nose at that, making the others turn to you in surprise. Aside from a few questions, you had been more or less quiet the whole time until now. "Troll doll?" you say, clearly tipsy, behind your hand. The thought was ludicrous to you. Of all the things, a troll doll.

Peter grinned, pleased to see you found it funny. "It was the only thing I had on hand that would fit in the orb." He admitted, giggling.

Gamora's eyes crinkled as she looked at Peter. She hadn't had nearly as much drink as him, but she still found his giggly nature and his ability to tell a story to be endearing. This was probably the most she had let herself relax since they arrived.

Kraglin lightheartedly punched Peter in the shoulder. He'd been angry when the "switcharoo" incident happened, but he'd since been given enough reason to get over it.

"You goofy cunt," you chuckled at Peter, standing from the table and grabbing the empty bottle to bin it.

Peter raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at you as you walked toward the bin. Had you just called him a 'cunt'?

The others shared surprised contemplative looks and Kraglin said, "I think that was a compliment?" He was unsure, but you hadn't exactly said it in a derogatory way, so perhaps it was?

You overheard him and said from the bin, "Eh. Close enough." You spared one final giggly glance towards the group before leaving the kitchen to use the bathroom.

Peter shrugged, correctly assuming that he shouldn't be offended and stood to put his now-empty glass in the sink before re-joining the table with the others.

They sat chatting for a bit longer, before they thought they heard the soft sounds of singing coming from the sitting room. Exchanging glances, Peter and Gamora decided to go check it out.

***

You didn't return to the kitchen after you finished your business. The story was finished and you were in a better mood than you had been that morning so you just made your way to the sitting room to relax in your rocking chair before your buzz could wear off.

You had been there just a few minutes with your eyes falling closed when the sensation of something crawling up your leg startled you. You jump slightly only to see it was Groot crawling into your lap. You then relaxed. Cute little bugger looked sleepy, and for whatever reason, decided he would crawl up into the rocking chair with you. You didn't mind, and even if you did, you were getting a little too sleepy to feel like wasting energy making him move.

He climbed up on your slinged arm, too light for the action to cause you any pain, and curled up as you rocked away.

You weren't sure what possessed you, likely the whiskey, but you started to softy sing him a lullaby. One you remembered your grandmother singing you to sleep with when you were little.

***

Gamora peeked in the doorway and stopped, seeing you in the rocking chair, though you didn't see her. The rocking chair faced the bookshelf on the opposite wall, putting your gaze perpendicular to her own.

You were the source of the singing, and it didn't take long for her to notice Groot curled up sleeping against you and to deduce that what you were singing was a lullaby.

The others had come to see as well, but Gamora motioned for them to be quiet and didn't let them get past the doorway, afraid that you would stop if you knew you had an audience.

"What is it?" Drax asked.

"I think she's singing a lullaby to Groot." Peter answered, turning to peek back through the doorway for a moment before stepping aside to let Drax see. Drax smiled warmly at the sight and motioned Mantis to take his spot.

Kraglin chuckled and whispered over to an equally amused Yondu, "Well ain't that precious."

"So what?" asked Rocket, annoyed that everyone was gathered by the doorway instead of entering. He was, however, definitely not jealous that Groot would have taken to you well enough to let you sing a lullaby to him. He was also definitely not irritated about the fact that Groot had aparently just fallen right asleep in your lap, when he had been having to deal with Groot fitting to go to sleep most nights due to being someplace new.

Gamora looked to him. "It's sweet."

"She ain't sweet, it's all an act. She don't really care."

"So it was an act when she shot that raccoon and saved your ass?" asked Peter, rolling his eyes at his furry friend.

Rocket threw up his arms in frustration, unwilling to admit the possibility of being wrong. "Probably! She don't really care about us. We're just an assignment to her. And I didn't need her help anyway."

Peter rolled his eyes again, and that's when they noticed the singing had stopped. They were too busy arguing to notice it had been getting softer and softer. Gamora peeked in again and saw that you had fallen asleep, and she whispered back to the group as such.

"Good. I'm putting Groot to bed." Rocket said, pushing through the others before they could say anything.

"Rocket!" Gamora hissed, finally entering the room herself along with Peter.

Rocket ignored her as he approached the rocking chair. Who did you think you were anyway, singing lullabies to Groot? You weren't his mother. He was the one raising Groot, he didn't need some Terran dickhead stepping in and playing 'mommy.' Rocket let his frustration get the better of his sense and instead of gently climbing to retrieve Groot, or asking someone else once he realized he wouldn't quite be able to reach, he decided to be an asshole and jump right into your lap, startling both you and Groot awake in the process.

"Ow! The hell?" you said groggily, rubbing your eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?" Rocket said mockingly before walking off with a confused and groggy Groot.

The others gave him disapproving looks as they dispersed, not wanting to crowd the doorway any longer.

"You're a real asshole, ya know that?" Kraglin said before heading towards the stairs with Yondu. Rocket just ignored him.

Mantis, who also decided she would go to bed, said to Rocket as they climbed, "You're wrong, you know. She does care. I've felt it."

Rocket just rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever," before bounding up the rest of the stairs and to his room to put Groot down to sleep.

Peter and Gamora had decided to head back into the kitchen with Drax to clean up the forgotten empty glasses on the table, so by the time you got up and decided to head to bed yourself the hall was empty.

Too tired to do anything else, you decided to just go to bed. As you made your way up the stairs you remembered taking the others to the cellar and showing them what was behind the door, and wondered if you should consider getting a lock, just in case Groot disobeyed and decided to go play down there anyway.

They didn't need to find out what was behind the back wall of that closet.

[dudeandduchess]

Masquerade: Sanemi x Princess!F!S/O (Mulan AU, SFW/NSFW Scenario)

Summary: (Y/n) was tired of living a sheltered and self-serving life that she knew would only end up with her getting married off to a stranger for peace talks, so before her father could even think of plucking her out of her usual dynamic, she had made a run for it— straight into the last place where he would think to look for her: a military training camp. But that didn’t mean that other people wouldn’t catch her in her own masquerade; most especially a silver-haired captain.

Note: SFW and NSFW scenes will be interspersed, so this will be the warning for the entire story. Also, it says that it’s a Mulan AU, but this is just very loosely based on it. I also said that I’ll drop the entire fic, but this isn’t even done. So I just decided to share this part with y’all. Word Count: 6,335

Warnings: Smut, Adult Themes, Language, Voyeurism, Oral Sex, D/s Themes, Vaginal Sex, Vanilla Sex, Dirty Talk, Creampie, First Time Sex, Vaginal Fingering

***

To say that (Y/n) was tired would be the understatement of the century. At that point, she was ready to pass out on her horse’s back— completely prepared to let her eyes drift shut and allow herself a few minutes, or maybe an hour or so, of well-needed sleep.

Her behind was aching from having had to sit on her horse for so long, and her back was close to screaming in protest without any support to hold it up for the duration of her journey. (Y/n) was so close to just throwing in the towel and accepting her fate: getting married to a total stranger.

Maybe it was delusional of her to think so, but she had always wanted to marry for love; to be with someone whom she knew would care for and cherish her with their entire being. The last thing that she wanted was someone who only thought of her as nothing more than a trophy, and staying at her father’s palace was a sure guarantee of that.

The tunic, as well as the hakama, that she wore did little to ward off the cold— which made her grateful for the extra layer that her chest bindings provided as a barrier from the cold. It made breathing difficult, but it was something that she had to endure, if only to make her ruse more believable.

To add to all of her efforts, she had also taken to cutting her hair so that it fell to her shoulders instead; a well acceptable length for men, without hacking all of her beloved hair off.

On either side of her horse, the armor that she’d haphazardly pilfered from one of her father’s guards clunked together in a muffled cacophony; it provided some respite from the eerily silent night, and (Y/n) couldn’t have been more thankful for that.

She knew that she was close to going crazy, not only because she had been bold enough to run away from home; but also because of the fact that she was headed right towards a place that could very well make or break her plans.

“Oh dear,” She muttered to herself— momentarily stopping her horse right in its tracks, as she surveyed the camp that was nothing more than a small speck in the distance. Her heart began hammering in her chest, making her absolutely breathless as she reached up and laid a hand over it. “You can do this, (Y/n). It’s just until you get sent on a mission.”

For all her pep talk, however, she still felt a crippling sense of dread bubble up inside her; as if it was warning her of all the consequences of her actions.

But there was no turning back at that point. She was sure that everyone in the palace was already looking for her, but all they would find was a letter that said no more than three words to her father.

I’m sorry, father.

Guilt stirred inside her at that, but she pushed it down as soon as it reared its unappealing head; before spurring her horse forward. All the while, she couldn’t help but keep hoping, and praying, for fate to work with her.

***

The moment that she reached the camp, she immediately dismounted her horse and kept a hold of its reigns— gently leading it along, with her grip increasingly getting tighter and tighter, as the fear of someone knocking her to the ground and stealing her only companion played in her mind.

It didn’t help at all that most of the men in the camp looked so ominous and foreboding— especially the ones whom were sharpening their swords with scowls on their faces.

To sum it up, the camp was everything that her nursemaids and escorts had warned her against. The area was clean enough for normal standards, but to her— whom had grown up in the lap of luxury— it was shoddy and filthy. Hell, it made her hairs stand up on end, especially when a sweaty man had brushed against her arm; leaving a really disgusting patch of sweat in his wake.

She almost had to rush over to a private area, all so she could wait out the nausea that took over her entirety.

Immediately, however, she made a face down at her arm— before doing the most unladylike thing, and wiping her forearm against the back of her tunic.  “You can do this, (Y/n). You can do this.”

She kept repeating the mantra in her head, even though a tiny voice inside her kept telling her to give up and go home. But, with a hefty sigh, she reached into the rucksack attached to her horse’s left side, and pulled out the scroll— wishing to high heaven that there was a concierge at the camp to help her get settled in, or maybe even a welcoming committee to guide her to where she needed to go.

But, alas, it was a military camp. So she had no choice but to rough it. After all, she was the one whom had chosen to forsake her old life in the first place.

“U-um!” (Y/n) cleared her throat then, putting in the effort to make her voice sound a few octaves deeper, as she raced over to one of the uniformed soldiers walking within the camp.

Awkwardly, she bowed down— forcing herself to let go of years of etiquette lessons and royal protocol— as she bent down lightly at the waist. Thankfully, her internal dilemma at possibly being found out all because she wasn’t used to bowing didn’t show on the outside. In fact, the soldier seemed to puff his chest out in pride.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but internally curl her upper lip at the man’s concealed arrogance, knowing full well that he would be in a dogeza if he only knew who she really was. However, that was only if he knew her real identity; and she had no intention of outing herself so soon— or at all, really.

So, she swallowed her pride and held out her summons scroll; waiting with tense anticipation if the man would even know that she had taken it from one of the numerous summons scrolls in her father’s war counsel room.

She didn’t even know whom the scroll was for, and she sincerely regretted not even taking a look at it before she entered the camp.

“Miyuki?” The soldier spoke in a questioning tone, making her think for a moment before realizing that he had been pertaining to the name on the parchment.

“Yes. Miyuki… Yuki.” (Y/n) wanted to hit herself for coming up with the most obviously fake name in the world, but it was too late for regret— as even the soldier quirked his eyebrow at that, chuckling under his breath before handing the scroll back to her.

“You belong with the other new recruits. Go to the supplies shed at the edge of camp and ask for your provisions.” With one last snarky smirk, the man tipped his head at her, before going on with his day.

And (Y/n) could only watch with narrowed eyes, as the man sauntered away from her— wishing to all the deities to give her the patience to deal with blatantly being dismissed like that.

She had to have the patience for it, if she wanted to last more than a week at the camp.

So, with pursed lips, she set out to go to the supplies shed— all so she could get started on starting her life as a soldier.

It took hours, and a lot of quiet snickers from the other men in the camp, but she had managed to finally pitch her tent up. Though, she had to tie one end up on a small tree; just so it would stay up.

Her days with her etiquette teachers could have been considered a walk in the park, compared to having to rough it out on her own. She had even missed dinner, all because she hadn’t known that the evening bell had been a signal for meal time. So, she had made do with the bread that had hardened considerably during her day-long ride to the camp.

And so, after dining on her scrumptious piece of bread, she had deigned to get ready for bed— only to look down at herself and finally notice how filthy she was. Her tunic had been smeared with dirt, and her arms were also blotched with patches of soil here and there— which had her curling her upper lip in disgust.

She couldn’t very well sleep in her current state, but she also hadn’t seen any enclosed baths or bathhouses for the common foot soldiers. The fact that she wouldn’t be able to wash herself made her heart sink, until she remembered seeing an unattended bathhouse right by the supply shed.

The sign outside said that it was only for the captain’s use, but she figured that it was already way too late for him to take a bath— and all the other soldiers would have already been asleep. So, with a half-cocked plan in mind, (Y/n) crept out of her tent with a fresh set of clothes and shushed her horse, before sneaking over to get her much-needed bath.

***

Sanemi sighed, clearly exasperated at having had to deal with the councilman that had been assigned to him. The man was an absolute piece of work, as he recorded everything that Sanemi had said and done all day— down to his sighs and irritated scoffs. And, to top it all off, he had complained non-stop about the lack of amenities within the camp.

Which was why Sanemi was more than thankful for the silence that wrapped around the camp, as he made his way over to his private bath house.

“Fucking idiots,” The captain grumbled under his breath, needing some sort of release as he felt the tension weigh down on his shoulders even more. He was so stressed out about the oncoming war, and the time-pressure that had been added to his plate.

The Shogun wanted a fully functional army by the end of three months, but he had seen the men that had been sent to him— and all of them were no more than boys with the bodies of men.

He shook his head at that, clearing his thoughts for the moment, as she stepped up to the well-lit bath house; making him do a double take when he noticed that the lantern inside was on— which it shouldn’t have been.

Unless someone was blatantly disobeying camp rules and was trespassing in there.

Slowly, he crept up to the entrance of the bath house, making sure to keep his movements quiet as he slid the door open— quickly sliding into the sizeable room, and setting his things down on a wicker table by the door.

He could hear the sound of water sloshing around inside the main bath area— right where the onsen was— and he quickly tiptoed towards the entryway for it, peeking through the slightly parted shoji to see who had even dared to use his property; or property that had been made for his exclusive use, rather.

Only, instead of seeing one of the men in the camp, his eyes widened as he took in a woman’s tempting figure in the night. She stood by the lip of the onsen, testing the water’s temperature by dipping her toes into the pool, before letting out such a pleasured sigh that went straight to Sanemi’s cock.

Lilac-colored eyes traced over every patch of skin that was bared to him, lingering on her breasts, before going down to her thighs, and then flickering over to her pretty cunt that was nestled between her thighs.

“Fuck,” The captain whispered, licking his lips and swallowing thickly— his gaze never leaving the woman, even as she stepped into the steaming water. Deliberately, he palmed his slowly hardening cock through his pants— squeezing lightly, in a subtle attempt for a taste of pleasure.

A soft groan left his lips at that, moving his fingers to squeeze his balls as the woman sidled closer to where he was standing by the door. Only, his breath got caught in his throat for an entirely different reason, when the light from one of the lanterns illuminated her features.

There was no mistaking that face, even if it was bare from all of the make-up, and was not being framed by the artfully feminine hairstyles that he’d always seen her don in the palace. He had gazed upon that face so many times before, that he was willing to bet his rank and title that he had been looking right at (L/n) (Y/n), the daughter of the Shogun.

Sanemi’s cock got even harder at that; remembering the way that she had gracefully sashayed into the dining area— after a war council meeting had been held at the Shogun’s palace. His fascination with her had started then, but he’d never let it grow more than that.

But, given the chance that he’d had at that moment, he couldn’t help but give in to his baser urges and keep palming his cock through his pants; massaging his balls and rubbing the heel of his palm against his length.

A quiet groan left his lips at the action, as his eyes threatened to flutter shut at the pleasurable sensation. Still, he forced himself to keep his eyes trained on her, watching her every move as she scooped some water up in her hands, and let it flow down her neck and chest.

Sanemi was so tempted to pull his cock out and keep stroking himself to the view that she made, but he knew that he shouldn’t cross that line— not with her. He wanted her in his bed, not as mere fuel for his lust.

And so, he let go of his erection at that— taking a deep breath to center himself once more, before sliding the shoji open. His eyes were narrowed at her, watching as her expression morphed into blatant shock, before turning into mortification.

It even took her a few seconds to cross her arms over her chest, as her brain could play nothing but the possible punishments that was going to be handed down to her— all because she couldn’t take not bathing for a day.

Only a few hours had passed since she’d entered the camp, yet she knew that she’d already gotten caught— by the captain, no less.

What made things infinitely worse, however, was the shine of recognition in his eyes; even in the dark night, she could pick out the familiarity in his look.

He knew who she was, and it was too late to dissuade him from his assumptions.

“State your name and business,” Sanemi stated with a coy smirk, being formal even though he knew that he had her cornered. She couldn’t possibly begin to explain why she was bathing in the Captain’s bath house at that hour, let alone explain the fact that she was a woman in an all-man camp.

Or even begin to explain what the daughter of the Shogun was doing so far away from home.

“I…” (Y/n) bit down on her bottom lip, trying to think of a good out to the situation, but all that she could focus on was how she was going to be sent back home if she didn’t think of something fast. Her own thoughts did nothing to help her; in fact, they only burdened her even more by making her panic.

Sanemi scoffed at that, not even holding back the smirk that widened across his lips as he lifted a hand up and crooked a finger at her— beckoning her to come over to where he was. “Now.”

(Y/n) felt as if she had been doused with ice cold water then, despite the warm water still enveloping her from below her breasts to her feet. She couldn’t will her legs to move the barest inch, so she was stuck standing in place with her eyes trained on the silver-haired captain.

“Tsk,” Sanemi clicked his tongue in mild irritation when she didn’t move. And, at the evidence of his annoyance, the young woman finally started moving— gingerly lifting herself out of the onsen, and baring her body once more to Sanemi’s hungry eyes.

He fully expected her to walk over to him meekly, with her head bowed and her arms wrapped around her to allow her what modesty she had left; but she did the exact opposite. Instead of bowing her head in shame, she lifted her head— as if she were about to attend a formal ceremony, instead of walking naked towards a military officer.

Despite her bravado however, her eyes still showed uncertainty and fear of the consequences.

When she was a few feet away from Sanemi, he quirked an eyebrow at her; briefly letting his gaze linger on her tempting lips, before going back up to her eyes. “Tell me, princess, what’s a woman like you doing out here?”

He wasn’t dumb; he knew full well what one of her possible reasons for being there was. He’d seen it enough with other noble women, much like herself.

She wanted to break free of the chains that held her down. And the only solution to that was either to perish, or to run away.

Instead of replying, however, (Y/n) remained silent— even going as far as to turn her gaze right on him, and deliberately look away; as if she had just dismissed him.

But Sanemi was having none of her attitude.

He closed the distance between them, taking hold of her face by her chin, and turning her full attention on him. “I asked you a question, Ohime-sama.”

(Y/n)’s teeth gritted at the backhandedly delivered term, as she tried to get herself away from his grip— to no avail. “If you’re going to send me back to my father, do it now. And do it silently.”

Another scoff left Sanemi’s lips at that, as he leaned closer to her face— as a way to intimidate her. “You’re not really in a position to order me around.”

“Then tell me what your condition is.”

A grin tugged up at the corners of Sanemi’s lips at that, his cock twitching within the confines of his pants as he imagined the topmost things that he wanted to do to her. “You, on your knees… with my cock in your mouth. And you with your legs spread for me, warming my bed every night.”

The princess’ eyes widened at that, as she had never been spoken to in such an uncouth manner before— yet, she couldn’t deny that his filthy words made her feel much hotter than was appropriate.

“I’ll keep your secret, and even take care of you while you’re here, if you do those things for me.” Sanemi wasn’t even sure why he was propositioning the Shogun’s daughter— of all people— but looking at her made him so needy for her touch that it wasn’t funny.

If he were to be honest, he would say that she was the only person that he’d been attracted to in a long time. But he couldn’t let her know that, on the off-chance that she turned the tables on him.

(Y/n) had never been with a man before, let alone kissed one, but she had eavesdropped on her own escorts and lady’s maids to know about the nitty gritty details that sex entailed, so it wasn’t as if she was jaded about it. In fact, she had long since wanted to try it— but no man would ever have the courage to bed her out of marriage, so she had let the notion go.

As she let her gaze flicker over the Captain once more— memorizing his sharp features, and admiring the rugged handsomeness he possessed— she found herself wanting to agree to his conditions. It was going to be a mutually beneficial arrangement, if she was sure that he was going to hold up his end of the deal.

And he really wasn’t that bad to look at, so it added to the lure of saying yes.

“If you don’t hold up your end of the deal, I swear to make your life hell the moment I get back to the palace,” (Y/n) threatened coolly, completely bluffing as she knew that she would most likely be kept in a secluded guest villa for the rest of her years, if she were to ever return home.

Still, for her bold-faced lie, she seemed pretty convincing— judging by the way that the Captain’s lips turned down into a brief scowl. His grip on her chin tightened at that, and he leaned forward to close the gap between them— finally giving in to the temptation to taste her lips. “Sealed with a kiss, Ohime-sama. Now, get down on your knees.”

Deciding to just follow his words, instead of even trying to spite him with her brattiness, (Y/n) lifted her hands up to the man’s chest— dragging them down his body as she sank down on her knees in front of him. “Bold words for a man who hasn’t even introduced himself.”

Her snarky words grated on Sanemi’s nerves, but he swallowed back his ire and simply watched her as she unfastened his pants— pulling the garment down and freeing his erection from his underwear, as well. His cock immediately sprung up in front of her, making her eyes slightly widen as she took in just how thick and long he was. “Shinazugawa Sanemi. You’d do best to remember that-”

Sanemi was cut off, however, when (Y/n) encircled his length with an uncertain hand; all before boldly licking at the head of his cock. She was going by pure instinct, and praying all the while that what she was doing was pleasurable. But, by the way that Sanemi sighed heavily and placed a hand on the back of her head, she construed that she was doing it right.

And when she wrapped her mouth around him, it took everything inside the Captain to not shove his cock down her throat. His fingers curled within her hair— gripping the strands tightly, as he gently rocked his hips into her hot mouth.

If he wasn’t mistaken, she had lived a sheltered life— hence being inexperienced in sex. So, he had to be patient and indulgent with her; teach her how things worked, lest he wanted their deal to fall through with his aggressiveness.

And so, with a much gentler grip on her hair, Sanemi tilted her face up so that their eyes could meet. It was shameful because the sight of her on her knees— with his cock in her mouth, and her eyes looking directly up at him— almost had him cumming on the spot. “S-slowly, lick up the underside of my cock and take it in at your pace.”

It was going to be a lot of work, but it wasn’t as if he wasn’t going to have fun molding her to his personal taste.

***

Apparently, the promise that Sanemi had made her about ‘taking care of her’ didn’t entail any special treatment during training. He was ruthless with her, especially when it came to hand-to-hand combat; and it didn’t help that most of the men around her thought that she was a weakling for always being the one to fall behind.

Especially that time when they were running drills up in the mountains. No one had said anything in Sanemi’s presence but, once he’d left, all of the whispers began about her being the weak link— even having the audacity to have disappeared for so long, and being a burden on Captain Shinazugawa overall.

She couldn’t very well tell them that Sanemi had dragged her off to a secluded alcove right by the trail, all so he could get his cock sucked.

Hell, she couldn’t even tell them the truth that he had long discovered that she wasn’t whom she said she was, and that the reason why she was still at the camp was all due to the fact that she was warming Sanemi’s bed at night— at least, to an extent.

If she said that, it was a sure way to get her sent back to the palace— and also a guaranteed way to get Sanemi stripped of his rank.

For all of his faults, however, (Y/n) had to give it to him: he was an absolute gentleman—not in the way he handled her when he wanted a blowjob, or wanted to eat her out, but in the way that he didn’t push her past what she was comfortable with.

Two weeks had already passed since that night in the bath house, yet he hadn’t pushed her past oral sex. And when things got too heated between them, he always settled for cumming in her mouth or on her pussy. He had never taken his cock and made good on one of his promises to fuck her good as— according to the Captain himself— she wasn’t ready yet.

Because, despite (Y/n) bravado and curiosity winning out that night, there were still times when she felt so lost within herself— always second-guessing whether she was really doing the right thing, if only for the briefest second.

And Sanemi always picked up on that momentary hesitation; no matter how quickly the uncertainty flickered in her eyes.

With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) poked her head out from her tent, checking if the coast was clear before sneaking out. Her footsteps had gotten much lighter since the start of training— much lighter than it ever was when she was living at the palace— and it really helped her travel from her own tent to Sanemi’s at night.

“Oi, Miyuki!” Her eyes widened at her fake name being called out and, with an uneasy grin on her lips, she turned around and awkwardly waved at one of her squad mates.

If she remembered correctly, his name was Kamado Tanjirō. And the two other men who were always with him were Agatsuma and Hashibira. They were the only three who didn’t give her hell at the camp, so she tried to be nice to them— as much as possible.

“Where are you going off to at this hour?” Tanjirō asked with that characteristically sweet smile on his face, making (Y/n)’s stomach twist with guilt at having to lie to someone so pure hearted.

“I… the Captain… wanted to see me,” She answered awkwardly, tacking her words off with a grimace that she hoped was convincing enough for him not to ask anything more. And, technically, it wasn’t a lie: Sanemi did want to see her, not just for official reasons.

She could feel her pussy get wet at the images that flickered in her mind; all of them with her in varying degrees of pleasure, with either Sanemi’s hands or mouth on her body.

And before Tanjirō could say anything to that, she already excused herself and hightailed it out of there— making a direct bee line for Sanemi’s tent, all while praying that no one other than that one person had seen her out and about.

“You’re late.” Sanemi clicked his tongue in irritation, yet pulled the covers back for his futon— which had been set on wooden slats, to keep him as comfortable as humanly possible.

He had initially wanted to refuse the luxury, since his men slept on much thinner futons placed on the ground, but had to rethink his decision ever since the arrangement with (Y/n) had been made.

Gingerly, the young woman tied the flaps of the tent together, even going for double knots— as if that would keep them from being discovered.

When she was done closing the sizeable tent up, she then turned to face her lover— licking her suddenly dry lips when she saw his bare chest on full display for her. In turn, Sanemi patted the empty space beside him— beckoning her to join him in his bed.

And she didn’t even hesitate, at all. She slipped her tunic off, folding it neatly and setting it on a nearby chair. It was then followed by her pants and underwear— also folded and set aside neatly. Then came her chest bindings.

Sanemi watched her with apt focus; his gaze getting hotter and hotter with every inch of skin she bared to him. And, beneath the blanket, he felt himself get hard.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long, as (Y/n) climbed in beside him after turning the lamp off— assuming her usual position, as he spooned her; wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back flush against his scarred chest.

There was nothing but silence between them at that point, save for their soft breaths filling the tent. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, and it wasn’t the most innocent of silences, either— especially as Sanemi began pressing kisses against the back of (Y/n)’s head, allowing himself to dip his head low so he could pepper kisses along her right shoulder and up the side of her neck.

All the while, his right hand drifted down to her hip; massaging her flesh tenderly, as he pressed his warm erection against her ass. “You smell so tempting. Did you take another bath?”

(Y/n) could only nod, since a breathless gasp had escaped her lips before she could speak— all because her lover had snaked his fingers down to her pussy, running his index finger up her slit and collecting her wetness at the pad of it, before circling her clit with it.

“Next time, we should take one together.”

She opened her mouth to answer, only to be cut off once more when Sanemi pinched her clit between his thumb and index finger— making her hips jerk involuntarily against him.

With that, the Captain dragged his fingers down to her entrance— rubbing the sopping hole with the pad of his middle finger— before slipping it inside to the first knuckle. “Tonight, I’m going to slip my cock inside this tight pussy of yours, and I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

Instead of alarming (Y/n), however, Sanemi’s words only made her walls clench down on his finger— or what little there was of it inside her— as she got even wetter than before.

“Do you want that?”

She surprised even herself with how sure and needy she sounded, “Yes. Please, Sanemi.”

It took everything in the young man to not grab his dick and slip it inside her at that moment— as it twitched where it was pressed flush between her ass cheeks. Still, no matter how much he deemed her mentally ready, she still wasn’t wet enough to receive him.

So, with a renewed sense of vigor, the Captain his middle finger deeper inside her— hissing at how tight her walls clenched around the single digit. Slowly, he thrusted his finger inside her— being gentle enough with her, as he knew that it was her first time.

For the most part, (Y/n) was quiet save for her soft sighs and mewls, especially when Sanemi curled his finger up against a spot inside her that had her legs quivering in pleasure.

She thought that that feeling was already heavenly enough, but when her lover’s other hand joined in the foray— toying with her clit so expertly— she was reduced to nothing more than a breathless and quivering mass against him; not even trying to fight back the orgasm that she knew would hit at any given moment.

It wasn’t until Sanemi added another finger and began flicking her clit at a rapid pace that she finally succumbed to her own pleasure— biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself as quiet as she could.

Her chest was heaving as she came down from her high, absolute putty in his hands as he pulled his finger out from her cunt and put it up to his mouth— sucking the digit clean before pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Delicious.”

It was such a tender gesture that it threw (Y/n) for a loop, confusing her enough to lose momentary focus of her surroundings; and the next thing she knew, Sanemi was already hovering above her— caging her in between his arms, with his hips cradled between her thighs.

“Hold on tight, princess, and don’t make a sound— unless you want the whole camp to know who’s fucking you,” He whispered against her lips, dropping a languid peck against it, before reaching a hand down to grip his cock— all so he could align the tip to her entrance, collecting her wetness on his cockhead and teasingly dipping it inside.

(Y/n) nodded her assent, even wrapping her arms around her lover’s neck and digging her fingers into the taut muscles on his back. Then slowly, Sanemi pushed himself inside her— his attention solely on her, as he didn’t want to hurt her.

At the first sign that she didn’t want to do it, he was going to back off and settle for a blowjob— even though the more that he pushed inside, the more euphoric he felt as her walls clamped down around him.

If (Y/n) were to be honest, she would say that she was nervous as hell; not because she wasn’t sure if Sanemi was just going to ram his cock inside her, but because of all the stories that she’d heard about how painful it was. But, as she laid there, with her arms around him, all she felt was a sting— at most. It wasn’t a splitting pain like everyone had said it would be.

She wasn’t in agony, but it was a little uncomfortable.

And by the time that Sanemi was fully sheathed inside her, she felt so full that even the slightest movement had her mewling in a mix of discomfort and pleasure. Then slowly, the Captain pulled his cock out of her— only to slide it back in, in the same gentle manner as before.

It went on like that for a few minutes, with Sanemi letting (Y/n) get used to the new sensations, until she leaned up slightly and whispered into his ear, “I need more, Sanemi. Please fuck me.”

Sanemi didn’t need to be told twice after that, as he slowly picked up the pace— relishing in the feel of his lover’s cunt practically pulling him back inside with how tight and wet she was.

The arm that was holding him up was starting to shake with the weight he put on it, yet he paid it no mind as he reached down and began toying with (Y/n)’s clit once more; trying to bring her to orgasm, as he knew that he was close to cumming— what with how long he had anticipated the moment he could finally fuck her.

It was shameful to not have even lasted his usual twenty minutes before cumming, but Sanemi really couldn’t help the pleasurable feeling that consumed him from the inside— starting at the bottom of his spine and gradually getting hotter and tighter. His balls, all heavy with his cum, kept slapping against her ass— adding to the sounds of their heavy breathing as well as (Y/n)’s soft gasps that filled the tent.

“I… I’m cumming, Sanemi,” The princess whispered, screwing her eyes shut and digging her nails into her lover’s back— raking them down the closer she got to the precipice of her own orgasm.

Her legs began to quiver once more, yet Sanemi was relentless with his thrusts. He didn’t let her have some reprieve, between angling his hips to hit a certain spot inside her that had her cursing under her breath everytime, to continuously playing with her clit— it was a sensory overload for (Y/n).

A highly pleasurable one that had her almost screaming and waking the entire camp, had Sanemi not slammed his lips against her at the last second; effectively shutting her up as he snaked his tongue into her mouth.

He felt her walls clamp down around him then, as if her pussy was trying to milk his cock for all it was worth. It didn’t help that the sensation of her nails digging into his back added to his pleasure; so, with one last thrust, he buried himself in her to the hilt— painting her walls with his warm and thick cum.

Both of them stayed like that for a few heartbeats, just languidly exchanging kisses as both of them climbed down from their highs— still closely entwined, with Sanemi’s cock nestled inside (Y/n)’s tight cunt.

“I want you again,” The captain whispered— a little winded from what they’d done a few minutes before, but still needy to feel more.

[jonathanvik]

Starlight Dream - Chapter 13

Ume perched herself on a nearby cliff face and waited, allowing her quarry to approach her first. She wanted to get a measure of her new opponent before striking. While a total newbie, this Seina might still have some tricks up her sleeve. A figure approached with startling speed, and Ume ducked behind a tree.

“Is that Seina?” Hope asked. A pink magical girl appeared and eyed her surroundings with a wary eye. On her shoulder was her fairy partner, and they conversed in hushed tones.

“Can’t say I recognize the fairy,” Hope said. “He must only be a commoner.”

Ume nodded, studying the magical girl more closely, and found her wanting. The way she carried herself was very amateurish, showing only the barest minimum of martial skill. This would be a simple kill.

Without warning, a beam struck her opponent from behind, blasting Seina clear across the mountain. Her face implanted deep into the ground, leaving her open for a barrage of beams from above. Dust filled the sky, cloaking Ume’s opponent from view. After blasting the area to pieces, she landed, waiting for the cloud to dissipate to see her handwork. Much to her surprise, Seina wasn’t there. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” A voice said behind her. Seina glared at her, tapping her foot in agitation. “Why’d you attack me? And who are you anyway?”

Ume started, momentarily surprised. How had Seina gotten the drop on her? Even with the dust cover, sneaking behind her should be impossible. It must be her power.

“Your death,” Ume replied. “I hunt your kind. I won’t stop until I’ve eliminated you scum from the cosmos. Prepare to die.”

“Eh?” Seina blinked, staring without any comprehension.

Ume took advantage of Seina’s slow wits. She appeared behind her opponent, delivering a punishing kick to the neck with enough force to shatter it. A beam lanced from Ume’s hand, blasting into her opponent’s back, leveling half of the mountain. 

Hope snorted. “She’s making this too easy.” Before Ume could reply, they stared in shock as Seina stood up, a little worse for wear.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?! I’m trying to talk with you.” Seina said, fuming. “Why are you attacking me? What have I ever done to you?”

What? What is she made of? Most magical girls would be dead by such punishment, or at least crippled. Despite being a total newbie, Seina was more dangerous than Ume had first suspected. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Seina tapped her foot, expecting an answer. 

Dammit. Maybe there was some truth to Takako’s claims. Never mind, she’ll fall like the rest. “My name is Ume Akiyama, Coneflower Purity.”

“Seina Kamiyama.” 

Ume waited for her magical girl alias, but it never came. Odd, but refreshing, Ume supposed. Most magical girls enjoyed giving themselves ostentatious nicknames. 

“Are you with Starlight Dream?” Seina asked, tilting her head. 

“Of course not!” Ume snapped, insulted by the very insinuation. “I am their nightmare and their destroyer. I will stop at nothing until I’ve turned them to ash. And you’re next!”

An idea came to Ume and her lips twisted into a cruel smile, knowing just how to instill fear in Seina’s heart. “You will die, just like Takako Kodama. She’s over there, a hole deep in her chest.”

Much to Ume’s shock, tears flowed down the other magical girl’s face, overcome with anguish.

What’s going on? Most magical girls can’t stand each other. Besides, Ume had assumed the tears of magical girls had long since dried out.

“How? Why?” Seina’s entire body shook, so overcome with emotion. “She wasn’t a friend, but… She deserved so much better. She promised to be better before you killed her!”

Seina’s trembling hand increased its ferocity, pure fury filled her features. “How dare you? How dare you?! I will never forgive you.”

Ume’s eyes widened in surprise as Seina suddenly appeared right in front of her as if from nowhere, fists raised to strike. Burning pain erupted in her stomach as Seina’s fist collided with her strum, making her go flying with terrifying speed. Thankfully, Ume teleported away before she struck the ground, cradling her wound. 

What the heck? How can she have such power? 

Before Ume could ask any further questions, Seina leaped up from behind, ready to dent her head in. The strike struck empty air as Ume teleported away. This didn’t stop Seina’s relentless assault, charging with fury and abandon. Much to Ume’s horror, she realized her assumption about her opponent having teleportation powers was incorrect. Seina just had insane speed and her eyes blazed with bloody murder. 

Beams stuck Seina’s legs from behind, trying to disrupt her wild charge. While causing her opponent to stumble, Seina fought on regardless. Ume almost didn’t escape unscathed, floating high into the air. She eyed her opponent wearily, wondering how she’d defeat such a foe. 

She barely seems to feel my attacks. It won’t be easy to wear her down. Ume prepared herself for a long, grueling battle. I need to kill her before she becomes a genuine threat to the cosmos. Starlight Dream doesn’t need a monster like her. 

Much to Ume’s relief, her opponent remained grounded, too inexperienced to fly. Seina, however, changed strategies, throwing rocks at her with blinding speed. One got lucky, striking one of Ume’s arms and knocking her from the air. She almost could not block Seina’s weapon as it swung towards her head. Ume’s eyes widened in shock after getting a good look at it. 

“It can’t be.” Ume stared, unable to believe her eyes. It shouldn’t be possible. She waved her hands, trying to interrupt the fight. “Hold on.”

“What?!” Seina snarled.

“How did you come across that weapon?” A magical girl’s heart affected their weapon’s appearance. Darker magical girls always summoned items created for harm. Girls of purer hearts created more whimsical weapons, but no less powerful. 

“It’s always been my weapon. What of it?”

A horrible pit formed in Ume’s stomach, realizing she’d made a terrible mistake. It confirmed something Ume should have realized from the start. Seina was a good magical girl. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? Thinking about it, she hadn’t detected a hint of malice from the girl since their first meeting. 

“Look, I’m not your enemy!” Ume said. “We should be allies. We’re on the same side.”

“You killed a good friend,” Siena shook with rage. “Never.”

Ume’s mind raced, wondering how she could reverse this terrible misunderstanding. She froze as someone coughed, interrupting their conversation. 

“Well, well. It seems like I’ve finally found the rebel that has been troubling us so.” Emiyo, third lieutenant of the Devil Princesses said. “And another, someone unfamiliar.”

Emiyo’s dress was pure white, covered in tiny multi-petaled flowers, covering it like scales. She crossed her arms, wearing a haughty expression. 

Oh crap. Not her, not now! Terrible memories of the last time they’d fought flashed through her mind. I’d been a slaughter, her last remaining ally, Junko, had been killed. Her own injuries had been terrible, it had taken her years to recover. 

No, you can do this. You aren’t the same young whelp. You’re stronger now. Stay strong.

“Who are you?” Seina asked, eying the newcomer with interest.

“Emiyo Ejiri. Candytuft Entropy. Who am I? Who the hell are you?” Emiyo scowled. “You aren’t any of the magical girls assigned to this sector. Did Miko apoint you without telling me? Useless girl.”

“Still, good job rooting out this troublemaker.” Emiyo eyed Ume. “She’s killed several of our kin.”

“What?” Seina said, startled and scandalized, giving Ume a venomous glare. 

“Good, you understand the situation,” Emiyo said. “Help kill her, and your reward will be great, newbie. Watch out. Her power makes her a slippery one.”

What now, Seina? Would she turn against Ume to save her own skin? In her long experience, people were weak, fearful, and selfish. Surely she sensed how dangerous this girl was?

Seina smirked and aimed her weapon towards Emiyo. “Sorry for you, but I have no intention of helping you. I became a magical girl to stop people like you. It’s my duty as a magical girl to stop all suffering.”

“What?” Emiyo replied, staring at Seina like she was a total idiot. “Do you have a death wish? You dare betray Starlight Dream?”

“I was never on your side. I’m a free magical girl!” Seina puffed out her chest.

“Yeah, I wanted nothing to do with you jerks either!” Seina’s fairy partner added. “I’m my own fairy now!”

Emiyo only rolled her eyes. “Of course, a fairy gets some bright ideas and partners with some whelp to fight back. I am one of the eight lieutenants of the Devil Princesses. You will regret betraying us, lower-class filth.”

A cruel smile twisted on the dark magical girl’s face and she summoned a wicked-looking curved blade to her hand shaped like a scythe. She balanced the sickle gingerly in her hand. The hairs stood on the back of Ume’s neck. She’d seen the devastating power of that weapon before, then chastised herself for being afraid. She wasn’t the same weak girl that Emiyo last faced. Better yet, unlike last time, the lieutenant was facing her alone. The question was whether Seina would join against her. 

“Look, I…” Ume began, but Seina cut her off. 

“I despise everything you stand for. You killed a dear friend of mine and other magical girls, too. But, we have bigger problems right now. We can solve our differences later. But don’t think you’re forgiven.” Seina bared her teeth, shimmering with rage. 

Something tore at Ume’s heart. Was that guilt? Had she killed a magical girl on the path of redemption by mistake? Had she attacked without thinking?

In war, unwanted casualties happened. I can’t doubt myself now. Siena was young and naïve and hadn’t yet experienced the pain Ume had suffered through. But she’d learn and Ume would teach her. Against the Devil Princesses, only unrelenting ruthlessness would prevail. Kindness was a mercy they couldn’t afford.

“Two on one?” Emiyo said, her tone mocking. “This might be fair. Do your worst.”

“What’s your power?” Ume whispered, taking advantage of their opponent gloating. 

Despite the enmity between them, they needed every advantage they could get. Emiyo’s power was legendary and frightening, though her exact ability was unknown. 

Seina winced. “I’m not quite sure. I usually just punch them until they fall.”

Ume stared at her ally, burying her face into her hands. She hated working with amateurs. “Okay, follow my lead. I’ll keep her distracted.” Seina’s insane strength might come in useful.

“Hey, who said you’re in charge! You follow my lead!” Siena lifted her head in stubborn defiance. 

“I’m the veteran here!” Ume fumed, not liking her temporary partner’s tone. 

Emiyo smirked, amused by her enemy’s division and bickering. Ume clenched her teeth and vanished, deciding she’d tackle this challenge alone. Seina could do whatever she wanted. A beam of energy lanced from her palm moments after she reappeared back into reality. Much to Ume’s dismay, despite appearing centimeters away from the lieutenant’s back, her shot missed as Emiyo dodged around it with trivial ease.

“Same old tricks, huh?” Emiyo said. Ume summoned more beams, each shooting into a different portal. Her attacks struck Emiyo at random, unpredictable angles. Yet again, they struck nothing but open air despite being shot at point-blank range. Her attacks seemed glacially slow compared to her opponent. 

Furthering Ume’s frustration, Seina seemed content to watch the fight, not lifting a finger to help her. Ume uttered a curse, wondering what the girl was waiting for.

She can’t dodge forever. Ume upped her game, attacking Emiyo with her fists while still summoning portals that shot beams at random angles. Still, Ume couldn’t touch her opponent. she always seemed a step ahead. Pain lanced through her middle as Emiyo slashed her with her wicked-looking weapon with impossible speed. A follow-up punch struck her cut wound, furthering her agony. 

Emiyo a curious tilt of her head. “More determined than our last fight, yet you seem weaker. Not surprising, I suppose. You haven’t fed properly on suffering.”

Ume stepped flattered. Weaker, how could that be? No, she was stronger, wasn’t she? She’d become as ruthless as possible to ensure victory!

Emiyo smirked, then shrugged. “Oh well. That’s what happens when you go against a magical girl’s true nature.” Ume backed away in fright as Emiyo suddenly slashed at her throat. Metal clashed, and much to Ume’s surprise, Seina’s staff had protected her. 

“Enough of that,” Seina said, her staff’s head ground against Emiyo’s blade. 

“Strange weapon.” Emiyo eyed Seina’s bubble blower in amusement. “Still, I applaud your ability to block one of my attacks. You might prove more entertaining than this failure.”

Great. Now she intervenes. Much to Ume’s frustration, Seina didn’t seem scared. Didn’t she realize the dangers she faced against such a foe?

Instead of moving on the offensive, Seina held her ground, waiting for her opponent to strike first. They eyed each other, trying to gauge the other’s strength. Emiyo disappeared, attacking Seina from behind. She slashed towards Seina’s throat, eager to decapitate the girl in a single stroke. Much to Ume’s dismay, blood trickled from Seina’s neck, as she just narrowly avoided a lethal strike. 

Emiyo raised an eyebrow. She had expected the other to be dead already. “You have some ability. It won’t save you though.”

The magical girl stepped forward again, moving so fast Ume almost couldn’t follow her movements. Seina tried deflecting her blows, but they seemed sluggish compared to her opponent. She remained content to stave off Emiyo’s attacks, waiting for a moment to strike. Ume wasn’t certain Seina would get that chance, she was barely keeping their enemy at bay, and had received several cuts for her trouble. 

Emiyo aimed her sickle toward Seina’s heart, but she overextended herself. Seina ducked around it and retaliated with a wicked kick towards her opponent’s midsection. Much to Ume’s surprise, the blow slipped past harmlessly.

Instead of getting frustrated, Seina only eyed her opponent in puzzlement. “What the? Something’s not right here. There’s something inconsistent about the way you move.”

Emiyo smirked. “Figured it out, have you? There’s a reason they call me Emiyo the Untouchable. My power makes me invincible. My ability allows me to control the ebbs and flows of time itself.”

“I knew it!” Seina gave a strained smile. “That makes things a little difficult.”

No wonder I couldn’t touch her! What now, though? With such an ability, could anyone defeat her? She had underestimated the might of the Devil Princess’s lieutenants. Even alone, Emiyo was a fearsome foe.

Despite this, Seina still didn’t lose heart, only becoming more determined to win. She fought like a madwoman, going on the offensive and driving Emiyo back. A spark of fear appeared in Emiyo’s face when she realized just how powerful a foe she faced. Despite using her time powers to slow Seina’s attacks, they came dangerously close to striking her. 

What the hell is she? Seina’s power continued to astonish Ume. What fed this terrible power? She gripped her wand tight, ready to join the battle despite her injuries. Her ability allowed her to fight without fighting physically, she slunk behind a tree, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

Seina flinched, receiving a slash across the forehead, and retaliated with a sudden headbutt. Time almost froze still as Ume strained her powers to forestall the blow. 

Now! Ume summoned a portal, shooting a beam from behind, and her eyes widened in shock as Emiyo’s power allowed her to avoid it too. Seina winced in pain when Emiyo disappeared, and the beam struck her instead. 

“Fool. Did you really think I’d fall for such an obvious ploy?” Emiyo’s mouth quirked into a smug smile. “Didn’t I say I’m untouchable?”

Ume almost screamed as Seina suddenly appeared next to her. “We can’t win this. We need to regroup.”

Before Ume could even reply, Seina threw her into a fireman’s carry and ran in the opposite direction of their opponent. 

“You aren’t getting away!” Emiyo said, giving chase. 

Seina’s steps slowed to a crawl as the lieutenant used her full power against her. Yet, it wasn’t strong enough to hold her, and Seina broke through. Emiyo continued to slow Seina down, but she still proved too quick to stop and they sped away. 

After gaining some distance away, Seina gently placed Ume on the ground. “I thought so. Emiyo’s powers get weaker the further you’re away from her. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Ume backed away from the other magical girl’s touch, humiliated by her rescue. Her injuries had healed, but her pride hadn’t.

Irritation flashed over Seina’s features, but she dropped the issue, watching Ume return to her feet. “What now? We need some sort of plan to beat her. If only Takako was still alive, she’d devise some clever plan. Do you have any allies that can help us?”

“No, the good magical girls died long ago. I’m the only one left.” Ume replied, to her own surprise there was a slight hitch in her voice. “We should leave this universe. Beating Emiyo right now isn’t an option.”

Seina stared wide-eyed, aghast. “We can’t do that! Emiyo might do something to my world.”

Ume shook her head. “Your world is probably doomed. You can’t save it. Let’s go before she finds us. Hope?”

Her fairy partner appeared from a fold in her outfit. “Got it!” A portal to a random universe appeared before them.

“The heck I am!” Seina said, fuming. “I’m not leaving my world. Go if you want. I’m staying to fight!”

Before Ume could argue the insanity of such a plan, Seina sped off. “Stupid girl! Is she crazy? She’ll just get herself killed!”

Seina’s fairy partner shook his head. “I don’t think you understand Seina, at all. She’s fought too hard to abandon her world, her friends. They’re people she loves that she’s determined to protect.” After giving a slight nod, she flew off after his partner. 

People she cares about. Ume’s hand shook. Terrible memories flashed through her head. Hinata begging that Ume save herself, and flee for her life. Gathering several other magical girls as allies, only for them all to die in a pitiful assault against Starlight Dream. Again, Ume had only survived because she’d fled for her life. Ume supposed she’d always been running despite claiming to be a great hero fighting against the Devil Princesses’ evil. 

“Ume?” Hope placed a comforting paw on her shoulder.

Logic screamed she should leave right now. It told her Seina was a naïve fool and was only a liability. Going back to face Emiyo would only threaten her mission. Worse, Ume found herself paralyzed by indecision, unable to move. When did she become such a coward?

“Damnit, Seina, you idiot!” And began chasing after her new ally.

[iguessihavemore]

Just a little content in these trying times

It’s just audition tapes. A big chunk of it you guys have actually made yourselves that I just wrote over in hopes of them flowing together a bit more. So yeah, credit to the creators of each character! Hope you find these fun!

The scene is set in a luxurious bedroom decked out in pinks. A brunette sits at a vanity with her back facing the camera, twisting a final lock of hair around a curling iron. When she frees it, it falls just above the collar of her white T-shirt. She twists around and flashes a glossy smile. “Pardon me for not being completely ready.” She began, smoothing out her denim skirt as she got closer to the camera.

“I noticed too late that my hair wasn’t perfect, and I can’t have that.” She bounced one lock near her face. “My name is Amelia Delaney. Daughter of Johnathon Delaney. He’s not well-known outside of our town, but he owned quite the successful department store in our local mall.” Her expression falters into a distant gaze for a brief moment, but she snaps out of it in a second. “I say ‘owned’ as unfortunately, my dear old father was killed in a robbery gone wrong not long-”

A car door slammed in the background, and Amelia’s face changed to hollow shock. “Umm… and his passing left me alone with my elder sister, Melissa, who’s only pleasure in life must come from seeing me miserable.” A second, closer slam could be heard next, and Amelia cringed with a whispered swear. She made a swift move toward the camera. “And that’s why I need the money. I have to get away from her please I’m losing my mind.” She said in one breath before turning off the camera.

*III*

A beep sounded off, assumingly letting the auditioner know the recording began, as the honey-blonde girl was looking away, leaning in what looked to be her closet doorway. Handmade steamers and folded paper animals littered the frame. “Alright, listen ‘ere, ‘n listen close.” She brought a blade up cooly, twirling it by the handle. “I know I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer-”

She froze. She let herself chuckle, and rolled her one exposed eye. She cocked her knife to the side. “...but I think it’s better if you pick me. Annabelle Dwight. For your sake.” She faced the camera lens, giving the blade a gentle lick. “It’ll hurt a lot more for you that way. I promise.”

*III*

Two girls sharing a shirt sat on a bed in the center of the video. One of the two flinched in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected the camera to begin recording, despite the fact that they were both staring at it. “Erm…” They glanced at each other. It was clear they were related, identical at that. The girl on the right attempted to perk up, her smile quavering. “Did you know that the average person is more likely to be hit by lightning twice than they are to ever meet a conjoined twin?”

“Not that we’re… uh, threatening anyone. Putting us on the show isn’t going to make anyone get struck by lightning.” The girl on the left tapped her fingers nervously. Her sister couldn’t keep up her facade any longer either, and deflated. The left one, the one with longer hair, spoke up again. “We’re really, really shy. We can barely be around people that aren’t from the orphanage. When we are… we fall into an act we’ve inadvertently made, a ‘creepy, conjoined sisters’ thing. We don’t mean to, but, like, it’d be a lie to say it hasn’t saved us a few times by some people who think they can get one over on us.”

“We’re pretty strong, all things considered, but at the end of the day we’re still a kind of crippled. The world is scary, so when we’re scared, we naturally try to make it think we’re scarier!” The shorter-haired sister said. “But it’s basically impossible to make friends like that, eheh. Not unless we’re in an enclosed space with the same people for a long time… like the orphanage.”

“Or an island!” The left exclaimed. “And with the oddballs that Total Drama attracts, we might even be able to get used to them faster than we ever have before! Erika and I- er, Avery, is my name- are really excited and hopeful for this opportunity-”

“So please, PLEEEASE consider us!! We all know we’d be good for ratings! Even if we don’t make past the first vote, you get views, and we had a chance!”

The sisters ended the video by begging ‘please’ until it cut off.

*III*

“Hi! My name is Cameron, and to prove I’m Total Drama material, I’m gonna summon satan.” A girl with plum purple hair in a bob cold-opened, the shot swinging as she was in the process of moving it where she needed. She placed it on a short patio table, the time being after sunset, the sky dim. A loud chatter shouted off-screen, indiscernible in video, but Cameron straightened so her head was out of the shot and yelled back, “It’s just for business, mom!”

She lowered down with a mischievous smile, ready to do something with the ouija board and candles set up on the ground. The harsh voice started up again, and Cameron groaned in irritation. She left the scene for a few moments, their voices going back and forth. She returned with a defeated sigh. “Okay, fine, I’m just gonna summon a normal, lame ghost I guess.”

She lit the candles and began to seat herself, but before she sat down her mother yelled once again, this time something about fire could be heard. “UGH, MOM!” Cameron shot to her feet. “I do this all the time! Why do you only care when I’m actually trying to show people-!?” She stomped away once more. Once that chatter ended, she came back and instantly plopped down in her spot with a huff. “Alright, okay. Here we go!” She closed her eyes. There was a pause, the lighting of the video going unnaturally dark. Her green, choppy bangs waved in a sudden big breeze. A content smile crossed her face, the film glitching at the edges. It switched to night vision just as a pair of legs clad in mom jeans materialized behind Cameron, hand on hips, and then the video cut out entirely.

*III*

A platinum blonde, choppy-haired boy clapped in the lens of the camera, pulling his hands away to reveal his panicked expression. “Total Drama! I’d be the perfect contestant for your new show! Or season! Whatever!” He awkwardly did half of some kinda hand gesture. “And I could just do something cool right now to convince you, but I’ve been ready for this my whole life. You’re about to see a compilation of me proving myself for years!” He leaned back a little, looking above the camera. “Thanks for making the montage, mom-”

The film abruptly switched to a shot of a flock of birds, pecking away at a green field of grass. A bush behind them rustled, and the blonde burst out. The birds erupted upwards, but after the curtain of wings cleared, the boy was triumphantly holding one in his hands. A swarm of beaks began to descend upon him before the scene changed.

The next clip started in the middle of the boy furiously arguing. The camera wasn’t initially focused on him, but started to come up behind him. “It was NOT a foul!! How would you know, I was on the field- you’re just some dumb referee! He kicked me first-!” After a turn, it was revealed that the person he was arguing about was a toddler, both of them with potato sacks pooled around their feet. It cut off when a woman came up beside the film taker to ask her to calm her son down.

A few more clips later, it returned to him as he was auditioning. “So that’s why you should pick Jackson!” He screeched. He brought his fist into view, clutching a lemon. He squeezed it with a battle cry, and a spray of lemon juice shot out in all directions. “AAUG-!!!”

*III*

A latina girl with long dark hair stands at a countertop, tapping a spoonful of dried jasmine flowers into a cup and pouring a stream of steaming water over them. She stirs it with a spoon before glancing at the camera with her dark eyes.

“Hello, Chris.” She begins, a haughty tone etching her words. “Starting another season, hm? And here I thought you’d run out of ideas. I mean, building an entire island after the last one sunk? I don’t know how you’ll top that.”

The girl leans forward on her elbows, letting go of the spoon. It continued to stir around the cup as if guided by an invisible third hand. “But let me get to the point: you need new contestants to traumatize. And lucky for you, I’m going to step into that role.” She straightened, waving her hand in the air. The spoon stopped as a cupboard opened on its own, a box of cookies tumbling out and floating over to her. She opens the top as it rests itself on the counter, taking out a cookie to dunk in her tea. “Now, I can’t promise that I’ll start fights with the other contestants, but I will… work a little magic.”

She chuckled, nibbling at her snack. “Something to really blow them all away. I’ll see you there.” She waved lightly with her free hand, sending the film off with a snap.

*III*

“Okay… alright.” A pasty young adult said as they fidgeted. Their pink eyes darted nervously behind their glasses, but held a determination to them. “Hey there. You gotta pick me, Jupiter! Know why!?” They jolted about, picking up a med’s kit into the frame. “Who else can patch up a kid’s leg one-two-three STAT! Eh?” They chuckled under their quavering breath, the kit shaking in their hands. “Ehhhh?” They let out an involuntary sigh, dropping the white box.

“A-and between me and you…” Their eyes flicked about with purpose this time. “I need to be the one to get this money. I- I need my mom to think-” They sighed with a pleading laugh. “I just want… okay, okay, listen my bro,” They clasped their vibrating hands together and looked into the lens. “C’mon man, please?”

*III*

A pink-clad teenager sat on her bed in a pastel room, the wall behind her adorned with heart-shaped decorations, pressed flowers, and pictures of the Greek coast. She gave a short wave with her ebony hand. “Hello. My name is Marina. I am fifteen years old. I am applying to be considered as a competitor in the newest season of Total Drama.” She stated one-after-the-other, smiling and getting to the point with each thing she said. 

“I am a great team player. I always play fair, no matter who I’m up against. And if I win, I would like to have my Sweet Sixteen in Greece.” She finally let herself get a little off track, her eyes trailing to the side. “I mean… my sister, Stella, would be upset that I didn’t put the money towards our Quinceañera… but I’m sure she’ll understand. Eventually.”

Marina perked up as a door opened off screen. She watches someone get closer to the camera, until another girl’s face is right in front of it, completely blocking the shot of Marina. “Oh, hey Stella. I thought you were outside picking berries?” Her voice said.

“No berries.” The newcomer stated.

“No berries? What about oranges?” Marina suggested.

“Yeah.” The face turned towards her sister.

“Yeah? You want to go pick oranges? We can make orange cake.”

“Yeah!” She moved away, revealing the auditioner once again.

“Okay, let’s go pick some oranges.” Her eyes followed Stella out of her room. She stood up towards the camera, picking it up to her level. “Well, that’s all the time I have. Pick me! Um- please. Thank you.”

*III*

An auditorium is already applauding when the tape begins, a girl in a bright blue hijab coming up to center-stage to take an impressive-looking award.

It cuts to the same girl at a field, standing on her hands and looking forward. Her legs bend backwards but her feet stay placed about her head, with no help beyond her own strength and flexibility. She holds a bow and an arrow with her toes, only showing her strain once or twice, but nowhere near enough to break her steely demeanor while doing such a feat. She pulls back the string with one leg, and releases it. The camera follows the arrow through the air until it sticks its landing just above the bullseye on a target a few yards away.

The scene cuts again to the young woman, now in a completely different outfit and addressing the camera herself. “My name is Nadine, and I’m a winner. As a competitive acrobatic, you know I don’t go for easy wins. Your game show is in a similar boat, but I intend to accomplish it with just as much ease. Observe.” She turns and picks up a new bow ‘n arrow, flicking a lighter and catching the arrow head on fire. She got in the position from earlier, and began to draw back the string. On its way, however, it nicked her head scarf and left a flame- and with the way her eyes widened, she definitely wasn’t oblivious to it.

*III*

“Is this thing even on?” A girl with bright green hair pulled back with a bandana muttered to herself. Her tongue was sticking out as she messed with it, until finally noticing the blinking red light. “Oh! Okay!” She jumped back, revealing that she was standing in a kitchen, dressed in a pink apron. “Hi, I really want to be on Total Drama! I’m really cool and super strong and I bake awesome cookies-”

She reaches for a pan on the counter in front of her bare-handed, and begins to hold up her freshly baked cookies for the camera. Utter pain shoots across her face as she drops the pan, screaming. A bang makes her shout again, pulling up a reddening leg that must have gotten hit by the hot pan.

“OW OW OW!” She chants, hopping around one-footed. “Ugh, I’m so stupid-”

The hopping jostled the camera. The shot suddenly became a blur as it fell to the ground, shattering the lens.

“Oh, dangit!!”

She shuffles towards it on her knees, her chin just cut off. “Uhh… My name is Paulie, by the way-” It cut to black on its own.

*III*

“-But I have my audition tape right here-” The video was trained on a fully clothed boy standing in his room, but the person filming moved the camera around wildly. They briefly settled on a shot of a roll of sticky tape on a desk that the auditioner was gesturing to. “Why are you filming-? To prove that it’s mine-?”

An irritated growl sounded out of frame. “That’s not going to get you into the show, Roger!” There was a quick pan between the boy and a windowpane on the next wall, then back to him. “Show them what you can do or you aren’t going to be picked!”

“What are you talking about!? I want to be on it if YOU want me to be on it, but I already told you I’m not cut out for it! They aren’t going to like me any more than anyone else does!” Roger argued.

A hand materialized from behind the camera and lightly clutched the cloth on his shoulder. “You need to win the MONEY, dunce! They’ll pick you once they see your tricks- now jump out the window!”

The boy gasped in shock, despair filling his eyes. “I can’t believe- you finally want me d- dead…” He whimpered. He tore away and went to pout on his bed. “Leave me alone, then…”

Presumably his sibling yelled in frustration, shaking the camera. “Fine! I’ll just follow you around until you accidentally do something…” They griped before switching off the video.

*III*

Not much can be seen at first except for a silhouette leaning forward, framed by the orange light of a campfire. A flashlight flicks on, and the tall girl in front of it can be seen in full color, plus a few trees of the nighttime forest around her.

“Howdy!” The girl says sweetly and boldly. “The name’s Rosie! I saw your little TV show on forever ago, and I’d like to camp with y’all!” 

She gets to her knees and reaches into a backpack mostly offscreen. “I can do all kinds ‘a knots, I can do them backwards, sideways, inside-out, blindfolded-” She twisted the rope around as needed then tossed it aside. “I can hike to the top of a mountain in a day, swim upstream in a thunderstorm, and know every single berry by heart!” She reached into her pockets and pulled out two handfuls of small blue berries.

“Right now, here’s a little test. Which one do you eat?” In a moment, she flung both behind her. “Neither!” She shouted proudly. “If you snacked on a pokeberry OR a nightshade, you’d be dead in a heartbeat!”

She placed a hand on her chest, grinning wide. “I love to camp. ‘Makes me feel alive.”

She glared at the camera without warning. Her eyes darkened. “”Pity some folk don’t properly enjoy it. I suppose I’ll have to weed those out.”

*III*

Bouncing up and down on her bed, a girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair greets the camera with a wide smile. Her yellow wall behind her was decorated in stars and displayed several pictures of macaroni art smothered in glitter. A light shadow near the frame moved away, the person behind it ready to begin. “Okay, it’s rolling now. Say hi, Stella.”

“Hi.” The latina girl ducked down a bit and gave an enthusiastic wave.

“So, Stella, can you tell the camera why you want to compete on Total Drama?”

Rather than answer, she waves again with no change in expression.

“Yes, hello Stella. Do you want to be on Total Drama?”

“Yeah!” She agrees gleefully.

“Why?”

“Yeah!”

The girl taping the audition giggles and tries a different approach. “Okay, if you won the million dollars, what would you do with it?”

Stella moved her eyes away as she pondered it, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Party.”

“You want to have a party?” The other pressed.

“Quinceañera.” The auditioner specified. She closed her eyes, brought her hands up, and wiggled in her seat like she was dancing to music.

“That sounds like a great idea, Stella. Back to the show, are you a good team player?” The camera-girl asked. Stella agreed. “Yeah? And do you like to make friends?” Stella agreed again. “Okay, say goodbye to the camera.”

“Bye bye!” Stella slid off the bed as she said this, already wanting to see the playback.

*III*

Tony doesn’t GET an audition tape. I hate this man. I’ve been trying to think of an audition for him forever and it just. Ain’t. happening.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

i lived, *censored*

Summary: Nana survives her fight with All for One, but it isn’t without cost.

.

.

It’s a blur. The bait, the trap, the ambush, the fight—Nana knows she told Sorahiko to take Toshinori, and then she remembers seeing All for One stand so high above her, a gruesome smirk on his face and his hand raised, red lightning crackling around him. And then, for sure, a degree of pain unlike any she’s ever experienced.

When Nana forces her eyes open, her first sight is a weepy Sorahiko knelt beside her, Toshinori absent from his side. “Wh’ ‘pened?” she slurs. That hurts too.

He startles backwards. He bounces back, and his words are stammering, nervous and frightened. Nana has a vague recollection of the last time she heard Sorahiko frightened, which must have been sometime before highschool graduation. “D-don’t speak, your brat’s gone to get medical help—”

She glares at him with bleary eyes. Sorahiko takes the chastisement for what it is, and reluctantly begins a debrief. 

“There was a blast,” he recollects. “I got Toshinori out of the way, and once we—knew it was over, we went back in to try and find you.” Unspoken, the grim statement: whatever was left of you. His eyes rove over her body; she can feel One for All burning steadily in her veins, a flickering ember struggling to keep her alive.

Maybe that’s the one downside of having her successor. Once the torch is passed on, the homefire steadily dwindles away…

“All for One?”

“Gone. I don’t know where.”

The longer she is conscious, the more her body burns. Even breathing evokes crackling pain. “Sora’iko,” she wheezes. “Injuries?”

He’s quiet. Maybe he didn’t hear her, but Nana doesn’t think she has the willpower to ask again. Or the scope of her wounds is so damning, Sorahiko thinks she’s going to die in the next five minutes. Well! Jokes on him, she’s got One for All sparking her white blood cells into action. Nana chases the thought, then the silence is broken:

“Lightning burns,” he chokes out. “Th-those are temporary. Gods, I don’t know, Nana. It must have been ten, fifteen minutes before we found you.” Sorahiko takes off his domino mask for once, scrubs his eyes and smears the coal-black paint. He takes a shallow breath and rattles off, “Smoke inhalation, internal bruising, minor scrapes. That’s it for Toshinori and I.”

“Good.”

Sorahiko shoots her a vicious glare, and she closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to feel guilty under it. “No!” he snaps back. “Not ‘good’! I can’t—we can’t lose you right now. I don’t know how we didn’t.”

“Quirk,” she supplies, turning her attention inwards. Keep it together, old girl. Maybe she should’ve died of smoke inhalation, or being obliterated, and One for All couldn’t help itself from intervening. One last gift for its seventh holder. Life, but at what cost? How crippled has All for One left her? The thought spirals, and Nana impulsively flexes the upper muscles of her left arm—she hisses at the protesting nerves.

Of course Sorahiko notices. “Stop moving!” he says, hands hovering over her. “Just—just stay awake. Please.”

Nana tastes blood in her mouth. Isn’t that a reminder. She had the taste of blood in her mouth for days after she inherited One for All from Rokudo, and no amount of toothpaste had scrubbed her palate clean until Sorahiko had sat down next to her and shared a pint of ice cream. Toshinori’s already got One for All though.

“Talk,” Nana implores her best friend, staring at a blurry stormy sky.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “There’s a new joint opening by my apartment. Been meaning to take you and the brat…”

//

The prognosis: she’ll survive. The doctors consider her a medical miracle, for all that she’s got giant swathes of scar tissue sweeping up and curling around her limbs. She’s going to need painkillers for the rest of her life, and she might need to get those reading glasses two decades earlier than intended, but she’ll survive.

Her hair’s made it. All her limbs and organs have made it.

Her Quirk hasn’t.

//

“Do you still have it?” Sorahiko quietly asks, when she is finally out of the hospital and is cheerfully taking advantage of Sorahiko’s apartment for her convalescence. The government has compensated her with a pension (not nearly enough), since the NHA’s taken her off the hero registry. Nana is nestling into her side of his Western-style bed, looking wistfully at the ceiling. She tilts her head to the side. He’s leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom, arms crossed, or wrapped around himself like a hug.

Oh, she still needs to do that.

“Not enough,” she answers, meditatively. “Remember when I said I had a bonfire in me?”

“Hard to forget the smoke.”

Nana ignores the quip. “I’ve got less than a spark. And that’s about to sputter out too.” She tests her teeth with her tongue, then finally asks, “Are you training Toshinori?”

He looks away. “Not yet.”

“He’s got a month till graduation, Sorahiko. Less than, really. How are you—”

“I’ve got it handled,” he bites out. “I… I’m getting him into a study program in the United States, and we’re gonna join him there after a few weeks, and I’ll train him there. With you.”

“You’re not letting him debut with his classmates?”

“No.” And that, Nana can see, is where Sorahiko would like to leave the conversation. Which is totally a dig at her teaching skills, and excuse him, she had been doing the best she could without any training herself! Sorahiko glances back at her and makes a face. “He gets out there, Nana, and All for One is going to wreck him before he even gets to follow through on his debut.”

“He’s strong!”

“Not enough.” The tone of finality, well. Nana isn’t going to get anywhere tonight, and she’d prefer not to alienate her snuggle-buddy of two decades. The likelihood of Sorahiko just martyring his back on the spare futon is ridiculously high, if she continues fighting for now. So she stows away her defense for the morning, and shrugs a noncommittal concession.

“Let’s go to sleep,” she suggests, and he drags his feet over to the bed, climbs in silently. Without warning, Nana launches herself across the middle and tosses an arm over his chest, buries her face in his shirt where his ribs are. She tangles her legs with his and gleefully presses her cold feet against the heat of his calves.

“You’re freezing!” he yelps. “You’ve been in bed for like twenty minutes, how are you still cold?”

.

.

A/N: Marriage-of-convenience? IT’S MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK.

*neglected to mention husbando Shimura & Kotarou, but i’d like to make it clear that apparently you cannot pluck your child back from the system, so no, Nana can’t get Kotarou back ; A;)

[beca-mitchell]

breaking the circle.

a/n: i don’t claim to know everything about how parental relationships work, but family is family whatever form it comes in. Single parents included. Found family included. Friends included. Show some love to the people in your life who helped make you, you. And know that your past doesn’t define you. <3

summary: five moments in beca’s life. devolution, evolution, and everything in between.

word count: 2072

also read on AO3.

one.

When Beca is little, she crawls into her parent’s bed. It is her mother who holds her first - her mother who first picks her up off the ground and guides her safely into bed.

Nothing feels safer than lying in between her parents - lying between the two people she trusts more in the world.

When she wakes, it’s with bleary eyes always and her stuffed bear is somewhere near the floor. Her vision clears to her father leaning over her and grinning before he picks her up and swings her around to the faint protest of her mother claiming that she needs to get ready for school.

Beca falls asleep to her mother and wakes to her father – and that’s how it is for as long as she can remember.

It’s safe and consistent. It’s gratitude and love.

It’s everything a child could ask for.

two.

The first time Beca wakes to nothingness is the day after her father leaves her mother. When she cracks open her eyes, she feels all the aches in her bones, like she was hit by multiple sledgehammers.

She spent the night crying, but she did so alone because it felt wrong to crawl into bed with her mother to fall asleep - her mother who spent a large portion of the night asking her father to stay.

Tentatively, Beca flips back her own covers and makes her way to her mother’s room. She can hear sniffling. She feels helpless for the first time, without the strength of the parents’ joint love and with trembling hands, she pushes open her mother’s door.

It feels different, waking up to her mother in this state.

Beca blinks and slowly crawls onto the bed - onto the empty space in a suddenly vast and sprawling bed.

Her mother says nothing for the longest time, so Beca reaches out to hold her hand.

“It’s going to be okay,” she reassures her own mother.

“It’s going to be okay,” she repeats, wondering if she’s reassuring herself.

two and a half.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Chloe says softly. She brushes her fingers through Beca’s hair in a soothing manner - a familiar way. It makes Beca’s eyes flutter shut and she quickly presses her nose and mouth against Chloe’s neck before she can do or say anything else.

A part of her thinks Chloe wouldn’t understand. Chloe seems to speak brightly and happily of her own family, though she does so sparsely. But all Beca knows is that Chloe doesn’t come from a broken home. That Chloe and her siblings grew up with a father who never left and a mother who never checked in and out.

But the trust that wells inside her - Beca finds herself blushing under the momentary embarrassment of the intimacy she suddenly wants to share with Chloe. Since they started dating months ago, Beca has opened up steadily to this woman - this woman who manages to find every last crack and insecurity.

(Additionally, the family Beca found in The Bellas is both a gift and a curse. She never has a moment’s rest, but she’ll take that over crippling loneliness any day.)

So Beca thinks she’ll tell Chloe about reconciliation with her father. She thinks she’ll tell Chloe about wanting to have her own family but fearing a repeat shortcoming of her own.

“I know,” Beca murmurs finally.

Chloe’s fingers never cease their stroking through her hair. Steady as their heartbeats, so in sync.

three.

Beca meets Chloe’s family with nervousness settling into the pits of her stomach.

But the nervousness settles into something else.

Chloe’s father is a severe-looking man and Chloe’s mother is all smiles and fluttery eyelids. It’s the most jarring dichotomy Beca has ever seen and she has to blink twice to make sure she’s not imagining it - like she’s not imagining Chloe’s mother is a little too tipsy for mid-day, considering they haven’t sat down for lunch yet. Like she’s not imagining the way Chloe’s father grips her shoulder with surprising force. Force that only Beca can see because Chloe’s entire body seems to stiffen.

“Happy father’s day, daddy,” Chloe says softly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Beca blinks at the change in Chloe’s attitude and the way her shoulders kind of slump. The delicate way she reaches for Beca’s hand again is so unlike Chloe’s usual confidence and love. The contrast between this and the way Chloe sometimes tugs Beca’s hand out of her pocket forcibly just so she can hold it. “This is my girlfriend, Beca.”

“Nice to meet you, Beca,” Chloe’s father says after the longest, most awkward moment. Beca swallows back excess saliva and tries not to stumble over herself to shake his hand. She’s grateful that he doesn’t immediately break his hand, but he speaks again and she stumbles. “It’s nice to know Chloe’s made some good friends at that school.” His eyes cut to his daughter. “Considering she’s been going there for so long.”

Chloe opens her mouth immediately and Beca sees the emotion warring in her eyes.

Then Chloe closes her mouth, saying nothing and looks away. Beca wonders what kind of dimension she’s stepped into.

Later, after the most horrifyingly awkward and passive aggressive lunch, Chloe ushers Beca upstairs when her brother and sister make themselves scarce into their own rooms. Beca quickly puts as many plates as she can in the sink before Chloe can do so and thinks she catches an appreciative glance from Chloe’s mother, but it’s hard to say with how hard her mother was hitting the wine.

The moment Chloe’s door closes, Beca barely has time to appreciate the soft pastels of Chloe’s room – totally on brand for her girlfriend – when the shouting starts.

It’s faint at first, but grows in volume before it’s steady.

Chloe fiddles with her bedspread awkwardly and tries to smile up at Beca, but it comes out as a little bit of a cringe. Beca can relate completely.

“Chloe, I…” Beca trails off, not sure what to say, do, or ask. So she sits beside Chloe on her bed and holds her hand because she just wants Chloe to know that she’s there.

“Everything’s not what it seems,” Chloe shrugs. Beca sees the briefest flash of pain in Chloe’s eyes - the briefest moment of insecurity as they sit quietly in Chloe’s childhood bedroom. The echoes of screaming float up like the whispers of the loneliest of childhoods.

Two sides of the same coin, Beca thinks.

four.

“We have to talk about this, Bec,” Chloe urges when Beca hesitantly makes her way to bed. Chloe’s eyes track her movements as she removes her wedding rings and places them carefully on the dresser in their usual spot.

Chloe has been wanting to talk about this for months.

‘This’ being the fact that Chloe wants to start a family.

“You’ve been pushing off this conversation,” Chloe continues in a soft, even tone. Beca chews her lip as she turns back the covers on her side of the bed to lie next to her wife. The moonlight dances over Chloe’s features and she looks concerned above all, but Beca can see hints of anxiety creeping from the shadows that dance across her wife’s face.

“I…” Beca finds herself stuck. Like the words just won’t escape her.

“Do you not want children?” Chloe asks, quieter still, but with no hint of judgement or fear. Just the barest hint of sadness.

Beca knows that deep down, she does want children. She had dreamt of it all those years ago when they started dating. Maybe even sooner, if she considers how much she enjoyed seeing Chloe interact with children. Chloe has all the instincts of being a loving, doting parent. Beca can just tell.

But she’s not sure that she shares those instincts. She’s not sure that she has any good model to follow. She can’t bear the thought of being a failure of a parent to her child.

Beyond that, she feels excess fear and anxieties that come from hypothetical questions and comments from their as-yet hypothetical child: where’s my father? Who is my father? Did he leave me? Does he love me?

All the intricacies of navigating the world as two women in love – well, Beca has enjoyed that journey with Chloe. She’d have no other partner. Chloe understands her and loves her through all her faults and shortcomings. And Beca, the same. She loves Chloe’s heart and her forgiving nature. She loves the way Chloe encourages her to see life in color.

She loves Chloe and Chloe loves her.

She’s just–

“I’m scared,” Beca blurts. It tastes bitter and acidic on her tongue. She clears her throat, ready to test out the phrase again. “I’m scared, Chlo,” Beca continues. Chloe says nothing. “I’m scared of not being enough. Of not being present or just there for this baby. Of not being ready. I’m scared - I’m so scared that I’ll do something wrong.”

“Beca,” Chloe says softly, once she’s sure Beca is done speaking. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” Chloe shifts so she’s facing Beca on her side. “It’s normal to feel afraid, you know? I’m scared too. But I want so much to have a family with you because you’re the love of my life and I can’t imagine anybody else I’d want to start a family with.” Her hand reaches out to trace Beca’s cheek, pleased to note there aren’t any tears (yet). “I love you, baby.”

“I don’t want to be like my dad. Or my mom,” Beca says shakily, when she manages to battle back a fresh wave of tears.

“I know,” Chloe says in understanding.

“I just...can’t. I can’t be like them. I don’t want that.”

“I know,” Chloe repeats, softer still. She shifts closer and pulls Beca into her arms, wrapping Beca up in warmth and impossible softness. “You’re not going to be like them.”

“But how do you know,” Beca chokes out.

“Because you’re you,” Chloe says simply. “And you’ve spent your whole life becoming this wonderful woman you are today. The one I married.” Chloe inhales deeply when she feels Beca take a shaky breath. “I married you because I love your resilience and your strength. And I know you’re not going to be like either of your parents - or either of mine for that matter - because you have the biggest heart ever.”

“Not as big as yours,” Beca grumbles, headbutting Chloe in the chest gently.

Chloe pauses. “Well, yeah,” she agrees. She giggles when Beca headbutts her again.  “But I’m me and you’re you. And we’re going to figure this out together.”

Beca likes that. “Together,” she repeats, tasting it on her tongue.

She likes that a lot.

five.

Parenting is a journey on its own. Beca can’t say that any book really prepares her for the joy of parenthood.

They decide to adopt and to Beca, it makes the most sense. Her and Chloe and everything about their history. Found family and opening their hearts to people they’ve grown to love.

When they finally get to bring home their daughter – Alanna Nicole Beale-Mitchell – it’s after a long and arduous process. Alanna is nearly four months old by the time they bring her home.

When Beca holds her daughter with the promise of permanency for the first time, every book she read about bonding and parenthood and adoption flies out of her head. And all she can see is the mess of light brown hair atop her daughter’s head and the startlingly green eyes - green eyes that neither Chloe or her have.

“Hi,” Beca says softly. “Hi, my love.”

Chloe looks like she might start crying at any second, but she surprisingly holds herself together long enough to ensure all the paperwork is processed accordingly and everything is legally sound. Beca can’t imagine being able to focus on anything but her daughter.

“I’ve been waiting for you all my life,” Beca says softly, continuing to speak to this baby who doesn’t have a clue what turmoil Beca and Chloe went through.

Chloe steps back to her side, reaching out a finger slowly. To both their delights, Alanna giggles (or gurgles) and grasps Chloe’s finger immediately.

“Ready to go home?” Chloe asks softly.

“Yes,” Beca says.

She’s ready to finally go home.

––––

fin / my fanfic

[jaimelanniser]

Jaimsa au where Lady is still alive and quite taken with Jaime. It irritates the hell out of Sansa but Jaime loves to get a rise out of Sansa.

this was going to be super short and then I got carried away so i guess this is now part 1/????? based off the beginning of season 8 and completely ignoring the whole “we have until nightfall” part of the trailer because the army of the dead don’t help with relationship development k thx

The betrayal started like this: a paced circling of the man standing in the Winterfell Great Hall awaiting his judgment.

It mirrored the pacing Lady had done around Littlefinger, around the Umber boy and the Karstark girl and any other man or woman who presented themselves to the Lady of Winterfell.

Sansa knew that it aroused whispers, mutterings, and suspicion, how implicitly she trusted her direwolf. How quick she was to make up her mind after a bristling of her pet’s fur, a baring of her teeth, or a gentle bow of her head before she padded back to her master, back legs bending under her massive body. But Lady had instincts beyond human, and they never erred.

Jaime Lannister had his hands at his sides, jaw set, while Lady crept up towards him with a low quiet grumble – almost too low, but Sansa was acutely aware of it, and it made her breath catch in her own throat.

There was an unsettled silence in the Hall after everybody had said their piece to and about him. Northern Lords loathed him by name. The Targaryen queen had not passed his sentence because it wasn’t hers to pass, as Sansa didn’t hesitate to remind her. This was her home.

Tyrion had spoken up for his brother, but that surprised nobody. So had Lady Brienne. And then, surprising everybody, Bran. Or rather, the Three Eyed Raven.

It was painful, from time to time, how obvious it was that there was little to nothing left of her brother.

All the while, Lady stood motionless at her side, staring, watching, waiting, until silence settled once more and she was able to go inspect the newcomer. Around and around she went, with Sansa’s heart beating faster and Jaime Lannister’s shadowed green eyes staring right at her.

And then, after sniffing and sniffing, Lady’s rumbling stopped and in one swift movement she dropped down to sit and knocked her head against the man’s hand.

The silence continued to stretch, and Sansa sat up a little straighter in her seat, lips parted in surprise as she continued to hold Ser Jaime’s now slightly alarmed gaze. “Lady,” she called, voice clipped. The direwolf’s ears perked towards her, but she didn’t move.

Eyes shifted towards her, and Sansa refused to flush. This had never once happened before. It was clear that the Kingslayer had her wolf’s approval, but to stay? “Lady,” she tried again, a little more sharply, and let her hand drop down next to her to beckon her over.

It took a few seconds, as if the wolf was being stubborn about it, before she tilted her muzzle into the golden hand and stood back up to pad towards her. The embarrassment would not cripple her. Lady safely at her side once more, Sansa let her fingers bury into the soft grey fur and held her head high. “You’ll be weary from your journey, Ser Jaime. One of our servants will escort you to your rooms.”

And that was that.

–

Day turned into night, and Sansa managed to convince herself that it had been a lapse of judgment. Perhaps she’d not fed enough last night, and Lady was feeling resentful. Perhaps Jaime had picked up a wild rabbit on his way here and he had it in his pocket. Perhaps a lot of things.

Except that supper was served – not a feast, as they were being sensible with rations – and as Sansa walked into the Hall with her sister, the wolf paused for a split second before veering off towards the far end, where the golden haired man sat alone with a bowl of stew in front of him.

“Hello, again,” he greeted the wolf under his breath, lifting his good hand cautiously until Lady slid under it, tail wagging from side to side. Green eyes met blue as she approached, fingers digging into her palms at this blatantly ridiculous display of behaviour from her wolf. “Lady Sansa.”

“Ser Jaime.”

The man had a hint of a smirk playing at his lips, but he hid it carefully. “This is the friendliest direwolf I believe I’ve ever come across.”

“Isn’t she the only direwolf you’ve ever come across?” Sansa challenged, unable to help her irritated tone of voice. Just because she’d granted him a pardon, and sanctuary, didn’t mean she had to like him. “Lady, come.”

Again, the wolf didn’t move, and Jaime’s hand started slowly stroking her fur as he looked at her, glancing up at Sansa briefly before leaning back to the wolf, as if sharing a secret. “I’m treading on thin ice around here already, Lady. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t give Lady Sansa any more reason to exile me.”

The nerve of him. Sansa had half a mind to storm off, leave the wolf wherever she wanted to stay and chalk it up to insanity. But this was Lady. Her beloved direwolf. The only one who had been with her through everything. The wolf whimpered quietly, looking up at Sansa, mouth open happily.

And Seven Hells, what was she supposed to do? Drag her off?

Composing herself, she motioned to the chair across from his at the table. “May I join you for dinner?”

It was his turn to be startled, and he stared at her with something akin to disbelief. “It would be my honour.” The words were rehearsed. Second nature. How many times had he said them in his lifetime?

There had been a time where Sansa would have swooned at the thought of sharing a meal with Jaime Lannister.

Now, he was just a man. A man without a hand and with nothing left to lose, coming to fight the army of the dead and steal her pet.

–

If Sansa had thought (or hoped) that this was a temporary obsession, then she was very much mistaken.

Days bled into nights that bled into days, each seemingly shorter than the next, and while Lady still followed her around like a trustworthy shadow, slept at the foot of her bed, and behaved beautifully, every time Jaime Lannister was in the near vicinity, she lost all common sense.

What the man had ever done to merit such unwarranted affection, Sansa did not know. But the wolf was undoubtedly under his spell. Would seek him out in a crowded room and bound over to lap at his good fingertips whenever they crossed paths. And Sansa would have to blush furiously and pretend that she wasn’t at all altered by the situation.

But oh, she was. That Lady would betray her like this! That she would unabashedly throw herself at a man she barely knew. A Lannister at that. No matter how different from his sister he appeared to be. No matter all the good things Tyrion spoke of him, or how honourable Brienne claimed he was. None of that mattered, because there were plenty of good and honourable people around, and Lady wasn’t throwing herself at them.

It seemed that it only took Jaime a few days to get comfortable with his place at Winterfell. Comfortable enough that he had stopped hiding that smirk he got whenever Lady showcased her preference in front of her. Comfortable enough that he had tossed in a, “Now you go off to bed with your mistress. I know you’d much rather come with me, but she’s much more important. Do protect her.”

To Sansa’s total and utter indignation, of course.

“Ser Jaime, if you’re quite finished buttering up my wolf, you ought to think about getting some rest. I hear your training has been difficult, and you need all the strength you can muster.”

The man had straightened up and smirked at her, a hint of the previously arrogant golden boy she assumed he had been. “Lady Sansa, are you perhaps jealous?”

“Jealous!?”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“Lady,” she snapped, more insistently, until the wolf walked back towards her. Jaw clenched, she met the man’s eyes. “Good night, Ser Jaime.”

With a whirl of her cloak, she turned around to leave, and she could’ve sworn she heard a laughing, “Goodnight, my Lady,” from behind her as she went.

–

Sansa tried to bargain.

“Will you tell me what it is? Am I not paying you enough attention?” Fingers carefully and gently stroking the wolf’s fur at night, the warmth of her large body over her making her feel impossibly hot. “I have duties to attend to now, Lady. Is this about that? What do you see in him?”

What did she see in him?

Smart as she was, Lady was still an animal, and she could hardly recognise that a man was handsome. Resentment or not, Sansa could admit that Jaime Lannister was still as handsome as she’d found him when they’d first crossed paths so many years ago. So what was the appeal of him? It kept her up for hours until she dozed off restlessly.

Still, Lady was relentless, and Sansa found herself becoming more and more aware of the Lannister’s presence, as if she herself was being attuned to him the way her wolf seemed to be. She walked into a room and sought him out at the same time Lady did. There was no prying her away from him now over supper, so she’d taken to sitting at his table, where little to nobody else would sit.

People talked, of course. How could they not? Lady had only ever had eyes for Sansa before this. And now here she was, like a common whore, curled at his feet.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Jaime told her conversationally on one of such occasions. “I briefly met your brother’s direwolf once. Robb’s. Almost tore my face off, if I remember correctly.”

Sansa’s eyes flitted between his face and her food. “You probably deserved it.”

A dry laugh. “Are you always so quick to judge, my lady?”

“A wolf’s instinct is never wrong.”

And Jaime was once again in her field of vision, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “I suppose it’s a matter of time, then. Before you find me as charming as Lady clearly does.”

Sansa had not known how to respond to that.

–

The first battle rolled around sooner than they had all been expecting.

First, because when it was over, it was agreed that the numbers were low. Much too low. There would be more, they knew. They lost many good people. It appeared that everybody had been steeling themselves for this moment, that when it came around, nobody had the spirits to mourn.

There had been a moment, amidst the chaos of the night and the screams and distant sound of swords and shields clanging against each other, while Sansa waited with the other ladies in the Hall, that Lady had bristled.

She had been alert at her side the whole time up until then. And then, without warning, her muscles had gone taut, lip pulled back into a snarl and before Sansa could ask her what was wrong, she had taken off.

The desperate call of “Lady!” that Sansa had attempted had been futile, as she had expected it to be.

Dawn had risen, and Jon had stormed into the hall to announce their small victory, and asked for all hands to help with the wounded.

Jaime Lannister was wounded.

A leg cut, not too deep, nothing that couldn’t be wrapped up according to their Maester, and there was Lady, covered in mud and blood, refusing to leave his side.

“She came out of nowhere, my lady,” Brienne had told her when she’d gone to see him. “Ser Jaime had stepped in to cover my back when a wave of the dead came at us, and I saw him surrounded, falling off the wall. I was fending them off myself, and then your wolf – Lady – she was on them, ripping them apart and the last thing I saw was her dragging him away from the battle.

And gods, Sansa wished she could say she was surprised to hear this, that this was where Lady had leapt to when she’d left her, but no. For whatever reason, Lady had decided that Jaime Lannister was worth her love and protection.

What was Sansa to do but accept it?

Perhaps Lady knew something after all.

–

“I believe I owe your direwolf my life.”

Sansa looked up from the letter she’d been reading towards the door of her chambers, where Jaime stood, leg bandaged but otherwise looking healthy. “So I hear,” she responded, not even blinking as Lady stood up from her side to walk over to him and start licking at his hand.

Jaime stayed silent for a moment. “Does it bother you so much?” he asked after a while, and she found him looking at Lady.

This was not making her look good. Sansa heaved a sigh, pushing herself to her feet and walking over to them, letting her fingers scratch behind Lady’s ears slowly. “I’m happy she saved your life. I hear you were brave.”

Another silence, and Jaime turned his face up to her. After a beat, she did the same, and found her stomach leaping slightly, fingers stilling on Lady’s head.

“She’s a smart one. Too smart.” A nod, and a small hint of a smile. Sansa didn’t know if it was a bitter one or now. “She takes after you in a lot of ways.”

The compliment took Sansa by surprise. What was she to say to that?

She was saved from responding by Jaime continuing. “I hope you’ll learn to trust me, too.”

Without another word, he gave a curt nod and walked away, leaving her to wonder what on earth had just transpired between them.

[shiningamongdarkness]

Chapter 21. Breathe... just breathe

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX 

Chapter 21 Breathe... just breathe 

The taxi broke through the earth road surrounded by trees that led to the picturesque classic-style house, with a beautiful facade. It was already late, but the clear sky and the external lights of the property help to appreciate its beauty correctly. It was just outside Arcadia, about an hour from the Los Angeles International Airport, where the newcomer had landed. The yellow vehicle was parked right in front of the house, at the foot of the porch steps, and several perfectly well-groomed rose bushes that could only have grown that way with the constant care of a gentle and thoughtful hand.

 The atmosphere that surrounded all that space was really reassuring and pleasant. A few times in his thirty-two years of life, she had been in a place that made her feel such positive energies. It was like if any trace of evil was simply repelled or kept on the street, afraid to penetrate more. It was really a place where Jane Wheeler would not mind at all spending several days... But not everything was so perfect.

 From the backseat of the passengers, the woman looked up from the window to the upper floor of the house. Among all the bright energy that surrounded it, there was a small gray dot, an unstable and noisy gray dot that caused little stabbing pain in the back of her head. But she was not impressed; after all, it was just why she had gone there.

 She paid to the driver for the trip and went down with her hand luggage and bag. The driver took out the larger suitcase in which she was carrying her clothes and then withdrew after a friendly "good night." He didn't notice that annoying gray dot over their heads, and it was better that way. An instant after the taxi got lost on the road, almost as if it had been intentionally waiting for him to leave, Jane began to hear a choked hustle that jutted out from the pleasant calm that had reigned since she arrived.

 The windows on the upper floor were shaking, especially those of a room just over the front door. The interior lights also began to turn on and off alone, and among all this, Jane managed to perceive some small cries.

 An old haunted house on the outskirts, many would think, but the reality was quite far from it... depending on who you asked. With her fingers, she adjusted one of the curly strands of her dark brown short hair and then began to walk towards the stairs carrying all her luggage. Before stepping on the first step, however, one of the large wooden doors at the entrance opened wide. The one who was supposed to be the owner of the house appeared on the other side. She was a thin woman near forty, with a white and sharp face, straight dark blond hair, well-groomed and neat that reached her shoulders, and dark brown eyes on which she wore round glasses with reddish frame.

 Jane froze for a moment when she felt the impressed and confused eyes of that woman. If it weren't for that little gray dot over her, which she felt more intense now, she would have thought for a moment that she went to the wrong house. No one said anything until the woman finally seemed to react. The confusion in her eyes vanished, and suddenly it was as if she had just remembered something important that she had forgotten, or as if she had just woken up without knowing where she was, and suddenly that information hit her head.

 "I'm sorry," the woman exclaimed at the door, and then raised her glasses so she could slightly carve her eyes. It was too dark and too far away to be sure of it, but it seemed to Jane that she had probably been crying not long ago. She wrapped herself with the pastel pashmina she had on her shoulders, even though it was a warm night. "You are Mrs. Wheeler, right?"

 "Yes, I am," the woman with dark curls replied with a half-smile. She dared to climb the steps with everything and her suitcase and stood on the porch in front of her. "Jane Wheeler, to serve you, Mrs. Honey."

 “Miss Honey...” the woman murmured softly but seemed to regret almost immediately having done so. “Never mind, thank you very much for coming...”

 She extended her hand in greeting, and apparently, the newcomer was more than willing to accept it. However, before Jane could take it, a loud shout was heard from the top floor much more intense than the previous ones. It felt at the same time as the house shuddered, and the lights flickered. Miss Honey withdrew her hand and instinctively brought it to her chest, trying to suppress as she could a cry of fear that pushed out. Jane also lowered her hand to her side when she considered that handshake totally failed.

 "Can I go in?" She asked softly.

 "Yes, please," said the owner of the house hurriedly and stepping aside. Jane entered looking straight at the stairs leading to the upper floor, and unconsciously ignoring all the beautiful decorations of the hall, or the neatness with which everything was clean and accommodated. Only Miss Honey's voice managed to distract her even if she was a little focused on the stairs. "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing, but I don't have anyone else to turn to. I'm so worried about my daughter and..."

 "Don't worry," Jane interrupted in a severe tone, raising her hand toward to indicate that she didn't have to apologize to her. "She is up, right?" Jennifer nodded quickly. "Let's go to see her."

Miss Honey guided her up, she went forward. For a little, that moment brought to Jane's mind the movie "The Exorcist," one of the first horror movies she had seen with her now-husband and friends. Strangely, a story about a girl possessed by the devil who was doing terrifying and incomprehensible acts for everyone was not peculiarly scary for her as was for the rest, even if it was based on a true story, as some people said. She might not say it openly with words, but it was quite likely she had seen enough more terrifying things by then to feel impressed by some makeup on an actress's face and a pair of rudimentary special effects.

 Anyway, she wondered if any imaginary spectator from the bottom of the stairs, would see it and immediately relate to the priest going up to the bedroom of the protagonist who was going to help. Of course, the stage was much less gloomy; in fact, the house was really adorable and beautiful wherever she saw it. And she wasn't going to see a possessed girl, although inevitably there would be many people who would think differently.

 The remote of the house, surrounded by an extensive land that separated it enough from its closest neighbors, had apparently been fruitful for keep secret the commotion that was being lived in that place. What most caught people's attention was the fact that the girl had not been in class for a week and a half already. And almost at the same time, her adoptive mother had asked for special permission on the school where she worked as a teacher. "Surely the little girl must be sick," many supposed, and for now, it was preferable to think that.

 "She only manages to calm down when she sleeps, if she can do it," the dark blonde haired woman commented as they climbed. "Since yesterday, she no longer lets me into her room. She closes the door to me as soon as I try to open. She hasn't tasted a bite of food... I don't know what..."

 As soon as they reached the upper hall, Miss Honey had to make a great effort to not let herself cry at that time. She had always been a strong woman. No situation broke her temper... until that moment. That had wholly surpassed her. Matilda, her adopted daughter and the light of her world, had always been so independent in every aspect of her life. And the first time she really needed her help, that she really needed her mother to tell her what to do or how to solve such a precarious situation, she was simply unable to do something. That filled her with an overwhelming and crippling frustration.

 "It's fine, be calm," the guest murmured to her hostess in a low voice, running her hand over her back comfortingly. "Everything will be fine now, I promise."

 Jennifer breathed hard through her nose and then ran her fingers discreetly along the side of her eyes.

 "Thank you... Can you really help her?" Do you really know how to deal with something like this?"

 Jane smiled, outside and inside. She didn't answer and kept walking to the girl's room as if she knew exactly where to go. She stood right in front of the door and waited for Jennifer to open it. The hustle was still heard from within.

 "Matilda, my dear," Miss Honey murmured in front of the door. "Please, let me in..."

 "No!" It was heard loudly snapping from inside a sharp little voice between small sobs. "I don't want to hurt you! I don't want…!"

 Jane advanced to the door at that moment and gently turned her hostess aside.

 "Let me try." Jane put her hand on the knob. Miss Honey would not see her action directly, but after focusing a few moments, the door locks were opened with the help of her own “special” ability, and then also managed to make the door open despite the opposition of the girl inside.

 On the other side of the door was the room of a thirteen-year-old girl, but not like any other. The colors of the walls, the sheets of the bed, the carpet, everything was in sober colors. More than toys or posters of bands on the walls, there were two bookshelves, plus a shelf over his bed for trophies. There was a desk with a computer on one side and a small closet. However, the bookshelves, the shelves, the desk, and the closet were not as they should be. Several of the books, trophies, sheets of paper, and clothing were either lying on the floor... or floating in the air. Some were simply suspended, others passing quickly, crossing the room and crashing the walls. The computer was also on the floor, and the desk chair was tilted. Everything was too unreal...

 "God, Matilda..." Jennifer exclaimed, drowning another cry. Jane, meanwhile, remained calm in the doorframe, analyzing the entire scenario. She indicated with one hand to the owner of the house to stay at the door and put her bag on the floor. She entered slowly, dodging all the projectiles that crossed the space of the room. There were many things everywhere, but no trace of the owner of them all. This one was, as she sensed, sitting on the side of the bed. The little girl with short brown hair was hugging her legs, her face sunk between them. She sobbed slowly, barely noticeable.

 Feeling Jane's closeness, Matilda quickly raised her face and turned to see her, full of fear. Her eyes, and all her face, were red. Her eyes were somewhat bright, but apparently, she had cried so much that her tears had simply dried. Jane smiled slightly, and then crouched down in front of the bed, a couple of meters from her.

 "Hello, Matilda," said the stranger to the little girl, very softly. "My name is Jane, but you can tell me Eleven. All my friends do it."

 The girl did not answer. She stared at her with her deep blue eyes wide open. She was trying perhaps to analyze it enough to determine who she exactly was since, apparently, her presentation had not convinced her. Surely she was digesting the idea that a stranger out of nowhere, discovered her secret and that way.

 "You've nothing to fear," Jane whispered very slowly as if she were telling her some little secret. "I'm here to help you."

 Jane lifted her hand to the side, and a book that was on the floor a few meters away came off the ground and flew to her hands, trapping it between her fingers with ease. Matilda was startled, surprised. She hadn't done that, that strange woman was.

 "You too…?" The kid whispered in a broken voice; Jane just smiled.

 "Tell me, what's the matter, honey?" Jane asked without changing her position or tone.

 "I can't turn it off," the girl muttered suddenly, her voice struggling to make herself noticed through all the anguish that ate her throat. "In the past, I could control it; I could turn it off without a problem. But now I can't ... I can't. I don't want to hurt my mom… I don't want to hurt anyone, but I can't stop."

 "Yes, of course you can, Matilda," Jane declared quite firmly, almost aggressively. "That ability you have is only yours and nobody else's. Only you decide when to use it and when not."

 "No! I can't! I already told you I can't!" The girl yelled at her quite loudly, and the entire floor beneath their feet shuddered, so much that it seemed it would break. Jennifer had to hold the door frame to avoid falling.

 "Matilda…" Exclaimed her mother with absolute concern, and unwittingly her body stepped forward to approach her.

 "Stay back," Jane told her in such an authoritarian tone, that the woman's thin body also stopped dead in place. Jane concentrated then only on Matilda. She dared to approach her a little, and the girl instinctively leaned back, so she chose not to advance more than she should. She raised both hands to the front, as a sign of calm and began to speak slowly. "Listen to me, Matilda. Listen to me... only... to me..."

****

 By the time they reached Eola, it was already getting dark, but there was still enough sun. Even so, the air that enveloped the psychiatric hospital was so thick and dark that one felt so insecure and exposed as if you were alone in the middle of the night, with absolutely nothing and no one around. In fact, the parking lot was lonely when they entered, except for the employees' own vehicles that Matilda had always seen every day that she had gone to that place.

 They parked almost at the entrance door. When they got off, the three looked thoughtfully towards the white building, the three with confusion and compelling expressions.

 "Do you also feel that?" Cole asked like a small whisper.

 "The disturbing feeling that we shouldn't be here?" Cody replied the same way.

 "Yes, the same…"

 The premonitions or hunches that their Shine gave them at times seemed to have gone wild as soon as they approached that place. The three felt it, and although they had not expressed it openly with words, they also thought that the others did too. Something pretty wrong was happening, or at least it had happened.

 Matilda was the first to overcome this paralyzing sensation and move towards the door. Inevitably, her two companions were forced to follow her as well.

 Although the outside of the hospital felt calm and silent, the interior was very different. There was a lot of noise, the echo of voices and footsteps resounding in the halls, and coming somehow or other towards them. While they were advancing down the main hall towards the reception cubicle, they didn't see many people. Still, at least three nurses touched them from one hallway to another in a great hurry, and another one carrying a man, almost catatonic, in a Wheelchair.

 The reception nurse, the one who had treated Matilda on her first day there, was on the phone. Her lethargic state at that time, and that had been constant in the following days, had disappeared. Now she seemed to be with the blood flowing faster, talking loudly on the phone, checking her notebook, and also the computer at the same time. The young woman did not notice their presence until they were a few steps away. As soon as she saw Matilda, she put aside everything she was doing, even dropped the phone to the floor, causing a loud and almost painful blow, and jumped out of her chair.

 "Dra. Honey, thank heaven,” she exclaimed energetically and relieved, which confused the Psychiatrist quite a bit.

 "Good afternoon... What was it...?" Before her question was finished, the nurse hurried out of her place and headed, almost running, to the adjacent hallway.

 "Dr. Johnson! Dr. Johnson!" They heard her scream as she walked away. The three watched her run, until it was no longer possible.

 "It looks like it's popular around here, Doctor," said Cole, somewhat mockingly.

 "That's new to me," said the brunette, too confused to react correctly.

 They did not have to wait long. Dr. Johnson in person soon appeared in a hurry, coming down the same hall through which the young woman had left. She did not come with him, so Matilda supposed that she had stayed perhaps attending to some other issue.

 "Dra. Honey," Johnson exclaimed, equally terrifyingly excited and relieved to see her. He looked somewhat tired and distracted. "Apology me, everything is in chaos. We had to move all our patients from the section of Samara, and it was not easy because there were some of our most problematic patients.

 "Move them, why?" Matilda questioned notoriously on the defensive. "What happened? Where is Dr. Scott?"

 "I don't know where he went... He..." Johnson stammered, apparently doubting what to say and whatnot, and this made Matilda's attitude even more aggressive. She approached him, facing him head-on, and although she was shorter than him, it also intimidated him enough to push him back a little.

 "Listen to me," Matilda began to say in a slow but firm voice, "you'll have to tell me everything that happened right now, without hiding anything. Otherwise, we cannot help you." Johnson then looked over the doctor's head at the other two men who accompanied her. "They come with me; they are my associates."

 "Associates?" Asked the doctor, confused. "Are they psychiatrists too?"

 "In my spare time," Cole hurried to respond sarcastically. Matilda looked at him over his shoulder with a scolding look but turned almost immediately back to Johnson.

 "They are already aware of the case. You can speak freely."

 Johnson removed his glasses and ran his hand across his face, carving him with some force. It seemed that he did not want to do it, but in the end, he had no choice. He told them the best he could about what happened that morning, how Samara had reacted, and what she had done to Dr. Scott. Finally, he told the little he knew about the strange event that had just spent hours back in Samara's room and caused all the fuss.

 Matilda's face was rock hard as she listened to him. Her jaw was tight, and her eyes almost flashed with courage in them. She turned by mere instinct towards the reception desk and leaned on it with both hands while breathing slowly to try to calm down.

 "You're a bunch of idiots," she muttered under her breath. "What were you thinking?! And do you call yourselves psychiatrists? Where did you study, you pair of...?"

 She forced herself to remain silent before she said anything she really regretted.

 "We didn't know what else to do..." Johnson murmured hesitantly.

 "Not make her angry; to begin, that would have been a good idea!"

 "That was Scott, I don't ... I don't ..."

 Johnson began to babble, unable to formulate a coherent sentence. He backed slowly and dropped into one of the chairs in the waiting area. He held his face with his hands, and it was heard as he breathed a little agitated. Cole and Cody looked at him somewhat perplexed; Matilda kept turning her back, turned to the desk.

 "I didn't even fully believe this was true," Johnson muttered, barely audible. "A part of me always believed that all this girl was doing was some kind of trick that we couldn't explain yet, but sooner or later, we would find out, and that would end it all." He withdrew his hands from his face and then pointed toward one of the corridors, horror on his face. "But what she did in that hallway... Oh God... this can't be real."

 Dr. Johnson's mood was not really very different from Vazquez's. They both saw things that could not be explained, but their heads struggled to try. When it didn't work, people's reactions varied. Vazquez's aggressiveness and Johnson's denial were among the most common.

 "Where is she now?" Matilda asked after a moment of silence.

 "In her room. Still tied to her stretcher, I suppose."

 "Tied?!" The brunette snapped, turning toward him. "What do you mean with tied?!"

 "All those who approach that site end up injured in some way. She's out of control... we don't know what..."

 Johnson shied again and hid his face in his hands. The image of Samara, tied up, alone and helpless in a room like the one Johnson had described to them... Matilda's stomach turned, but she restrained herself from any visible reaction. She breathed hard, regained serenity, and then managed to stand up again. She took her bag and left it on the counter, taking out only her cell phone. She adjusted her suit quickly with her hands and then continued with her hair. This had no specific purpose; it was more an involuntary tic to clear her mind.

 "Keep the other patients and staff safe," Matilda muttered slowly. "I'll take care of it."

 "We'll take care of it," Cole added decisively. Matilda saw the sidelong officer, with not so good disposition at a glance.

 "Come on, Matilda," she heard Cody say, almost like a scolding. The brunette simply sighed in resignation and began to hurry towards Samara's room. Cole and Cody followed her at a safe distance.

— — — —

 Matilda battled in her mind all the options. The idea that Samara could capture those images beyond the paper, radiographs, or people own mind had always been a possibility. Walls, ceilings, and floor, all they are nothing more than surfaces, not very different from a paper if they talked about a cellular modification to the levels they had theorized. But that she could do it suddenly, and on a scale like the one described by Dr. Johnson, had definitely not been in her predictions. Besides that, the image he described to them was quite... disturbing. And even then, only when they were standing in that hallway, they were able to digest it in its entirety.

 The three stood still around the corner. It was as if they had suddenly entered another building without noticing it. Several of the ceiling lamps had broken, so the light was poor. What they could see, however, was... quite uncomfortable. Gnawed walls, full of oxide, humidity stains, and even traces of vegetation breaking through the cracks. The ground was covered with a huge and nothing pleasant puddle, like the water of some rain leaked and mixed with the garbage and other crap from the site. It felt a cold environment, not unbearable but enough to feel uncomfortable or at least with the need to have another coat. There were small traces of dust, or at least something very similar, hovering around the air. And the smell was perhaps the worst; the smell of dead animal, stagnant water, decomposing garbage. It was so nauseating, impossible not to feel at least a small arch.

 "God," Cody exclaimed, dumbfounded, looking at everything carefully.

 "I think it's not the best place to avoid nightmares, Professor," Cole added, trying to sound funny, but he hadn't really done it at all.

 After doubting a few moments, Matilda activated the lamp of her phone. With it, she managed to light the way better, especially the ground. Cole and Cody followed her. The three held their phones with one hand, and the other covered their noses and mouths as much as possible to resist the smell. Their shoes ended up stepping on that dirty water, but they tried not to think about that at the moment. As a child, Matilda liked to go to the river to look for reptiles, fishes, and insects to catalog them. So, she just tried to imagine that she was doing that again.

 "Cody, is this similar to what you told me you did as a child?" Matilda asked curiously.

 "Yes... Believe it or not, it brings back memories," Cody murmured, somewhat uncertain.

 "Did you do something like this before?" Asked Cole incredulously.

 "Not exactly something like that, but my abilities also affected the entire space I was in, creating a rather unpleasant scenario. Coincidentally, they also drugged me on that occasion to make me fall asleep."

 "So, do you think all this is an illusion?" Cole asked.

 Cody shook his head.

 "I don't think this is an illusion or something like what I do. This... is something else."

 "Yes, I feel it too. There is something quite heavy on this site, which is simply not natural."

 "Do you mean…?" Cody looked at him, somewhat impressed. Now Cole was the one who denied.

 "If you ask about ghosts, no. There are ghosts that, with enough energy, can materialize and affect our world physically, but not at this level. But there are other types of forces that can do something like this, or even much more."

 "Other forces like what exactly?"

 Cole let out a mocking giggle, immediately followed by a whimper of annoyance because apparently, he had stepped on something he could not describe. His first instinct was to withdraw his foot abruptly as fast as he could.

 "We'd better leave that for another more pleasant scenario, Professor," the officer murmured in disgust.

 They go forward for about two more minutes until Matilda illuminated with her light a completely rusty door lying in the middle of the hall. On its left side was the frame in which the door was before, with still traces of its hinges on it. That was Samara's room.

 Matilda took a deep breath, or at least as deep as the vitiated and putrid air that surrounded them allowed them, and moved a little faster towards the door. And then she heard the sobs, little painful sobs that came from inside the room, and that made her stop for a few moments. She moved slowly until she looked inside. The state of what she managed to focus with her light was just as deplorable as the rest of the hall. Except for a pure white and mostly clean spot that stood out from the rest of the room as soon as the light touched it: the white of Samara's hospital gown.

 In fact, the girl was still lying on the stretcher, of sheets now full of moisture stains and holes, tied by wrist and ankles by old leather straps, but still with enough strength to hold her. The girl had her face dampened by her own tears and sobbed inconsolably in panic. As soon as the light illuminated her, she turned her eyes toward the entrance as her position allowed.

 "Ma... tilda...?" She whispered weakly.

 "Samara," Matilda said, dumbfounded to see her in such a state. Without thinking, she moved into the room. "Don't worry, I'm going to..."

 "Don't come near me!" The girl shouted loudly, and her voice rumbled in the echo of the walls, which began to crack a little. The water on their feet also began to alter, and Cody and Cole alike suddenly felt that they were actually reaching them higher, at least to the ankles. "I don't... want to see you…" Samara muttered brokenly. "You lied to me... you said you would come to see me, and you didn't! You let me get caught! You let her do this to me!"

 The more she shouted, the state of the space around them seemed to get worse little by little. Even the ground at their feet began to feel soft as if it were going to open at any moment to swallow them all.

 Samara was mad with Matilda too. It was not something she had thoroughly predicted, but it was not unexpected. It was true, she had told her that she was going to talk to her mother, and that day would come early just to talk, but she didn't. She supposed it would be fine, just delay it a bit. The matter of Portland, Doug, and Lilly Sullivan took importance in her head, and she thought everything would be fine... but it was not so. That horrible incident was not just Scott and Johnson's fault; she was guilty too... again...

 "You said you would help me! You told me everything would be fine!"

 Those words, some time ago, exclaimed against her with the same feeling, rumbled in her head.

 She tried again to approach. Her left hand held the cell phone, and the other was extended towards Samara in a sign of calm. Matilda tried to use her telekinesis to take away Samara's ties while she was talking.

 "Samara, you must calm down," she whispered very slowly. She almost managed to remove the strap from her left wrist.

 "I can't!" The girl almost snapped as if it hurt. Suddenly, a long wound was drawn right in Matilda's right palm, from end to end.

 "Ah!" The psychiatrist exclaimed with a groan of pain, regressing instinctively. Her phone fell from her hands, falling into the water, although the flashlight was still shining.

 "Matilda!" Cody and Cole came to his aid. Cole lit her palm with his light, while Cody checked it. It was a little deep, clean, and straight cut. Blood began to emerge freely from the wound and drain from the side.

 "How she did that?" Asked Cole, taking off his blue tie with one hand. He then passed it to Cody to use it as an improvised bandage. Cody tied it with some force around her hand. Matilda didn't even show pain. Her mind had engaged in that question: how had she done it? Was it something derived from how she reflected her thoughts and ideas in all that environment?

 "Go away, Matilda..." Samara sobbed. "I don't want to hurt you... I don't want to hurt more people ..."

 Matilda carefully withdrew her hand from Cody and motioned both of them with her head to back off. Unsure, they took a couple of steps back, staying at the door. The brunette looked around; the light on her phone had gone out, which was a bad sign, but she would take care of that later. Now she could only be guided by the light of Cole and Cody, because without them, she would be in those moments in absolute darkness, for sure. She held the tie around her wound with her left hand, pressing it against it, and began to move in Samara's direction. The closer she got, the walls, the ceiling, and the floor seemed weaker, as if they were turning into paper.

 "You haven't hurt anyone, Samara," Matilda murmured with utmost comfort. "Listen, That ability you have is only yours and nobody else's. Only you decide when to use it and when not. It's your gift..."

 "I can't," Samara replied between cries. "She is stronger than me..."

 "She?" Matilda exclaimed, confused, already halfway between the door and the stretcher. "Samara, who is she?"

 The girl was silent for a moment, except for her cries.

 "Go away! She yelled at the end, and Matilda felt as if someone was pushing her back with strength. She staggered a little, taking a couple of false steps backward but managing at the end to avoid falling.

 She was perplexed for a few seconds. Telekinesis? Samara was likely to have a bit of it just as she had some telepathy. Her own theory of how she burn those images at a cellular level did not conflict with that idea. Even so, that way she was pushed was strange, somewhat unusual to when she had felt a telekinetic push from someone else. She felt it more as if someone really pushed her with her hands back... as if there was someone else there...

 Matilda looked around, almost by instinct. She did not really expect to see anyone else standing there in the shadows, and in fact, he did not see it... although, that corner furthest from her, the one that remained totally dark since the lights of Cole and Cody's cell phones did not touch it, for a few moments her mind made her feel that the cold emanating from that corner was much more intense than the rest. Was anyone there staring at them without being able to see him... or her? Her intuition seemed not to be decided yet between says yes or no.

 "I'll try to stop her," Cody murmured, stepping forward, ready to materialize whatever might help them calm her down, sleep her, or whatever was necessary.

 "Don't!" Matilda yelled loudly, turning to them. "If you attack her, you will only disturb her more. You two stay behind, don't intervene."

 Cody hesitated; the situation seemed too volatile to leave her alone, and Cole felt the same. However, in the end, the professor backed away, giving Matilda her space. She took a deep breath through her nose, not caring about the smell around her, and exhaled through her mouth. She let go of her hand, leaving her free even if it continued to bleed a little. She raised her hands to the front in a calm position, and stepped forward, dragging her feet through the water.

 "Samara, listen to me carefully. Listen to me very well, only to me," she began to say in a low, rather calm voice considering the scenario. The girl on the stretcher turned to see her, fearful. "Trust me, little one. I can help you calm this down, and I won't leave or let you hurt someone. I swear to you for my life. Do you believe in me, Samara? Will you allow me to help you?"

 The girl remained silent, staring at her with notorious doubt in her gaze. Without needing to be able to read her mind, Matilda knew that she was discussing herself internally about what to answer. In the end, she nodded repeatedly, and with that, Matilda dared to get closer.

 "Listen to me very carefully," she whispered, "listen only to me..."

****

 "Close your eyes," Eleven said cautiously. "Close them and breathe... just breathe."

 Matilda looked at her in tears, totally confused. She closed her eyes as she asked, although they seemed to resist that change. The kid had already tried that: close her eyes, breathe, calm down, but nothing worked. Even so, somehow that woman encouraged her to try again.

 "Breath slowly," Eleven continued, "inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Don't think about anything, just breathe."

 She obeyed. With her eyes closed, she inhaled slowly through her little nose and then exhaled through her mouth. She repeated the same thing about five times.

 "Good, you are doing it very well, Matilda. Now, I've heard you have a great imagination, and I need you to put it to work right now. You've seen your kitchen stove, right?" Matilda did not quite understand the question but nodded without opening her eyes. "Surely, you see it every day, more than once. You know its color, its shape... I want you to visualize it in your mind, as clear and detailed as you can. Imagine it right in front of you. Don't stop breathing right as you are doing it right now."

 That word didn't make much progress in reducing her confusion, but she also fulfilled that request, in the way she could best. In her head, she was in a completely black space everywhere, above and below it. But despite all that darkness, she could clearly see the stove before her, just like her kitchen. Some years ago, her mother had changed the old white stove of a rather old-fashioned model, for a more modern bright chrome.

 "Can you see it, Matilda?" She heard Eleven whisper, ringing in her head with a distant echo. "One of the burners is on."

 Upon hearing that, Matilda turned her eyes directly to the left front burner. And indeed, it was on... rather than on. The blue flame rose strongly like a large thicket. It was bright, incandescent, and somehow seductive.

 "I see it..." Matilda whispered doubtfully.

 "How is this flame? Describe it to me..."

****

 "It is with full strength..." Samara whispered between small sobs, her eyes closed. "The flame is too intense, it is very hot!"

 "Don't be afraid, Samara," Matilda whispered softly, standing on the side of the bed, a meter away from her. "It won't hurt you. That flame serves you, not you to it. You can control it at any time you want, remember? You decide if it turns on or off: the handles are right in front of the stove. You see them?"

 Within the mental image of Samara, she managed to divert her gaze from the beautiful and incandescent blue flame to the handles located on the front panel of the stove. Only one of them was open.

 "Yes... I see them..."

 "You can turn them whenever you want," Matilda said firmly. "Right now, I want you to extend your hand slowly towards the open handle, very carefully."

 Samara stepped forward and shyly raised her hand to the handle. Then she took another step, and one more; each one had even less security than the previous one.

 "Come closer and touch the knob with your fingers."

 "It's too hot..." Samara exclaimed, scared, and she really felt it. She could feel the overwhelming heat of that flame, hitting her directly in the face.

 "It doesn't matter; that heat can't hurt you. Take the knob."

 Samara continued advancing step by step, resisting the uncomfortable burning sensation, until she placed her fingers on that knob, which she felt quite real against her yolks.

 "You have it?"

 "Yes, I have it…"

 "Good, you are doing it very well, Samara. Now…"

****

 "Turn it slowly to close it," Eleven instructed then, "very slowly."

 Matilda began to turn the knob back to its original position, in the direction that would place it vertically, with the end with the red mark facing up. But in fact, it was slow, very slow.

 "Have your gaze fixed on the flame," Eleven continued, "watch how it slowly goes down as you turn it. You see it?"

 "Yes! I can see it!" The girl exclaimed enthusiastically. In fact, that intense and unreal flame began to gradually become smaller, and the heat was still calming down.

 "Don't rush it. Keep turning it... step by step... the flame is reduced and reduced. Everything calms down, the heat is disappearing…" Everything Eleven described happened in her mind with total clarity. "And then... the flame goes out."

 Matilda turned the handle completely, returning to the same position as all the others. For a moment, the huge flame was reduced to only small blue flashes, which eventually died out disappearing completely.

 Matilda's eyes widened just then, only to see how the few things that were still floating, fell to the ground; some delicately, others somewhat more cumbersome. She looked around incredulously. Everything had calmed down. Nothing floated, nothing trembled. Everything was silent and in perfect peace.

 The girl began to cry in those moments, unable to tell if they were tears of anguish, confusion, or perhaps of happiness and relief.

 "Oh, my lovely..." she heard her mother exclaim loudly, and in a blink, Miss Honey hurried toward her. She crouched beside and hugged her. Matilda hugged her back, squeezing her tight as if she feared she would leave somehow. Jennifer ran her comforting hand through her hair and back, giving her several kisses on the little head. "Everything is fine, everything is fine."

 Jennifer looked up at Eleven, who was already standing and was watching them from a safe distance. Miss Honey's eyes were also about to shed tears, but she did know for sure the feeling that accompanied them.

 "Thank you, thank you," Jennifer exclaimed, barely able to speak with all the emotions that stuck in her throat. Eleven just smiled at her, satisfied with the scene before her.

****

 Years later, when Samara also opened her eyes again in that horrible room, the result would be the same. All the heavy and overwhelming feeling that enveloped and yelled loudly at them to leave immediately, dissipated. The floor felt fixed again, and even some of the hall lights, and the room's own light, came on.

 "I do it... I do it ..." Samara sobbed between surprised and relieved.

 "You did it. Of course, you did it," Matilda said proudly. She went immediately to the stretcher. There was no longer any kind of attack, and she was also surprised to feel that the water that rose through her feet was now only a large puddle so she could move better. The brunette quickly untied the straps that imprisoned the girl, first her feet, and finally her wrists. As soon as she was free, Samara sat down and surrounded Matilda with her arms tightly by mere reflex, and began to cry heartily against her chest.

 "I didn't want to do it... I didn't want to do it..." she repeated several times between his cries.

 "I know, I know," Matilda whispered slowly, hugging her more gently and running her good hand through her long hair. "Take it easy, I'm here. Everything will be fine."

 While Matilda comforted the girl, from the door, Cole watched astonished all that had happened. The brunette had maintained her composure in an almost military way. She seemed to know precisely get that girl to listen to her. Both things could only be the result of the experience she carried with her. Watch her doing what she did, immediately remind Eleven, from the day he met her, the way she spoke to him, and the feeling that had caused. It was like going back to that moment, and that created a strange but not unpleasant stomach sensation. Now he could understand a little why among all the stories the people from the Foundation said about her, there were two or three who referred to Matilda as "Eleven's favorite." He thought it was just the usual jealousy of being okay with Mama Bear. But now, he could see that it wasn't exactly that, and it wasn't about particular favoritism. Instead, that words referred to the spirit they both projected, even that inherent aggressiveness involved in kindness and sweetness. Both were quite similar.

 “Try to be careful with Matilda. You've never met anyone like her before.” Eleven had told him at the end of that call they had a couple of weeks ago. Well, he wasn't quite sure about it.

 Cody could also have been fascinated by what Matilda had just achieved before his eyes. Still, the truth is that his mind was more concentrated, and worried, for something else. He looked around with some fear. The girl's powers had gone out truly; he had no doubt about it. However, the appearance of that room and the hallway remained the same: rust, moisture, everything was still there. He touched a wall with his fingers just to make sure; it felt rough, just as its appearance indicated. From his experience with such skills, he learned that touch, or any other sense, was not a guarantee of the truth. All of them could be deceived, just like the view itself. But that same experience allowed him to conclude with almost complete certainty that all that was not an illusion; all of that was absolutely real. And what confused him the most, what he felt most did not fit, was the water on his feet, which was still there.

 His mind was beginning to take several turns in it, and every second somewhat tangible anxiety was born in his chest, no longer created directly by that girl in those moments... but for what it could be.

 "I always managed to avoid her and not see her," the three heard Samara murmuring against Matilda's chest, still not calming down a bit. "But this time, I couldn't."

 Matilda failed to understand those words.

 "What do you mean, Samara?"

 "I saw the monster," she murmured brokenly. I saw the monster that always appears in my nightmares... I saw it from the front..."

 Again Matilda did not understand, or at least not initially. Immediately, what Samara had said the previous day came to her mind; about something she wanted to talk to her about.

 "It's about my nightmares, the ones I told you about before. There's something about these that I didn't tell you, something that always appears in them.”

 "It was just a dream, darling," Matilda said calmly, still running her fingers through her hair.

 "No, it's real, the monster is real," Samara said almost in a panic. She separated her face from her psychiatrist and turned to see her with wet cheeks. "It's me…" She snapped suddenly, creating a wave of confusion not only in Matilda but also in the other two listeners. "I am the monster... I am the monster..."

 Before Matilda could ask something, Samara stuck her face against her again, still crying though a little more slowly. Without saying anything, the brunette also hugged and comforted her back with her hands. None of the three had enough information at the moment to draw a conclusion about what those words meant. Even so, the anxiety that Cody was beginning to feel was suddenly increased.

END OF CHAPTER 21

[somethingvaguetodo]

Signals Crossed Pt. 2

A lot of people asked for a Part 2 of this, so here you go!

Adrien sat in his trailer, wringing his hands together and unable to focus. Marinette was due to arrive at the photo shoot any minute, and he still didn’t know what he was going to do when he saw her. He had never been more thankful that it was summer and he was off from school, otherwise he did not think he would have lasted these few days seeing Marinette in class and not saying anything.

But now that the moment was upon him, he had no idea how to proceed.

Plagg seemed to think that it would be best to just come out with it, and tell Marinette the truth, but Adrien wanted Marinette to figure it out for herself. His half formed plan was to let her see the Chat Noir in him and come to the conclusion on her own, but he still wasn’t sure how to do that without cluing the rest of the crew in as well.

Before he had a chance to think about it any more, Nathalie knocked at his door.

“Adrien,” she called, “Your guest is here, and Vincent is ready for you.”

Silently thanking whichever deity that was listening that he wouldn’t have to be alone in his trailer with Marinette, Adrien took one last look in the mirror. Even though it was a warm and sunny summer day, they were shooting fall clothes, and he was wearing earth tones - brown trousers and a tan shirt, with a hickory colored trench coat over it. Already sweating from anxiety and the heat, Adrien stepped out of his trailer.

Today, they were set up in a small park alongside the Canal Saint-Martin, a quiet area in the 10ième. The small crew was milling about; Vincent was playing around with his camera, assistants setting up the lighting, and Marinette hovered uncertainly at the outskirts. She was looking distractingly pretty in a royal blue jumpsuit and a wide brimmed white sunhat with a blue ribbon. Even before discovering that Marinette was actually Ladybug and the love of his life, he found her distractingly pretty. Adrien waved to her, and she waved back, a light blush dusting her cheeks. Adrien felt his heartbeat speed up, but it helped him feel in control. Taking a deep breath as he walked toward her, he reminded himself of his goal. Just be calm, act natural, and show her that you are Chat Noir.

“Hey Marinette,” he said, coming to stop right in front of her. This close, he could see her whole face under the hat, the light dusting of freckles across her nose, her bright blue eyes. How he never realized she was Ladybug was incredible.

Marinette smiled shyly. “Hey Adrien! Thanks for inviting me!”

“Of course...” he trailed off as she reached forward and touched his jacket, right above his heart. Adrien was pleasantly surprised with her directness.

“Is this suede?”

Adrien took a second before responding, disappointed that they were talking about his clothes. “Ultrasuede, actually. Père thinks it’s making a comeback.”

Marinette’s eyes were intensely focused on his coat. She pinched the collar between two fingers and felt the fabric. When she took a step toward him to closely inspect the stitching, Adrien stopped breathing.

But somehow, Marinette did not seem to be as affected by their proximity as he was. “Wow, I didn’t think ultrasuede could drape like this…” she muttered, flipping his coat open to feel the inside and completely oblivious to the way that Adrien’s brain seemed to have short circuited. “What material is the lining?”

“Adrien!” Vincent called before Adrien could answer her question. Marinette jumped as if burned, dropping his coat and taking a giant step away from him. A bright red blush bloomed across her cheeks, and Adrien was glad to see that he still had some effect on her. She pulled down the brim of her hat as if trying to hide underneath it.

Adrien cleared his throat. “I better go model.”

Marinette giggled. “That’s what they pay you for.”

Adrien nodded rapidly, trying to figure out what to say. Finding out that Marinette is Ladybug had clearly crippled his ability to interact with her. “Why don’t you go over to Nathalie? She can find you a place to sit while I…” He struck a playful pose, trying to remind himself that he was supposed to be embodying Chat Noir. Marinette giggled again.

He watched her walk away, mentally shaking himself to get back in a professional mindset. Vincent called out to him again.

Adrien went through the motions of modeling, changing his pose when Vincent requested it, his smile easy as he watched Marinette. She watched him for a while, the blush still on her face, but quickly became distracted by talking to Emmanuelle, his stylist, and Claude, his dresser.

When Vincent stopped to check the shots, Emmanuelle waved him over.

“Your friend had an interesting idea,” she began, but Marinette cut her off.

“It’s missing something,” she said, practically bubbling out of her seat. “I would say it needs a pop of color, like a burgundy or even a forest green, but then I was thinking you need a pattern.” She jumped up. “Can I see what else is in your trailer?”

Barely waiting for his confirmation, Marinette grabbed his hand and pulled him toward his trailer, leaving Adrien to wonder if she had somehow figured him out and was just trying to drive him crazy. He stood by the door as Marinette rushed to the rack of clothes inside, rifling through the items on their hangers.

“No… that won’t work… maybe if I had my sewing machine…” Marinette muttered to herself, dismissing every item. Adrien watched her, so enthralled with the fact that she looked like Ladybug trying to work out the use of a Lucky Charm that he almost forgot he was supposed to be acting differently around her.

She held up an olive green shirt as he walked closer. “Hmmm… this doesn’t really match your skin tone,” she commented.

“I’ve heard I pull off black pretty well,” he said, an admittedly paltry clue. Marinette didn’t even look at him.

“Black would throw off the earth tones.”

Adrien sighed, almost defeated.

“See…” she pulled a black vest out of the rack and held it up to him. Suddenly, she gasped. “Wait, Adrien, that’s perfect!” She yanked the vest off of the hanger and turned it inside out. The lining was a leopard print: tans and oranges and browns and blacks.

“A cat print?” Adrien asked, smirking as he shrugged off his jacket and took the vest from Marinette. “It’s almost like Chat Noir! Get it, because it’s black on one side and cat on the other?”

Marinette hummed, but didn’t show any sign that the comment meant more to her. “Leave it open?” she asked, pulling at the two halves. “Or close it? Because the buttons are now on the inside.”

Adrien was starting to get a little upset. He clearly didn’t stand a chance next to the allure of fashion.

“I can button it,” he assured her, but she was already reaching for it herself. Her fingers were quick and nimble, but it was tricky to close from the inside out. Adrien felt his heart rate pick up again. Her knuckles brushed against his stomach as she coaxed the buttons into their holes, and he shivered, unable to stop himself. Despite all of his fantasies of turning into a suave superhero to gain her attention, Adrien knew that most of the time, Chat Noir was a wreck around Ladybug. Why should this have turned out any differently?

Marinette finished the last button and smoothed the fabric down, both hands running down his abdomen.

“How does that feel?”

“It’s purr-fect,” he said, a last ditch effort to hold on to his plan to reveal himself to her.

Marinette looked up at him, her eyes wide. She seemed to finally stop and think about what he was saying, curiously bright in her gaze. Adrien weighed his options, trying to decide what to do next, and trying to talk himself out of just leaning down and kissing her.

The door burst open behind him, and they sprang apart.

“Let me see what you’ve done,” Emmanuelle said, totally oblivious to what she just interrupted. “Vincent wants to finish this outfit and move on.” Marinette squeaked, clearly embarrassed, and pushed past Emmanuelle in her haste to leave the trailer. Emmanuelle looked at Adrien, confused.

Adrien sighed, completely defeated.

By the time the photo shoot ended and Adrien bid Marinette goodbye, he was more than a little upset. The drive home was silent, and even Nathalie could tell that he was not in the mood to hear about his schedule for the next day.

Adrien rushed into the house, ignoring the fact that his dinner was probably ready for him in the dining room, went immediately to his room. He slammed his bedroom door behind him, paying no mind to how annoyed his father would be for his actions. Despite his best attempts all day at showing his Chat side, far more than he ever dared to as Adrien before, Marinette didn’t seem to notice at all. In fact, she was far more preoccupied with everything fashion and technical about the photo shoot that she didn’t even seem to notice him at times.

“I don’t understand, Plagg,” Adrien whined, throwing himself down onto his bed, his face landing in his pillow. “What should I have done?”

Plagg landed on the pillow beside him. “Maybe you should have just told her.”

“Told her!” Adrien shot up, his torso twisting uncomfortably until he was in a sitting position. “I can’t just tell her my identity! That’s the one thing that she has been so adamant about all along.”

Plagg made a remarkably skeptical expression for a being without an eyebrow he could raise. “But it was her fault for revealing her identity. She should have been more careful with the messages if she didn’t want you to know who she is.”

Adrien thought about it, having to acknowledge that Plagg was right. Ladybug really couldn’t fault him if he revealed his identity, because she did it first. Actually, she really couldn’t fault him if he revealed his identity in the exact same way.

“I think I have an idea,” he said, grinning. “Plagg, claws out!”

Before Plagg had a chance to respond, Adrien’s transformation washed over him, and Chat Noir vaulted out of his window. He traversed the rooftops quickly, coming to a halt on the roof of his school building. It gave him a perfect view of Marinette’s parent’s bakery, and their adjoining house. The round window on the top floor was brightly lit, indicating that Marinette was inside. Chat pulled out his baton.

From: 0000M0000D0000 To: Marinette Dupain-Cheng Hey Marinette! I’m so glad that you were able to come to my shoot today! I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun doing a work thing :) Hopefully you can join me again sometime, or we can do something else?? I love having the time to hang out with you outside of school xx Adrien

Chat reread the message twice, making sure there were no spelling errors. He made sure there weren’t too many exclamation marks that would make him seem strange or overenthusiastic. He considered adding a kissing emoji at the end, but left the two x’s.

He crossed his fingers on his left hand, hit send, and put his baton away. Chat settled comfortably onto the roof, closed his eyes, and decided to try those deep breathing exercises that Ladybug was so fond of.

Chat was sure that even without his enhanced hearing, he would have detected the high-pitched scream that emanated from Marinette’s room two minutes later.

[stormquill]

Misconduct, Ch. 11 [Soldier 76/Reader]

You have an extremely inappropriate crush on your commanding officer. Maybe if you work hard enough, you’ll stop having feelings.

[ AO3 Link ]

Author's Notes: Collaboration with @antiloquist. Follow the blog @ http://miss-conduct.tumblr.com/

Chapter Notes: look man it's been a solid year and a half i don't really have anything to say for myself lmao

The dead of night gave you plenty of cover as you kept perched atop your roof, overlooking the harbour.

Several days of recon had pointed to the indication that Amélie would be prepped for transport tonight, smuggled aboard one of the many ships bound for the Atlantic the following morning. However, some last-minute digging had uncovered Amélie herself—safe and sound in suspended animation—hidden away in a repair dock on the opposite side of the harbour.

You and 76 had the upper hand for three simple reasons: first, you were aware of the trap waiting for you at the harbour; second, you knew the real location of your target; and third, they weren’t expecting your Commander to be approaching the situation with backup.

76 was advancing towards the repair docks at that very moment. All you had to do was sit tight and pay attention to their presence at the harbour, in case there were any additional circumstances you hadn’t accounted for.

Surprisingly, getting out was the easy part.

The dropship was already in-range. Your handheld evacuation devices—the ones you’d developed with Winston to make your technology more portable—would transport its wearers to the main evac apparatus, installed safely on-board. One of the major flaws of the new tech was that, like its outdated, bulkier version, all nodes had to be activated at once, and once they were activated, it took several hours for them to recharge.

There were three devices in total—one with you, two with 76—and as soon as he confirmed that he’d affixed one to Amélie, you would activate the devices and transport all three of you onto the dropship.

Wait for 76’s confirmation. Hit a button.

“Easy,” you reassured yourself.

You were so tired.

Maybe it was a good thing, you thought. The unholy mess of stress and exhaustion numbed your fear and steadied the grasp on your rifle. At the same time, however, it dulled your senses, making you feel unreactive, and slow. As much as you didn’t want to dwell on the idea, you couldn’t wait to be rid of this mission.

You didn’t tell him that, of course.

Your Commander had glanced down at you before you parted ways, the glaring light of his visor back to the familiar cherry red that suited him most. When you held his gaze, a sinking feeling dropped heavy in your gut, with the inescapable anxiety of absolutely everything going wrong. You’d completed enough training and gone on enough missions throughout your lifetime to be able to control these last-minute fears, but within that moment, you couldn’t shake them off as easily as normal.

“Nothing reckless,” was all you said, “we promised.”

He nodded.

You felt stupid for thinking it at a moment like this, but you wanted to nestle against him again until your raging nerves ebbed to a crawl, until his scent was all you needed as reassurance that everything would be alright.

A few moments of awkward silence passed before you realized you were holding your breath.

“Good luck out there,” you settled on.

“You, too.”

And that was the last you saw of him.

Sudden noises drew you from the memory.

A box truck pulled into the streets below, near one of the boats docked along the harbour. Once they killed the engine, four men rushed out of the vehicle and rounded towards the back of it, hoisting the rear door and prepping to transport something out.

“Athena,” you whispered, voice still feeling too loud in the chill of the early morning. “How many heat signatures in the back of the truck?”

“Calculating...” The female tone was cool and even in your ear. “Detecting six additional heat signatures in the back of the vehicle.”

Four in sight, six in hiding.

Hissing urgent commands at one another, the four visible agents worked together to ease a massive crate from the truck onto a large metal dolly.

“And how many signatures that crate?” you asked.

“Zero.”

As expected, you thought. The crate was a decoy. They were expecting 76 to muscle his way in—and maybe, if you weren’t here, that’s exactly what he would’ve done, only to be met with an empty container and an ambush.

...you both should’ve been gone by now.

You touched the communication device clipped to your ear. “Commander, do you read me? Do we have an ETA on evac? Over.”

The silence sent your mind racing.

“Athena, can I get a status report on the Commander?”

“Vital signs: stable. Communications online. Evacuation node two is prepared for activation. Evacuation node three is prepared for activation.”

Then why the hell wasn’t he responding?

The answer was obvious—he must have encountered enemy interference, either en route or at site. However, the agents below were still maneuvering the decoy cargo towards their ship docked at the harbour, meaning neither them nor the ambush in hiding had been notified of the compromise.

That meant you could still buy him time.

“Commander,” you started, “assume contingency 32B. If I do not receive orders within five minutes, we abort without payload. Athena?”

“Understood. Initiating contingency 32B.”

A split-second later, several cracks shattered the air like fireworks, as every hidden camera your Commander had planted in the immediate area self-destructed.

Neighborhood dogs began barking. Windows of nearby apartment complexes lit with newly woken civilians. The agents below surrounded the dolly, drawing their own guns in response.

Amidst the sudden confusion, you balanced your rifle along the edge of the rooftop, charged your shot to maximum power, and fired at the ship—another crash echoed through the harbour as you blew a hole in the ship’s main hull. The damage wasn’t enough to sink it, but it was enough to keep it from disembarking—more importantly, it was enough to get their attention.

The hidden agents were already piling out of the back of the box truck, while those guarding the dolly shouted and pointed towards your rooftop. Though the shot had given away your position, you immediately lined up another, this time aiming for the vehicle’s engine. The explosion tore through the air louder than any disruption that had come before it. You ducked for cover just before automatic fire began spraying in your direction.

The self-destructing cameras had woken up half the neighborhood, so French authorities would be on their way. You made yourself out to be someone making a play for the fake cargo, which would buy 76 a few extra minutes. And you’d crippled the agents’ ground transportation, meaning they couldn’t fall back to your Commander’s current position, even if they were called to retreat.

Rifle slung around your shoulder, you fell back. You could already hear the heavy footfalls of enemy agents scrambling up your fire escape; you headed for the opposite side, instead, using your grappling equipment to hook onto the roof’s edge and scale down the side of the building.

Three agents were standing guard at the bottom of the fire escape.

You hit the ground running.

Enemy fire sent your heart rattling inside your chest like a bell in a cage, but you kept focused. You’d studied the layouts of these alleys a hundred times over, and outmaneuvering the enemy was child’s play—but the knowledge of what was behind every corner did nothing to ease the sound of their bullets ricocheting as they missed, blasting off bits of brick and concrete around you.

Behind this dumpster. Through this door. Right turn. Left turn. Right turn. Right.

You couldn’t let yourself get hurt again. Not after last time.

“Payload secured,” came the voice you were waiting for, like music to your ears. “Requesting evac.”

“Copy.”

And you hit the button.

Teleportation felt like being yanked by a set of wires tied to your ribcage—it always left you feeling disoriented and unsteady on your feet, even as you made solid contact with the floor of the dropship.

The sight of the unconscious woman jarred you to your senses. Though she was unarmed and barely out of stasis, you weren’t about to underestimate the lethality of a known Talon agent held in such high regard.

Falling over yourself with urgency, you rushed over to the side of her unmoving form. You lifted her body, bridal-style, to the small holding chamber in the back of the dropship, and sat her upright.

You sealed the door shut, and stumbled backwards with the shock of what you’d just done.

You did it.

You rescued her.

As your adrenaline-fueled haste died down, the electric excitement vibrating within your chest replaced itself with a cold, harrowing realization—that the dropship was far too quiet, far too empty around you.

You knew what was behind you before you bothered turning around.

A spent evacuation node sat on the floor where your Commander should have been standing.

“Athena,” you near-whispered, voice weak, “status report?”

“Vital signs: unstable. Communications offline. Evacuation node two, offline. Evacuation node three, offline.”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

You knew what you had to do.

-

To say you hadn’t planned for this was a lie.

Of course you’d planned for it—you’d planned every iteration of every possibility of any combination of the three of you becoming compromised. The contingency of this scenario was clear: neither one of you would leave without the other. Surely, he’d know that.

Surely, he knew you were coming.

All three of your evacuation nodes were spent, which meant you would have to get him out the good old-fashioned way. The question gnawing at you remained: what could have happened that necessitated him removing the transportation device from himself? The node was an instant get-out-of-jail-free card, one which hadn’t been damaged or malfunctioning at time of transport, so why would he ever take it off?

You didn’t have much time to wonder.

Athena dropped you off as close as she could to your Commander’s last known coordinates on the dry docks.

If your positions were switched, you had little doubt 76 would’ve come after you, guns blazing, regardless of enemy numbers or positioning, but you couldn’t afford the same bravado. If you were too heavily outnumbered, trying to get him out on your own would be nothing short of suicide. For 76 to have been taken down, you expected to be faced with an army.

But the dry docks were barren when you arrived. Almost serene.

There were no signs of recent activity in the area, let alone of a recent fight. Aside from 76’s signal pinging you from across the docks, Athena confirmed there were no other heat signatures in the immediate area.

Had he been abducted, maybe? Taken to a secondary location without his tech?

You shook your head, doing your best to parse contingency from paranoia. You were approaching the cargo ship where Amélie’s body was being held mere minutes earlier—unfamiliar enemy territory—and you needed to pay attention.

Readying your weapon, you ascended the set of metal stairs along the side of the ship; already, your footsteps sounded far too loud.

The large, open deck of the cargo vessel was crowded with storage units—massive, rectangular metal boxes of identical shapes and sizes stacked on top of each other like multi-coloured building blocks. As you approached 76’s signal, you kept your steps light and your wits about you, checking your corners while keeping your back pressed to solid surfaces. The deck was dark, claustrophobic, terrible grounds for a fight—if it weren’t for Athena’s confirmation there were no other living souls on-board, you wouldn’t have stepped foot in here without backup.

The pinging in your ear grew more rapid as 76’s signal became stronger on your radar.

To your right, an open storage unit containing the now-empty stasis machine, still running, casting an ice-blue light across the deck and illuminating the scene before you.

Several toppled cargo units crowded the area, all of which were heavily damaged with massive dents and bullet holes. The path of destruction led to the rear-most area of the deck.

A splash of blood was illuminated brilliantly against the dark surface of the ship, awash in the stasis machine’s ice-blue glow, as if it were under blacklight. Another spatter, smeared along the side of a storage container. Several drips along the metal flooring, rounding the corner of another open unit nearby...

You checked your corners before checking inside.

Inside the open storage container sat the form of a man in the glow of his own cherry red visor, hunched over with a hand pressed to his thigh, a pool of his own blood seeping beneath him.

“Don’t,” 76 croaked, sounding weaker than you’d ever heard him, “it’s a trap—”

Reflexes kicking in, you raised your weapon and did a swift 180, aim landing on the head of the other man standing behind you.

And you fired.

You thought you missed, at first—your laser burned a hole in the storage unit behind him—but you realized your shot had gone through him, as the man’s entire body morphed into a cloud of black vapour before your charge made contact.

This didn’t make any sense. There wasn’t anyone else alive on this ship.

You’d checked.

“Athena?” you whispered.

“Target possesses no heat signature. Target possesses no pulse.”

The insinuation of her words sent your mind reeling.

You had no contingencies for this.

The swirling cloud solidified into being once more. Hooded and broad-shouldered, the man towered before you, the sharp edges of his bone-white mask glinting in the blue light. His gloved hands—every finger clawed with a sharp silver talon—carried a mammoth pair of black shotguns you could’ve easily mistaken for cinder blocks. He was black leather and red adornments. He was dread and absolute foreboding.

The partner in more ways than one.

The one he cared about finding.

And Gabriel Reyes laughed at you, his voice as ethereal as the rest of him. “You’re late.”

You blurted out the only words that came to mind. “What the fuck?”

“...eloquent.”

As much as you were trembling, you didn’t lower your gun. “You’re here to kill us, then?”

“And if I am?”

“Anything happens to either us, Amélie is dead,” you snapped. Your voice was much steadier than you were. “The dropship is already en route to headquarters—if we don’t both check in within the hour, it’s set to self-destruct.”

“That so?” His claws readjusted their grip on his shotguns. “How were you planning on getting out of here?”

“Dunno.” You swallowed, hard. “Didn’t think that far ahead.”

He made an amused noise, low in his throat. “It’s been a while since you’ve had someone so willing to die for you, Jack.”

...Jack?

Attention faltering, your blood turned to ice beneath your skin. Pieces of the puzzle were jamming themselves into place, violently, all at once, and as the big picture revealed itself to you, you felt more and more like a complete fucking idiot for not having seen it earlier.

As if reading your mind, Gabriel tilted his head to the side.

“Oh my god,” he chuckled, darkly. “You didn’t know.”

You stood there, facing each other—his guns still at his side, yours still pointed at his head. If your Commander was Jack Morrison, that meant the Gabriel Reyes in front of you wasn’t just any Gabriel Reyes—this was the Gabriel Reyes, ex-commander of Blackwatch, public scapegoat for the first fall.

You suddenly found yourself in the company of men who were killed in an explosion nearly a decade ago and you no longer knew what was real.

“Congratulations, Jack,” said Gabriel. “You managed to find the one person on the planet who bought into the world’s worst-kept secret.”

“Leave them out of this,” snarled the voice behind you. “Your fight is with me.”

“Oh, but this is so much bigger than you and I. Why shouldn’t your new lackey come along for the ride?”

Your desire for an explanation outweighed your caution. “I thought you died, Commander Reyes.”

You could tell the use of his name gave him pause.

“He did,” he replied. “It’s ‘Reaper,’ now. Or did he leave that part out, too?”

Your breath caught in your chest. So not only was Gabriel Reyes still alive, but it was the true identity of the infamous terrorist you’d only ever heard rumours of. The ghost of the battlefield, the shadow of death, the one rumoured to steal the very souls of his victims until their bodies were nothing but dried husks—here he was, standing before you, dismantling your worldview one word at a time.

And yet, you didn’t want him to stop talking.

You lowered your rifle by an inch or two, just enough to better meet his gaze. “What did Commander Morrison do to you?”

He sneered beneath his mask. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.”

Though you continued aiming at him, Reaper still had not yet raised his weapons against you. He seemed to consider you for a moment—your quivering hands, your unblinking gaze, your steadfast positioning in the face of common instinct screaming at you to run. The sounds of your Commander’s laboured breathing seemed to do little to break your resolve.

Were you really so curious?

Reaper took a few steps forward, his footfalls heavy against the ship deck.

“War is a game,” he said. “A game you can’t win if you’re the only side playing by the rules. But Jack was never one to get his hands dirty. That’s where I came in.”

He continued his approach. The closer he came, the less you could move.

“You’ll do what they ask. You’ll do what is needed. Then they’ll orchestrate your downfall, and deny they had anything to do with you.”

He was inches away from you, now.

He smelled like a battlefield—like death and decay, like earth and gunfire.

“There will always be war,” he continued, “and there will always be people they need to do their dirty work. People just like you.”

“I haven’t—”

“You’ve taken Lacroix. You already are.”

Though you managed to keep your rifle raised, your subconscious had already surrendered, knowing full well you posed no semblance of a threat to this anomaly of an undead man who could dissipate at will.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed the aim of your rifle off to the side, as if he were drawing a curtain in his way.

He closed the distance between you by pressing the tip of his shotgun beneath your chin, tilting your head up until you were gazing into the black sockets of his mask.

You hear your Commander’s voice call out one of your names. You can’t tell which one.

“Remember, when you leave this place.” His gravelled voice was low and deliberate. “Every breath you take is air I’ve let you swallow. Your every heartbeat is a gift from me. From this moment on, you are living on time I’ve allowed you to borrow. And I will be back to collect my dues.”

You barely registered the next words that left you. “I’ll be waiting.”

To your surprise, Reaper laughed. “You don’t deserve them, Jack.”

To your surprise, 76 responded. “I know.”

And Reaper was gone, dark plumes of smoke vanishing into thin air.

Once again, you didn’t have time to wonder.

You immediately unslung your rifle and yanked your jacket off, rushing to 76’s side, the floor of the storage unit scraping hard against your knees.

“...Reader.”

You reached for the side of his belt and pulled out the Biotic Field canister yourself, slamming it onto the ground and activating it. Reaper had prevented him from using it, you figured, in order to have 76’s unstable vital readings lure you here faster.

“Reader.”

You bundled your jacket and helped him apply more pressure to his thigh to stop the shotgun wound’s bleeding. The blood loss had made him several shades too pale, you noticed, but the flow already seemed to be easing as the biotic yellow glow knit his insides back together. It wasn’t going to be a complete recovery, but it would be enough to keep him stable until you reached headquarters.

A gloved hand brushed your bangs out of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear.

You looked up to meet the light of his visor.

“Hey,” he offered, sounding almost playful.

“Hi,” you said back, still feeling numb.

“I know asking if you’re okay is a stupid question, but I’m asking it anyway.”

“I’m...compartmentalizing.” You took a sharp breath. “We’re not safe, yet. We need to get out of here.”

“Mm. How are we getting out of here?”

“Dropship’s on standby. Should be here in a few minutes.”

“I thought you said the dropship left.”

“I lied.”

With your jacket soaked through with blood, the fabric as a whole became easier to twist around; you wrapped the wet jacket firmly around his thigh, tying the sleeves into a tight knot to keep the makeshift tourniquet in place. He reacted little to the pain—he must have been exhausted.

“You took off the evac node,” you said, dully. “You took off the evac node to go after Reaper.”

You didn’t need to see the look on his face when his silence already spoke volumes.

“We promised.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Nothing reckless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You promised.”

“I know.”

As hard as you willed against it, tears stung the corners of your eyes as you tried to look down to hide them, down at the rapidly blurring vision of your hands covered in his blood. The memory of you turning the corner and finding him sitting here, bleeding to death, rewound and replayed in your mind’s eye. What if he was hurt just a little worse?

What if you got here just a little too late?

“You promised.” Your cracking voice gave your tears away. “But you don’t give a shit about dying, do you?”

“Not until I met you.”

“Don’t give me that.” Your chest felt tight. “Not after what you just pulled. We could’ve gotten killed—Commander, I almost lost you—”

His hands reached for you, moving up to hold the sides of your face, and your words died in your throat. You could feel the blood in his gloves pressing against your cheeks—everything around you smelled like it now, smelled like him now, like regen and blood and leather—but he leaned his forehead to yours, and the warmth of his skin steadied you.

You’d never felt him tremble, before.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he breathed, and the way his voice broke on the words shook you to your core. “I’m sorry.”

The sound of his faltering only made you break worse. Your shoulders shaking, tears still streaming down your face, you held your hands against his, keeping them pressed against you—he was holding onto you as if he needed you to anchor him in place, as if you were the only thing on this earth keeping him tethered to it.

For the briefest of moments, he touches your lips to where his would be.

He passes out against your shoulder before you can register what happened.

And your dropship arrives.

[thedistantstorm]

A Shipwright Worth Her Salt Chapter 10

One step forward, two steps back.

Or: The one where everyone has words and our precious baby can’t handle it and the author cannot stay away from the angst for very long.

“Alright kiddo, get dressed. We've got places to go, and things to do.” Cayde calls from the doorway as he barges into what has become Amanda's unofficial room instead of med-bay alpha.  

Owlish eyes blink back at him, peering up over a tablet. “Hello to you, too,” She calls to him. “I'm already dressed,” She gestures to the flannel and utility pants she's wearing, the right leg pinned and rolled to not flop around her thigh where her leg ended. Clothes Cayde had procured from her previous place of living on her behalf. The rest of it, she'd deal with later.

Andal sidles in behind him. “Hungry? We're springing you out of here.”

She looks mildly bewildered. “Springing me out?”

Cayde laughs. “Yup! The Commander is on Strike Duty and we're not. So we were thinking of taking you for Spicy Ramen - we know a place - and then maybe down to the racetrack?”

She throws her tablet to the side. “Absolutely. Hand me them crutches and let's get outta here. Marcus is racing tonight and I can probably get a good look at his sparrow beforehand… if that's alright with yous.” She shrugs at her rambling in an endearing way, the freckles on her nose scrunching up in the motion.

Andal hands her the crutches and she props them under each armpit. They're not comfortable - she had them bring her armor components to rig them to be tolerable, but they do. They make it into the hallway before one of the more familiar nurses sees them.

“Where do you three think you're going?”

Cayde and Andal pause, but Amanda smiles sweetly. “I'm supposed to go for lots of walks,” She says. “These guys are going to walk me to some stall in the Bazaar for dinner. Is that okay?”

The nurse looks skeptical, especially with both Hunters looking so angelic behind her.

“Just dinner, huh?”

They nod. Definitely no off the books sparrow racing, or taking the Commander's charge down to the City without telling him.

“Well, alright. Not like you're a prisoner. Just be careful.” She looks to the two men. “If she feels tired, make sure you come right back. She's still not 100%, no matter what she says.”

The Hunters both mock salute, and, realizing the other has as well, erupt into laughter. Amanda shakes her head. “I think I'm babysittin’ you two instead of the other way around. Let's move, boys.”

She's been up to the main drag of the Tower in the last few days, mostly with Zavala, who makes a point to walk with her in the evenings if he has a shift during the day, or in the mornings if he works overnight. He keeps to low traffic times of day, and will not entertain business when she's around, unless it's a critical situation. Only once has he had to send her back to her room with someone else - and that person - a lanky female Titan with battered armor - was instructed to walk her to Sloane so the Deputy Commander could take her the rest of the way.

When the fresh air hits her face, she sighs happily. It's cooler today. She liked it better when it wasn't so warm out, even if she got colder quickly. Now, with the added effort it takes to walk, she can tolerate it even better. Cayde flanks her on the left and Andal takes her right as they traverse a considerably busy part of the Tower's marketplace. The Guardians look at her kind of funny, but no one comments. She assumes plenty of people have seen her by now or maybe they just don't care.

The Hunter duo acts like her personal entourage and helps clear a path for her if someone stops walking or gets too close while she's trying to gimp around them. By the time they make it to the Ramen shop, she's gone from ‘I could eat’ to 'one spicy ramen with extra noodles and pork gyoza please.’

A plethora of Hunters approach the three of them and it turns into a story-telling contest. Of course, Cayde and Andal are the masters of their craft, and as a result of the inevitable betting, their meals are free. The shop owner sneaks her a refill on her drink, bobbing around several cackling Guardians, with a wink and a smile. She's content to sit back and let things happen. Most of the Hunters are good about personal space. She's still a little touchy, but Cayde reads her easily enough, putting a hand over hers on her good leg when she starts tapping it anxiously.

“Ready to go to the track, fighter pilot?”

She nods to Cayde. Too many people are starting to crowd around them - it's just the dinner rush, but it's loud and makes her head buzz a little.

She looks down at her tablet, checking a new message. She chirps, “Marcus said I could take his Sparrow for a spi-” She pauses, and the rest of the world seems to fade out. She can't actually take it anywhere. She doesn't have a foot to shift with. She tucks her hands in her lap and looks down. She'd felt so normal, she'd forgot. Idiot, she rebukes herself, while somewhere else inside her she thinks invalid, cripple.

“You know,” Andal says, eyes shimmering with concern amid the usual mischief, “We could do the other thing…” He waggles his eyebrows, and Cayde chuckles. He's obviously noticed her mood change, too.

“Andal, I don't think Zavala will take it well if we go off planet.” Not that he'd appreciate them taking her to a seedy part of the last safe City to see a(n illegal) race, either.

Amanda nods, still looking down. “Probably not.”

Andal slings his arm around Amanda and grips Cayde's shoulder, pulling them in. He whispers, “What if we don't go off planet?”

Amanda's smile brightens immensely, and Cayde knew there was no way they'd be able to tell her no. He also knew there was a pretty decent chance Zavala would absolutely murder them for this later, but that was status quo.

“We can't be gone long,” Cayde says back, looking down at the girl between them, “But we can probably do some 'aerial surveillance’ of Trostland, if you know what I mean.”

-/

When they return to the last hangar docking bay on the far side of the Tower, there are two figures waiting for them. One looks generally exasperated, reclining in a rolling chair that obviously belonged to a service technician in a manner belonging to a queen regent.

The two Hunters are whooping, laughing, praising the blonde girl who who brought down the nondescript ship as natural as breathing while they descend from the cockpit to the concrete.

Their laughter cuts short as the slightest clunks of armor tip them off to the fact that they have company. Both fall silent and look back to the ship with a bit of a wince when an unruly mop of blonde lowers herself back in.

“Someone might want to start talking,” Ikora Rey calls, her ghost illuminating the area around her. She becomes visible, examining a beautiful dagger that's normally concealed in her boot. “He's been pacing for about an hour now.”

Andal sighs. “And why, pray tell, are you here, Ikora?”

“I,” She emphasizes, “Am the one who prevented him from-”

Zavala growls. “Ikora.”

She scoffs, scandalized. “What? I'm on your side.” She crosses her arms.

Cayde strolls leisurely into the fray. “Give me a break. We were totally safe. Told them we were going and everything.”

“To dinner,” Zavala says angrily. “Not off the damn planet for some joyride!” In the cockpit, Amanda curls up in the seat. She isn't a fan of his angry voice, or the little tremors it incites in her hands. “You know better!”

“Calm down, we didn’t even go to orbit. Just flew around the EDZ.” Cayde’s hands are up in a surrendering position, but the tone of his voice is lax. He doesn’t want to make a big deal of this. “Can we talk about this? Maybe, I dunno, without yelling?”

“This,” The Titan says, voice raised, “Is not even CLOSE to yelling.”

Andal steps between the two before it does actually come to yelling. “Let it go, both of you. There were… reasons why we didn’t stay in the City.”

“And those were?”

“We couldn’t go to the racetrack,” Cayde says. Andal hisses his hame.

From the other side of them, Ikora supplies, “That… doesn’t sound like any better of an idea.”

Amanda bites her lip squeezes her arms around her good leg and ignores the bad feeling starting in her leg. The pain helps her focus a little better on something besides the obvious cues to a panic attack that could not have worse timing while they fight over her actions below. She closes her eyes and hopes they stop soon so she can just go back to her room. She never should have gone out with them. And she can’t get out of the ship on her own, because she can’t walk, and she’ll absolutely fall if she tries to use the crutches to get out of the ship herself. It makes her burn with shame and her stomach churn. She’s so freaking useless. She shouldn’t even be here.

They continue their ‘debate’ below, on the concrete floor. “So, instead of going down to a shady racetrack to place bets, you decided on a continental exploration.” Zavala’s tone is still highly irritated, but not yelling. It’s the quieter angry. The more potentially explosive one. “She almost died, or did you two forget that part? Were you going to let her get on one of them with one leg, too?”

There’s a sigh. “Zavala,” Andal says quietly. “That’s enough.” Hotheadedness is only going to hurt this situation.

“It’s not. You two imbeciles are-”

Andal nudges Cayde. “Sorry,” The human says for them both, with a sharp look at the Exo. “We’re sorry.”

“You’re absolutely just saying that,” Ikora grouses, half mediator, half instigating. She’s literally datamining the conversation. “Why?”

Cayde rolls his optics in a rather deadpan fashion. “Because this is fucking stupid. She was able to do whatever she wanted before this.”

“And look where it got her.” The Warlock’s eyes are calculating, focused on the Exo as she speaks. “Not exactly a place someone wants to be.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Cayde fires back immediately and immediately winces as he looks at the Commander’s darkening expression. It’s like someone has doused cold water on him. Any trace of previous malice is erased. “I - shit. I didn’t mean that,” He immediately says.

The Awoken man’s skin pulses in his frustration with white-blue aural patterns that shift. “I have admitted my part in all this. You two are not helping, considering how many jobs you’ve done with her - a child, at that.” He’s practically spitting as finishes speaking. “How good that must have been for her, all things considering, and the things that you know-”

“Watch it.” Cayde pushes back Andal and steps into Zavala’s face. “You want to talk about that, you don’t do it here. Amanda-”

“Ah yes,” Ikora interrupts helpfully, still reclining on the chair she’s been on. “Where is she, by the way?”

The three men look at each other, immediately guilt-stricken.

“Amanda?” Andal calls, tentatively.

Silence.

Cayde sighs and hops up onto the wing of the ship, peering down into the open cabin. “Fuck. Kid, we’re just blowing off steam. Didn’t mean to forget about you up here.”

“Get me out of this ship,” She says, quietly. Too quietly for the rest of them to hear her.

“We’re not mad at you,” He replies as he complies with her request, easily lifting her with one arm and grabbing her crutches with the other from behind the seats. “It’s been a stressful time.”

“Yeah,” She agrees, and keeps her fists clenched to prevent them from seeing them shake. “I get it.” Her tone is flat. When he sets her on the ground and hands them to her, she wastes no time in heading back in the direction from which they’d come to get to the hangar. Immediately all three men jump to follow her.

Ikora shakes her head, mumbling something about men as fools as Amanda ignores all three of their attempts to tell her that they’re sorry, instead telling all of them to leave her alone. “I will walk her back,” The mocha-skinned Warlock volunteers as the three are all telling Amanda that she can’t go back alone, the only thing they all clearly agree on. “It’s clear you three have some things to work out amongst yourselves.”

The second the two females are alone in the elevator, Ikora sneaks a glance at the girl. She’s very clearly trying to keep herself together. It’s a brave face. She sighs. Children are absolutely not her strong point, almost-mostly adult children or otherwise.

“They mean well,” She finally says. “They care very much for you.”

She nods, but doesn’t reply.

“Men, unfortunately, do not always understand the subtleties of sensitive situations. Cayde and Andal probably shouldn’t have taken you out so soon,” She concedes. “However, if you had seen Zavala when he came into the briefing room after discovering that you were gone, you’d have thought we were at war. He was terrified. Not as terrified as he was that first night - the night they brought you in, my Hidden tell me. I’ve never seen the Commander cry. Don’t think I’d like to,” She admits. “They said he bawled like a baby when the doctors told him they weren’t sure you could be saved. I’m surprised he even lets you out of his sight, if that’s the case.”

Her hands tremble, the grip on her crutches tightening despite their shaking. “I didn’t mean to make him worry.” Whether she’s apologizing for her first bit of time spent at the Tower or the day’s actions, she isn’t specific. “Jus’ want ta feel normal,” She admits.

Ikora’s chuckle is warm. “I get the feeling your normal and everyone else’s is a bit different. Even before this.”

“Comin’ from a Guardian,” She says softly, “I feel like that’s a moot point.”

“”Touché.” Ikora looks down at her at the same time she looks up. The Warlock realizes that she’s never actually introduced herself. “You may already know-”

“Ikora Rey,” She says, with a little nod up to the woman. “Heard plenty aboutcha. Good things,” Amanda continues. “And not to play the knife game with you.”

“Cayde?”

She smiles, a tiny quirk of lips. “Andal.” She can’t maintain it long, and resumes her lip-bit expression that’s holding tears at bay.

“Smart man.”

“Sometimes,” She says, forlornly.

Ikora frowns. She really has no idea what else to say.

-/

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” He says to her. “I mean, I know I owe you a favor and all, but are you really sure?”

She clenches her fists. “Yeah. It’s for the best.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. She’s paying him, so he really can’t refuse. “Well, Didi’s transmatted what you had here to my garage, and we’ll pick it up there after we hit your place. You really don’t want to stay? Seems like you got it pretty good here.”

“I,” She takes a deep breath. “I’m only a problem here, the longer I stay.” She says quietly. “I don’t want to cause more trouble.”

She looks away from the looming Traveler out the window, and back at the uneasy Hunter. He’s lingering by the door. “Well, let’s go then. There’s no one nearby, if you’re looking to prevent any goodbyes.” She nods.

She puts the envelope on the nightstand and lets him hold the door for her. Doesn’t look back. She can’t let them stop their lives to take care of her, and she can’t stand them fighting about her. She’s absolutely not worth it. She ain’t worth much these days, really.

Forward momentum. Wherever the Hell it takes her.

[itsjustanothertuesday]

Would You Rather: Bechloe AU

By MightyTacos on AO3 and FF.net

CH1 |  CH2 |  CH3 | CH4

Hey friends! I finally updated my movie crossover script of Would You Rather. I made some changes to the cast, so that each player in the game at the table is from PP1. Chloe and Beca are still the main characters, but the surrounding players had a switch around. I decided to keep the characters in line with each of the Bellas’ personalities, with some minor exceptions. Although it may be obvious that Lily is the main antag because she has some dark interests, it seemed more intriguing to have Stacie as the sadistic yet hot character (which means for whoever has seen the film, this should be fun for later!). 

CH4:

“We have one small matter to clear up before we begin. In the interest of discretion, and eliminating distraction and unfair advantage, we ask that you leave all possessions here during the game... Phones, keys, et cetera." Bevans spoke over the group seated in a side room, panning his eyes across the lot.

“I don't like this.” Fat Amy said in a gruff voice, standing up from her position on a loveseat. “I don't like it.”

“I assure you they will be safe.” Bevans replied, holding out a bowl in front of Fat Amy. “These are the rules.”

Fat Amy glanced down at Chloe before giving a beady-eyed look at the butler. After failing to challenge his gaze, she reached in her pockets and placed her keys and phone into the bellows of the bowl. Bevans waved the bowl around to collect the other contestants’ possessions, who all hesitantly reached forward to place handbags and mobiles into the pile.

“Right. If you're ready, I'll escort you through to the dining room.” Bevans gave a curt nod. “This way.”

The group all followed suit, walking in a slow pace with Aubrey pushing Lily in her wheelchair. Bevans proceeded to slide a frosted glass door to the side, standing by the door as the ten entered the dining room. A delicately designed, wooden table resided in the center of the room and seats were laid around the table with a name designation for each guest.

“Please, take a seat. Place cards have been provided.”

The group walked around the table, searching for their card before pulling out the padded chairs and sitting in front of utensils and a glass of water. Fat Amy immediately went to examine the windows before sitting down, pulling back the gold-colored curtains only to realize that no window nor glass were behind them, only the same ornate wall paper that lined the rest of the dining room.

Chloe examined her name card, looking over the printed letters before placing it to the side.

Shortly thereafter, Lambrick entered the room with Julian quickly following suit. Julian proceeded to sit at one head of the table whilst Lambrick stood at the end of the other.

And... good evening, everyone.” Lambrick announced, resting his hands on the table. I apologize if I've kept anyone waiting. Welcome to the Lambrick house.” He paused, before adding with an odd enthusiasm: “Oh, this is my son, Julian.”

“Hello.” Julian gave behind side smirk as the group all looked down the table to see Lambrick’s son. Beca went so far as to give a small, awkward wave from her seat.

“Now, you've all met our butler, Bevans, and his staff, yes?” Lambrick pointed to the door, where Bevans was planted alongside another, taller butler. “Bevans. Let's start with some wine, shall we?”

“Dinner tonight is seared foie gras and rib eye steak with a red wine reduction, served with asparagus and garlic leek mashed potato. Enjoy.”

Full plates were placed in front of each guest, with some more eager to start than others.

“Haven't had a meal like this in so long.” Beca muttered, cutting through the steak with quick saws of her knife.

“Never had a meal like this, you kidding me?” Aubrey mocked.

Chloe glanced at Aubrey to her right and Beca to her left, noticing the contents of the plates before raising a tender hand halfway into the air.

“Mm, yes?” Lambrick caught the sight whilst gulping down some wine, stopping to grant her the attention.

“I probably should have mentioned this before.” Chloe began, starting to look down at the food. “Um, I'm a vegetarian.”

Julian immediately scoffs at the end of her sentence, moving to reach for his glass.

“Well, this is interesting. We don't have anything else in the kitchen, Iris.” Lambrick answered with folded hands, adding a half smile at the end.

“Okay. I, I don't mean to be a bother.” Chloe stuttered. “Uh, the potatoes are fine. I'll be fine.”

“So, have you always been a vegetarian?” Lily asked meekly from across the table.

“Most of my life, yes. Long time. I just can't imagine eating...”

Lambrick paused his eating to interrupt: “I think... that we have just found our first opportunity to award some money tonight. Iris. I would like for you to eat the steak and the foie gras. I really would.”

“I can't do that.” Chloe responded with finality, shaking her head.

“You can... But you won't. Yet.” Lambrick toyed, pointing his dinner knife at Chloe.

“No, I really, I can't do it. I'm not trying to be rude. I just, I won't do it.” Shephard Lambrick had already been gracious enough to invite her for this dinner opportunity but crossing her own morals for the sake of a shock factor was something she could never do.

“Listen, I, I understand that it's not going to be easy. But I refuse to accept... that you don't have a price. $5,000 to eat the steak and this decadent foie gras.” Lambrick forked himself some of the steak, adding an exaggerated “Mmmm!”

He chuckled a bit to himself, chewing, before upping the ante. “Make it 10,000.”

The other contestants looked at Chloe, watching her face for any change in expression. Although Lily smiled widely at Chloe, Stacie glanced to the side with a mischievous smirk.

Lambrick instinctively placed a wad of bills secured with a rubberband onto the tabletop, repeating: “$10,000.”

Chloe glared at the money, seeing that the stack of money was composed of $100s.

“What could you do with that?”

“You should eat it. Just close your eyes!” Lily spoke with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. “It's a lot of money.”

Cynthia Rose hummed in agreement besides Lily, chewing with a nod of her head. Chloe could only exhale with a scoff, fiddling with the fork in her right hand. After a moment, she glanced at Aubrey before switching the fork to her left hand and picking up the knife. She tore out a small triangle of the medium-cooked meat, darting it into her mouth with a grimace.

Lambrick chuckled as Chloe struggled, instructing her to eat it with some of the liver also served on the plate. Chloe muttered to herself with a shaky breath as Stacie could only snicker at the sight.

“I can't believe I'm doing this.” Chloe sawed at the other food on her plate.

“Yeah, but $10,000 though.” Beca spoke to the disheartened figure to her right, trying to justify the means of breaking a vegetarian diet.

“A lifetime of discipline and commitment to cause wiped away by a mere $10,000.” Lambrick guffawed from the end of the table. ”Well, that is nothing compared to what's really at stake tonight, I can assure you of that.”

Lambrick paused before watching Fat Amy drinking next to him.

“You don't like the wine?”

“Well, no, it's not that.” Fat Amy answered after a quick swallow, placing her glass of water back on the table.

“We can get you something else. We have some wonderful scotch.”

“No, no thanks, I don't drink.” She answered again with a nervous chuckle, cutting away at her steak.

“Oh... Oh, I see. You're a recovering alcoholic. Aren't you?”

Fat Amy maintained eye contact with him before replying thickly: “It's not your business.”

Lambrick only chuckled. “On the contrary. You are here essentially begging me for money. How is that not my business?”

Fat Amy refused to answer, tonguing the inside of her cheek with a soft stare.

“How long has it been?”

“It's been 16 years, and I turned everything in my life around.” She finally answered with a sigh, addressing more of the table at large than only Lambrick.

“But you haven't. Look at you. You're still mired in a pit of poor health and crippling debt. I'd hate to see what you looked like 16 years ago. I mean, really. What's the point?”

“Please.” Fat Amy insisted, short with annoyance. “Why are you doing this?”

Lambrick slammed his utensils back onto his plate, cutting the air with a sharp clank of metal on ceramic.

“Because I want to help you. Look... It's safe to say that drinking is what ruined your life in the first place, isn't it? So, what if... drinking again could help you save it?”

“What?”

“I will give you $10,000 if you drink that glass of wine.”

“Oh.” Fat Amy finalized with a chuckle. “No. No, no way, no. You don't understand. You have no idea how hard I've worked.”

“Ah, but Chloe here, uh, she just devoured a pile of meat, and she's a devout vegetarian, and you won't drink a little wine.”

“It's totally different. Why are you doing this to me?”

Bevans dropped additional wads of money on the table next to Fat Amy, with Lambrick bantering: “$50,000. If you won't drink... this decanter of the finest scotch that money can buy, right now. 50,000.”

“This is what, a test? It's not real.” Fat Amy was sweating beneath her formal attire, aware of how many sets of eyes were watching her.

“Oh, no... I am deadly serious, Fat Amy, and you know that I am.” Lambrick uttered with malice. “The glass of wine or the whole damn decanter. Now, it seems to me that the wine is... That's pretty simple, isn't it? But the scotch. Well, we could consider that a, a momentary lapse to... change your life.”

Fat Amy’s stirred in her seat, making out in a soft tone: “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“So, what would you rather do?”

The blonde began watering at the eyes, looking at the options of alcohol in front of her. Lambrick’s gaze felt hot on her face as she reached for the fifth of scotch and ripped off the top with a quick pop. She cocked the container at Lambrick before guzzling directly from the bottle, taking several gulps before putting it back down.

Lambrick leaned onto the back legs of his chair, chortling with a slow clap. “That's a good time.”

“Thanks.” Fat Amy said curtly, taking another long sip.

“Bevans.” Lambrick called for his butler, ushering his staff to remove the plates form the table. “That was brilliant, as usual. My compliments to Marcel.” A few suited men cleaned the table within minutes before Lambrick stood up to initiate a toast. After a few taps of his knife on a glass, he began.

“Regarding tonight's game. Please allow me to alleviate any concerns you have.”

“We haven't already been playing?” Aubrey looked up at him in mild confusion.

“Oh, no, the game has yet to officially begin.”

[spunkymaverick]

I watched this movie I rented from Redbox. It's called Brad's Status a while back. And I have to say I rather liked it. I would totally recommend it tibia honest. So if anyone ever asks if you want to watch it like ever, maybe you could check it out.

So how about a Harry Potter AU? I don't know how many of my now 100 followers (I'm so proud of myself for that many honestly) who actually like Harry Potter or are in the fandom, so I apologize for selfishness. But I hope those who do decide to read it are satisfied in one way or another nonetheless.

And without any further adieu, we shall dive straight into this story, so I can stop procrastinating and just write.

EDIT: This is a first draft and will be rewritten later. It's not even finished. So I'll just post this since it's been sitting in the drafts for a ridiculous amount of time.

Rated: T (because of dark themes)

* * *

"Narcissa," Lucius breathes as the first sight he sees when he returns home is the woman he so dearly loves. The beaitiful woman who had become his wife so many years ago. He walks forward and embraces her tightly, not daring to let go too soon less she disappear.

Her arms wrap around his body, and she gasps in surprise. He isn't too surprised. He supposes twenty-four years in Azkaban can do a lot to a person, such as lose a lot of weight and muscle to name a couple. He's just so thankful he hadn't stayed any longer. Holding his wife in his arms for the first time in forever is a truly wonderful experience. He never thought he get the chance to do so again. It quickly becomes his favorite thing to do.

"I shall make you lunch. You are so pale and thin," Narcissa whispers to him as she carefully guides him inside. Does she believe him to be made of glass? Perhaps she does. He doesn't blame her, for that's how he feels. He feels weak and afraid of making a wrong step. Unlike before his imprisonment, he would be happy to have Narcissa care for him as if he were disabled and unable to fend for himself.

Lucius sits at the long dining room table and listens to his wife cook in the kitchen. He closes his tired gray eyes and wonders how everything came to him having to be so grateful to not be in Azkaban anymore. Before he would have laughed at anyone stupid enough to get caught, but now he pities anyone who has to go to that godforsaken prison.

It seems that just yesterday he was a Death Eater and terrorizing Mudbl-- muggleborn witches and wizards. And now, here he is, a changed man. He isn't sure anybody will ever believe him, that he's changed.

Perhaps not even his wife.

When the food is set before him, he bites into it bit by bit, relishing in the taste for far longer than he had ever before. He hasn't eaten a proper meal in literal years. The meals were just enough that he hasn't starved but still not nearly enough to be healthy. And with the Dementors being a constant presence, he often couldn't bear to eat. He almost doesn't want to swallow the food each time more is in his mouth with how much better it tastes than anything that place had provided.

He stops eating momentarily and wonders if it would be wrong of him to ask a certain question that's on his mind. Perhaps it is. It's so selfish of him to want to know, but...

"Narcissa, is...," Lucius starts before frowning and rewording his question. "Do you think I could...?"

"You could... what?" Narcissa asks slowly, raising one thin blonde eyebrow at him -- her left one as always.

"I," Lucius takes in a breath and swallows down any fears that try to inhibit him from speaking, "would like to know if I could meet our son."

"Oh," she speaks quietly. "I suppose you never met him. He was so beautiful. I wish you could have met him, but..."

Lucius is sure his heart stopped right then. There were two things he had always wanted when -- if, he had so often reminded himself -- he had gotten out of Azkaban: to spend more time than he ever had before with his beloved wife and to meet his son, who had only been born months after his imprisonment. But from the way Narcissa is speaking... From what she is implying...

Lucius can't muster the voice to ask, but it seems the question was clear enough in his eyes for Narcissa to understand what he wants to know.

"He... was under a lot of pressure, and he couldn't... He would get so angry and often, I would hear... Oh, what a fool I was! Of course, that was nearly a decade ago, but not a day passes that I don't miss him dearly," Narcissa explains solemnly.

He had made an awful mistake, and now, he dearly wishes he had never been so stupid to become a Death Eater, leaving behind the only people he ever truly loved. A wife who was loyal and loving, perhaps often being tempted to divorce him and remarry but never giving in. A son who would grow up without his father to guide him and teach him things a father should always have the chance to teach his son.

"I will make it up to you, Narcissa. Both you and Draco," Lucius promises quietly, and he truly means it. No matter what it takes. He will tear the world apart if it means he can have his family together. So that it could be together as it had never gotten the chance to be in the first place. He refuses to make the same mistake twice. He is determined to make things right.

* * *

"And you say this can take me back or forward many years?"

"Yes, however, there is a catch to this device, as there always is to these types of things."

"Of course, of course. What is it? What is the sacrifice that needs to be made?"

"It can not send you to the past of your own timeline as it would cause a violent paradox. The world would be far too confused on how to resolve the issue. You will be sent to another dimension where different choices were made or perhaps events are different already."

"How different are they?"

"I've only had two other customers return out of ten. One of them recounted a story of a group calling themselves 'the Marauders' dominating the wizarding world. The othier spoke of a life with absolutely no magic except for themself."

"Those are... rather odd. Is there any way to ensure safe travels?"

"Not as far as I know. Now, I suggest you leave before I decide to report this to somebody."

* * *

He opens his eyes, sliding gray eyes from one corner of the room to another. A... hospital room of some sort? Had he succeeded? Or had he permanently crippled himself from ever doing anything again? He had already been weak from returning from Azkaban a mere three months earlier.

"Ah! You've awoken! We were quite worried you wouldn't wake up soon enough," a woman explains to him. He feels as if he vaguely recognizes the woman, but from where, he may never know. Or at least, not anytime soon.

"We?" he inquires slowly. Did she mean that as the school in general, or did she mean herself and others specifically? He'd be getting an answer soon enough either way.

"The school. And your friends as well," she informs him helpfully.

"Friends," he repeats the foreign word slowly. He can't say he's ever had any. Not any that counted anyway. Sure there were the older boys who he'd hung out with to seem cooler and who had convinced him to become a Death Eater. How could he be so stupid? How had he believed that was ever a good idea? But he would hardly consider them friends, now or then.

"Oh dear. Perhaps you hit your head a bit harder than I thought. Would you answer a few questions for me?" she asks him, worry deep in her eyes.

He just nods in response, not trusting his voice to say anyhing. He isn't sure how much different things are here, but he hopes they're close enough to his own world that he doesn't have to worry much.

"Okay. What is your name?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

"Okay. Good. And how old are you?"

He is quiet as he looks down at himself. Smaller hands than he can remember ever having, but surely they aren't that small. His voice wasn't too squeaky so not a first year. He answers in a questioning tone, "Maybe, fourth year? So about fourteen."

"Yes, that's right. And what House are you in?" she asks him.

For a second, he thinks not of his Hogwarts House but of his home where he should have been able to live with his wife and son, but that wouldn't happen for a long time due to him coming back, coming back to right his wrongs, coming back to have his son. His Hogwarts House however is easy to remember. He can't think of being in any other House than, "Slytherin."

The woman gives him a look as if she's trying to decide whether he's making a joke or not. Had he not answered correctly? Of course he hadn't or she wouldn't be making that ridiculous face at him.

"No, dear."

"What? Are you sure?" he asks her. "I may have forgotten some stuff about school, but I know I wa-- er, am a Slytherin."

"No, that's not right. You've been a proud Gryffindor for four years. Well, I'll call your friends in and have them help you around. They'll help you. Your group may be troublesome, but you are loyal to each other," she seems to be complaining about this.

"A Gryffindor," he mutters, wrinkling his nose at the thought of himself as one of the lions. He thinks not. He has never been exactly brave, but he is very ambitious.

The woman walks to the door of the room and pushes it open before peeking out. He can faintly hear her speak but can make out none of it. Shortly after, he sees the young, grinning face of a man who had died shortly after his imprisonment in Azkaban. Wild, black hair and square glasses framing light brown eyes with a mischievous glint to them.

He suddenly doesn't question why Lily Evans had chosen this man over Severus. James is a beautiful man.

He tears his eyes away to next boy who walks in. A boy who would become a man who he'd hear had been imprisoned in the same prison as he had been in mere weeks. A traitor to his best friend and supposedly a conspirator to the Dark Lord. Lucius believes no such thing because he would have known if such a thing were the case. He isn't proud of being able to be that confident in his answer, but at least he knows for sure which side Sirius is on. He would make sure people know of his innocence as well.

And then, there's a boy with some noticeable scars on his body. Other than that, he has neat hair and his robes are nearly devoid of any wrinkles or stains. A need for adventure shines through in his eyes past his outwardly shy demeaner.

Finally, there's the Peter Pettigrew. Lucius remembers meeting the guy. Nervous and twitchy, unconfident but willing to serve. He understands now why he was a Gryffindor. Despite his fears, the man had stayed loyal to his one side even if he chose the wrong one. It's a bit of difference to the boy standing before him with short, blonde curls and hopeful blue eyes.

A band of pirates, he had once joking called them. It wasn't too far from the truth. What had they called their entourage again? He isn't quite sure, but it's right on the tip of his tongue.

[runaway-fiction]

Tango (Liam x MC)

Author’s Note: In this fic, Liam and MC (Amelia Alvarez) have been enjoying their married life quite a lot. I was inspired by the sensuality of the Argentine tango and by the flirtatious banter that often occurred in royal court (re: the Tudor era with Anne Boleyn), and wanted to include these elements in a very smutty The Royal Romance fanfic. I have to say I definitely lean more towards Drake x MC, but Liam is perfect for this particular situation. I am experimenting with the idea that Liam, Drake, and MC could totally be a successful polyamorous dynamic, so more fics to come on that subject. Here, the Italian statesmen (Francesco) from TRR Bk 2 makes an appearance. Let’s see how King Liam feels when Francesco flirts with his wife. :) Rated Mature for language and sexual content. NSFW content after the “Keep Reading” break. 18+ only please. Enjoy!

Liam’s eyes followed his wife’s beautiful figure across the room as she spoke animatedly with the Italian statesmen. Francesco Di Traglia’s extramarital conquests were the stuff of legend in the international circuit and the statesman made clear his interest in Amelia when he placed his hand a little too familiarly on her waist, fingers lingering on the beaded sequins of her red dress, but Liam could sympathize with Francesco’s untoward fascination with Amelia.

Amidst the droves of the gorgeous and sophisticated women present, Amelia possessed a certain magnetic allure that made her quite uniquely irresistible. It could be that despite growing up with no title, no royal address, no wealth even, Amelia conducted herself as though each of these things were inconsequential to her, that her education and individuality were enough to earn her a place at the royal table of plenty. Whatever it was, Amelia’s presence traversed all expectations of the court, and she used her remarkable qualities and position to great effect.

Across the room, Liam could see the Italian statesmen eye his wife furtively. Liam smiled to himself, though a primal urge to draw the dagger hidden in the breast of his dinner jacket and plunge it into anyone who dared to lay eyes on Amelia caused him to clear his throat in consternation.

What a vain fool, thought Liam. Francesco thinks that she wore that dress to please him.

However, as Liam well knew, Amelia’s fastidious attention to detail in diplomacy suggested that she indeed did wear Italian couture in red, Francesco’s favorite color, for that exact reason, but the thought didn’t irk Liam much at all.

He watched as Amelia courteously, almost seductively escaped Francesco’s lingering grasp on her. She kept him at arm’s length, but Liam had a feeling that Francesco would still be very agreeable, very agreeable indeed, to negotiating the tax on Cordonian goods in the Italian ports. This was why Amelia made such an exceptional queen: everyone underestimated her to their own peril.

Amelia turned, as if she heard Liam’s private thoughts; she locked eyes with him from across the room and sent him a playful wink over her shoulder. Liam could feel the heat in his abdomen curl with desire.

God, what a captivating woman, he thought.

At state functions, Liam preferred to conduct himself with absolute propriety, but tonight he found his wife’s sensual beauty entirely too distracting.

So when Amelia resumed her place beside him and the toasts to greater international harmony and cooperation between nations began, Liam couldn’t help but lean near his wife’s neck and whisper, “You look absolutely breathtaking in that dress.” He felt her shiver in response, he knew she could feel his mouth graze her earlobe, his breath warming the exposed skin of her shoulder.

She looked up at him from her dark lashes, “Thank you, darling,” she said, smiling at him. She reached to brush a piece of lint off his lapel, taking the opportunity to run her fingers lightly across his face. “You look rather handsome yourself. I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room. I had to stare daggers at the Duchess of Cornwall to keep her from batting those minx eyelashes at you.” He chuckled at her possessive tone.

“I think you are mistaken. It was you that commanded the attention of the room. No one could take their eyes off you,” he said, sweeping his gaze from her face to the subtle curve of her breasts pressing against the fabric of her dress to her satin heels and back again.

“Liam,” she chided conspiratorially, “behave yourself.”

“If I must,” he sighed, resuming the appropriate distance from her. Liam yearned to take his wife’s hand and lead her to a dark alcove where no one could see as he sucked on the enticing curve of her neck, his hands grasping the smooth skin underneath her dress…

“Ahem,” coughed a voice behind him, “Your Majesty.” He turned to see Francesco’s private secretary before him.

“Yes, Ignacio?”

“Signore Francesco would like to know if you and Signora Alvarez would honor him and his guests tonight with a dance.”

“Ah, yes, that is the custom after all.”

“What dance would His Majesty prefer? The Cordonian Waltz perhaps?”

Liam was about to agree automatically, when a thought occurred to him.

“Actually, let’s do…” his eyes rested on Amelia’s inquisitive gaze, “…the tango.”

“The tango?” replied Ignacio, surprised, but he quickly recovered. “The tango, of course. Very good, sir. What variety?”

“Argentinian.”

“Excellent choice, sir. I shall inform Signore Francesco, Signora Mathilde, and the orchestra of your preference.”

As Ignacio bustled away, Amelia rounded on him with an urgent whisper. “The Argentinian tango, Liam, really? What are you up to?” she asked him, a cross between panic and amusement in her eyes.

“I just thought that the occasion called for it,” he replied with a teasing smile, “Don’t worry, you’re a fantastic dancer.” She rolled her eyes at him as Francesco entered the center of the ballroom floor. He cleared his throat before speaking into the microphone.

“Ladies and gentleman, it is my great delight to move us into our second half of the program. Tonight’s honored guests, King Liam and Queen Amelia of Cordonia will lead the court dancing with a style of their choice: the Argentine tango.”

“Oh boy. This is gonna be good,” she muttered under her breath as Liam extended his hand to her.

“Shall we, my lady?” he asked, the perfect picture of courtly chivalry. She gave him a flirtatious smile in return, placing her hand lightly in his. The court clapped as Liam led her to the dance floor, the first chords of the tango drifting through the air.

They took their places in the center, Liam resting his arm on the upper part of her back as she grasped his hand. He closed their stance so that his chest lay flushed against her body. As the music entered a new measure and they prepared to step, Amelia locked gazes with him with a slight smile on her face. He knew exactly what she was thinking when she looked at him like that.

Pushing her back, they kept their feet close to the floor, knees and ankles brushing lightly against one another’s. The crowd “oohed” as he led her in a series of tight circles, clapping as the combinations became increasingly more complicated, but all he could focus on was the feeling of her body against his, her eyes never leaving his face. He loved the sense of abandon Amelia danced with, she trusted him completely, her body languid in his arms, her neck extended as he dipped her low to the floor. He hardly noticed as the other couples joined them on the dance floor.

Liam pressed his crotch closer to her legs, and he grew even more desirous as he heard Amelia’s sharp intake of breath. He spun her away, catching her against his chest with her back to him. She seemed to know what was on his mind when she pressed the curve of her backside to him closer than she needed to. He spun her away again, if only to preserve any shred of decorum they still had. He was glad that the other couples had since joined them on the dance floor, though they couldn’t leave just yet.

“Two years ago, if you told me I would actually enjoy dancing at one of these ridiculous events because I have a beautiful American wife that I married for love in my arms, I’d say you were crazy, but here we are,” he whispered to her huskily. She giggled.

“I feel exactly the same way,” she replied, “except I doubt you can imagine how surreal it must be for me to be dancing the tango with a king when a few years ago I was waiting tables to pay off my crippling student loan debt after graduate school.”

He laughed heartily but his laughter ceased when Amelia dropped to the floor to extend her lead leg behind her, her eyes never leaving his as she rose slowly to with a sultry sway of the hips. Liam pressed her close to him again as he guided her down the length of the dance floor.

“God, I can’t wait until we leave so I can have you in my bed,” he whispered in her ear.

“You keep dancing and touching me like this, we won’t make it there,” she whispered back with a smile.

The music reached a crescendo, and Liam spun her, his fingers trailing on her ribcage just beneath her breasts. She hid a sigh of desire as he arched her back over his arms, his hand grasping her neck. They took a moment to recover their breath before all the couples turned to the clapping crowd.

“Bravo! Brava!” cried Francesco, “Bellisima!” He made his way over to Liam and Amelia. “Ah, you are the envy of the world King Liam. I do believe there is not a single sovereign here that would not pay half their kingdom to have a marriage as happy as yours.” He made a little bow to Amelia.

“You flatter me Francesco, but I cannot disagree that I am the happiest man under the sun with Amelia by my side.”

“If I may steal but a ray from your beaming good fortune, King Liam…Queen Alvarez, may I have this dance?”

“Of course, Francesco,” she replied smiling, “Though a ray of good fortune I may be, this beam burns only for King Liam, so take care not to fly too close to the sun, you scoundrel.”

“Hah! Call me Icarus incarnate, for his mistake may be mine if your wife continues to blind me with her wit King Liam!”

“I suggest you take advantage of this golden opportunity Francesco, before the sun sets on your ambition,” he warned.

“Indeed! Time is of the essence. If I may, Your Majesty…”

Liam watched as the Italian statesmen led his wife away for the next dance (a waltz), procuring for himself a glass of fine scotch. He signaled Bastien, and his bodyguard was at his side in an instant.

“Yes, sir.”

“Bastien, how early can we leave here?”

“Well Your Majesty, since we are the honored guests of the Italian delegates, I believe it may be several hours before we can leave.”

“Damn.”

“A problem, sir?”

“Only that the queen had an urgent matter to discuss with me and I wish to figure out what it is.”

“I see.” Bastien paused. “I could arrange for a private room…”

“No. no Bastien, that won’t be necessary. I’d rather not be missed, this trade deal is too important to bungle. But thank you.”

Bastien bowed and took his leave.

It felt like years by the time a proper opportunity to retire for the evening arrived. Though he was tired and slightly drunk, Liam felt as if faint electricity pulsed through his veins as he guided Amelia into their armored Escalade.

She rubbed his arm, tracing her fingers down his skin as they gathered into the very back of the vehicle, the light in the car fading into gloom as they drove towards their Italian villa. Though her face was only illuminated by the blue glow of the dashboard, he could feel her heart beating in the dark. He moved the hand that was resting on her knee higher, catching upon the red silk of her dress. The high slit dropped to reveal the smooth skin of his wife’s leg. In his periphery, Liam could see that she was biting her lip, so he continued up her leg, his fingers slowly, torturously seeking the prize beyond.

“Sir, about the meeting tomorrow with Signore Francesco, he requested that the lunch be moved from 1 pm to 2 pm. It works with our schedule, but I wanted to see if that was agreeable to you first.”

“Oh yes, of course, Bastien, that will be fine, thank you.” His fingers paused in their upward climb, Amelia’s breath hitching slightly.

When the car lapsed into silence again, save the occasional cough from one of the guards sitting in the front, Liam again inched his fingers towards Amelia’s inner thigh as she parted her legs for him, feeling himself grow erect when he perceived that her lace panties were already wet with her arousal. Reaching her panties, he pushed them to the side gently, wanting to give Amelia the chance to either push his hand away or time to suppress any involuntary noise she might make. She met his eyes in the darkness, still biting her lip, and nodded. He slid his finger into her, needing to restrain his own groan when he saw her eyelids flutter shut briefly before Bastien addressed her.

“Oh, and Queen Amelia, Lady Hana and her family have extended an invitation to visit their vacation home in Peoyngyang during the winter. She says that Peoyngyang is quite beautiful in the winter.”

“Thank you Bastien,” she said, “I’ll make sure to contact her. Also, I am feeling a bit –ahem- ill…do you think we could get to the villa a bit faster please?” Liam was impressed that her voice barely faltered as she spoke, considering that his thumb had now begun to draw circles above her throbbing clit.

“Of course, Your Majesty, I think we can do that.” Bastien leaned towards the driver, giving him the order. The driver pressed on the gas and the armored Escalade began to wind quickly down the streets of Rome towards their villa.

When they finally arrived, Liam delicately removed his hand from in between his wife’s legs as she deftly adjusted her skirts, hopefully dismissing any notion they had been doing anything other than sitting next to each other in chaste silence. They bade Bastien and the rest of the security detail good night as they entered their temporary residence.

Once the door snapped shut, they reached for each other in the darkness. Liam groaned as Amelia pushed him against the door, her lips biting his neck.

“Ah, Amelia, you know we can’t leave any marks…the courtiers and paparazzi will have a field day…: he murmured between urgent kisses.

“Well you shouldn’t have been so fucking naughty in the car! Who knew my prince charming could be such a scoundrel?” she scolded.

“I couldn’t help myself Amelia…” he whispered against her skin as he placed sensual kisses along her collarbone, down her neck, down to the curve of her breasts, “this dress on you…” he pushed her from the door to the entryway table in the foyer, rattling a vase filled with roses…”the feeling of your body against mine as we were dancing…” his hands pulled down the soft satin of her gown, exposing her breasts, clutching her body as he moved lower. He lifted her onto the table, her back pressing against a cold mirror, so that he could remove her soaked lace panties from underneath her dress.

“Oh Liam, yes…” she moaned, clutching his head and running her fingers through her hair as he dipped his head underneath her skirt to taste her. He didn’t stop until she was shuddering from pleasure, and at the right moment he inserted two fingers into her, curling them inside of her just the way she liked. The vase shattered to the floor as she struggled in his arms. He knew she was there when she began to scream his name and curse, “Fuck, Liam, yes!”

She pulled him up to kiss his lips, painted still with her scent. “I…” she said, struggling to catch her breath, “told you…if you keep touching me… like this… we wouldn’t make it to the bed…”

Before she had any time to recover, he picked her up, grasping the back of her thighs. “I’m not done with you yet,” he growled, and she bit his neck mercilessly as he carried up the stairs to their bedroom, he was long past caring about her leaving any marks.

Once they got to their room, Liam pushed the dress down until it was nothing but a pool of fabric at their feet and deposited her on the sheets. His eyes roved over the curves of her body in the moonlight as he fought out of the rest of his clothing, seeing hers darken with desire when she saw how hard he was.

Impatiently, Amelia grasped him by his neck and threw him on the bed. Now it was his turn to curse as Amelia took his thickness in her mouth, sucking on him and licking him exactly the way he dreamed of on days when they were apart. He looked down at her head bobbing, her eyes lifting to meeting his as she wrapped her hand around his cock and could feel his toes curling from his impending release. He almost lost it but he managed to say, “Amelia, okay, okay, stop, come here…” and he pulled her off, bringing her face to his. His tongue explored her mouth as he spread her legs apart to position himself outside her entrance. They both cried out as he trust up inside her, the movement of her hips as she rubbed her clit against him matched his movements seamlessly, their bodies doing a tango of desire until they reached the crescendo together, pleasure rolling over them in infinite waves.

After Amelia collapsed beside him and he threw the coverlet over their naked bodies, the last thing he remembered was gasping “I love you…I love you…” into his wife’s hair, inhaling her sweet scent, before fading into blissful oblivion.  

[ddproductionsw77]

Perfect

Fandom: IT (2017)

Pairing(s): (Main) Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak), (Secondary) Benverly (Ben Hanscom x Beverly Marsh), and Stenbrough (Stan Uris x Bill Denbrough)

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh (Hanscom), Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough, Stan Uris, and Cassie Tozier (OC).

Rating: T

Description: Richie had honestly never even thought about kids. Why would he? He wasn’t cut out to be a dad, ask anyone... Anyone but Eddie, apparently. (AKA Eddie and Richie talk about kids. [Aged-Up to Adults])

Author’s Note: I love Reddie more than I should and my best friend, soulmate, sister and I came up with a ton of headcanons and this is the result of one.

“Do you want kids?”

Richie dropped the two plates in his hand, sending them crashing to the floor where they shattered on impact. The pieces of the plate had scattered across the floor, shooting in every different direction. Eddie had wanted ceramics and he’d gotten it but Richie still didn’t understand why they couldn’t eat off of paper plates.

Richie groaned and crouched down across from Eddie, who had also bent to pick up the fragments. Glancing up at his boyfriend, Richie was actually relieved he’d dropped the plates.

He did not want to see the conversation Eddie’s question would undoubtedly lead to. There were certain times when Richie would know instinctually from the start of a discussion with Eddie that it was destined to end in an argument.

This was one of those times.

Eddie, still in his scrubs from the twelve-hour shift he had just gotten home from before cooking dinner, stood with about a plate and a half worth of parts in his hands. He dumped the wreckage into the trash before turning on Richie, who was also standing.

He crossed his arms over his chest and remained expressionless as he asked, “So, I’m guessing that’s a no?”

Richie’s heart jumped into his throat and he fiddled with the ceramic in his hands. “Why ya wanna know, Spaghetti Man? Bevvie and Ben giving you baby fever?”

He knew the dodging and mocking would infuriate his boyfriend but he really didn’t want to talk about this and he knew that the only reason Eddie was even fucking bringing it up was because Beverly had announced to the rest of the Losers a couple months back that she was set to pop out a Hanscom in 5 months.

They were twenty-fucking-two, barely out of college, and struggling to make ends meet for just the two of them; Eddie had to be batshit to be thinking about kids.

“I want to know because,” Eddie dropped his arms to his sides and shrugged, scrunching up his face in that cute way he did when searching for words. “Because you’re my boyfriend and I feel like I should know.”

Richie moved past Eddie and dumped his own pile of the broken plate into the trash, “We’re dating?! Fuck, I totally forgot, man!”

“Richie,” Eddie turned to eye him, his tone frank. “Stop the bullshit and answer the question.”

“Come on, Eds.” Slumping to lean back on the kitchen counter, Richie moodily crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged, “Me, Trashmouth Tozier, a dad? That’s never gonna happen.”

There was a long silence in the kitchen and Richie couldn’t bring himself to look at Eddie immediately. When he did finally let his eyes trail upward, his chest restricted seeing Eddie’s jaw flex and the other boy’s eyes dart away.

Words attempted to crawl up his throat and throw themselves at Eddie’s feet. Words that would fix that repressed look of disappointment but that, Richie knew, weren’t true. He forced himself to stay silent, knowing it would be too cruel to give Eddie false hopes.

Richie had honestly never even thought about kids. Why would he? Like he’d said, he wasn’t cut out to be a fucking parent.

Ask anyone... anyone except Eddie apparently.

Goddammit, had his boyfriend lost his damn mind?

Richie had Mommy issues, Daddy issues and commitment issues to any person or thing that was not Eddie Kaspbrak. There were days where he felt like he was barely keeping his relationship together and if it weren’t for Eddie’s patience and understanding he doubted that would even be true. With a track record like that, why would Eddie even want to have a kid with him anyway?

“Why?” The silence was finally broken by Eddie and Richie rubbed the back of his neck, wishing the conversation would just end.

He awkwardly cleared his throat and shrugged, helplessly, "I’m a fucking poster child for neglect and child abuse, that’s why. I’d only fuck it up.”

Eddie’s eyebrows creased together and he turned his head to look back at Richie, eyes soft and brown, “You really think that?”

“Don’t think it, babe. Know it.”

Eddie sighed, looking contemplative for a moment before nodding, “Okay, so… do you just know that I’d fuck up a kid, too, then?”

“What?” Richie asked, bewildered. He couldn’t see a correlation between his statement and his boyfriend’s question.

“Have you ever met Sonia Kaspbrak?” Eddie inquired, floored, “If you’re fucked up because of your parents, then I definitely am too. So, do you think that I’d be a shit parent, too, then?”

“No,” Richie groaned, running a hand down his face, “That’s not— I didn’t say that.”

“I know, I heard you. You said—“

“Look, Eddie, I really don’t want to do this,” He gestured between the two of them. “I answered your fucking question. Drop it.”

“But—“

“Please.”

Eddie froze, clamping his mouth shut with the words he’d been about to speak still on his tongue. Richie and he argued all the time. Richie told him to drop things all the time. He hammered on without dropping them all the time.

But Richie never said please. It wasn’t his ‘style’ to beg, he always said.

Eddie swallowed hard, mouth still pressed into a tight line, and nodded.

Eddie was distracted, tapping the lid of his coffee cup nervously and nibbling at his lower lip. He was exhausted, having just worked yet another twelve-hour shift in a Friday night ER. It was difficult to run purely on caffeine and the adrenaline of the job that hadn’t yet completely faded as he waited in the cafe around the corner from Derry Home.

Still, Eddie loved being a trauma nurse.

It felt like proof of how far he’d come since he’d been a child with crippling hypochondria and the constant companionship of his inhaler. Sonia, his mother, had nearly had a panic attack herself when he’d told her his career goals back at the start of college but he’d powered on anyway.

He was a grown man now and the stress of the ER seemed to kick him into gear rather than shut him down. Being scared seemed to make him brave, somehow.

The seat across from him scrapped back, a body settling itself down into it.

Mike Hanlon grinned at Eddie, “So, what’s wrong?”

Eddie quirked a tired eyebrow, “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“You know I only say this out of love but,” Mike gave his friend an apologetic look, “You look like shit.”

The other man snorted and rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his black coffee, “Well, I appreciate your honesty, I guess, Mikey.”

Mike laughed and shook his head. After a moment though he sobered and looked back at his friend. Eddie had gone back to distractedly drumming on his cup.

“Are you going to tell me or not?”

Eddie eyebrows knit together but he continued to look out the window instead of meeting Mike’s questioning gaze. Bring a hand up, he rested his chin in his palm and tapped his lip with his jittery fingers. He felt like Richie, unable to stop moving.

“Richie doesn’t want to have kids.” He sighed and finally glanced at Mike before quickly darting his eyes away. “Like ever.”

Mike nodded slowly, taking in what his friend had said. He was never one to react in a snap. He knew rash, reckless remarks and advice could be given when one did that and Mike Hanlon was not rash or reckless. No, he was smart and calculating, but honestly clueless on a situation like Eddie’s. He’d never found anyone worth expanding the population with, never had something like what he’d witnessed over the year between Richie and Eddie.

“And I’m guessing that’s an issue because…” He trailed off, considering his next few words carefully, “You want them, don’t you?”

Eddie’s cheeks flushed red and he looked at the table, shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter if I do — If I did. I’d have to not be with Richie for that to ever happen and that’s just not an option.”

“I don’t know about that, Eddie,” Mike said, reluctantly.

Eddie looked up to raise a questioning eyebrow at his friend.

Mike sighed, “Richie had some screwed up parents. He pretends he’s fine all the time but I’m guessing you know better than any of us that he’s not, even now after all these years. So, maybe he’s just scared? Maybe he just needs time to think?”

Eddie nodded slowly, gaze level and steady with Mike’s. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Beverly sat up temporarily to allow Ben to slip in between her and the couch’s armrest before settling her back into his side. Ben threw his hand casual over her shoulder, running his fingers absentmindedly over her arm. At the other end, Richie sat bouncing his leg with Bev’s feet resting in his lap.

Looking up from the dress sleeve she’d been sewing, Bev eyed her friend in annoyance, “Richie, I can’t relax with you doing that.”

“Doing what?” Richie asked, looking away from the baseball game Ben had on.

Bev and Ben both eyed him and the redhead cocked an eyebrow, “You know what. That.” She gestured to his bouncing leg.

Instantly, he stilled only to start up drumming his fingers on the curve of Beverly’s ankle. Sighing, she looked over her shoulder at her fiancé and Ben shrugged wordlessly in reply.

Beverly crossed her arms over her chest and turned back to Richie, “Okay, Trashmouth, spit it out. How’d you fuck up this time?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Richie shot her a little glare, “Why do you assume I fucked up?”

Ben shifted awkwardly beneath Bev before asking, “Well, I mean… did you?”

“No, actually, I didn’t.” The other man replied, stubbornly.

“So… why are you here then? Eddie got off work,” Beverly grasped Ben’s wrist and red the time on his watch, “Two hours ago. Usually, you’d have run home the second the clock hit three.”

Richie shrugged, not meeting either of the couple’s prying eyes.

Beverly bit her lip worriedly before deciding to change the subject, “Benny, we really should start clearing out that spare room for the baby.”

Richie cringed, pinching his brow and drumming more furiously on Bev’s ankle. Goddammit, could he not escape baby-talk?

He watched from the corner of his eye as his best friend’s hand fell to cover the little swell in her abdomen. Fuck, he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept of Bevvie Marsh and Haystack Hanscom procreating…

It sparked an irritation in his chest that he knew was completely unwarranted.

Ben’s hand came up to twirl a lock of red hair and he nodded, “Don’t worry about a thing, my lady love. It all just Mike’s old stuff and he, Bill, and Stan said they’d come over to pick it up next weekend.”

“I still feel bad that Mike had to leave…” Beverly trailed off with a sigh.

“It’s not like your average twenty-two year old wants to be stuck in an apartment with a baby anyway,” Richie broke in, calling both Bev and Ben’s attention.

A bright red flush spread across Beverly’s freckles and she raised her eyebrows, “Excuse me? Ben and I aren’t stuck, asshole.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Richie asked in monotone. “Planned this whole thing, did ya?”

“You know what, fuckhead—“

“Richie! Let’s talk outside, maybe?” Ben broke in, carefully standing up so as not to jolt Beverly too much. He gave Richie a look that made it clear that his offer was not really optional. Sighing, the Trashmouth stood as well and followed Haystack to the hallway.

Closing the apartment door behind him, Ben crossed his arms over his chest and silently raised his eyebrows at Richie. “Well?”

“Well what, Benny Henny?”

“Why are you being even more unbearable than usual? You know Beverly doesn’t need that from you right now. You’re her best friend, what you think matters to her. Even when you think stupid.” Ben questioned.

Richie’s ear flushed in shame he’d never acknowledge and he shrugged, “I just don’t see the appeal, I guess. The whole kid thing? Seems a little overrated, little played out, to me. And seeing you and her act like fucking idiots over—”

“I’m going to stop you there,” Ben held up a hand, “Because if I don’t, I might hit you and I don’t need Beverly to be pissed at me.”

Richie opened his mouth to argue but Ben powered on, “Nope, sorry, my turn.”

He narrowed his eyes at the other man, “I don’t know why you’re suddenly being a dick about Bev being pregnant but figure it out and grow the hell up, Richie. Now, go home to your boyfriend because I’m pretty sure he’s the only one who can even deal with you right now.”

Probably true, too… Eddie was always the one to brave Richie’s shittest moods.

Richie sighed and ran a hand down his face, nodding slowly, “Yeah, Haystack. Tell Bevvie I said bye… and that I’m sorry.”

After a week of Richie and Eddie going through their motions without really acknowledging each other, it was obvious that something needed to be addressed. The problem was that neither of them knew which one of them was in the wrong.

Were either of them even wrong?

It was perfectly normal to want to be a parent, Eddie knew that. He’d kind of always assumed that one day, he’d be a father. It was a part of the natural progression he planned his life to take. He’d never brought it up to Richie because, well, he’d figured Richie thought the same way… and he shouldn’t have apparently.

On the other hand, Richie had every right to not want children. The world was a screwed up place and their circumstances as a same-sex couple made becoming parents more complicated than it was for couples like Ben and Bev. There was paperwork and long waiting lists involved and maybe Richie was right… maybe it wasn’t worth it.

Before the idea had been planted into Eddie’s head, he’d been perfectly happy and content with it just being him and Richie. They worked and they fit together just right… so why did it suddenly feel like something was missing?

Because, logically, nothing was missing!

Eddie was at the kitchen table, surrounded by bills, a notepad, and a calculator when Richie came tiredly crashing into the apartment. Eddie glanced up, smiled with exhaustion in his eyes, and returned to his financing.

Richie paused, looking over his boyfriend from the kitchen doorframe. He’d had to do soundboard for the late-night radio host and it was much later than he normally got home. He’d called Eddie, but still…

Slowly, he moved forward and slipping off his jean jacket, “You’re still up?”

Eddie glanced at the clock on the stove, 12:45 am, and shrugged, “Rent is due in a week and I was on-call today so I got started later than usual…”

“Oh, cool…” Richie muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Eddie eyed him and his obvious discomfort in curiously. It took a hell of a lot to make Richie Tozier uncomfortable, usually something to do with actual emotion.

He dropped himself into the seat across from Eddie and sighed, “I wanted to talk to you actually.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at the papers in front of him before nodding and looking up, “Yeah, okay. What do you want to talk about?”

Richie picked at his nails, not meeting his boyfriend’s eyes, “You want to be a dad, Eds.” The other man tensed and glanced away but remained silent as Richie continued. “And I… I think you’d be a really good one. I think you should be one.”

“Stop,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head. Richie finally looked up at him, eyebrows drawn together. “Don’t say shit like that, not when—“ He sighed. “Not when it’s never going to happen.”

“Never…“ Richie started but trailed off, nervously continuing to pick at his cuticles.

“It’s fine, Richie.” Eddie shrugged, “I’m fine with it. At the end of the day, I just want to be with you so if that means no kids, then that’s what it means.”

“You’d—“ Richie looked at Eddie with a sparkle of awe in his dark eyes, “You’d give that up for me? W-why?”

“Jesus, fuck, asshole! Why do you think?” Eddie exclaimed, bewildered and annoyed. “Because I love you, dipshit! I don’t know why most of the time but I do. So, yes, I would give up having kids for you. I mean— I am.”

He cleared his throat and Richie could tell he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince his boyfriend. Guilt swirled in the DJs gut as Eddie finished, lamely, “So, you don’t need to talk about it anymore!”

Swallowing and looking anywhere but Eddie’s doe eyes, Richie murmured, “What if I want to talk about it… a little bit?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up from a look of irritation to one of shock, “You— Uh— What— What the fuck do you mean, Trashmouth?”

“I don’t know if I want to be a dad, Eds. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to be a dad but I am starting to think that maybe,” He tried to find the right words, “Maybe I want to see you be one and I’m not willing to give you up so… I want to keep talking about that.”

Nodding slowly, Eddie smiled down at the table before looking up at Richie with watery eyes, “Let’s keep talking about that, then.”

It took a literal fuckton of talking to get Richie where he needed to be to even consider agreeing to co-parent. Richie needed to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to have a child. That he’d want one when they came along, that he’d want them a year after that—or ten, twelve, twenty. He refused to be like his parents. He never wanted his son or daughter to feel the resentment he’d lived with all his own life.

Eddie was patient, though. He figured they had time, right? They were only twenty-two after all…

In the end, it took a lot of talking but not much time.

Eight months after their 1 am conversation, Richie held Cassidy Beverly Anne Tozier for the first time.

He counted her ten little fingers and her tiny toes probably fourteen times, never once looking away from her angelic features and finding himself reluctant to even blink. The weight of her small six pounds, three ounces, nineteen inches felt so natural in his hands as she looked up at him with otherworldly baby blue eyes, filled with a complete and utter trust that he most definitely did not deserve.

She was perfect, every fucking inch of her.

She was perfect and she was his—his and Eddie’s.

The papers were signed, the deed was done, no backing out now.

Not that Richie wanted an out; now that he had seen her and held her and loved her, Richie knew it’d take the fury of Hell to tear her away from him.

“You okay?” A hand rested on his arm, another running gently over the tuft of dark hair on Cassidy’s head, and Richie didn’t have to glance up to imagine Eddie’s endearing smile and teary eyes.

Richie nodded, muttering, “Perfect.”

[theshipsfirstmate]

Punisher Fic: And I’ll Hold You With Such Delicacy

Post-1x12 Kastle feels. Frank considers his new life, and the meaning of freedom.

A/N: OK, so I wanted to write a post-finale follow-up to I Found Peace in Your Violence, but I couldn’t decide whether it should be Frank POV or Karen. So here’s a little Frank ficlet to bridge the gap to their post-finale meeting.

Title from “Me and You” by Jake Bugg.

And I’ll Hold You With Such Delicacy (wc: 1294 - AO3)

“Enjoy your freedom, Mr. Castle,” Marion James tells him, like he’s the one who should be thanking her. His ears are ringing a little, but he can still parse the tone.

“Though, I do wonder,” she adds, snidely, “what freedom means to a man like you.”

In a split second, Frank’s breath catches and he sees a pair of blue eyes, so clear, like they’re right there in front of him. They blink, and so does he, and then they’re gone again.

The words echo in his mind as he’s finally set free -- slippery new IDs stuffed into a battered leather wallet after he double-checks that the folded-up photograph is still in the back -- and then the whole way back to the park-side spot where he’d abandoned the van three long days ago. “What freedom means to a man like you.” 

He sends Curtis a text about finding a place to stay. Hell, he might even be able to rent an apartment or something, he thinks, kicking the engine into gear and scrubbing his hands over his face before peeling away from the curb.

Maybe freedom means he’ll be able to drive past Central Park without feeling like a hole’s been blown through his midsection. Not yet, but maybe someday.

Billy had picked the carousel in the hopes of crippling him before their showdown even began, and it had very nearly worked. He saw Maria and the kids around every turn, heard their voices over the terrified hostages and screaming calliope, but something had carried him through, kept his focus sharp until the bitter and bloody end. He didn’t realize until it was over -- until he sat still in the shaky silence of a supposed victory, with poor Madani bleeding out beside him -- that it wasn’t really something, at all. It was someone.

He had wanted to run, so badly, the second the sirens started towards them. He gave serious consideration to bolting, leaving the victims to the medics and the judgement to the cops and courts. But he knows that there's only one place he would have run. And he knows that when he got there, Karen would have told him to stay, to do it the right way.

Maybe freedom means a world where he doesn’t have to be the villain of every story. Maybe it means prying open the cage he’s built up around his heart, and seeing if there’s anything left to offer her.

He’s tried his damnedest to pretend -- he lasted two whole days in that cell before he cracked even a little -- but something’s changed inside him. Maybe it’s been changing, since that night at her apartment when she gave him everything he didn’t know how to ask for. He remembers the answering press of her lips to his, the heated look in her eyes even as she pulled the emergency brake to keep them from accelerating over a cliff.

And now, in the crisp, honest light of a late autumn day, Frank thinks of his future and sees her face again, so clearly he whispers her name aloud. In the rearview mirror, the cloud of his breath masks the truth written all over his face for just a second. There’s nothing left to deny.

Maybe freedom means driving aimlessly around the city for the first time in a long time, without a mark to hit or a gun to jump in front of or a wire to cut on a ticking bomb. Maybe it means not have to feel guilty when he realizes he’s turned down Karen's block.

He wants to tell her that he’s a free man, wants to see her eyes light up and her lips purse into a hopeful smile at the news. He remembers back in that hospital room, what feels like a lifetime ago, how she had looked so beautifully relieved when Red’s dopey lawyer buddy came in to announce that the death penalty was off the table. They barely knew each other then, and still, her grin was burned on the insides of his eyelids that day.

Now he's in so much deeper. He knows what it's like to hold her, and there's no coming back from that -- he's practically aching for her to throw herself into his arms again. She keeps doing it, looping her arms around his neck and taking him by total surprise. It’s dizzying, how many things it makes him feel at once.

It never happens when they’re in danger. No, when the shit’s hitting the fan, Karen's like a kamikaze, bold and brazen, tip-toeing on the razor’s edge of her own mortality in service of some greater good. His heart thuds just thinking about it, how quick she is to throw herself in front of a bullet or run back towards a bomb, how easily she had pressed his gun to her own chin in the hotel that day.

And then in the elevator, he remembers, she had found her restraint, somehow mustering the presence of mind to tell him to go, as if she’d known that they couldn't spare the time it would take for the world to stop turning.

But in these quiet moments they’ve found together, she'll wrap herself around him like she can barely help it -- sometimes just long enough for him to catch the scent of her shampoo -- then pulls away like she’s done something wrong.

Maybe freedom means reaching for her first, so she knows it's okay to hold on. Maybe it means touching her without worrying about the blood on his hands.

He’s enamored by so much of her: her brain, her heart, those eyes, that smile. He’s even compelled by the things that scare him to death, chief among them her taste for heroics and the fearless way she trusts him.

He likes that they stand eye-to-eye, likes that when she hugs him tight, his face gets sandwiched into the crook where her neck meets her shoulder. He remembers how she felt grinding in his lap and sleepily pillowed across his chest in equally vivid detail, and he swears he can still taste her lips on his. God, he wants to kiss her again.

He parks the van and crosses the street, looking up to the second story windows and smiling in spite of himself. It's been a long time since anything's felt like a beginning.

Maybe freedom means she'll look at him and see a new man, to match the one on the driver's license he’s been given. Maybe it means she’ll see the future, too.

As he nears her building, his racing thoughts distill to singular emotions, each spurring another step forward. The flowers are in the window. He's a free man. She's right upstairs. If he believed in fate, Frank would be sure that's what sends the old lady ambling out of the front entrance at exactly that moment. He holds the door for her and glances in at the lobby, and then he has a choice to make.

Maybe all freedom means is now, instead of scaling the fire escape, he can go to her front door and knock. Maybe it means she’ll ask him in for a drink, like this is something real, something almost ordinary. Maybe it means she'll kiss him again.

So he does.

And she does.

And she does.

And it feels a lot like freedom, to a man like him.